#can't believe ao3 is free sometimes

[milaskrypte]

you know the fic is good when you end up crying literal tears and clutching your chest as you lay down on the floor to process what you just read

[erinkeifer]

Forbidden Fruit

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

Summary: Anakin returns early from a mission and accidentally overhears your conversations with your friends who showed up for a girls' night at your place. Well... Your rather dirty conversations.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI | smut | v unprotected sex | hair pulling | kissing | cursing | dom!Anakin | sub!Reader Word Count: 3,8k

Anakin knew you deserved a break - a week ago, it was your birthday, and you really wanted to meet up with your friends from the 'good old times' to have a bit of fun. Unfortunately, it seemed out of the question - at least until today - as you both were constantly being assigned on missions that required the presence of both of you. But, for once, luck smiled upon you. Yes, Skywalker took it upon himself and headed to Geonosis with his crew, so that you could, at least once, invite anyone over and break away from the wartime reality. You and the other three girls completely lost track of time once you settled into your snug but cozy room. By this time, the only things around you were empty pizza boxes and champagne glasses, which seemed to loosen you up even more. Some bland romantic comedy played on your Holo TV, serving as a quiet backdrop to your ongoing conversations, although some of you occasionally glanced at it. "Do any of you even know what's going on in this?" you asked, sprawled on the couch, reaching for the popcorn bowl surrounded by a definite mess. "Honestly? No idea." replied the Togruta on your right, causing you to snort because apparently, each of you was equally absorbed in the movie. After a while, each of you jumped at the sound of the communicator from one of your friends. "Damn, sorry, forgot to mute…" apologized your childhood friend, engrossed in the conversation. "Who's calling so persistently?" you asked, reaching for another handful of popcorn. "Rob, probably afraid I won't make it straight home." she replied, this time disabling notifications. "It's kind of sweet that he's so worried." said the Twi'lek girl sitting farthest from you. "Sure, but lately, there's been a bit going on in our area, so he's unusually sensitive." your friend replied. "Wait, you two live together?" you asked with wide eyes. "Yes, for about three months now." she replied, and you grabbed your head. "Damn, being with you feels like I'm regressing." you said, slumping onto the sofa's back. In the meantime, the end credits of the movie were already rolling on your Holo TV, and none of you were paying attention. You decided to turn off the flickering screen to focus on the conversation with your friends. A conversation that unfolded in blissful unawareness of the fact that your Master had just returned to your place - or rather, to the very short corridor that separated your two rooms. Anakin closed the door behind him, and with nowhere else to hurry, he leisurely hung his coat on the rack. With deliberate steps, he made his way to his room, hearing through the wall that your Girls' Night was still in full swing. "I can't believe that sometimes you don't want to break free and have some fun... All this 'Code' of yours... Damn, you used to be a different girl..."

"And how do you know I don't want to? I mean, sometimes, it feels like we could wither away here... But, you know, on the other hand, we've all changed in a way."

"Sure, sure... When we talk about guys, you react like a bull to a red flag... Come on, admit it - but honestly - when was the last time you touched a guy? Any guy?"

The girls' conversations were loud enough and clearly audible through the thin walls of your room that Anakin could stand at any point in the corridor and hear them perfectly. He wasn't particularly concerned with your discussions - he happened to be tinkering with his lightsaber when you carelessly continued your conversation.

"Two years? So, exactly since they dragged you into this Order."

"No shit."

"Don't you miss it? Seriously?"

"Do you really want to hear it, huh?"

"Perhaps...?" "Honestly? Yes - I'm pissed that you're allowed this, and I'm not. And yes - I dream of getting fucked hard. Just like that, plain and simple."

Well, Anakin stood frozen in the frame of his room door when your words resonated in his ears, so he decided not to close the door behind him just yet.

"That sounds better. If you wanted it, you would've gotten it a long time ago, right?"

"I don't know…"

"So why don't you want to break free from here?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"We know a few cool places in the city that would let you unwind, and a few cool guys who… You know."

"Girls, but you know it's not that simple…"

"What's not simple? Sex? You said yourself you're needy, aren't you?"

"Hell yeah."

"So, what are we waiting for? Tomorrow then? Same time?"

"Hey, slow down… And maybe you know if Billy… You know… Is still around?"

"You want to mess around with your ex? What if feelings rekindle? After all, you're not allowed to have a boyfriend."

"Well, but he was…"

"Many times you said how well he fucked you senseless, but we're not considering that option. By the way, maybe you know someone in the Order who…"

"What? No…"

"And I think you're just setting yourself up like that… I don't believe everyone here is so saintly."

"Just believe me."

"[…]"

"Why are you making that face? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing, nothing… Just thinking about who you share these quarters with…"

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"He's my Master, for heaven's sake…"

"And we saw him."

"So?"

"And the way you look at him."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'll kick you out of here in a moment."

"Do you like him?"

"He's my Master."

"But I'm asking if you like him."

"I like him, so what?"

"Nothing, I'm just testing the ground."

"Oh, shut up."

"Okay - short and to the point - either we meet tomorrow at the same time and head to the city, or you dry up in the Order."

"I don't know."

"Alright, then we're going on our own, right, girls?"

"Fine, damn it. If I make sure I have nothing to do, maybe we'll meet…"

"Great, girl…"

Anakin still stood frozen in his doorway, but as soon as he heard sounds indicating that the girls were getting ready to leave, he gently closed the door. Still slightly stunned by the amount and type of information he gained, he sat down at his desk.

"So, it seems like until tomorrow?" replied the Twi'lek, standing with the rest of the girls in front of you, on the straight path to the exit.

"Let it be." you responded with a slightly tired voice, waving to the girls who left the room with mischievous smiles on their faces.

As you bid farewell to your friends, you noticed Anakin's coat already hanging on the rack, realizing that you completely missed encoding the moment he returned. Honestly, you were too exhausted to think about it. Soon after, as if on cue, the door to his room opened, and you saw Skywalker, now dressed in his standard night attire. "Master." you nodded slightly in greeting because you hadn't seen each other today.

"H-hey… Is it over already?" Anakin replied, his gaze wandering somewhere on the floor.

"Yes, sorry it took so long." you answered, sensing that Skywalker was somehow brushing you off.

"Once doesn't always make a pattern. And you… Shouldn't you be sleeping already?" he added after a moment, scratching his head.

"I'm actually heading that way now." you replied, smiling nervously, and headed back to your room.

"Goodnight then." Anakin replied, walking in the opposite direction toward the small balcony at the end of the corridor, as he usually did at this time to smoke the last cigarette before sleep.

"Goodnight, Master." you said before closing your door. Then, throwing on a light nightgown, you collapsed onto your pillow-filled sofa. .................................................................................................................

Another day drained you of energy, yet you knew that there was still an unfulfilled promise from yesterday ahead of you – to 'chill out' with your friends. It was hard to think about it during the day, as you didn't even have time, having been on a mission with Anakin since morning… And precisely, you were on a mission with Anakin. While you weren't bothered by whether you were doing your tasks well or poorly today, something else bothered you – the strange behavior of your Master. He seemed absent the entire day. Sure, you cooperated with each other, but for some reason, you constantly felt like maybe you messed up, maybe at some point, you unintentionally let him down �� and even though it was absurd because you were always considered a perfectionist in what you did – he gave off that impression to such an extent that even Obi-Wan, in a free moment, asked if you had some tension between you. Of course, you didn't. Anyway, you landed in Coruscant practically moments before your planned meeting with the girls – in the end, you agreed to meet in the city, so you didn't have to stress about whether they might knock on your door any minute. But ultimately, you forgot about one thing – mentioning to Anakin that you also planned to disappear for the evening today. However, since his arrival, he seemed so exhausted from the entire day that you assumed he would immediately fall asleep, allowing you to slip out of the Temple without any possible reproaches. It's just a pity that he remembered your plan all too well himself. "Why the hurry? Are you planning to race me or something?" Anakin asked, watching as you briskly walked down the corridor toward your quarters.

"Uhm, no." you replied sarcastically, already at the door. "I thought so." Anakin muttered, opening the entrance to your quarters. Knowing how little time you had left, you instantly stepped into your room, closing the door behind you to avoid arousing any suspicions, while Anakin left his completely open. He lingered in the corridor for a while, as if sniffing around, glanced out the window for a moment, but soon finally entered his room - that's when you allowed yourself to choose an outfit for the evening. However, it stressed you immensely that Skywalker hadn't gone to sleep yet - always after a mission, he used to close the door behind him and shortly afterward fell asleep, tired from the mission. But this time, something was holding him, and whether you wanted it or not, you could feel it. You freshened up your makeup from the entire day, dressed up, and it seemed like everything was ready - only to sense the right moment and leave… But how? You slightly opened the door to your room to better hear if Anakin was still aimlessly wandering around, and if there was silence outside indeed. Leaning out, you could catch a glimpse of his silhouette, turning slightly in the desk chair. Damn.

You could chat by the door for a little longer, but on the other hand, would prolonging it and leaving even later seem even more suspicious? Exactly. So, you took a deep breath, adjusted your dress to give the illusion that it reached a bit further than just halfway down your thighs. With one hand, you grabbed your coat to cover yourself a bit before leaving your room. You quickly checked yourself in the mirror and, satisfied that your appearance wouldn't raise any suspicions, decided to quietly, soundlessly step out of the quarters.

Slowly and quietly, you closed the door to your room, confident that everything was going according to plan, except for that one final damn slam of those steel doors. You cursed under your breath when you felt Anakin's gaze coming from his room.

"Oh? Where are you going?" he asked in a calm tone, and you turned towards him, nervously clutching your coat.

"Just… getting some fresh air… for a while... A walk." you uttered these absurd words, turning towards Anakin, only to see that he had turned in his chair completely towards you, with a highly doubtful but slightly amused look. It didn't seem like he was doing anything – his desk, usually cluttered with documents and writing tools, was now completely empty. It appeared he was just sitting there idly, as if waiting for some signal.

"My Padawan is going for a walk… Tsk, tsk, tsk…" he murmured as if to himself, and your face turned red with embarrassment, realizing how clumsily you had just lied.

"We've known each other for a while now, you don't have to lie to me like that." Anakin raised an eyebrow and smirked, realizing that you, yourself, know you're not very good at pulling the wool over his eyes. "I know." you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms, wondering how to get out of this.

"So, what's the truth?" Anakin asked again, also crossing his arms in a slightly assessing manner. "Ehh, yesterday I told the girls that I would go out with them." you finally gave in but still hesitated to reveal all the details.

"You told the girls, but you didn't tell me. So what?" In fact, you didn't know how to answer that – you realized you made a mistake and wouldn't easily undo it.

"How did you know I wouldn't need you for something?" he added after a while, not hearing a response from you.

"But in the end, I have the evening off, so I thought…" "No, you don't have the evening off." Anakin interrupted you, and then the smile on his face faded. The tension in you increased when you noticed his freezing expression – it seemed like he might actually be a bit upset.

"Come." Anakin commanded, rising from his office chair and leaning against the desk. Initially, you thought he was going to ask you to sit in that spot, so you nervously grabbed the seat handle.

"No, not here. In front of me." you were slightly embarrassed, but you did as he instructed – stood in front of him.

"Show me what you've got there." he said after scrutinizing you from top to bottom.

"What do you mean?" you squinted, having no idea what he was referring to.

"Don't try to play games with me. I can see how tightly you're holding onto that coat of yours." and again, he was right – probably if you were more relaxed, you wouldn't need to explain yourself so much now. You loosened your grip, but you weren't entirely sure what to do with what you had.

"Just take it off." he added after a while, seeing your hesitation to answer his questions. You sighed, realizing that your plans had gone down the drain, so you did as he said – it seemed like you had nothing more to lose at this point. At worst, you would leave this room with a reprimand, change, and go to bed. And that's the optimistic version. When the coat landed rolled up on the floor, it was time for Anakin to sigh. You stood before him in a black, brocade dress, which, despite all your efforts, managed to scrunch back up to mid-thigh height.

"Girls' night out…" Anakin muttered under his breath, once again assessing you from head to toe. "You're very careless, aren't you? Today, yesterday…"

"Wait, what do you mean yesterday? What are you talking about?" you interrupted Anakin, and he looked at you as if you were a bit foolish. "Oh, please… Do you think I'm unaware of your plan? What would you have done if you received a summons while being fucked by some random guy?" Anakin replied, and you paled, quickly trying to recall what else you discussed with the girls yesterday. Your voice stuck in your throat, and truth be told, you had never felt so embarrassed in front of your Master.

"How you��� When did you…" "I returned early enough to hear about many interesting facts. Among other things, about how my Padawan wants to be fucked hard, and also… Oh, didn't you mention having a boyfriend - Billy… Supposedly, very skilled." Anakin said with a mocking tone, and you felt like sinking into the ground.

"But, but… I…" "Oh, don't worry, I won't throw you out for that. It was just about one simple thing - informing me." Anakin finally moved slowly from his place, and temporarily unable to look him in the eyes due to shame, you turned away. At first glance, it might have seemed that Anakin had tidied up around him - it was quite unnatural because usually, his workspace was messy - but when you approached and looked around better, you noticed that all the items from his desk were lying next to it, thrown on the floor. "Why is everything sca...?" you abruptly interrupted your statement when you heard the door slam behind you. "Still want to go out? I know, they're probably waiting for you…" "N-no… I don't want to." you answered, for some reason not wanting to turn towards Anakin.

"Oh…" you heard behind you, along with steps approaching in your direction. "Well, you know, not everything can be found just in the city." you stayed silent as you listened to his words, feeling that he was getting closer. "Your friends were right - sometimes it's better to look closer to home… After all, as they say, it's darkest under the lamppost. Isn't it?" You wanted to interrupt him, but in the end, everything you could say now would be pointless.

"And the desk… I prepared it for you." You froze when you first felt the handle on your hips, and then how you pressed against the edge of the desk. "Master…" you murmured, completely paralyzed by his touch. "What? Changed your mind?" he whispered into your ear, not releasing his grip on your hips. "No… I-I haven't changed my mind." you continued, as one of your hands landed on top of his.

"Make sure I'm not mistaken." he continued to whisper, and you stood still for a moment before deciding what to do next. You grabbed the lower edges of your dress and, with trembling hands, pulled it up, exposing your black, scanty lingerie that you chose for the evening. "My sweet, innocent Padawan…" he whispered with an artificially tender voice as his hands traveled downward, this time embracing your exposed thighs. "To think that it took so little, and someone random could have gotten this..." he continued as his left hand balanced on the edge of your panties. "Am I supposed to understand that you bought them for this 'special occasion'?" he muttered, his gaze sinking onto your lace lingerie. "Uhm, well, actually, I got them from…" you winced and clenched your teeth as you felt a strong pull and the tearing of the fabric, which partially clung to your most sensitive areas. "That's what I thought." Skywalker replied, tossing aside your torn panties. "Lean on the desk and arch your back… Nice and wide for me." Your heart pounded as a hammer hearing his hunger-laden instructions, but you didn't hesitate for a moment to comply with them. "Let's see…" you heard behind you before feeling the touch of hands on your folds, sending shivers down your spine. "So fuckin' wet…" he muttered, and you could practically feel his devilish grin. You turned your head enough to see him—your cheeks reddening even more at the sight of him licking his two fingers and his other hand reaching for the zipper. "Want to watch?" Anakin asked, noticing your intrigued, hungry eyes. "Then watch." He caught you off guard, pressing you even harder against the desk, and without any warning, he entered you.

You let out a short, loud moan as you felt him slide into you practically the entire length without any warm-up. You didn't get to see him in full glory, but you felt that his size was above average, perhaps even a bit beyond your capabilities, but you were resilient. Anakin grabbed your thigh with his mechanical, gloved hand to give himself more room to position you as he pleased, bringing his face closer to yours. The deeper he delved into his movements within you, the more you felt him breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Your eyes were closed, and you felt him all over your body – he was charged like never before, and the more you realized it, the more beastly his movements became.

"Is this h-how you wanted to be filled?" he whispered into your ear, interrupting with each thrust. You couldn't answer – your voice was stuck in your throat, and all you could emit were your desperate moans. "Fuck… My little, slutty Padawan." he growled, increasing his pace, and with each deep thrust, your eyes rolled into back of your head. You thought that was a lot, but you were quickly surprised when one of his hands detached from your body and, without warning, grabbed a handful of your hair tightly. You moaned loudly as your neck tilted backward, and Anakin's pupils dilated, keenly observing your every reaction. The dose of pain excited both of you – the harder his hips pounded into you, the tighter his strong hand gripped at the base of your hair.

You felt yourself approaching the edge, your subdued moans transforming into screams, and sensing your impending climax, Anakin yanked you by the hair enough to bring your face close to his, starting to leave wet, messy kisses on your lips and cheeks. He tasted your tears of arousal, biting you without rhythm, and you drifted further, teetering on the edge of a begged climax. You screamed his name as he fucked you through your orgasm, and as it turned out, you weren't even halfway when his breath also became uneven and heavy. He growled and panted heavily into your ear as he came inside you, and your trembling bodies simultaneously tried to find balance, holding onto each other tightly. He didn't pull out for some time, first allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, still not letting go of your heated body. "Fuck…" he muttered under his breath as he finally pulled out of you slowly, and you immediately felt hopelessly empty. Your knees buckled beneath you as you lost the support you had on Anakin so far, but he was there to catch you and stabilize you. "Slowly…" he whispered, smiling at you with the corners of his mouth – his face was tired and sweaty, yet incredibly content. When he lifted you into the air, you were sure he would handle you gently, but in the end, you miscalculated because he threw you onto his bed with quite some force. You swallowed saliva and looked up at him when you were already sprawled on his soft sheets. Anakin had a cocky smirk on his face, and his eyes scanned every inch of your exhausted body. "Now you know where to come when you want to get fucked, huh?"

[andcars]

# 𝗚𝗥𝟲𝟯 ─── STUPID IN LOVE WITH YOU BON APPETIT FICS . . . MASTERLIST . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

GEORGE RUSSELL IS HOPELESSLY in love with you. a few headcanons on how he acts when he's with you. this is part as an extra of the bon appetit series but can be read without reading it.

TAGS . . . # female reader, pining george, reader may or may not be oblivious TYPE OF FIC . . . # headcanons, imagine, bon appetit; extra LENGTH . . . # ten headcanons/imagines, 779 words

pining!george where he tries to act casual when he invites you out, saying that he's bored and you're free. he's attempting to be real subtle about the way he texts, 'Yeah no, I don't have anything to do :/ Wanna hang?' but really he's pacing back and forth seeing if you've responded

pining!george saying that he's not needy or clingy. but it's in the small things like brushing up against your shoulder. guiding you by the shoulder when walking somewhere. random pictures or texts in the middle of the day; sometimes it's his wheels and the other times the helmet's marks. he can't stand not talking to you.

pining!george always tries to learn everything you like. 'What's your favourite band? Oh, the Cannons? Oh I'm pretty sure I've listened to their songs a few times before' and lies for a little bit about not remembering the song and is glad when you autofill the information for him. the next day he tells you he listened to them again and you talk about their music. it's these things he always want to impress you.

pining!george invites you out for the race weekends. weekends. multiple. he invites you to practically each one that everyone calls you the newest wag on the paddock. he never denies the rumour, just saying that it's not the media's problems to meddle in your relationship. but he lives for that attention, for people thinking you two look great together. he never brings it up in fear that you would think it's weird.

pining!george isn't the best guy at DIYs. however, friendship bracelets have been all over his feed lately and you've liked them all. he's never seen you with one on despite your interest. he buys an entire kit and with it multiple trinkets of different designs. when he gifts you your first friendship bracelet, it spells out his nickname for you designed with trinkets that resemble racing. he's obsessed with making them when your reaction to that one was absolutely golden.

pining!george is a fashion icon, everyone knows that. but when he's with you he's learned to adopt to your style instead. grunge? he's sporting a beanie and a spiked belt for the first time in his life. dark academia? bring back the long dark brown coats and sweaters. rockstars? you don't believe your eyes when you see george russel wearing a low tank top and patterened pants. he expanded his closet just to match your taste

pining!george is very much interested in your job. it doesn't matter whether or not you really like it, he makes it so that you enjoy it and is in awe of the things you do. oh, you travel around for catering services? he asks you to come over to cater for mercedes instead, saying that your cooking is probbaly the best thing that could come into the paddock.

pining!george of course loves your cooking. it doesn't really matter how good your cooking really is, it's like you make everything taste good. he feels like eating in your presence just makes everything taste like it's a godsent meal. no restaurant compares to you, though. he keeps saying it after he tasted your food, 'They added too much salt into this one. I ordered it because you cooked this for me before but it's a shame they can't really cook it like you do.'

pining!george 's favourite date location is probably yours or his house. he invited you over to his hotel room on a media day because the hotel was swarmed outside and he wasn't really thinking about going to papparazi. so you and he hang out there and honestly, it was fun. the both of you cook together, him miserably failing and you're effortlessly amazing. he watches local tv with you, nevermind if you don't know the language. it's entertaining to see a woman yell and slap a man across the face while everyone else is shocked. drama doesn't need a language barrier, after all. he even invites you to stay in his bed while he goes to the couch. you want to retaliate but he's already making himself comfy on the couch. you feel bad but oh well, you give him a blanket for his effort.

pining!george doesn't know that you are very amused by his behaviour. whether or not you are actually aware of his flirting, it makes you laugh everytime. you watch him change clothes, buy albums, make friendship bracelets, complain about restaurant food all with a smile on your lips. he doesn't really see himself in your eyes, and he looks so good loving you.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . did this during classes and i only got to make a few TT. but i plan to do a smau or a fic on the weekend, so look forward to it! and lmk any feedback on the graphic if you have any. i'm always never satisfied but god i just want a template to be able to use when i'm quickly posting ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

──── 📨 @delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[runninriot]

Dirty Wishes On My Mind

written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiesmuttyseptember

inspired by the song FU In My Head by Cloudy June | SSS prompt: clothes on | rated: E | wc: 4.172 | tags: sexual content, indecent behaviour in public (but they don't get caught), dirty talk, dry humping, coming in pants, confessions, realisations, Eddie has a Crush on Steve, Steve has a Revelation, friends to lovers | complete fic on ao3

    “I’m telling you, Stevie! That guy had no shame whatsoever. Didn’t even hesitate to pull blank in front of me to show off that ridiculous tattoo right above his dick. It was horrendous! I even offered to cover it up for free but he declined, said the ladies dig it.”

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. The things you have to put up with sometimes in his field of work never ceases to amaze him.

   “But hey, can’t say I didn’t like the overall view. A feast for my imagination. I’ll definitely use it the next time I’m ‘feeling lonely’.”

He uses his fingers to sign quotation marks and wiggles his eyebrows, delighted at the blush creeping up Steve’s cheeks when he realises what Eddie means by that.

Steve’s always been a little shy when it comes to talking about these things but they’ve been friends long enough for him to have gotten used to Eddie’s big, unfiltered mouth.

Eddie loves to rile him up, just a little, never so much that it makes him truly uneasy but enough to get a little kick out of it himself.

Steve’s cute when he blushes.

He’s damn fucking pretty, always, is the thing.

So what if Eddie stares a little too obvious? It’s not his fault Steve is so-

Nevermind.

He averts his gaze, takes a sip from his drink to cool off, giving Steve the chance to change the subject to something else.

  "Sometimes I fuck you in my head."

Eddie splutters his mouthful of beer half over himself, half over the table, can't believe he heard Steve right.

No. That must be a mistake because he can't possibly have said that.

Right?

   "I don't know why, it's just- sometimes when I touch myself, I think of you, you know?"

Eddie does, in fact, not know. Because what?

   "Steve, dude, look at me. Did you take something? Without me?"

He must've. There's no way he'd talk that much bullshit if he was sober. They've only been here for ten minutes, fifteen max, both still on their first beer and there is no way in hell Steve is already that drunk.

So this must be something else.

Because it is absolutely impossible that his straight best friend would ever fantasize about anything other than boobies and soft lips and long lashes and, hell, maybe even a tight juicy ass – a woman’s ass – to get him going. Steve Harrington does not think about guys when he touches himself. And most certainly not about Eddie.

He’s messing with him, that must be it. A little revenge for Eddie being insufferable.

   “Hah, yeah you got me there, Harrington. For a second, I really thought you’d lost your mind,” Eddie laughs half-heartedly in a weak attempt to cover up the slight tremble in his voice.

    For a second you got me thinking my pining ass died and went to heaven, is the thought he keeps to himself.

Another second goes by and Eddie is still waiting for Steve to laugh, to maybe swat his arm and tell him ‘Ha! Got’cha! You should see your stupid face.’ but that doesn’t happen. Instead, the air thickens and the tension between them makes Eddie nervous.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Steve opens his mouth.

But somehow, that only makes it worse.

   “Is- is that bad?”

Steve turns away, eyes now locked on his own hand where it’s wrapped tightly around his bottle. Something in his friend’s demeanour shifts; it’s like he’s slowly sinking into himself, like he’s trying to hide.

   “Stevie, hey.” Eddie brings his thumb and finger to Steve’s chin, using gentle force to make him look back up again.

He seems so small all of a sudden, sad somehow, but he huffs out an awkward laugh and rolls his eyes.

   “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Heat spreads in every part of Eddie’s face, up to his ears and down to his chest and his heart skips a beat because-

Steve didn’t take it back. He didn’t confirm Eddie’s assumption of it being a joke, no. He apologised because he thinks he did something wrong.

   “It’s not bad, Steve. I’m just- a little confused.”

Eddie’s hand moves on its own account, wanders higher up, fingertips lightly dancing across his jaw line and over his cheek until they reach Steve’s hair line just above his ear  where he can’t help but dive deeper into his soft strands.

He doesn’t miss the moment Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a too long second, and how his lips slightly part when he lets out a sigh.

   “Why would you think of me when you’re- I thought you’re-“

    Straight, Eddie struggles to say, fears it would come out wrong, maybe sound like an insult which it is not.

Of course, not. Everyone’s free to love and like whatever and whoever they want. It’s just- it bothers Eddie more than he likes to admit because Steve being straight means that he’ll never have a chance.

That his stupid heart will forever be suffering because his best friend will never be more than that. Not his lover, not his partner, only his friend. And that’s okay, that’s fine, perfect even. It’s more than Eddie could hope for.

But that’s exactly what makes it so hard to wrap his head around Steve’s unexpected confession. That’s why it takes Eddie’s breath away when Steve leans into his touch, pupils blown wide in the cosy light of the bar.

   “I-“ Steve stops himself, digs his teeth into his bottom lip as if to prevent any more words from slipping out.

Eddie feels like he’s in trance, doesn’t even know what he’s doing until it’s too late, until his hand has already wandered back down, thumb touching soft flesh when he pulls it free from Steve’s bite, lingering there, tracing the seam – he can’t stop, can’t not push between parted lips where Steve welcomes him with just a hint of tongue, warm and wet.

And Eddie has to swallow a startled moan.

---

continue reading here

[ayyy-pee]

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟲 - 𝗠𝗶𝘅𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi - Masterlist

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Black Female Reader

Summary: A surprise around every corner.

Genre: Pregnancy AU

Story Warning:Smut, Vaginal Sex, Angst, Fluff Sometimes, Profanity, Friends with Benefits, Mental Health Discussions, Therapy, Mental Health Struggles (Suguru), Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Overprotective, Possessive, Accidental Pregnancy, Unprotected Sex, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior, Reader is black female reader who uses she/her pronouns but anyone can read!

Click here to read on Ao3!

Suguru Art by: Ilameys

A/N: I can't believe I randomly pumped out a chapter of this after like a year+ hiatus. Idk when the next time I'll update this one is so enjoy! LOL

Shoko’s slender fingers swipe along your stomach, a warm towel cleaning the ultrasound jelly from your skin before she gently pulls your gown back down. 

“So…” Shoko breathes as she watches Suguru gently help you to sit up. “Any questions?”

You glance up at Suguru who peers down at you. Your hand still holds his tightly. In his other hand, he holds one of the photos Shoko took of your baby. It matches the one in your free hand. He’s been so quiet, didn’t utter a word while he watched Shoko carefully slid the ultrasound scanner along your skin to take photographs and the measurements of the baby, but you could feel his pulse race with every movement of the tiny being on the screen.

“How far along am I?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, trembling with every syllable.

“Baby is measuring around 18 weeks, give or take a few days. But everything looks good so far, and you’re looking good as well. How’s your morning sickness?”

Suguru shifts next to you, brows furrowed. Since breaking the news to him, he’s been able to put 2 and 2 together and figured out that your months long illness was simply your baby rejecting every attempt to eat or drink anything.

You nod. “It was brutal, but I’m feeling good most of the time now.”

From your peripheral, you see the way Suguru purses his lips together and you half expect him to make a snarky remark. But just like his presence here today, he surprises you when he takes your hand in his and whispers, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

And it has to be the hormones that have tears forming in the corners of your eyes. It’s not his fault he wasn’t there for you. In fact, he had tried to be there for you many times even if he had no idea what the real cause of your sickness was. You haven’t forgotten the endless bowls of soup he’d brought you when he first found out you were sick and refused to see him, or the texts and calls that you rejected when he tried checking on you. You can appreciate that, appreciate him. The fact that Suguru has always been kind to you, always been a friend to you. Even when you weren’t deserving, when you weren’t a good friend to him. You give him a small smile, taking his hand in yours and squeezing gently. You don’t need to say anything for your apology to come through loud and clear, because when Suguru squeezes your hand back, you know he’s moved past it.

“Okay. Let me know if it starts back up again. I can prescribe you something to help. Take your prenatals,” Shoko interrupts, not caring in the least about your little tender moment with your child’s father. She stands tall, slipping her hands into her white coat pockets. “It’s crucial for the baby’s health, and yours. Pregnancy has a funny way of fucking with your cursed energy and those vitamins are specially made for pregnant Sorcerers.”

“I will,” You agree and Shoko smiles at you, then at Suguru.

“Alright, I’ll let you get dressed, but you’re all set. Let me know if you have any questions or call me if anything comes up.”

With that she leaves, patting Suguru on his shoulder on her way out. You shoot him a questioning look. “What was that about?”

Suguru slips a hand behind your back, slowly helping you to get comfortable. He shrugs. “Who knows? Do you…” He motions to the door with his thumb. “Do you want me to leave so you can get dressed?”

A small laugh bubbles from your chest. “What would that matter? It’s not like you haven’t seen everything already.” You extend your arm, motioning to the chair where your clothes lie. “Will you hand those to me please?”

Suguru does so without question. He stands there, staring at a point on the wall while you dress yourself, still wanting to be respectful. Now that the appointment is over and Shoko (and the ultrasound machine) are no longer there to act as a buffer, it’s a bit awkward. You slip your shirt on, carefully sliding off of the bed with Suguru’s help. You can’t help but giggle at the way he gently makes sure you’re stable before he releases his hold on you.

”I’m not huge just yet. I’m still able to get around well.”

Suguru just shrugs, a light rose color dusting his cheeks. “Kinda can’t wait to see your belly grow,” he mutters quietly. His words have your heart going into overdrive, and you stare up at him wide eyed. “Can’t ever be careful, by the way. I don’t mind helping you out.”

You bite your lip to suppress the smile fighting to take over and nod. He’s right. You should let him help you. He wants to.

“You hungry?” He asks, carefully slipping the ultrasound picture in his jacket pocket and patting it affectionately. “We can grab some lunch and maybe talk…about everything.”

He holds his hand out to you and you take it immediately. “I’d like that.”

-

“Be back by curfew,” Satoru grunts from behind Ijichi’s desk. He’s got his enormous feet propped up on the day pass paperwork he’s just signed off granting Suguru permission to leave the campus with you. The assistant stands to the side, jittery and sweating as his eyes dart between the former friends. 

This is the norm for Suguru. If ever he needs to leave campus, Satoru is required to sign off on it.

The higher ups probably feel it’s better to have The Strongest around to make sure nothing is amiss when releasing a recovering mass murderer into the public even for a few hours. They must be pretty confident that this time around, he won’t hesitate to do what needs to be done.

“I know,” you assure Satoru because Suguru isn't going to. He knows that Satoru isn’t going to acknowledge him. Especially when Satoru makes it painfully clear that he isn't, his entire body turned away from him to face you. If Satoru’s attitude toward Suguru bothers him at all, he doesn’t let it show. He’s leaning against the wall of Ijichi’s office, gaze set on you as you handle what needs to be done. He’s used to this procedure already, so he’s just ready to get out of here.

You sign your name on the dotted line of the last sheet of the stack, agreeing to take on sole responsibility for the man beside you. When you slide the papers over to Satoru, the man sits up, face serious. His lips are set in a hard line and you think he’s looking at you. You really can’t tell behind that damned blindfold of his, but yeah…you’re fairly certain he’s staring at you. You don’t know Satoru all that well. Not even as well as Ijichi, and definitely not as well as Suguru, but to be under the gaze of The Six Eyes probably feels like what you’d imagine being under a microscope feels like. You feel exposed, like everything about you is being laid bare before this man. You don’t like it.

“You done?” Suguru steps in between you and Satoru’s line of sight, and you nod. Pressing a hand to the small of your back, he ushers you out of the office and into the open air where you feel like you can breathe again. You glance back at the office, just barely catching sight of Satoru warping out of Ijichi’s seat, and let out a sigh.

“That was so weird,” you murmur, turning back to stare up at Suguru. “It’s like –”

“He knows,” Suguru cuts you off, staring at the doors behind you. Like he can still see Satoru andt he look on his face long after he’s gone. 

“Huh?”

“He knows. About the –” he glances around, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “About the baby.”

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, because for some reason, you hadn’t thought for a second that Satoru Gojo - the holder of The Six Eyes - would immediately pick up on the fluctuations in your cursed energy caused by your pregnancy, but you should have guessed. Now what’ll happen? You still haven’t spoken to Principal Yaga about your situation and you’re damn sure not ready to yet.

Suguru takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. He can see your thoughts running a million miles a minute already, so he tells you what he knows will calm you. What he knows without a doubt is the truth. “He won’t say anything.”

“How do you know what?”

Suguru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly as he makes his way across the campus and towards the exit, your hands still clasped together. “Satoru may hate me, may wish I were dead from time to time, and that’s fine. He will never hate me as much as he hates authority, the higher ups and especially paperwork.” 

You find yourself smiling, believing Suguru’s words. 

“If Satoru reported your condition, he’d be required to speak to the higher ups. And then he’d be required to fill out form after form about how he found out and why that makes you ineligible to take on missions. Trust me, he’s going to take this secret to his grave until you or Shoko say something. Then he’ll leave the paperwork to you two.”

Relief floods over you, because you do trust Suguru. You know that he’s right. Who knows Satoru better than his old friend? While Satoru can’t stand the sight of Suguru most days, he’s still fairly the same person from what Shoko and Suguru have told you of their time growing up together. So if Suguru says he won’t say anything, you trust his word.

“But honestly, paperwork is really reason enough for Satoru to keep his mouth shut,” Suguru mutters, and you lean against his shoulder as you burst into laughter.

- 

You sit in a bustling cafe hidden in one of the back streets of Shibuya, waiting at the table for Suguru to bring back your meal. He’d insisted that he didn’t want you standing around if you didn’t need to and instructed you to wait for him. He would hear no arguments about it. This is a fairly new side of Suguru - doting and protective, and each time his hand touches you, your heart rate picks right up. It’s making you confused.

There’s always been a strong physical attraction between the two of you, obviously. But you’ve never entertained the thought of seeing Suguru in a romantic light. You’ve always been able to keep him at a distance simply by reminding yourself that he just isn’t fit to be a romantic partner. He’s damaged, and while he’s working towards being a better man, you’re not sure if he’ll ever truly get there. At least as a romantic partner, because he’s an amazing friend and you have no doubt that he’ll be an incredible father, too. But it’ll be a long while before you both get to hold this baby. Who knows what could happen in the remainder of your pregnancy?

Suguru stands at the counter, waiting for your orders to be finished and it’s the first time since everything has come to light that you’ve gotten to just observe him. Your eyes watch as he exhibits all the nervous behaviors you’ve picked up on in the time you’ve gotten to know him. His lip between his teeth, probably red and swollen from him chewing it so hard. Fingers fiddling with the bun that sits atop his head. Hands slipping into his pockets for all of three seconds before they’re right back in his hair.

You’re sure if you pressed you could probably find out what was on his mind, but then you’re afraid that he’d probe back and you’re not sure if you’re ready to go there with him just yet. You’re not sure if you want him to know that you’re giving thought to what the next step of your relationship should be. You’re not sure if you want him to know that you can’t tell if it’s the pregnancy hormones that have your heart racing as he grabs your order and brings it over to you. Or if it’s the pregnancy hormones that make your eyes water just a bit at the way he carefully arranges your food and drink and asks if there’s anything else you need because he’s happy to grab it for you. Or maybe it’s you, truly feeling this way because it’s the pregnancy showing you your friend in a completely different light.

It’s a strange feeling to look at Suguru this way. No longer your fuck buddy, but now the father of your child and…a potential romantic partner?

”What are you thinking about?” Suguru questions, sipping his coffee.

”Nothing!” You blurt out much too quickly, sipping your drink. Even with his brows furrowed in curiosity, you’re thankful that Suguru doesn’t pry any further.

“Okay…” He unwraps his meal, a black bean burger on wheat. “So, how are you feeling after the appointment?”

For some reason, his concern for you makes your heart swell. Even after you keeping this pregnancy a secret from him, and after everything that followed, his concern is you first.

‘No, his concern is for the baby,’ you try to reason. 

“I feel good. What about you? Wasn’t it so weird to see the baby?” You chuckle, taking a bite of your meal.

Suguru nods. “Yeah, a little. But if anything, it made everything feel a little more real. Like…my child is in there. And before we know it we’ll be holding them.” He shakes his head, eyes roaming your face. “Makes me wonder what they’ll be like…what they’ll look like. Will they have my eyes? Your curls? Will they inherit either of our cursed techniques or one of their own? Or…” he swallows a piece of his burger, but you don’t miss the brief flash of bitterness on his face, disappearing as quickly as it came before he continues, “…what if they have cursed energy at all?”

Your stomach drops, and a wave of nauseousness washes over you. Of course he’s worried about that. Why wouldn’t he be? Cursed energy is everything to him. It’s what separates him, you, all Sorcerers from the rest of the world that he deems too unworthy to be in his presence. Why would he ever want a child that doesn’t have cursed energy?

“...does that make a difference?” You’re scared to ask, but you have to know. Will his child not having cursed energy be the catalyst of whatever this relationship between you two may end up being?

Suguru takes a while to answer. Probably longer than you would have liked. It makes your nerves worse, makes your lip quiver because you’re afraid. You’re so afraid that he’ll look you in the eye and say yes. Yes, it matters to him. Yes, it will make a difference to him whether his child has cursed energy or not. Maybe he won’t be involved if they don’t. And that hurts you more than anything. To think that Suguru may think your child is as worthless as any of the other non-Sorcerers he sees on the streets.

When Suguru finally meets your gaze, he has what looks like something similar to shame behind them.

“Can I be honest with you?” He asks, combing his fingers through his hair. That nervous tick that now you wish you weren’t so familiar with. But you nod anyway. You want to hear him out. “I…” He sighs. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s trying to be careful about the words that come out of his mouth next. “I…can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if they didn’t have cursed energy.”

You feel yourself deflate. Why was that even important? Why would that matter?

“But,” he interrupts your spiraling thoughts. “I wouldn’t love them any less, I don’t think. Honestly, it’s a confusing feeling. I should probably talk to my therapist about it.” He shrugs, like he didn’t just strap you into a rollercoaster and send you on one hell of an emotional ride. 

“ I want to be there for this baby - for you - no matter what they turn out like.”

You want to cry, burst into tears right in the middle of this cafe. It’s the pregnancy hormones, you swear. It’s definitely the hormones that have you wanting to bawl your eyes out in front of this man and tell Suguru that after everything…after all the pain that you caused him…you’re so happy that he was able to forgive you, so relieved that he wants to be involved, so damn glad that he wants to love his baby. But you tuck away the hope that maybe he’d want to love you, too one day. Because…it’s the hormones talking. 

You were so worried, and for nothing. For Suguru to bring up therapy at all regarding this topic. You know he’s taking this seriously. And all because he wants to be there for you and for the baby. You give him a soft smile, and he shyly returns it.

“I do have one thing I wanted to bring up.” He inhales deeply, steeling himself. “Are you alright with the twins knowing? They always did want a sibling.”

Your heart melts. It’s so sweet that he’d want the girls - his first daughters - to know about the baby on the way.

“Yes! Of course. We can talk about when’s a good time to tell them…”

And you do just that. You plan on when to tell Mimiko and Nanako. You talk about baby names. Does he prefer a boy or a girl? And as you would expect, he’s not picky. As long as they’re strong and healthy. He tells you he hopes they have your eyes - kind and gentle. And you tell him you hope they have his smile, the one you know is genuine. He wants them to have curly hair, just like you. And you want them to be as smart as their father.

It’s oddly domestic, sitting around in this cafe, planning for a baby with a man who just a few weeks ago, you weren’t sure you ever wanted to know about this. It’s warm, comfortable, even safe. But here you are…making it work.

-

You ascend the steps of Jujutsu High with Suguru in tow. He’s slowly following behind you, just in case you slip and fall back and he has to catch you.

“I read pregnancy throws your balance off quite a bit,” he’d told you when he insisted you walk ahead of him. Worry was etched heavily between his brows. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no.

You’re kind of glad you listened, because you’re practically gasping for air the higher you go. Were there always so many damn stairs here? Why did they need this many steps? And was it always so hard for you to climb up them? Your body feels like you’re dragging a bag of weights attached to your legs, exhaustion slowing you down by the second.

“Fuck this,” you pant, hands on your hips as you pause to catch your breath.

Behind you, Suguru chuckles. He holds his arm out for you and you grab hold, happily letting him drag you the rest of the way.

When you reach the top, a tall figure is already waiting. His thick arms are folded across his chest, eyes taking in the scene between you and Suguru and you quickly separate.

“Principal Yaga,” you breathe, pretending as if you weren’t two seconds from passing out just a moment ago.

“What can we do for you?” Suguru questions, buying you some time to catch your breath again. He’s such a godsend.

“Nothing you can do, Suguru.” He juts his chin out, motioning at you. “I need you on a mission. Leaving tonight.”

“M–me?”

Yaga sighs, like it’s annoying him to repeat himself. And it probably is. “Yes.”

It’s mandatory. You can tell in his tone.

“...okay.”

You can see Suguru in your peripheral, head snapping towards you because what the absolute hell are you thinking taking a mission on in your condition?! But you haven’t told anyone outside of him and Shoko about the pregnancy. And Satoru apparently found out all on his own, that wasn’t your choice. You’re not ready to break the news to Yaga and have all eyes on you. Questions asked by your colleagues and your students, wondering who the father is. Then you’ll have to explain your situation with Suguru. And that’s opening a whole new can of worms.

It’s all things you’re just not ready to touch on yet.

And honestly, you’d rather figure out what your situation with Suguru even is before you let anyone else in on your condition. Are you together? Are you not together? Will you try dating? Maybe not? The situation is complicated. So you can’t turn down this mission. Not yet, at least. Besides, it’s still early enough in your pregnancy that you aren’t showing yet. You can get away with maybe just this one.

Though you’re not sure how you’re going to use your cursed technique when it knocked you unconscious the last time.

Suguru stands idly by, jaw clenched tight as Yaga gives you the briefest of details. He’s careful with what he says. You’re not sure if it’s because he doesn’t fully trust Suguru again yet. Or if it’s because Suguru is not assigned to this mission, so the less information he hears, the better–

“I’m going with her.”

Now your head snaps towards Suguru who is already staring down at you with determination in his eyes. Then his gaze is on Yaga’s.

“I’m going with her, if you’ll allow me, Principal Yaga.”

He’s asking, but like Yaga, it’s non-negotiable.

“Suguru…” Your voice is small, too scared to speak up and tell him it’s a bad idea. But you can see in the way he clenches his jaw, the way he balls his hands in fists, how his nostrils flare…he’s pissed.

It’s probably at you, your negligence in accepting the mission knowing that it’s dangerous and you’re with child - his child. But he holds it together, telling Principal Yaga that he’ll meet him in about 20 minutes after he packs his things. He wants to get more information about this mission that was just so important you had to be the one to go. 

When you call after him, he doesn’t spare you a glance, his low voice sending a chill up your spine when he tells you once more, “I’m going.”

[thelikesofus]

never known comfort like laying next to you

9-1-1 on ABC | Buddie | 2.6k words | cuddling and snuggling, confessions, sharing a bed, soft boys being soft

A long shift ends with a quiet pizza and movie night within the walls of the Diaz house followed by a quiet confession beneath Eddie’s duvet

Read on AO3

When Buck and Eddie finally drag themselves over the threshold of Eddie's front door Buck feels the last of his strength fall to the floor along with his duffle bag and he absently follows Eddie to the couch.

"I could sleep for a month," Eddie whines as he lazes back against the cushions. 

"So could I," Buck agrees. "But we've gotta pick up Chris."

Eddie groans and Buck watches the movement out of the corner of his squinted eyes as Eddie rolls his head back and forth against the back of the couch. "Not for like an hour."

Buck hums and breathes deeply. His bones ache and his feet tingle from standing all day. None of their calls today had been out of the ordinary but they had been never-ending. They'd barely get back to the station before they'd be loading up again and if Buck has to see another exploded rice cooker ever again it'll be too soon.

"Do you want to shower first?" Buck asks.

"Yeah, thanks," Eddie says. "Just give me a minute. I can't feel my legs yet."

Buck laughs but it comes out as more of a wheeze, even his lungs are tired. He stares at the ceiling as the light fixture blurs in and out of focus. He feels the cushions shift as Eddie slumps to the side and then there’s a weight against Buck’s shoulder and a soft puff of air across his throat. 

“Eddie, we gotta stay awake.” Buck mumbles but his words slur together, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Eds?”

He gets a half attempt at a grumble from Eddie and nothing more before Buck's eyelids fall shut under the weight of his exhaustion and the world fades away. 

He wakes sometime later to the sound of the front door closing and the clack of crutches against the floor. Oh shit, Christopher!  

Buck is about to scramble out of his seat but he’s held in place by the weight of Eddie still sound asleep against Buck’s chest and then Carla comes into view and Buck goes slack again as relief takes him over.

“What time is it?” Buck rushes to ask though it comes out slurred.

“Just after half past three.” Then she must take in the panic on Buck’s face as she smiles and comes over to rub a hand over Buck’s shoulder before she takes a seat in the armchair across from Eddie’s couch. “Oh no, were you boys so tired you forgot you already had me rostered to pick up Chris?”

Buck yawns. “Thank you, Carla. What would we do without you?”

Carla laughs and stands up again. “I’m sure you’d manage but I’m happy to help. I believe Chris has gone straight to his room. They got a new science project today and he was excited to start it as soon as he got home. I’m sure he’ll come out as say ‘hello’ soon enough.”

Buck yawns again and Carla rolls her eyes. “Get some sleep, Buck. Eddie’s got the right idea.” She nods down at where Eddie is drooling on Buck’s uniform t-shirt and Buck feels heat start to climb up his neck as he remembers that Eddie is still sprawled out against him and sound asleep. Carla waves goodbye and then she’s out the door again. 

Buck should probably wake Eddie, tell him to go have that shower, and make him go sleep in his actual bed so that he doesn’t end up with a crick in his neck but Eddie looks so peaceful and something is reassuring about the weight of him against Buck's chest and he just can’t bring himself to disturb him. 

The sound of Christopher’s crutches makes themselves known once more as he comes into the living room from the hallway. The boy pauses for a moment when he notices both Buck and his Dad on the couch. 

“Is Dad asleep?” He asks, his voice drops to a whisper and Buck smiles and beckons him over. 

“Yeah, he is.” Buck reaches up to hug Chris with his free arm as the boy teeters forward to hug Buck over Eddie’s head. “Did you have a good day at school, Buddy?” 

“Yeah! “ In his excitement, Chris forgot to whisper, and then sudden volume causes Eddie to grumble and stir, his nose scrunches up and Buck watches his eyebrows furrow as he presses his face into Buck. Buck rubs an absent hand up the back of Eddie’s head and Eddie sighs contently and settles again. When Buck looks up, Chris is watching them with an inquisitive expression on his face.

“How about pizza for dinner tonight?” Buck asks and Chris nods excitedly. “Okay, can you get my phone for me? It’s in the outside pocket of my work bag.”

Buck points to where he thinks he remembers setting his bag down and Chris makes quick work of finding his phone and bringing it back to him. “Can we get pepperoni?” 

“Of course, Bud. Hey, how about you go finish your homework while we wait for the pizza to arrive.”

“Okay. Are you going to wake up Dad?”

“When the pizza arrives,” Buck says, already navigating to the pizza website awkwardly with his phone in his left hand and placing their usual order. 

True to his word, Buck reluctantly shakes Eddie awake when his phone beeps with a text notifying him that their order is on its way. 

Eddie wakes slower than Buck did, his eyes opening and dropping closed again a few times as Buck squeezes his shoulder. 

“Hey, Eds. Sorry, man, but you gotta wake up now.”

“Wah? What time is it?” Eddie asks, his head still firmly pressed into Buck’s chest. 

“Almost dinner time, Carla brought Chris home for you.”

Eddie pauses momentarily, taking in the information before he sits up and looks around. “Oh. Oh, yeah that’s good. I forgot she was getting him today.”

He yawns rubs his hands up his face as he leans back against the couch and then freezes and drops his hands to look at Buck. Eddie’s sleep-glazed gaze flits between Buck’s face and the damp patch on Buck’s chest and he ducks his head embarrassed. “Sorry, about your shirt.”

Buck shrugs. “You’re good. I ordered pizza, it should be here in a minute. You probably have time for a quick shower if you want.”

Eddie rubs at one eye with a fist and nods, slowly getting to his feet. “Okay, thanks.”

Eddie disappears down the hallway, still yawning as Buck sits up and stretches out his numb shoulder. His side is cold where Eddie was lying just moments ago and he dings through the nearest duffle to him for a sweatshirt. As he tugs it over his head he realizes that it’s probably Eddie’s but at this point, it barely matters. Their wardrobes have merged almost indecipherably over the years. 

Buck summons Christopher to help set the table while Buck pulls two beers out of the fridge and pours a glass of juice for Chris. In the distance, he can hear the shower turn off and Eddie shuffling around his bedroom getting dressed. As Chris lays out cutlery and Buck passes him plates Chris chats excitedly about his new science project and Buck promises to help him with the actual experiment tomorrow. 

Chris is making all sorts of other plans for their Saturday, including a trip to the park, when Eddie comes back into the kitchen. His hair is still damp and hanging over his forehead in a way that forces Buck to look away and turn his attention back to looking for the bottle opener—which always seems to find its way to the very back of Eddie’s drawer—so that he can open the beers.

“Dad, can we go to the skate park tomorrow?” 

“If the weather is nice, then yeah.” Eddie shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

“Cool! Buck is going to teach me how to do a kickflip.” Chris says brightly.

Buck laughs and holds a now-open beer out to Eddie who takes it with a quiet smile. “I said no such thing! I can’t even do a kickflip, Chris.”

“Well, maybe I’ll figure it out, and then I can teach you,” Chris says with full confidence. Secretly, Buck does know how to do a kickflip but the last time he did one he was fourteen and it ended in a trip to the emergency center with a broken nose, a piece of information he is sure Eddie will thank him for not sharing. Besides, Chris literally cannot fall off his skateboard thanks to the frame Eddie and Buck built for him, the frame that recently needed modification to accommodate Christopher’s latest growth spurt. The kid has been growing like a weed since the summer. 

The doorbell rings and Buck shuffles around Eddie, past the counter, and out to the front door to get their pizza. When he returns with the boxes in his arms Chris and Eddie and both sitting at the table waiting for him. Eddie has brought Buck’s beer out from the kitchen for him and it is waiting for him at his seat. 

Together they make room on the table for the boxes and then they dig in. They talk as they eat, Christopher with pizza sauce smeared across his cheek and a dozen questions about what makes a rice cooker explode, Buck patiently explaining the science of pressure mechanisms to him, and Eddie watching them as he contently chews on his slice of three meat barbeque pizza. 

“Can we watch a movie tonight?” Chris asks around a mouthful of pizza. Buck pulls a napkin from the pile in the middle of the table and passes it to Chris. 

“Have you done your homework?” Eddie asks.

“He was doing it while you were snoozing,” Buck says and Chris giggles, bright and gleeful. Eddie just rolls his eyes.

“It’s Friday, Dad. I have all weekend to finish it.  Jason was talking about this old movie at school today and it sounded funny.”

“What was the movie?” Eddie asks.

“Shark Story or something?”

Buck struggles not to choke on his pizza and sends a horrified look in Eddie’s direction. “Shark Tale, you mean?”

Christopher’s face lights up. “Yeah, yeah. That one.”

The movie is a hit and Christopher vows to ask Jason for more movie recommendations the following week at school, right before he falls asleep against Buck's shoulder. 

“I seem to make a pretty good pillow tonight.” He jokes and Eddie’s cheeks flush pink. 

“I did say I was sorry,” Eddie grumbles, getting up from the couch to clear away their beer bottles and the empty popcorn bowl. 

“No, no. It’s fine, Eds. I was just teasing.” Buck leans back against the couch and watches Eddie walk into the kitchen and back again. “You want me to carry him?”

Eddie glances down at Christopher who is slowly sinking lower and lower down Buck's side and filling out the space Eddie left when he stood up. He shakes his head. “No, don't worry about it. I don't want to wake him, he can sleep on the couch tonight. It's not like he has school tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Buck says. He slowly eases himself up off the couch, lowering Christopher’s head down to meet the pillow Eddie pulls from the cupboard and passes to Buck. The pillow that is usually Buck’s when he stays over. The pillow he thought he would be using tonight. “I'll get out of your hair then.”

“What?” Eddie looks up at him, startled.

Buck waves to Christopher now snoring lightly on the couch in front of them, Buck's usual duvet tucked up around his chin. “Well, we're not both gonna fit on there.” He jokes. 

“Oh, right.” Eddie chews on the end of his thumb. “Still, you don't have to go home. I was hoping for pancakes in the morning.”

“Oh, were you now?” Buck raises an eyebrow and gives Eddie a playful shove. “I'll take Chris’ bed then, I guess.”

“You're too long for Chris’ bed.”

“I'm too long for that couch too but that hasn't seemed to matter for the last however many years I've been sleeping on it.”

Eddie stares past him for a moment as if he's lost in thought. 

“It's okay, I'll go home and I'll come back first thing in the morning to make your panca—.”

“Stay with me.”

“Huh?” Eloquent.

“With me,” Eddie repeats as if that will make it make sense. “In my bed. It's not like we haven't shared before. Besides, I hear you make a good pillow.”

Buck feels heat start to rise in his cheeks and he ducks his head, stalking down the hall. “Well, come on then. It's getting late.”

They get ready for bed in relative silence. Buck finds his spare toothbrush in the bathroom and Eddie passes him a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. Buck is pretty sure the pants are some of his own that he'd left here at some point. The T-shirt is definitely Eddie's. It's pale grey and worn thin with a small hole at the hem but it hangs softly over Buck’s shoulders. 

Eddie knocks before coming into the bathroom to brush his teeth next to Buck in the mirror. There's something so normal about it that even though they have done this dozens of times before it still blows Buck away at the comfort such a simple process when done together can bring him. 

They climb into opposite sides of the bed—Eddie by the door and Buck by the window—they don't even have to talk about it.

Buck expects it to be awkward. The first night they had shared a bed during quarantine they had both lain stiff as boards for hours before eventually Eddie had kicked him in the shin and they'd gone to sleep. It got easier each night after that.

Now, they lay loose-limbed next to each other with barely a foot of space between them. If Buck stretched out his fingers he could probably find Eddie's hand right by his. So he does—in a moment of stupid bravery—and Eddie grips his fingers back, threading his between Buck's, locking them together. 

“Thank you for staying,” Eddie whispers.

“Thank you for not letting me leave,” Buck replies. 

“I never like it when you do,” Eddie says and it feels like a confession. 

Buck rolls onto his side, facing Eddie and pulling their intertwined hands up to rest on the mattress between their heads. Eddie turns his head to him. “I'd stay forever if you'd have me.”

Eddie rolls over and places his other hand over their joint fists. “You already have me .”

Something hot and radiant boils up in Buck's chest. He reaches up and hesitates a moment with his hand hovering over Eddie's cheek, but then Eddie turns his face up into it and noses along the edge of Buck's thumb. 

“Roll over.” Eddie pushes at Buck's shoulder till he's flat on his back. “I want my pillow back.” 

Buck can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him as Eddie shuffles closer and practically drapes himself over Buck, resting his head in the juncture between his shoulder and his neck. He sinks into the mattress beneath him, letting the weight of Eddie settle over him like a blanket.

“You do make a good pillow.” 

“Stay.” Buck whispers against Eddie's forehead.

“Forever, if you'll have me,” Eddie replies, laying his hand palm down on Buck's chest, right over his steadily beating heart. 

Buck lays his hand over Eddie's. “You already have me .”

[covetyou]

seeded

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: no explicit smut but references to the following - tentacles, monster/alien fucking, cum inflation, mpreg, masturbation. also, pregnancy anxiety. word count: 979 summary: Dieter Bravo believes in aliens. Do you?

A/N: happy slightly early birthday to the gorgeous @sp00kymulderr for tomorrow - adore you 💛. in honour of you there is also a slight mention of just a touch because that lives rent free in my head.

for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May drabble challenge - I make my own rules so I didn't include meet-cute (I accidentally wrote this, so I can't be blamed for excluding it) quote: "Do you believe in aliens?" trope: meet-cute follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Do you believe in aliens?"

It wasn't the first time he'd asked you this question. It probably wouldn't be the last either, knowing him, and so you answer in the same way you did that very first time so long ago.

"Yes, Dee," you say, looking at him over your laptop screen, the ghost of his rammed summer calendar still burned into your retinas as he comes into focus. Due on a new set in a few weeks, and with his filming schedule just through this morning, you'd spent the last few hours scrambling to put his life together while yours chaotically whirls out of control, ignored, in the background.

Dieter, oblivious as ever to the state of your life, has shuffled into your direct line of sight with coffee cup in hand, robe open and soft belly on display.

"Right..." he starts, before drifting off to look down at his hands as a concerned look takes over his face.

"You have that dream again?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. It's a dream he has every few months, seems like he has for most of his life. You're about as familiar with it as he is by now. Dieter Bravo will dream of some kind of elaborate alien abduction, usually involving him being dragged up by a beam of light into some extraterrestrial spacecraft. Most often it's pretty benign - occasionally he'd be abducted and never seen again, once or twice it's been pretty gruesome, sometimes he even wakes up having thoroughly enjoyed himself. You can't quite work out what has happened this time though, as his face flicks between concerned and softly dazed.

"No," he says quickly.

"You're a shit liar, Dee."

Closing your laptop - you need the break anyway - you look at him, properly, and see his hand has moved from itching his stomach, to gently caressing it.

Oh no. No. Not this again.

"Dieter."

"Do you think I could be-"

"No, Dieter," you start, standing to approach him like you're approaching a skittish deer. "I don't think you're pregnant." - it sounds stupid to even say it out loud - "I believe in aliens, I do not believe you've been abducted, or probed, or inseminated. I think you had a very nice, or very horrible, dream and now you've woken up confused. Drink your coffee."

Dieter dutifully takes a slurp from the mug in his hand, nodding to you like he's holding onto your every word. Because sometimes, he does. Sometimes you rule Dieter Bravo's world, and he gladly lets you. Take that, alien overlords.

Another deep breath and Dieter's shoulders relax, falling from the tense position he'd held them in. He'd quite liked the idea of being impregnated by an otherworldly lifeform when you first met him. You'd been working for him for a few weeks and, perhaps regrettably, still hadn't established the boundaries you have now. After one of his more sedate parties, you sat with him giggling on his patio. Soon you were both agreeing that the deep sea was much more terrifying than deep space, and a three, two, one later you'd simultaneously exclaimed your belief in aliens. Dieter, naturally, took it one step further, and once you'd got onto the topic of tentacles you knew you were done for, even then. You learnt a lot about what Dieter Bravo would do given the chance to fuck an alien that night, and none of it sounded remotely romantic or sanitary. It barely sounded safe. You're not sure a human could even physically contain the amount of fluid he was talking about. Still, amongst the thoughts of all that mess you definitely stopped breathing at some point, and when he finally got up with a slap to his bare thighs you'd all but scurried home just to make yourself come to the thoughts he planted in your head. It was safe to say Dieter Bravo liked aliens.

"But what if I was," his hand comes to his stomach again, resting below his belly button as his eyes go wide. "I don't know what I'd do."

The worry on his face is almost funny. Almost, because you're the one who has to deal with it, and that makes it not very funny at all. For a moment, you have to humor him, tell him what he wants to hear so he calms down and leaves you alone, and that feels sillier than anything. Which is saying something. You've chased this man through the house, high out of his mind two minutes before a video interview, wearing nothing but a sock on his dick.

"You'd be fine, Dee. You have plenty of space for alien babies in this place. We could get a nanny too, and you can more than afford to take a little time off work. It'd be okay."

"You promise? You'd help?"

"Promise. I'll help look after your alien babies, Dee."

"Okay, cool, because I am not ready to be a mom."

He shuffles off again before you can say anything else, his shaggy head disappearing around a corner just before you hear him flop down on the couch in the other room. You don't need to see him to know exactly what he's doing right now. It's the same thing he does whenever he flops onto that couch. He'll put his coffee down and then scratch his balls a little before simply resting his hand there. Sometimes it devolves into something a little more handsy - the man can tease himself for hours - but sometimes he's comforted just holding his own balls for a little while. The issue always is, you never know which way it's going to go, so before he gets too distracted, you shout through to him from your little corner of his house.

"Hey, Dee?"

"Yeah?"

"Want me to get you a pregnancy test?"

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

 -- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis 

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts 

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

[floralcyanide]

𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 ✲ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

Virgin!Charlie Walker x AFAB!Reader (NSFW)

You go to your friend's party not expecting much from it. Except, while there, you run into Charlie, a guy you've known all your life but have never got to know. One of his secrets is revealed, much to his embarrassment. You go to comfort him, and one thing leads to another. (both Charlie and reader are 18+.)

warnings: smut, nsfw, loss of virginity, mentions of virginity, penetration (p in v), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple/breast play, hair pulling, overstimulation, mentions of alcohol, drinking alcohol, reader is kinda experienced but just barely, afab!reader, descriptions of female anatomy, Charlie and reader are 18+

word count: 4890 (I'm,,,, yeah)

author's note: hello I cannot believe I typed most of this out today. I was possessed by the writing demon fr. I also can't believe it's as long as it is but ya know,,, I gotta give y'all the Charlie smut you wanted. so here it is. if you enjoy, please reblog/ like (:

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ���ᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

Playing truth or dare wasn’t on your list of things to do tonight at this party, but it may as well happen. 

You’re sitting criss cross on the floor of the living room, your back pressed against the front of the couch. Your best friend decided throwing one of their iconic parties before Spring Break would be fun, and they begged you to attend. And, of course, you couldn’t say no to them. So here you are in their living room with a Smirnoff Ice in your hand, waiting for someone to spin the bottle on the floor again. It only landed on you twice, and you picked truth both times. The questions were relatively tame, but the drunker everyone in the circle got and the more people who joined, the rowdier it got. You notice a guy you went to primary school with sitting across from you, with his forearm casually resting on his knee as he sips a beer with his free hand. He pretended to be looking elsewhere whenever a sexual question was brought up. Good old Charlie, the quiet and polite kid who was always good at math and oddly enough, film class. You two had been in school together since Kindergarten, and now you’re in university together and have yet to really talk. Sure, you’ve run into him at some places or have seen him around campus, chatting with him here and there, but nothing has ever broken the surface. You’ve yet to have a meaningful conversation with him. Both of you were partners in science class during your junior year of high school, but you weren’t close by any means. You push away your thoughts when you realize the bottle has now landed on you.

You take a large swig of your drink, “Oh boy.”

Luckily, your best friend is the one who spun the bottle. You hope whatever challenge or question they shoot at you will be tolerable. 

“Alright, Y/N. Truth or dare?”

“Hmm,” you think about this one momentarily and decide on a whim, “Dare.”

Your best friend eyes your still fairly full drink, “You just got iced! I dare you to chug the rest of your drink.”

Getting “iced” means if someone sees you holding a Smirnoff Ice, they can “ice” you by saying you have to chug the rest of your drink no matter how full it is. It’s a trend around campus, and it annoys you to no end as you drink Smirnoff Ice sometimes.

You roll your eyes and sigh, “Fine.”

Taking a deep breath, you begin chugging your drink. Thank god it’s your favorite flavor and not something stronger. Everyone is chanting for you to chug, and you do, trying not to laugh at how embarrassing it is to have all these people watching you. Some of the alcohol dribbles down your chin when you finish the rest of the bottle. The circle cheers, and the people next to you pat you on the back while everyone else gives a thumbs up. You feel a little rush to your head as you carefully place your hand on the bottle in the middle of the group, prepared to spin it. Once it lands, it lands on your other friend Kirby. You’re somewhat surprised she’s even playing truth or dare with you all, but you weren’t going to stop her.

“Truth or dare, Kirb?”

“Dare, of course,” Kirby smiles deviously, a little tipsy from whatever is in her solo cup.

“I dare you to kiss someone in the circle. It can be anyone,” you say after pondering for a moment.

It was a mild dare compared to some of the ones people have created in the group. Someone dared one girl to take off her shirt, and someone else dared your best friend to shotgun from the guy next to them. Now your best friend was buzzed on not only alcohol but some weed as well. So you’re somewhat shocked they didn’t choose a wilder dare for you to do.

Kirby looks surprised you’d choose a dare that consisted of anything intimate, but she shrugs it off before leaning toward Jill. You’re also surprised Jill is in the circle, but she claimed she just wanted to watch people embarrass themselves. Until the bottle landed on her for the first time, now, she’s slightly drunk and in the game. She and Kirby kiss for a few seconds, but you doubt it’s the first time they’ve done so. Kirby pulls away as some guys holler at the sight. She flips them off before spinning the bottle. This time, it lands on Charlie. A part of you fears for him because Kirby can be unpredictable.

“Truth or dare, Charlie?” Kirby asks, tapping her chin excitedly.

“Uh,” Charlie furrows his eyebrows, “Truth?”

Kirby grins like she had been hoping he’d choose truth, “When was the last time you got blown?”

“Blown?” Charlie asks, a little confused.

“Yeah. Blown. Like, a blowjob. When was the last time you got one of those, Charlie?” Kirby asks seriously, and everyone is paying close attention to what Charlie is about to say.

“Oh. I don’t know? I’ve never really,” Charlie clears his throat, “I’ve never really done anything like that.”

“Really?” Kirby asks, shocked, and a few people giggle.

“How about you ask a different question?” Charlie says, shifting around nervously.

“Okay. Are you a virgin?”

More people in the circle laugh, and everyone looks directly at Charlie, making his face go red as he curls into himself.

“That’s enough, Kirb,” you say gently, your eyes flickering between her and Charlie, “Maybe ask something not sexual in nature?”

“Right. Sorry,” Kirby cringes, but Charlie is already moving to get up from where he’s sitting.

You go to say something to him as he steps around you to walk to the kitchen, but he moves too fast.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Kirby, I know you like making Charlie squirm, but that was uncalled for.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know he was a virgin,” Kirby frowns, staring into her drink.

“Maybe you should apologize,” you say, “I’ll go talk to him first and make sure he’s okay.”

“That’s a good idea,” your best friend nods.

You stand up and try to collect yourself for a moment as the alcohol makes your head swim. That Smirnoff was your third tonight, and you can tell that chugging it was a bad idea. But your vision clears, and you begin to walk to the kitchen. There are a few people crowded in there, talking and drinking. But no sight of Charlie. You wander to the patio and spot him sitting on the porch swing outside. You quietly open the sliding door and shut it behind you, walking toward the swing. 

“Hey,” you say, almost inaudible as you sit down next to Charlie.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, tucking hair behind his ear as his eyes burn into his thighs.

“Are you okay? Sometimes Kirby doesn’t know when to shut up,” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at your friend’s behavior.

“I’m fine. It’s just not something I wanted everyone to know,” Charlie chuckles lightly.

“I understand. If it helps, I didn’t lose my virginity in high school like everyone, either. But I’m glad I waited until adulthood if that makes sense,” you say, trying to relate to Charlie a little.

You were in your sophomore year of college when you had your first serious partner, which led to you, of course, having sex. You were about to be 21, and felt like you had waited forever by that point. But the peer pressure and movies made sex seem totally different from what it actually was. But you were glad that you waited until you were more mature. Not everyone does, and you think that’s okay, just as long as there was consent. 

“Really? You didn’t lose it in high school?” Charlie finally turns to you, his face twisted into confusion.

“I was about twenty on twenty-one. Not long ago, but yeah,” you shrug, pushing your legs so that the swing moves slightly backward, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be- the sex stuff. Honestly it’s nothing like porn, tv, or the movies. It’s awkward and silly and sometimes uncomfortable.”

Charlie nods slowly, “What is like, then? For someone with female anatomy, anyway.”

“If you're, you know, prepared, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like a feeling of fullness and then when they find the g spot with their fingers or whatever, it’s even better,” you feel your face burning at the thought of it all.

“G spot?”

You dare to look Charlie in the eye, “Yeah it’s a spot inside the vagina that gives you pleasure when it’s caressed or pushed into,” you give him an awkward smile.

“Oh,” Charlie laughs, “Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable or anything. I just don’t know much. I mean I know the basics, but,” he trails off, looking at your lips for a moment before tearing his eyes away.

“Basics, hmm?” you lean in toward Charlie, letting your knee touch his as you push the swing with your feet, moving it backward again, “What would those be?”

“Like where to touch someone kind of? I mean I’ve seen videos but none of that is real,” Charlie says, his face now slightly red.

The alcohol still burns in your veins, making your brain feel happily cloudy and a little braver than usual.

“And where would you touch someone?” you ask, now letting your thigh completely press against Charlie’s, your bodies now closer in proximity.

Charlie lets his shoulder touch yours, “Well, I know some people like being kissed on their ears,” he turns to you again, tucking some hair behind your ear softly.

“Yes,” you nod, slowly reaching your hand up to the ends of Charlie’s hair, “What about here, Charlie? Know anything about hair and what you can do with it?”

Charlie hesitates, “You can pull hair because some people like that.”

“Do you like it Charlie?” you look up and notice how close your faces are to one another, letting your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes.

“I don’t know, really. I feel like I would,” Charlie nods, trying his best not to stutter as he stares at your lips blatantly.

You let go of Charlie’s hair before sliding a cautious hand through his front bangs and letting your fingers root to his scalp. His breath hitches at the feeling of your touch.

“I feel like I definitely would,” Charlie repeats, clearing his throat as he lets his hand rest on your knee, “Is this okay?”

You chuckle, “Yes. Is it okay that I’m touching your hair?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie answers quickly.

“Do you want to see what it feels like to have it pulled a little?” you ask, your eyes landing on his lips once again.

They look so kissable and biteable. You always have thought Charlie was fairly cute, but never really gave it much thought or acted on it, until now. After all, you’re both a little tipsy and this is a college party you’re at. Why not have a little fun?

“Yes,” Charlie says, closing his eyes and letting his lips finally brush against yours.

You capture his lips with yours softly, lifting your free hand to rest upon Charlie’s jaw. His hand on your knee travels up your thigh until it’s on your hip, squeezing lightly as you deepen the kiss. Charlie places his other hand behind your head, pushing you closer to him as you run your tongue along his bottom lip. He lets you in, letting you take total control of the kiss. Charlie knows how to kiss, and he can kiss well, but he’d rather let you do whatever you wanted. If he’s honest, he would let you do anything to him, and he’s always felt this way. And that weird classmate crush he’s had on you is blossoming further with every second that passes as you kiss. 

Swirling your tongue around Charlie’s, you wait for the perfect moment to tug at his hair. The kiss is growing into a sloppy makeout and you can tell Charlie is getting turned on, You bite at his lip, tugging on it as he lets out a small moan. When he does this, you decide to pull on his hair a little, causing his moan to grow louder.

You pull away from the kiss, trying not to laugh, “Are you okay?”

“I’m- I’m fine,” Charlie whispers, his lips are swollen and red and his pupils are slightly larger than before.

“You sure?” you ask, your hand still on his face as your thumb traces along his jawline, “I know somewhere we can go that’s more private if no one is already in there.”

“Like where?” Charlie asks.

“My best friend has a guest room I usually camp out in when I stay over,” you say, standing up from the swing, offering a hand out to Charlie, “Care to join?”

Charlie looks at you, then your hand, before taking it, “Lead the way.” 

You hold his hand until you get to the sliding door, “I’ll go first, so watch which direction I head to when I get up the stairs. Then whenever you’re ready, come on up.”

“Okay,” Charlie nods, fighting a giddy smile.

“Is everything okay?” your best friend approaches you immediately once you and Charlie walk through the door.

“Yep. We’re all good,” you say.

“Most of the party is gone. You can stay here if you’d like,” your best friend says, looking between you and Charlie nonchalantly.

“Cool. I think I’ll head upstairs, then. Charlie and I are still talking, so,” you trail off, “Don’t mind us.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your best friend winks.

“Yeah, that isn’t very much though,” you joke with them before dragging Charlie upstairs and not bothering to sneak him in.

Once both of you are upstairs and in the room, you shut the door and lock it before turning on the bedside lamp. Charlie sits on the bed, his hands clasped together nervously. You walk over to him, shedding your jacket and tossing it to the end of the bed. Standing directly in front of him, his knees touching yours, you card your hand through his hair again. Charlie’s eyes flutter shut and you climb onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“So do you like having your hair pulled now?” you ask, and Charlie looks so nervous that he’s gonna burst.

“Can you remind me of how it feels?” Charlie looks up at you, innocence flashing in his eyes.

You pull Charlie’s hair enough to where his head moves back, exposing his neck to you. He hums in content and you can’t help but start kissing along the side of his throat. You nip a little at his skin, running your tongue over the places you sink your teeth. Enough for him to feel it, but not enough to leave a mark. You squeeze your fingers into an open fist, pulling Charlie’s hair at a different angle. Just as he’s about to let out a noise, you move the top of his shirt down and bite down below his collarbone, sucking at the skin until it’s red. Charlie then lets out an actual moan, which makes your stomach turn. 

“Feel good?” you ask, moving your hand from his hair and to his hip, sliding it up his shirt.

“Yes,” Charlie sighs, “Very.”

“Do you want to keep going? We don’t have to if you don’t want-”

“I do. I want to keep going.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret your first time,” you say.

“I won’t regret it, especially if it’s with you,” Charlie blushes.

A smile grows on your face, “Really? And you aren’t saying that just to get in my pants?”

“No,” Charlie chuckles, “I”m not just saying it to get in your pants. I like you.”

“Well in that case,” you slide your other hand under Charlie’s shirt, “Where else do you know to touch someone, Charlie?”

Charlie shifts underneath you, unsure what to do with his hands, “Um. Here?” he asks, slowly placing his hands on your thighs and gripping them slightly.

“Yes, good. Where else?”

You’re slowly trailing your fingers up and down Charlie’s torso, sending goosebumps all over his skin as he struggles to speak properly.

“Here,” is all he can choke out, running his shaky hands along your hips and waist.

“Uh-huh,” you slip your hands from under Charlie’s shirt and put them on top of his, “Want me to guide you or do you think you’ve got it?”

“You can guide me if you want to,” Charlie says, biting his lip.

You grab Charlie’s hands and move them under your shirt to your covered breasts, “Sprawl out your fingers and squeeze with them.”

Charlie does as told, and he does it perfectly. It’s probably the most simple way you can touch someone, though. But you don’t mind.

“You can squeeze them all you want either under my shirt or without my shirt,” you run your fingers through the hair on the side of Charlie’s head.

You let go of Charlie’s hands, letting him do as he pleased. He squeezes at your breasts, moving his hands in different ways to elicit moans from you. Before Charlie can decide, you go ahead and strip off your shirt and your binder/bra. Your nipples harden at the sudden exposure to cooler air and Charlie stares at them, unsure of what to do next.

“What do you want to do with them, Charlie? You can suck them, bite them, pull them, whatever you want,” you say, leaning in closer to Charlie’s face.

“Can I do both?” Charlie asks.

“At the same time or?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yes. You can do one thing to one while you do something else to the other if that’s what you want to do.”

Charlie slowly takes one of your nipples into his mouth, experimentally licking at it while rubbing circles on your other. The sensual movements of Charlie’s finger and tongue cause you to moan softly. You continue to card your fingers through his hair as he moves his tongue and finger a little faster than before. He then pulls away from your nipple, a string of saliva still connecting it to his mouth. Charlie then moves to the other nipple and flicks his tongue against it without sucking it between his lips. He heistantly pinches the nipple he just had his mouth on, his spit adding the perfect amount of lubrication. Your hips involuntarily buck forward at the feeling of Charlie’s tongue lapping at the sensitive bud. He then fully takes it into his mouth, lightly running his teeth around it. Charlie holds back a smirk at the high pitched noise you let out at the sensation of teeth. He decides to try holding your nipple with his teeth and then licking it at the same time, just to see how you react. Your hand that’s in Charlie’s hair suddenly grips the dirty blonde locks harshly, and Charlie moans around you, adding vibration to the mix. So you pull his hair again. You feel him grow a tad harder underneath you.

“You like that, don’t you Charlie?” you bite your lip as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, suckling at your breast.

“I do,” he sighs contently, moving back to your left breast and pinching it lightly before massaging you again.

“Do you know where else to touch?” you ask, becoming a little needy at this point.

Charlie’s mouth was so good you can’t possibly imagine how it feels elsewhere. And his long fingers? Why didn’t you think of this sooner?

Charlie looks incredibly nervous now as he moves his hands to your upper thighs.

“Just remember that you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” you say gently.

“I want to touch you and make you feel good,” Charlie says, shakily unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans.

“Let me lay down so it’s not as awkward for both of us,” you say, climbing off of Charlie’s lap and onto the bed, “I trust that you know kinda what to do, but take your time. If you need help don’t hesitate to ask.”

Charlie nods, nestling himself between your legs, resting on his stomach and elbows. You push your pants and underwear down your thighs, letting Charlie pull them down the rest of the way. When your clothes are pushed off your feet, Charlie returns to his position and his eyes grow large at the sight of your bare pussy. He’s breathless as he slowly runs a curious finger up your glistening slit, causing you to gasp. He does the movement again, this time applying some more pressure. Charlie is amazed at how wet you are from him playing with your breasts, but he figures you’re probably into that. He knows that when someone is wet, they feel good, so seeing how soaked you are for him makes his confidence skyrocket. You spread your legs further apart, letting Charlie get a full view. He runs his finger over what he thinks may be your clit, but he’s not too sure.

“Move your finger up and you’ll feel it,” you grab Charlie’s hand and guide it upward just a little.

The tip of his finger brushes against the correct spot and you hum in approval, “Right there.”

Charlie circles your clit with his finger slowly, almost tantalizing, “Like this?”

“Just like that,” you say weakly, “God, you’re getting me so wet.”

Charlie leans in and kisses your inner thighs, wanting to bury his face in your arousal, but only with your permission.

You sense his hesitation, “You can lick it if you want. You can do anything you’re comfortable with, Charlie. I promise.”

Charlie gives your clit a tentative lick, and for a moment his licking isn’t pressured enough.

“You can lick harder, you won’t hurt me,” you said brushing some hair from Charlie’s face.

“Okay,” Charlie breathes out, licking from bottom to top in one long stripe, gathering your wetness on his tongue. He figures it’d feel good to you if he had some lubrication on your clit while licking it. And he’s right. As he swirls his tongue around your bundle of nerves, you swivel your hips to the same rhythm. 

“Fuck, Charlie,” you whimper, “Do you want to finger me?”

Charlie nods vigorously, his mouth not leaving you as he continues to lick you up, down, and all around. He was messy with it, but it still felt good to you. You take one of his hands that are gripping your thighs, pressing all his fingers down except the index one, and flipping his palm upward.

“All you have to do is find my entrance and push it in slowly until you’re fully inside, then you can bend it, twist it, or whatever you wanna do with it. When you think I’m ready, you can add a second one.”

Charlie nods wordlessly as he pulls his mouth off you, focusing on gathering the mixture of spit and slick before prodding at you and finding your entrance. He pushes his finger in as slowly as he can, watching you writhe underneath him. Charlie has his finger completely inside of you, and he experimentally curls it upward a little. The tip of his finger touches something spongy.

“Oh god right there,” you gasp, “You found it on the first try holy shit.”

“Found what?” Charlie leans down to play with your clit with his tongue again, curling his finger more forcefully.

“Fuck,” you sigh, throwing your head back momentarily, “Your finger is just the right length to get to my g spot. Keep rubbing it.”

Charlie wonders if licking in circles at the same time he circles his finger would cause a reaction. So he does, and you cry out.

“Keep going,” you say, letting your head relax against the pillows as it feels heavier with each stroke of Charlie’s finger.

He can feel you throb around his finger, and he slides it out before sliding it back in and hitting that spot. You thrust your hips in response, wishing Charlie would add a second finger. He decides now is the perfect time to see if two will fit. And his middle finger easily slides in next to his pointer, both fingertips pressing against your g spot deliciously. You begin to wordlessly pump yourself on Charlie’s fingers. He matches your pace, curling and caressing his fingers with every thrust. Your hands occupy your breasts, rolling your nipples as Charlie continues to suck your clit and finger you simultaneously. You feel like you’re going to explode.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” you whine, “And I’m sure you’d like to feel me cum on your cock instead.”

You didn’t mean for something so filthy to leave your mouth so soon, but god, it causes Charlie to pause his movements and gauge what you just said to him. 

“Please,” Charlie gulps, “Only if you’ll let me.”

“I’m on the pill,” you say, hastily pulling at the bottom hem of Charlie’s shirt and tugging it over his head.

Charlie quickly removes his pants and underwear, discarding them somewhere in the room before clambering back to you, “Tell me what to do.”

“It’s just like your fingers,” you say, sliding your hands along Charlie’s chest, “Push into me slowly until you bottom out.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, focusing on lining himself up perfectly. 

Slowly, he pushes his tip into you, and your hands reach out for his upper arms. You grunt as Charlie continues to gently guide himself inside you, the stretch of his size stinging a little. But then he finally bottoms out, and you wiggle your hips to better adjust to him. Charlie is hovering over you, the most pleasured look on his face as his eyes close. He’s never felt something so warm and perfect engulf him like this. No wonder everyone else has done this already, he thinks to himself. 

“You can move, Charlie.”

Charlie pulls out of you just a small amount before sliding back in, testing the waters on how he’s supposed to thrust into you. Gradually, you let him inch closer and closer to pulling all the way out and then thrusting back in. Finally, he pulls out except for his tip, then sheathes himself completely inside of you.

The moan you let out is nearly pornographic as he hits you at just the right angle. This urges Charlie to do the movement again, so he pulls out, then plunges back into you. He does this over and over, faster each time.

“You’re doing so good, Charlie, fuck,” you grip his biceps as you move your hips in time with his.

“Only good for you,” he pants, his fingers digging into your hips for leverage.

You reach a hand down to toy with your clit, but when Charlie notices, he switches your hand for his. He decides to use his thumb since he could access your clit better that way while fucking you. Charlie rubs tight circles on your bundle of nerves as he continues to hit that sweet spot inside you repeatedly. A tight warmth is building in your stomach again.

Charlie leans his face down to yours, immediately capturing you into a kiss. The kiss is hot and messy- you’re both gasping and swirling your tongues together with mouths open as you both desperately chase your highs.

“I’m gonna,” Charlie groans, burying his face in your neck.

“Cum for me, Charlie. Such a good boy for me,” you whimper, rocking your hips into his at a ferocious pace.

Your words send him unraveling, and the sound that erupts from his throat pushes you over the edge as well. You grasp at his arms, riding out your orgasm as Charlie continues to rub your clit lazily. You push his hand away, but at the same time, it feels so good. Charlie brings his hand back to your clit, knowing the sounds you were still making means you like how it feels. After he carefully pulls out of you, he continues his movements. 

“I’m gonna cum again, please,” you messily swivel your hips, grinding your clit onto Charlie’s thumb as hard as you can with your shaking body.

“Fuck,” you cry out, Charlie still rubbing you hard and fast, “I’m-”

Before you can finish your sentence, you cum hard, your arousal seeping out of you and into Charlie’s hand. Your chest heaves as Charlie licks his hand clean before letting his hands rub up and down your body, your orgasm still fizzling out. 

“How did I do?” Charlie asks nervously.

“So good. I can’t imagine how much better you’ll get over time,” you smile as Charlie grabs his shirt for you to clean up with.

“Wanna stick around and find out?” Charlie half jokes, handing you the shirt.

“Only if you want me to,” you say, cleaning yourself up.

“I want you to,” Charlie says softly, “I still have a lot to learn.”

“That you do,” you chuckle before pecking Charlie on the lips.

taglist:

@Spatterpus @wqndasdarkkhold @leilani788

[strayseraphine]

choice | one shot

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

summary: The opportunity to work in the same place as your childhood best friend is a great, right? Unfortunately, it turns out that it's hard to control the emotions that have been swirling in your hearts for years when you're at arm's length. fluff, a little bit of angst, jealousy, friends to lovers, cheesy fic with our silly cute channie

The kdrama mentioned is called Tomorrow and the fic mentions about episode 5, you have been warned. Here is the song from the episode that also appears in the fic.

TW: menfions of suicide, death, depression

5 204 words

the one shot is also avaliable on ao3

bang chan masterlist | general masterlist | stranger things masterlist

Holding the handle of your suitcase tightly, you felt like a child lost in a crowd. You were breathless, and instead of slowing down, your breathing sped up and became more and more erratic.

What on earth tempted you to leave your entire life so far and fly to the other end of the world?

Then, as if on a call, a reason appeared in front of your eyes.

Despite the cap and mask covering his face, you immediately recognized him. However, not wanting to draw attention to you, you came closer and in silence went to the car, where immediately after closing the door you felt strong arms tighten around you.

"I missed you so much!" he muttered, snuggling into your neck.

"I missed you too, Channie." you laughed as you reciprocated the hug, smelling his perfume, which he had been using since you can remember. You didn't know it was possible to miss a scent that much.

"I can't believe I'm going to work with my best friend!" he said.

"First of all, you're lucky the boys can't hear it, secondly we won't."

"What do you mean we won't?"

"I, unlike you, will be locked in the office."

"But we will be in the same building! We will be able to spend our breaks together, I can bring you coffee and snacks!" he said excitedly with a wide smile on his face and squeezed your hand. You didn't complain about the fact that he didn't let go of you until the car pulled up to your new temporary home.

Two months ago, Chan called you saying that at JYP they were looking for someone for a temporary translator position. Since you were fresh out of college in the process of looking for a job, he thought you should definitely apply. Thinking little, you submitted your application.

Three weeks later, you received an invitation to an online interview, which resulted in a successful outcome and a contract signed for six months.

The experience you were able to gain working for this company was extremely valuable, but you were ashamed to admit that your main motivation for coming here was Chris. As children, the two of you were inseparable, but when he left Australia to chase his dreams both of you stubbornly made sure that contact did not disappear. When he came home on vacation you spent most of your free time together feeling as if he had never left.

Somewhere between playing together in the sandbox, sneaking out of the house for the late-night walks you used to go for when he returned to Australia during his teenage years and skipping lectures at uni just so you could spend the day and then the night with him, a strong bond formed between you.

In it there was something else to be found.

Something you both tried to ignore and push away.

Something that you were killing in each other thinking it was one-sided.

Something that you tried to keep in an iron, indestructible cage deep in your hearts.

Something that shattered the bars every time you saw each other.

The weeks at work were passing awfully fast. Your new co-workers welcomed you very warmly, meetings with Chris became your daily routine, and you felt more and more comfortable here every day. Keeping the promise, you spent all your lunch breaks together, sometimes joined by other members of the group. You quickly became part of the meetings. You even accompanied them during dance rehearsals and studio recordings. Especially Chan. Sitting with him in the studio until the morning hours and greeting sunrises together became almost a habit.

Today, however, you had the day off, while Chris had a full day of rehearsal for the gala to be held in a week's time. A strange feeling of emptiness and longing accompanied you throughout the day. You weren't afraid to admit that you were already used to his daily presence. However, you were afraid to think what will happen when you have to go back to Australia.

In order to focus your thoughts on something else after lunch you turned into a couch potato and started watching kdrama. Completely losing all sense of reality, you fully gave yourself over to the stories of the characters, which moved you to tears. You were snapped out of your trance by a phone call.

"Hello?" you said in a broken voice, not even trying to hide that you were crying. Unfortunately, the other side of the phone remained quiet and quickly hung up. Not caring much you wanted to go back to watching, but moments later Chan barged into your apartment without even bothering to knock on the door.

"Chris? what are you doing here?" you asked surprised still sobbing.

"What happened?" He asked. The sight of your heartbroken voice on the phone made his heart freeze.

"What?"

"We finished training, so I figured you were probably still awake and in the mood for something to eat, I called and heard you crying. What happened?" he explained quickly with a worried expression on his face.

"Oh god… Nothing happened! It just- It was just so damn beautifull and sad!" you laughed through your tears.

"Were you watching drama again?" he just sighed feeling small relief.

"Of course I was!"

"You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I am sorry!" you threw a pillow in his diercion.

"Okay, okay, what was it about?" he shook his head, sitting down next to you.

"She died in a car accident, and he was someone who had to deal with a lot of deaths of his loved ones, his whole life, everyone blamed him for it! and he did nothing wrong!" you felt like your throat was shrinking. "His father blamed him for his mother's death because she died while giving birth, then when his wife died, her father also blamed him and he was in such a dark place, he wanted to kill himself, he believed them, that it was his fault!" you were ranting about character history, and he was just looking at you with a smile on his lips.

Despite the fact that your eyes were swollen and red from crying, he found something somehow adorable. Something pure. Something that made him want to hide you in his arms and kiss the tears off your cheeks. However, he quickly had to chase these thoughts away. After all, he was incapable of falling in love, wasn't he?

"And they show love in such a beautiful way here! Maybe I don't agree with "you are my whole life attitude" but in other aspects? They compare human beings to a tree, you know? People are like trees, And what matters is who makes the flowers bloom on the tree, which means your life can change depending on who you meet. At that moment she proposes to him, saying she wants to be the one to make the flowers on his tree bloom."

"A beautiful metaphor." he replied.

"Right? Later they present the red thread theory, which says that they are connected to each other and will find each other in each incarnation, which gives such a strange sense of hope! But I still think love is more of a choice than a destiny, which seems much stronger, because if I heard from someone now that I'm their whole world and their life doesn't exist without me I don't know if I'd be scared."

"How is it that you're one of the most romantic people I know, and you're afraid of such great confessions of love?" he asked.

"Imagine being in a relationship with a very toxic person, and when you want to get away from them they start threatening to kill themselves because they can't live without you. People in moments of desperation are able to go as far as anything, and love, despite the fact that it is very beautiful, can make a person very stupid." you explained.

"You are right."

"I am lucky enough to have some people who genuinely want the flowers on my tree bloom." you smiled. "You are one of them, by the way." you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, you also take very good care of my tree." he replied without thinking. "Not only mine." he added quickly with a grunt. He began thinking about how other people feel in your company. About how there is always brightness and warmth in the room along with you. About how in his life the dark void was decorated with shining stars creating a beautiful night sky thanks to you.

"Who do you think your red thread is connected to?" you asked suddenly after a moment of silence.

"Mine?" he asked puzzled. Certainly not with the person I would like to. He thought. "Mine has probably been broken."

"I don't think so, in the show they said it only breaks at the moment of suicide. You are still here Chan, your thread surely leads to someone wonderful, as you deserve." You patted him on the knee. "Oh! there was also a very beautiful song in this episode, wanna hear?"

"Sure." He replied quietly and watched you get up from the couch to your laptop. He watched your every move, hoping to spot at least the thinnest red thread between the two of you.

"Can you focus?" Lee Know asked rolling his eyes.

"Earth to kangaroo! Where are you Chan?" added Han waving his hand in front of his face.

"I am focused, I don't know what you mean." he replied trying to defend himself.

"We have been practicing the same routine for an hour, and you are messing up the steps as if you were dancing it for the first time. " Minho squinted his eyes.

"Come on, give him a break, he is in looove." laughed Hyunjin.

"I am not!"

"We can see that there is something between the two of you, we can see how you look at her, you can't fool us, you do not look at a friend like that."

"I am not in love with y/n!" he said loudly, but without conviction. Saying those words caused him pain. Somehow saying that he doesn't love you felt wrong.

"But you know…none of us said her name out loud." said Changbin more peacefully.

"But-" Chan sighed and resignedly hid his face in his hands. For years he had pushed his feelings aside, but now that you were so close and had become an integral part of his life it was too difficult.

"Why you never let me bring her brownies that I made?" Felix laughed.

"Why do you always smile like an idiot when she sends you a photo?" I.N added.

"Let's just go back to the practice." He cut off the subject, knowing that the guys were right. Nevertheless, he knew that the moment he admitted it, nothing would be the same again, and changes can be scary.

In every job, no matter how wonderful, there are hard times. Today, some of your co-workers decided to take out their bad mood and frustration over non-functioning equipment on the team you were on. Although you knew that their bad mood was caused by the work reorganization, some unpleasant comments and remarks were particularly memorable and ruined your mood.

Due to a system failure that prevented you from working, you were told to go home before lunch, so you were not surprised to hear the sound of the phone at the hour when you usually meet.

"Where are you?" asked Chan.

"There was a system malfunction and they let us go home."

"So you won't be joining us?"

"What? Why?" Felix's voice came from the background. "But I made brownies! I brought them for you!" he took Chan's phone closer.

"Give me the phone, Felix!"

There was a commotion on the other side of the phone. You could imagine Felix running away with the phone and the guys helping him keep the leader at bay.

"Hey y/n!"

"Hey Seungmin, what's up?"

"Bang Chan misses you!" you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Tell him I miss him too," you chuckled.

"Okay, that's enough!" judging by Seungmin's mumbling and laughing, you concluded that the phone had returned to its owner.

"Talk to you later, bye!" he hung up before you had time to answer anything.

Since you had more time today, you decided to use it for cleaning, which always helped you to calm down to some extent, losing yourself in it and in the music from the speaker, you didn't know when a few hours had passed. Satisfied with your clean surroundings, you sat down on the couch, but after a while you felt a wave of fatigue hit you. With nothing better to do, you covered yourself with a blanket and fell asleep.

Unfortunately, this time the nap did not help your mood, and the sound of a knock on the door that woke you up made you even more upset. Covered with a blanket, you moved slowly toward the door. Then, as if by magic, when you saw Chan in the doorway, all your anger vanished and was replaced by…relief?

With a mournful whimper, you let your emotions carry you and without asking, you hugged him, cuddling into his chest. Surprised at first, he made no move, but he quickly woke up and you felt him embrace you. The familiar scent of his perfume created a sense of security in your mind that made every negative feeling inside you want to find an escape. Your breathing became more and more shaky as you fought back the tears that came to your eyes.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, sensing your stress. "Let it out, I'm here." His large hand began to slide up and down your back, caressing you.

"You are here." you muttered while snuggling even more into his shirt. He had the feeling that his heart was now on fire, but it wasn't the heat causing unbearable pain. It was the fire that slowly burns in the fireplace on winter evenings warming the house. Home. That's how he felt in your company.

"Come, let's sit down and you'll tell me all about it." he suggested, however, you still did not want to leave his arms. Selfishly you tightened your embrace without moving from your spot. "We can cuddle on the couch, come on." he chuckled seeing your reaction. Sitting snuggled into each other, Chan connected to the speaker and played your playlist with calmer songs in the background. It took a moment before you started to open up and talk about what had overwhelmed you today.

"I am so sorry." he murmured into your hair.

"I feel better now." you replied quietly.

"For real?"

"You are here so…yes."

A silence fell between the two of you but it was not awkward. At this level of friendship, shared silence was not something new or strange for you. The silence was broken by the sounds of another song.

"Ah, I love this song," he said. "I can't stop listening to it since you showed it to me."

"Well, I'm glad you liked it."

Along with the melody and the singer, Chan's soft and calm voice also began to spread around the room. You closed your eyes relishing the blissful moment, thinking you had found something good in this awful day. If it weren't for the nasty mood, you wouldn't have found comfort and solace in his arms.

How wonderful it would be if you could do this without any excuse?

"Do you remember when we fell asleep together like that, and Hannah took a picture of us and sent it out to all our friends and family saying that we were together?" he asked when the song was over.

"Yes," you laughed slightly at the memory.

"God, I wanted to kill her then." he also laughed.

"Why?"

"Uh, I mean its us, right? Best friends, how could anyone think we are a couple?" he replied embarrassed. This answer turned out to be a strong punch, which you had to take with clenched teeth and pretend that everything was fine.

The thing you didn't know was that what he said was just an escape from the truth. That day when everyone was congratulating you and telling you that you were finally a couple, he was afraid like nothing else that you would discover the truth about his feelings and that deep down he really wanted it to be true. Unfortunately, he did not know that you were on the same page.

Best friends, how could anyone think we are a couple?

These words haunted you for the next few days. No matter how good your mood was, they always came back ruining it instantly. They also pushed you to accepting a date to which you were invited by an employee from the marketing department. You were very often matched for joint projects, you worked very well together, you found nothing of agreement right away, but you didn't see this being blinded by Chan and your feelings for him. But since in his opinion you were just friends and had no chance to get out of this sphere, it was time to move on.

"y/n do you have any plans for tomorrow?" I.N asked, passing you in the hallway.

"I don't have until four, why?"

"We have a day off and we wanted to go shopping with Felix, why don't you go for a walk with us?"

"Sure!" the idea was good, you took it as an opportunity to buy something nice for your date.

"Cool, in that case we'll be in touch!" Maknae smiled charmingly, reminding you how similar he is to his skzoo.

"Sounds like a plan." you smiled back and returned to your desk. The rest of the day passed very smoothly and quickly for you.

Before you knew it you were already on your way to go shopping. Yeongin and Felix carefully browsed each hanger however you absent-mindedly only glanced superficially at the clothes. Your date was getting closer and closer however the less time left the more anxious and uncertain you felt. The fact that the person you were to spend the evening with was not Chan made it all seem…wrong.

How else were you able to move on?

Was it fair what you were doing now?

How would you feel if someone went on a date with you just to forget about someone else?

On the other hand, after all, that wasn't your only motive. In truth, you liked Minjun. He was handsome, kind, funny, you had many common interests, you really wanted to get to know him better.

"Earth to y/n!" the voice of Felix brought you back to reality.

"What?" you shrugged.

"Say hello to Chan!" Yeongin exclaimed happily, pointing his phone's camera at you. "We decided to show him how much fun we are having while he has to work."

"You are cruel!" at the sound of his voice you felt like you were caught in a crime. Not knowing what to do you awkwardly waved towards the camera, and then grabbed the first better dress and hid in the fitting room feeling embarrassed. What the hell is wrong with you? you thought looking at your reflection in the mirror.

"Hey, are you okay?" Felix asked lightly knocking on the fitting room door.

"Uh-yes!" you replied quickly, "I'm just trying on a dress!"

"In that case we are waiting for you to show up in it!"

The dress turned out to lie perfectly on you. The guys' assurances that you look good in it finally convinced you to the purchase.

When you got home it was time for preparations. Preparations that stressed you out even more. You tried to drown out your thoughts with music, but it was especially hard when a large part of your playlist consisted of songs by a band whose leader is the person you are trying to forget. The other part of the playlist was the songs you associated with him anyway. When you heard the first notes of Summer Flower you felt that you were in a no-win situation. If for so many years, being thousands of miles away, you had not managed to forget him how were you supposed to do it now having him at your fingertips almost every day? With a sigh you looked at the couch thinking about the moment when he held you there in his arms harmonizing his voice with the song.

What if he were here now?

What if now instead of getting ready for a date you were preparing snacks for a movie night together?

If you could spend the whole afternoon and evening cuddled up with him, holding his hand or playing with his hair if he laid his head on your lap?

Apparently, fate could read your mind, because as you combed your hair through the sound of the music a knock at the door broke through. Then you were greeted by the sight of Chris with a bag of snacks.

"I thought since I missed shopping together, we could make up for it with a marathon instead." he said dodging you at the threshold and entering the apartment.

Not knowing what to say you stared at him. The silence on your part prompted him to stop. Still not guessing anything, he noticed the brush in your hand and the knot in your hair. "Come on, let me help you." You went to the bedroom where you sat in front of the mirror. He hummed under his breath combing your hair with a slight smile on his lips enjoying this little moment. Whenever he combed your hair you laughed that he was giving you the princess treatment. That wasn't the case this time, which made him feel a little strange. "What do you feel like? a movie? kdrama? anime?" he tried to strike up a conversation. The fact that you haven't spoken a word since he came in increased this feeling.

"Chris…" Hearing your quiet, nervous voice he looked around. A dress hanging on a hanger, waiting to be put on, cosmetics scattered next to the mirror, an open jewelry box. It didn't take him long to guess that watching together today wouldn't work out.

"Are you going out somewhere?" he asked.

"I'm going on a date…" You said while sticking your gaze to the floor.

"Oh." visibly surprised, he stopped combing your hair for a moment. "Who's the lucky guy?" he asked in a forced joking tone, not wanting to make the situation seem even stranger.

"Minjun from the marketing department." you wanted to avoid looking at him at all costs. You were afraid of what you might see if you lifted your gaze. You were afraid that you would see disappointment, or worse, happiness and satisfaction that you were going out with someone else. However, if you actually looked at him you would see Channie's charming smile turn into a heartbroken expression. He could feel the jealousy building up in him, which he had to nip in the bud already. He couldn't let you notice, so he finished combing your hair as quickly as possible and left, explaining that he didn't want to disturb your preparations. You didn't protest, but something inside you was asking, begging even to tell you not to go anywhere and to stay here with him.

"I can't believe you lost to the guy from the marketing department." said Minho sitting down on the couch next to him. As soon as he left your flat he wanted to hole up in the studio however, halfway through a message about a movie marathon appeared on the group chat.

"Actually, he didn't lose because there was no competition," said Han.

"Exactly, if you had told her how you felt earlier she would have definitely chosen you" added Changbin.

"Can we focus on the movie?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Sorry hyung but this is definitely more interesting than the movie". said Hyunjin.

"You should go there and break the date." suggested Seungmin.

"Make up some excuse and call that you two absolutely must meet now!" I.N followed his idea.

"Can you guys just shut up and focus on the movie?" he asked more annoyed. There was a silence all around, which made him feel even worse. "I'm sorry…" he sighed. "I know I screwed up, but it's too late."

"We just want you to be happy." said Felix handing him a brownie on a plate.

"Even if it did work out…she doesn't deserve to hide and keep everything a secret."

"Maybe she won't mind? Maybe you can find a solution? Whatever is going on between you two has been going on for years, look how far you've come."

"Let's just focus on the movie, please."

Despite the fact that the guys had let the subject go and now the room was filled with laughter and loud comments about what was happening on the screen Chris couldn't focus at all. His head was filled with scenarios of what you can do now, did you have fun, did you let him hold your hand? hug you? kiss you? Jealousy bubbled up inside him but what could he do?

Somewhere near the end of the movie, his phone started vibrating with notifications, which he decided to ignore. Seungmin, however, annoyed by the constant vibrating, grabbed his phone to mute it but your nickname caught his attention.

"Chan you won't believe who it is." he said with a smile and started typing something.

"Who?" asked the unmoved leader, the only person he wanted to see a message from now was having a great time on a date with someone else. He didn't get an answer for a long moment.

"y/n didn't go on the date." This sentence made all the energy come back to him and he immediately snatched the phone from his hand to see the news.

c97b: why are you sending me tiktoks while being on a date? (your nickname): I am not on the date c97b: what? (your nickname): he cancelled last minute, so…

He looked at the phone in disbelief.

"Do something!" a shout from Lee Know brought him back to reality.

"This is your chance!" applauded Changbin.

Before he had time to think anything through his fingers were already running across the keyboard.

c97b: put the dress on. (your nickname): what? c97b: wear the dress, I will be there in 10.

What the hell is he doing? What will he tell you? How will he behave?

Thoughts and insecurities ate him from the inside out, and his hand was shaking when he was knocking at the door. However, when you opened it suddenly all the bad thoughts disappeared. All that mattered was how beautiful you looked now, and the struggle with the need to take you in his arms and not let you out of them.

Greeting you with a boyishly charming smile, he said it would be a shame if all your preparations for the going out went to waste. It was enough to make your disappointment with Minjun disappear. Enough for him to completely disappear from your thoughts which were once again completely possessed by your best friend.

Enjoying the last rays of sunshine today you went to the park for ice cream. You took a blanket with you to sit on the grass near the pond.

The meeting was not much different from the others, you were talking about everything and nothing, walking along the winding paths, watching the dogs playing, laughing how wonderful it would be to have little Berry here with you now and how she would love it here. The ice cream was the perfect cool down and sweetness, but Chan's showing dimples and his silly jokes were much sweeter.

Moments before sunset, you spread out your blanket and sat in silence watching the sky slowly turning orange and the sun disappearing behind the horizon directing its last warm rays at you, which you accepted with a smile.

"Thank you Channie." you said looking away from the scenery. Now you were able to notice that instead of watching the sunset, he was looking at you.

"You have nothing to thank me for." He shrugged his shoulders.

"For being there." You smiled slightly.

"I always will be." he replied without thinking.

"That's what friends are for, right?" You couldn't help the note of sadness creeping into your voice.

"y/n…" suddenly his face paled.

"What's wrong?" you asked worriedly.

"I think- I-" he began to stammer.

"Chris, whats going on?" The darkest scenarios appeared in front of your eyes, and panic rose in you.

"I think I am in love with you." he whispered.

"Oh my god-" surprised you covered your mouth with your hand. The shock on your face scared him more than it would have if your reaction had been instant rejection.

"I know, I know! But- I beg you even if you don't feel the same, let's just forget about it, I just had to tell you, finally after all these years, I couldn't hold it in anymore, but I understand that I'm just a friend to you, I don't want to lose you just because of some stupid feelings, hmp-" suddenly his ranting was interrupted by your lips. Sweet, soft lips that he had dreamed of touching for years. He had just fulfilled a scenario that had always seemed unattainable. Without wasting a moment he cupped your face making you cling even closer to him. The happiness that filled you pressed a smile to your lips that interrupted the kiss.

"If your feelings are stupid that means mine are too, because I feel exactly the same as you, you fool." you said quietly.

"I am a fool, a fool for you." he replied and kissed you again.

When you broke away from each other, this time hugging, you finished watching the sunset, which now seemed much more beautiful.

"It's gonna be hard…" he said after a moment of silence.

"Love isn't easy" you said. "b"But it's definitely worth it."

"How are we going to deal with all this?"

"We will find a solution, we always do."

"You think so?"

"Channie…" you took his hand, brought it to your lips and gently kissed the top of it. "I don't want to suddenly become your whole world, you won't be mine either, we both have separate lives, but love is not about the other person suddenly becoming the only thing we see. Love is about understanding that we both have separate worlds but we also have the desire to merge them. Love is finding a common path together."

"You are walkig hope, you know this?"

"Love is not fate, it is a choice. And that's what makes it powerful." You added again kissing his hand.

"You are my choice." he replied kissing your forehead.

No matter how crazy the collision of these worlds will be, he believed that as long as you are together everything will work out.

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Does ao3 have an option where you can pay for kudos or comments? If not, is there a chance some site out there does for ao3 that's not apart of the site? I can't tell if I barely get either because I suck at writing or are just very unlucky and it kinda blows seeing empty kudos and comments on the things I upload😅

Don't be so hard on yourself! Fandoms can be pretty quiet sometimes. I am pretty convinced after SCOM wraps I won't get as many kudos and comments on my TOH fics, since my brain now has these characters living in my head rent free.

Anyway, I believe that kudos and comments are from folks in the wild, but yeah, that kind of is disheartening to put yourself out there in your writing and feel like you're not getting much back. We do this fan fic writing thing for free!

You could see if there's discord servers for fan fic writers that can keep your heart in the game? Maybe see if there's someone you can trade beta reading with or bounce some ideas off of?

It's scary to put yourself out there.

writer to writer hugs.

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.” 

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Twelve

Summary:

You finally work up the nerve to ask Astarion about his past.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags/Warnings: discussions of traumatic pasts, not just Astarion's, but Tav's as well, specifically partner abuse; depiction of a panic attack; mentions of (canon-typical) violence; spoilers for Heathers the Musical; somewhat feral kissing that honestly at this point shouldn't surprise anyone with these two

This chapter should be fine to read if you're not familiar with the plot of Heathers (movie or musical) but in case you want to read a quick summary, you can get that here.

I have officially retconned chapter 9 that Karlach got the home brewed beer from Lakrissa, not Aradin.

I can't believe I got the chapter out on both AO3 and Tumblr on the same day! It's been a few chapters since this has happened lol. As per usual, the screenshots are from @zipzoomzaria, although with me recently downloading the free cam mod I cannot take ENOUGH screenshots. I'll be uploading those soon.

Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Astarion’s chest feels cool beneath your cheek as you slowly blink yourself awake. You listen to the sound of his breathing for a few moments – not a necessary impulse for him, just one he never unlearned. You eventually turn your head upward to see him looking at his phone. He notices you stir and a smile spreads across his face as he puts his phone down.

“Good morning,” he lilts, rubbing your shoulder gently with his thumb. You strain your neck up towards him, wordlessly asking for a kiss. He leans down and obliges, his chilled lips working against your warm ones, still sticky from sleep. You adjust your arms so you can wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his curls. He presses his palm against your lower back, pulling your chest flush with his. His movements are unrushed, languid and sensual, and you’re just enjoying the soft feeling of his skin against yours. 

“Morning,” you hum sleepily, slow blinking like a contented cat. He props himself up on an elbow and as his visage comes into focus, you realize just how put-together he looks. He’s already wearing his glasses and his hair looks as carefully coiffed as usual. You frown. “How long have you been awake?”

“How do you want me to answer that?” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly like I sleep.”

Right. Elves trance instead of sleep. You probably could have paid more attention in your humanoid biology class in high school.

“So what do you do all night while I sleep?”

“Read, mostly,” Astarion says with a shrug. “Sometimes I grade. Just killing time, really.”

“Don’t you ever get, like, bored?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Sometimes. More often than not I simply enjoy being near you.” His candor makes you flush, so you deflect with a teasing laugh.

“Ew, you like being near me? Gross.” You grin as you pull him back down to you, your hands curling around his neck and you kiss him, soft and slow. He slides his hand under your knee and pulls your calf around his waist. Your usual insatiable lust for him is tempered, and you just want to bask in his coolness like you have all the time in the world. He pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and looks at you over his glasses with those blood red eyes of his.

“What would you like, love?” he murmurs, and you yawn reflexively.

“Coffee, before anything else,” you reply, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You roll out of bed and adjust your bra and shorts that got twisted overnight. You pad into the kitchen with Astarion close behind you, and he perches himself on a barstool while you pull out the instant coffee and set the kettle to boil.

“Darling, no, instant coffee?” he sneers as you scoop it into your mug.

“Don’t be elitist, it doesn’t make sense for me to make a full pot every morning when it’s just for me, and Keurigs create a hellish amount of plastic waste.” You turn up your nose at him, and he stands to take the mug out of your hands.

“This is not elitism, this is self-preservation.” He dumps the granules into the sink, earning a quick “Hey!” from you. “I’d rather like to be able to kiss you without the taste of rotten dirt in your mouth.” He picks up his phone from the counter and pulls up DoorDash. 

“My breath doesn’t get that bad,” you mumble and cross your arms obstinately.

“Perhaps not to a mortal, but trust me when I say this will be better for both of us.” You glance over his shoulder and watch as he loads up the cart with expensive artisan coffee beans, a French press, and a stainless steel coffee grinder.

“Astarion, I can’t afford all that,” you press, trying to take his phone out of his hands.

“Then consider it a gift,” he lobs back at you, holding his phone above your head so you can’t reach it. You plant yourself on a barstool and sulk for a moment before actually processing what he said.

“Wait, so you can tell when I’ve eaten or drunk something made with low quality ingredients?” Your brain spins the rolodex of all of the times you kissed him after having some trashy food.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says with a regretful frown.

“And the night at the bowling alley when I was drinking that terrible beer?”

“Not particularly pleasant. But worth putting up with, because, well,” he clears his throat and flashes a coy smile, “it had been a while.” Your ears flush and he saunters over to you, planting a kiss just below your earlobe. Your hands rest on the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“But… coffee,” you pout, and he takes your hands and pulls you over to the couch.

“If you’re patient, my dear, it’ll be worth the wait,” he coos, sitting you down and pulling your legs onto his lap. “And speaking of waiting.” He brings your hand to his lips, running his nose along the blue-green veins in your inner wrist. “Do you mind terribly if I have my breakfast while you’re waiting for yours?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he gently grazes the point of one fang across the sensitive skin. “You’ve never fed from my wrist before,” you breathe, almost as though speaking too loudly might spook him.

“Does that make you reconsider?” His eyes flick up towards yours but his lips remain on your wrist, ghosting over the flesh. You shake your head, transfixed by his subtle movements. His lips stretch into a smile before he sinks his fangs into you, the sharp pain sending a twin bolt to your heart and your core before melting away into that sublime numbness. You’ve never watched him feed before, and you’re almost taken aback by how beautiful he looks. His lips pressed to your wrist, his hair falling into his eyes, his back expanding and contracting as his breath quickens. He must sense your gaze because he looks up, his red eyes sparkling. Your heart rate spikes, and it only takes a few seconds for him to smile against your wrist, reacting to whatever your sudden arousal changed in your bloodstream. 

It feels too soon when he pulls away, despite the oncoming lightheadedness suggesting otherwise. Unlike his usual animalistic expression he wears after drinking your blood, he has a sated, almost goofy look to him. You giggle and swipe the red droplet from his bottom lip and suck it off your thumb. 

His sleepy gaze moves to you, but when he sees you licking your blood off your finger, his features sharpen into the more predatory look you’re used to. He shifts your legs so that he’s towering over you, and you have no choice but to sink down into the couch on your back. He presses a knee between your legs and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He descends onto your lips and you taste the blood that still coats his. You arch your back into him and he slides his hand beneath you, pulling your center closer. He slides his knee upwards, pushing your thigh with it, and rolls his hips into your now spread cunt. You groan into his lips, hands scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and you’re about to wriggle out of them when there’s a knock at the door.

You both freeze, then suddenly you remember. “My coffee!” you squeal excitedly, pushing Astarion off of you. “They probably just left it right outside the door, babe, can you grab it while I reheat the water?” You clamber over the back of the couch and over to the kitchen while Astarion shakes his head at your antics. 

He pulls the front door to your apartment wide open and a startled half-gnome stands there holding a paper bag full of coffee supplies. Their eyes travel down Astarion’s half-naked form, lingering momentarily on the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. They flush a violent purple before muttering a quick, “Sorry,” and shoving the paper bag in his hands. They practically sprint down the hall as Astarion calls, “Have a lovely day!” with an impish wave.

“Astarion, you scared the poor thing half to death,” you scold as he closes the door, and he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“Probably more exciting than anything else they’ll see today, I did them a favor.” He brings the coffee supplies over to the counter and hooks his thumbs into your shorts. “Now, where were we?” He presses into your back and kisses the crook of your neck. 

“Can I at least have my coffee before an orgasm?” you groan breathlessly, and Astarion chuckles.

“Who said that’s my intention?” he hums into your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Historical evidence,” you throw over your shoulder at him as you shimmy out of his grip. You pull out the various implements and stare at them blankly. You shift your gaze to Astarion and frown. “You bought all this stuff, show me how to use it.”

“Fine. Sit.” Astarion pushes you onto the barstool and begins to open the boxes with the French press and the coffee grinder. You watch him while he stands over the counter, and your eyes trace over the elaborate scarring across his back. You suddenly realize you’ve never been able to get this good of a look at it, he’s usually so carefully guarded. You’ve been afraid to bring it up again since that first night he told you about it. 

You chew on your lip while he assembles your coffee, anxiously weighing the pros and cons of asking him about it. You want to ask him more about his past, but you can’t even fathom what it’s like for him to have lived more than three times your entire lifespan and still have an eternity to go. 

He hands you the mug and looks at you expectantly. You snap out of your mini reverie and look down at the coffee in your hand, a few shades darker than you’re used to.

“Thank you, although I usually put in a little more milk than that,” you admit sheepishly. 

“With that offal you had been drinking, I don’t doubt it. Try it first, I’ll put in more if you want.” He puts his hands on his hips as you eye him suspiciously. You take a tentative sip, bracing yourself for the acrid bitter taste, but are met instead with something smooth and rich. Still bitter, but tempered by a creaminess that has nothing to do with the milk. You look up at him with a pleasantly surprised look on your face.

“Okay, I hate to say it, but you were right,” you groan reluctantly. He smirks and tilts your chin up to give you a tender kiss.

“Still as sweet as ever,” he purrs, and a light flush rises to your cheeks. Then your mind wanders back to your earlier train of thought, and your brow furrows. 

“Um, Astarion, can I ask you something?” Your voice is a little dryer than you’d like it to be. His eyebrows shoot up over his glasses, and he nods. You take his hand and lead him over to the couch, curling your knees into your chest and holding your coffee mug in both hands. “Can you tell me more about… about your scars?”

Astarion exhales a breath of relief. Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn’t that.

“Er, yes, well… How much do you know about vampires?” He looks at you carefully and you blink in surprise. Very little, and you’re surprised it didn’t occur to you to look up more.

“Besides the basics, I guess, no sunlight, mirrors, garlic,” you rattle them off in your head. He giggles when you say ‘garlic.’

“The garlic is a myth, but you’ve got the basics, yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m able to bite you without consequences? Well, besides the dizziness, I suppose,” he adds with a sly grin.

“I guess not, no,” you frown, wishing that he would just tell you instead of this weird quiz.

“I am not technically a full vampire – I’m a vampire spawn. I was turned while on the brink of death by a vampire named Cazador Szarr,” he spits the name like it’ll poison him if it lingers too long in his mouth. “I was his slave for two hundred years, compelled to do anything and everything he commanded. Most of the time it meant luring victims back for him to feed.” Astarion’s eyes glaze over, and you slide out your foot to gently touch his knee. You’re at a loss on how you can possibly comfort him for something this traumatic, so you let him continue in his own time.

“And once, it meant lying still while he carved this into my back over the course of a night. He claimed it was a poem. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He scowls at the memory. “I only found out that it was something written in Infernal after his death.”

“How did you escape?” Your voice is small, hardly able to comprehend what he’s telling you.

“Oh, that’s actually quite a fun story.” He lights up suddenly. “His six other spawn and I rose up to overtake him. It took years of planning, and we were under the constant threat of being caught. But we were successful, and we tore him to pieces.” His eyes sparkle with a bloodlust that you haven’t seen before and your heart pounds in your ears. You had said that you want to see the more predatory side of him, and you’re getting your wish. His face softens and his gaze refocuses on you. “That was about 100 years ago,” he concludes with a wry smile. He puts his hand on your foot next to his leg and pulls it into his lap, and you curl your toes against his hand.

“Well,” you exhale, still processing his entire story. “That certainly puts the trauma from my shitty ex into perspective,” you say with a pained smile, trying to make light of it.

“Suffering is relative, the enormity of mine doesn’t reduce yours.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, a silent question. He’s leaving it open for you to tell your story, but refrains from pressing. 

“Well, it almost seems mundane in comparison,” you start with a heavy sigh, and he squeezes your foot lightly to encourage you to continue. “I’ve only had one even remotely serious relationship, and he was a piece of shit. Well,” you reconsider as you think of what those early days with him were like. “At first he just seemed like one of those ‘lovable asshole’ kind of guys, plus he had a Yorkshire accent, so clearly I have a type,” you say with a feeble laugh.

“No, a northerner? Darling, want better for yourself,” Astarion grimaces, and you glare at him.

“Like I said, I have a type,” you sneer. “But after a while, it became clear that he didn’t particularly respect me, I think partially because I was studying theatre and he was in STEM. He constantly talked down to me, he hated it any time I disagreed with him, and he would go out of his way to piss me off because he thought it was funny.”

You see Astarion wince, slowly putting the pieces together. You don’t particularly feel like rehashing the night you saw Taming again, so you continue.

“His friends weren’t terrible, though, and he was never as awful to them as he was to me, so I thought it was my fault. Like, if I were just somehow less annoying, or smarter, or more interesting, then he would suddenly stop being an asshole. There were some nights,” you swallow thickly, surprised by how difficult recounting this is. You thought you had worked through all this with Jaheira. “Some nights he was so persistent that I would just let him have sex with me so he would shut up and go to sleep.”

You feel Astarion tense beneath your leg, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re worried his teeth might shatter. You quickly continue to try to put him at ease. “I sometimes wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and just give her a huge hug and tell her that she’s worth more than that dick. But I’ve grown a lot since that relationship, and probably because of that relationship if I’m being perfectly honest. Wish I could have learned those lessons without an abusive asshole, but we play the hand we’re dealt.” You shrug and stare blankly at the dregs at the bottom of your mug. 

When Astarion speaks, his voice is icy and measured. “And what’s this man’s name?”

“Aradin. Aradin Beno,” you answer, keeping your eyes cast down. Your gaze shoots up to Astarion with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to kill him, Astarion,” you warn. You would have been joking had you said that thirty minutes ago. But after learning exactly what he’s capable of, a genuine spike of fear runs through your heart.

“But why?” he says in a whiny voice. “I can make it look like an accident, I promise!”

“No, no murder!” You kick your other foot out at him, and he grabs your ankle in a single swift motion. His sudden movement makes your mouth twitch as you suppress the smile spreading across your lips.

“Does the prospect of me being a killer make you feel something, little love?” he drops his voice and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to admit just how much it does, so you choose to remain silent instead. You watch him with unblinking eyes as he prowls over you, taking your empty mug out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table. The way his eyes sparkle and the flash of his fangs tells you that he knows exactly what it makes you feel.

“Are you? I mean– have you? Besides the one, I guess,” you stammer as your heart threatens to pound out of your chest. He looms over you, pressing his thigh down between your legs.

“Would it be better or worse if I said yes?” His lips hover over yours, and the noise that slips out of your throat is a little embarrassing. He closes the distance and kisses you roughly, slipping his hand beneath your lower back and digging his nails into your skin. 

You’re certain you would feel differently if you saw it in person… but the mental image of Astarion covered in blood after just having torn Aradin limb from limb sets you off. Something surges through you and you suddenly flip Astarion onto his back. You straddle his hips and crush your lips together, struggling to control your hungry kisses. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He claws into your thighs, pulling you down onto his rapidly growing erection, and you groan into his lips. You move your mouth down to his neck, biting down, and your whole body seizes when you hear his breathy moan in response.

He pushes up off the couch, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist while you cling to his shoulders, your assault on his neck never relenting. He carries you back to your room and throws you down on the bed hard enough to bounce slightly. He looks borderline monstrous as he crawls back onto you, pinning all four of your limbs down so escape is impossible. 

Your breathing grows heavy as he ravages you, your hands messily grabbing at any part they can reach. He tears at your bra with his teeth and you moan loudly, panting uncontrollably. He bites your skin, not to feed but to mark you, to cover you in punctures and bruises that brand you as his. You arch your back into him, asking for more. You want him to tear you apart, to leave you broken and consumed. You whine, your breath wracking through your lungs.

But before long, your vision starts to darken around the edges. You feel your heart pounding in the well of your throat – not the way Astarion makes your heart pound, but the way your anxiety does. You get lightheaded and your muscles grow weak as Astarion, unaware of your change in faculties, bites down on the soft tissue of your breast.

“Wait,” you call weakly, and grabs your hair and pulls your head back, pressing his lips against your ear.

“What was that, love?” he growls as his pointer finger tugs on your shorts.

“Star, stop,” you croak, and his entire demeanor shifts. He pulls back to look at you, his red eyes round and shining with concern. You’re a little surprised when the tears fall from your eyes unbidden, streaking down your temples and into your hair. You start hyperventilating, shaking as you lose control over your breath. You shove your fist into your mouth, hoping fruitlessly that the pain might ground you. 

After a moment of staring at you helplessly, Astarion pulls you into his arms and you curl up face down into his lap, choking out sobs as you grip his thighs. Your throat tightens and you feel like you’re being strangled by your own larynx. You gag as your stomach heaves, trying to expel itself from out of your mouth.

Astarion rubs your back, rocking you gently. A soft stream of “shhhh” and “it’s okay, love, you’re okay,” pours out of his mouth. He breathes in and out slowly, and you eventually find your breath enough to steady it, lengthening your inhales and exhales to match his. You lay there trembling for what feels like hours until you manage to push yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about,” you chuckle feebly, wiping tears and snot from your face. Astarion starts to reach out to touch your cheek, but he pulls his hand back hesitantly.

“Darling, you don’t need to apologize. Are you… are you alright?” he asks, voice unsteady. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision goes starry, then take his hands in yours.

“I am, yes. I’m sorry. I know you said I don’t need to apologize,” you add quickly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Like, I’m sorry that it happened as much as I’m sorry that I probably freaked you out.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, and you furiously shake your head.

“No, gods no. The opposite, actually.” You attempt to flash him a smile, but it just comes off as tired. “I think it just became too much too quickly. And I guess I’m not as… worked through… the Aradin stuff as I thought I was.” You frown at your clunky phrasing and he more confidently reaches out to stroke your cheek. You press your face into his palm, holding his hand to your lips as you take a few more long, grounding breaths. You finally drop his hand and look down at your torn bra, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, er… sorry about that,” Astarion smiles sheepishly. 

“Honestly I’m more impressed than anything else,” you laugh as you start to try to scooch off the bed to get another shirt. Astarion puts his hand on your knee to stop you and walks toward your dresser. It takes him a few tries to figure out the right drawer, but eventually he pulls out a tank top and hands it to you. You inexplicably turn away from him as you put it on, suddenly self-conscious in front of this man who has seen you naked maybe a dozen times. 

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, your dangling feet not quite touching the floor, and reach out to him with grabby hands. He steps closer to you and lets you embrace his waist wordlessly. You press your nose into his ribs and take a steady inhale. His scent is so much more concentrated from this angle, all sweat and pheromones. He runs his hand through your hair and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He feels the wetness on his skin and pulls away suddenly.

“What? What did I do?” He sounds genuinely panicked and it gets an honest laugh out of you.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just…” in love with you. Fucking hells, you haven’t even let yourself think those words before. You push the thought down, so very far down – you’re not even remotely in a position to confront it right now. “Do you think you can hang out for a bit? You don’t have plans today, do you?” You take a shaky breath. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Yes, my sweet, of course.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking up at him. “But will you please eat something? You’ve had nothing but coffee and I’m sure the blood loss isn’t helping.”

You smile and nod, standing to give him a proper kiss. The sudden movement does, in fact, make you wobble a bit. He grips your arms and glowers at you as your eyes scan down his bare chest and legs.

“Do you want, like, clothes? Maybe I can ask Shadowheart to run to your apartment and get you a fresh set?” You don’t mind staring at him half naked, but you figure you might as well give him the option.

“Well, as a matter of fact, do you think she would mind terribly feeding His Majesty? He gets awfully cranky if he doesn’t have his regular meals.”

“Huh, I wonder where he picked that up?” you ask with a coy smile and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re one to talk. Go eat.” He pushes you through your bedroom door. “And yes, please ask Shadowheart.” You laugh as you stumble through your living room to the kitchen. You pick up your phone from the kitchen island and pull up her number.

-Shade, are you busy? Can you do me a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge favor?

-what

It’s a bit on the early side for her, so frankly you appreciate the answer at all.

-Can you run to Astarion’s apartment to grab some clothes? And also feed his cat?

The typing bubble pops up and disappears a handful of times. Then, she finally replies:

-...what?

-Please Shade, it’s important. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeeeeeeeeee

-Moon Maiden, yes, calm down. I’ll come over to grab his keys.

“Okay, she said yes,” you tell Astarion as you put your phone back down on the counter and grab a sleeve of cinnamon raisin bagels from the drawer. He watches you carefully as you assemble your breakfast, almost like he doesn’t trust that you’ll actually do it if he looks away.

It doesn’t take long for Shadowheart to walk into your apartment without knocking. She’s wearing an oversized Next to Normal t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes first settle on Astarion sitting at the island in just his underwear and she stares blankly. When her gaze shifts to you, and she sees your puffy red eyes, she turns back to Astarion in a fury.

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses, and you throw out your hands to stop her from committing murder. She stops just short of getting slathered in cream cheese from the knife still in your hand.

“Nothing, no, he’s good, I swear. Perfect, even.” You glance back at him abashedly. “No, it was just… Aradin stuff.” You mumble the last few words, and watch as Shadowheart’s anger deflates and then flares twice as high.

“Oh? Do I need to hunt this piss kid down?” she seethes, pumping herself up for a fight.

“No, she has forbidden murder, I already tried,” Astarion drawls, and Shadowheart’s expression dulls to a scowl.

“Fine,” she grumbles, then turns back to you. “Where am I going and what am I getting?”

“I’ll text you his address, just a change of clothes. Oh, and where do you keep His Majesty’s food?” You start typing out the message and Astarion takes your phone from your hand.

“It’ll be simpler if I give you instructions,” he says as he types out what looks like a novel. “Make sure you go to the fish market on Bleeker, not the one on Mayweather. And if they don’t have the nice fatty tuna, you can get the yellowtail, but only if it’s been caught within the hour. If they don’t have either, then ask for Thodric, he’ll know what to get.”

Shadowheart stares at him with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. “The little rat’s getting Fancy Feast and he’ll like it,” she finally says when Astarion hits send. You shoot her another pleading look and she groans. “Fine. Anything else for Your Majesty?”

“Oh, His Majesty is fine, but could you also grab my maroon cardigan and–”

“Gods, really?” she snaps. You’re chewing on your bagel when you finally process what she’s wearing.

“Wait, isn't that shirt–” you begin and she whirls around, her loose silver hair swinging down her back.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” she barks as she slams the door shut behind her.

***

You and Astarion spend the day together mostly in comfortable silence. Shadowheart does, in fact, give His Majesty the fresh fish he so desperately requires, but she only brings Astarion a pair of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grumbles a resentful thank you, even if she didn’t bring him the maroon cardigan.

You’re lying on the couch leaned up against Astarion, who has borrowed your tablet to grade papers while you answer work emails on your phone. You get another reminder from the chair about season selection and you groan.

“I swear, we’re not going to have a season next year if we can’t fucking agree on something,” you bemoan, dropping your phone and rubbing your eyes wearily. “Plus, the rest of them feel like we need to settle on a musical first and then build the season around that,” you gripe, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“Well that’s nonsense, the musical is always just a garish over-produced spectacle,” Astarion scoffs.

“But it’s the thing that makes the most money, so we are kind of dependent on it, as much as I hate to admit it,” you concede reluctantly. “Alfira really wants to do Heathers, and I read it, I just can’t get behind it as much as the rest of the faculty. I want to make sure the classical play is in conversation with it, and I can’t think of an interesting choice.” You slide your eyes to Astarion with a smirk. “Lucretius suggested Hamlet and I would literally rather fling myself out a window than direct Hamlet.”

“Well now, I don’t believe self-defenestration is necessary,” he laughs. “But you’ve only read it? Aren’t you the one always going on about how theatre is meant to be seen and not read?” He mocks you a little too well and you smack his knee.

“Fine, I guess I’ll see if there’s a recording available,” you mutter, picking your phone back up and googling it. “Oh, there actually is. A proshot is available… on the Roku app? I swear to the gods, there are too many apps these days.” You sit up and turn towards Astarion. “Will you watch it with me? Pleeeeaaaassee,” you add in a whine when he gives you a pained look. “If we don’t like it we can make fun of it together, I promise. That’s a better deal than you’ll get from 95% of theatre people.”

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad enough you’re going to make me see it in the fall, you’re going to make me watch it again now?”

Your heart leaps at how casually he mentions still being together in the fall, but you quickly shake the feeling off. Instead, you divert his attention by offering, “What if Karlach and Shadowheart watched it with us? Karlach should probably watch it too, honestly, and then you and Shade can commiserate together as non-theatre people.”

He glares at you for another moment before putting his glasses back on and huffing a great sigh. “Fine,” he relents, adding with a glare, “you’re very lucky that you’re cute.” You giggle with delight and text Shadowheart.

-Do you wanna come over with Karlach tonight and watch Alfira’s pick for the fall musical? You can bond with Astarion over your love of expensive wine and the annoyances of dating someone in the theatre department.

-🍷👌🏻

You laugh at her response and go back to leaning against Astarion’s side, a small shiver running up your spine as he squeezes you a little closer to him.

***

Shadowheart and Karlach come by later in the evening, Shadowheart with two bottles of wine and Karlach loaded with snacks. They move around your kitchen, taking out bowls and glasses, while you take a sudden new interest in the ingredients for Doritos.

“And is it like, highly processed ingredients?” you frown as your eyes scan over the lines, some of the words familiar to you and some of them not. Astarion shrugs.

“I haven’t kept a detailed list of what’s fine and what isn’t, if that’s what you’re asking,” he drawls, looking over his glasses pompously, and you huff.

“Well then I’m going to eat them just to spite you,” you threaten, attempting to open the bag of Doritos menacingly. The gesture falls flat when you crunch down on a chip and it crumbles down your shirt. He takes the back of your neck in his hand and pulls your lips to his, his tongue swiping up cheese dust. You flush and he pulls away, contemplating the taste.

“Well it’s certainly not the most pleasant,” he finally decides, and you dejectedly put the chips down and pick up the wine Shadowheart has just poured. Astarion looks down his nose at the bottle.

“Decent choice,” he intimates with an approving look, and Shadowheart gives him a sideways glance.

“Ah yes, I heard you were a bit of a wine snob.” She tries to match his haughty energy, and doesn’t do a half bad job. “I saw what you brought,” she says, referring to the bottle still on the counter from last night. “It looks… fine.” The corners of his lips twitch upward and you can tell that he likes her, despite their constant bickering.

You and Astarion settle yourself on the couch while Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor. Karlach leans against the base of the couch, one knee propped up and an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. You smirk at your best friend, remembering your conversation of her insisting that she likes to sit on the floor, despite the fact that the two of you always sit on the couch together. Astarion, legs crossed and arm around you, pulls up the Roku app on your TV and finds the Heathers proshot.

September first, 1989. Dear diary:

A spotlight comes up on a young half-elf woman wearing a bulky denim jacket, big scarf, and a long hippie skirt. Veronica, it quickly becomes clear, is one of the more unpopular kids in school, along with her best friend Martha Dunstock.

“Wait, Veronica isn’t already one of the Heathers? And she’s already friends with Martha?” Shadowheart asks. The eponymous “Heathers” are the archetypical mean girls who rule over Westerberg High.

“No, is that how it is in the movie?” you reply. “I’m only vaguely aware of it, I just read the musical.”

“Interesting,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, she’s supposed to already be in the Heathers, and she doesn’t even speak to Martha until the last scene of the movie. I guess this way she gets a classic movie montage makeover.”

“That tells a very different story,” Astarion says, bouncing his foot slightly. “Following a protagonist who starts wealthy and popular rather than one who is an interloper into a position of power.”

“I wonder why they changed it,” Karlach says, and you nod in agreement.

“I can almost guarantee it was because of the success of Mean Girls and not simply a narrative choice they wanted to make,” you add, wrinkling your nose with distaste. 

“Maybe,” Shadowheart takes a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Mean Girls was so heavily influenced by Heathers that it does seem like a nice homage.” She pauses for a moment, then giggles, “You know, I used to think that I had a crush on Christian Slater and I wanted to be Winona Rider, but it turns out it was the other way around.”

“Honestly, I think that tells me all I need to know about you,” Karlach teases.

Honey whatcha waiting for? Step inside my candy store. Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore.

The trio of Heathers pose centerstage, their synchronistic dance moves and bright color coordinated outfits creating a striking stage picture.

“Visually, it’s a nice stylistic choice,” Astarion notes, “but I wonder if the aesthetics will detract from the effectiveness of these three as antagonists.”

“Maybe,” Karlach says with a shrug. “But you know that Carm would have a field day with these costumes,” she adds, turning to look at you over her shoulder.

“Oh she absolutely would,” you agree, looking at their sharp blazers, plaid skirts, and thigh high socks. “But I think Astarion’s has a point, they’re almost too appealing to convey any real villainy. Plus, so many of these lines have become such an iconic part of pop culture that they’re almost meaningless. When the main Heather shouts, ‘Shut up, Heather!’ it feels more like she’s quoting a famous line than bullying her friend.”

“I’m sure Alfira will want to address that in the room,” Karlach nods. 

Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah!!!!

After committing the social suicide of not bullying her unpopular best friend, Veronica decides she wants to go out with a bang – literally – and sneaks into the bedroom of resident bad boy JD. You still get an uneasy feeling about him as a character, but you’re trying to parse out your judgment of yourself versus your analysis of the text.

“Sorry,” Karlach shakes her head and holds out her wine glass, pointing at the screen. “Did we just witness that girl have a musical orgasm?”

“Surprisingly more common than you’d think in musical theatre,” you laugh, and Astarion pulls you into him until his lips are on your ear.

“Would you like to be my dead girl walking?” His voice is a husky whisper, sending a shiver reverberating through your body. You press your lips together and dig your nails into his knee to keep both of you in check.

-Oh my gods, I just killed my best friend! -Oh, and your worst enemy, so– -Same difference!

Veronica may have been the one to unknowingly hand a mug full of drain cleaner to the most popular and powerful of the mean girls, Heather Chandler, but JD was the one who knowingly handed it to Veronica.

“So they just immediately kill their primary villain?” Astarion scoffs in surprise. “Bold choice, I wouldn’t have expected it from a musical.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back,” you laugh. “Hey Karlach, who do you think should play Heather C?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question. I feel like it has to be Arabella, right? Who else has got the chops?” Karlach tilts her head to look at you.

“Arabella would also be really good as Veronica though,” you respond, shuffling through all of the theatre majors in your head. “Do you know if Mol is going to audition?”

“Maybe, but I think she wants to stage manage this fall.”

“Oh that makes sense, she’d be great at that,” you nod in agreement.

He’s hungry for a hunk Of the junk in your trunk

“Oh, weird. I don’t remember this song in the script I read,” you say with a frown. It was a while ago when you read it, but you’re pretty sure that this moment – when the high school jocks Kurt and Ram corner Veronica alone – felt a little more comedic and a little less sinister.

“Yeah, same,” Karlach says. “I feel like it was much sillier. Something about balls?”

“I think the hook was ‘you make my balls so blue.’” You try to force a laugh, but what’s playing out on screen is making you uncomfortable. The visual of the jock, Kurt or Ram, you can’t remember which, lewdly humping the air in front of a terrified Veronica doesn’t sit well with you. “This song being about date rape raises the stakes very differently from it being a blue balling joke.”

“Yeah, that’s so much more intense.” Karlach’s frown deepens as Veronica tries to pull her skirt down lower while the boys grab at her aggressively.

“I mean I get it, it’s a much stronger choice narratively, but we’ll have to be careful, give proper warnings and stuff.” You take a sip of your wine and Astarion gently rubs your shoulder.

“Okay, darling?” he hums in your ear. You nod but pull his arm around you a little tighter.

I worship you. I’d trade my life for yours. I’ll make them disappear.

There’s something so much more menacing about JD’s sung lines after having killed the jocks, Kurt and Ram, who tried to sexually assault Veronica. It makes your hackles raise, in part because you can see how toxic it is, but also because you can’t deny that it stirs something inside you. Just earlier today, you threw yourself at Astarion at the mere mental image of him murdering your abuser.

It’s okay if it’s just fantasy, Jaheira’s words ring in your head. Sure, someone saying that they worship you and committing homicide over it isn’t healthy in real life. But in a fantasy that isn’t hurting anyone?

But… how do you decide what’s harmful and what isn’t?

Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?

After JD murders Heather Chandler and both Kurt and Ram out of a sense of misplaced righteousness, Veronica begs him to hold on to his youth a little longer and not let the trauma of his mother’s suicide make him grow up so fast.

You feel Astarion’s chest shaking slightly against your back. You glance up at him and his eyes are shining.

“Babe, are you crying?” you whisper and he glares at you.

“What? No. Shut up,” he spits as he wipes away a tear. You strain your neck and kiss his cheek.

VERONICA! Open the– open the door please, Veronica, open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please?

The repercussions of JD's streak of murderous revenge finally catching up with Veronica, she hides from him in her bedroom while he attempts to cry, scream, and sing his way back into her heart. 

“This is the one,” you call out. “This is the song that’s all over TikTok with teenage girls saying that she should’ve opened the door.” The context is no different from when you read it – his violent outbursts mixed with unhinged sobbing still make for an energy that you don’t quite know how to respond to. 

“I’m pretty sure they know it’s satire, it’s really over the top,” Karlach shrugs.

“Most of them probably do,” you say with a frown, remembering a concerning post that you saw somewhere that said ‘musical JD really loved Veronica while movie JD was just a manipulator.’ 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Astarion says, pointing with his nearly empty wine glass. “You’re telling me that young girls like this behavior? Why?” 

Shadowheart snorts. “Apparently there’s something appealing about a pathetic wet cat of a man,” she laughs, and Astarion pouts.

I wish your dad were good,  I wish grownups understood. I wish we’d met before They convinced you life is war.

Veronica is pleading with a gun-wielding JD to not blow up the school during the pep rally when something suddenly clicks for you.

“Oh my gods, that’s the thesis statement, that’s what this whole show is about.” You sit up with the realization. “It’s not about mental health, or bullying. I mean it is,” you falter a bit, the wine sloshing around your brain. “But at the root it’s the parents’ fault. All of the adults in this show have been neglectful at best and selfish and bigoted at worst.”

“You know, if you want a good classical play with that theme,” Astarion shrugs, “then you should propose Romeo & Juliet.” Your jaw drops and you whirl around to face him.

“Holy shit, you’re so brilliant, I love you.”

Hey yo, Westerberg, tell me what’s that sound? Here comes Westerberg, comin’ to put you in the ground!

Your whole body freezes as the blood drains from your face. Somewhat delayed, you slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from accidentally revealing anything else. Astarion stares at you, his mask completely expressionless. Karlach and Shadowheart seem to remain oblivious to the monumental tension between you and Astarion.

Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to–

Fuck.

[nights-at-crystarium]

June 18 is my birthday, and here's how you can make it a happy one~

There are several ways to support me, with the most vital being:

Patreon! You get a big fat backlog of comic episodes and random art that's yet to go public, exclusive wips, and an exclusive discord channel. Even $1 will do! I honestly prefer $1-5 subs, so that unsubs don't rock the boat too much. The word crowdfunding exists for a reason, 300+ people already believe in it and make my work on Fragments possible.

Patreon pays for my living, but it's still in a spot that sometimes makes me feel anxious, I really need to feel more secure about it. Can't overstate how important this's to me.

Good old kofi! Leave me a tip, get my digital artbook, free emotes, pdf of public Fragments episodes, or early access to new ones. There's also a patreon-like monthly sub, but you only get the rewards via discord, since I don't crosspost patreon stuff directly on kofi.

Fancy an art print? I've got some here!

Broke but still want to support me? Read Fragments here on tumblr, on webtoon or ao3, share it around (via links please, not reposts), reblog anything from me as usual! I encourage and appreciate it when people scroll down to older posts, or binge-interact.

[bluekidchaos]

Kinktober day 6 - Rick Grimes & Daryl Dixon

can't believe i've gotten halfway through these wow

Pairing: Rick Grimes x fem!reader x Daryl Dixon

Prompt: Threesome

Warnings: 18+, idk really know, degradation, oral (m receiving), fingering, rough sex

Words: 1k

Can also be read on AO3!

Kinktober masterlist. Regular masterlist.

You find yourself sandwiched between the two men, Rick is behind you, firm grip on your hips and kissing along your neck. Daryl is in front of you, his fingers slipping below the seam of your panties.

They had already stripped you of most of your clothes the second they had you in private. Almost throwing themselves at you.

His fingers slid over your opening, gathering the wetness there before slipping inside you. Your head falls back onto Rick's shoulder as you let out a moan.

"Feel good, pretty girl?" You don't know which one of them said it but you nodded, no words being able to escape your mouth at the moment.

Daryl's fingers were thrusting at a leisurely pace. The pad of his thumb started rolling over your clit. "Gotta get ya all nice an' wet for us, sunshine." Punctuating his words with a sweet kiss to your temple.

Rick was working on covering your neck in as many bruises and hickeys as he could while roughly groping at your tits, twisting your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

This was a regular dynamic between them, Rick was rough and fast while Daryl was calm and sweet. It sometimes gave you whiplash but you loved it, loved them. The contrast, the ways they differ from each other.

You felt your stomach tighten, the muscles in your thighs spasmed as you came all over Daryl's fingers. You surely would've collapsed if it were not for the two men holding you up.

Daryl slipped his fingers from your warmth and into his mouth. Moaning at the taste of you.

"Alright, sweetheart? You ready for our cocks now?" Rick whispered into your ear, making shivers run down your spine as he guided you back to the bed and pushed you down so you were lying on your back.

Both of them were looking down on you, Daryl was palming his dick through his trousers while Rick was undressing.

The older man crawled over you, kissing up your stomach as he went. He hooks his thumbs into your panties and pulls them off you.

Daryl had also undressed at this point and he came around to kneel by your head, dick in hand. "Get on your hands and knees, baby."

Rick moved back so you could re-adjust yourself, getting on all fours as Daryl sat against the headboard in front of you stroking himself to the look of you.

You felt giddy as you felt Rick take his place behind you, dragging his tip through your folds, teasing the slit, and using your own wetness to lube himself up. "Rick.. don't tease me.." You pouted back at him and he chuckled.

Daryl treaded his fingers in your hair, petting you almost as Rick pushed into you slowly. Letting himself and you feel the stretch and how you clench around him. Feeling how tight you are and how big he was inside you. "Fuck, sweetie. Always so tight, no matter how many times you take us."

As Rick started pounding into you, setting a fast pace and making sure to angle your hips so he could get deep inside you, Daryl took hold of your chin with his free hand and pulled you close to his cock.

You took the hint and while trying to keep steady on your arms you kitten licked at his tip, making him give out a whimper and make a fist in your hair, pulling you down further on his dick.

Closing your mouth around his tip you started trying to take more of him, Rick's pace made it hard to keep a steady rhythm. An especially hard thrust made you shoot forward and you gagged as Daryl's cock hit the back of your throat. "Oh, fuck! Do that again Rick, she got real deep on my cock."

Rick thrusts into you again and again, making sure your body jolts forward with every move. Daryl was tugging on your hair at the same time, moving your head.

You felt yourself gush around Rick's cock as they basically treated you like a sex toy. Moving you the way they wanted you. You moaned around Daryl's dick, sending vibrations through him and up his spine.

Rick could feel you become wetter with their treatment and with a mocking voice he leaned over you, getting as close to your ear and whispered, "Awe, is princess getting wet being treated like a whore? You like it when we use you like our personal cock-sleeve?"

He had brought a hand under you and was rubbing at your clit at a similar pace. Making you mewl and whine, your hips bucking and fucking back into him as you choked on Daryl's cock. You barely had time to register your muscles tensing as you came hard on Rick.

"Ah, shit, sweetie. You just love it when we fuck you like this, huh." Your thighs were slick with your juices as Rick fucked you through your orgasm, your body was shaking and you knew you'd collapse if they weren't there.

The display of your orgasm tipped Daryl over the edge too, pulling out as he jerked off and spilled his seed into his hand, some of it spurting onto your cheek. You sighed with relief as you could breathe properly again and dropped your head down to rest against Daryl's thigh.

Rick was fucking your even more intensely now, your hips at a higher angle getting him even deeper in your gut. "Oh, ah fuck Rick! Shit, I'm gonna- ahh." You felt your third orgasm of the night flushing over you.

Rick's pace stuttered and he cursed and groaned behind you as he thrust in one, two more times before you felt him fill you up. Pulling out quickly to watch as his seed dripped out of you with the motion of your clenching walls.

He chuckled a little behind you, slapping one side of your ass as he flopped down beside you and Daryl. "That was fucking amazing, princess."

Daryl was holding you firmly in his grasp, hand stroking your back and head. Helping you come down from your high.

You hummed at him and he leaned down to plant a big kiss on your head. "Imma go get a washcloth so we can clean you off and then go to bed. How's that sound?"

"Very good. I love you guys." Your voice came out in a rasp.

Rick gave you his usual charming smile as he hopped off the bed. "We love you too, baby."

[theskeletonprior]

I left my awful soul-sucking job so my writing commissions are now open! Looking for a brainrot cure? Got a story that won't write itself? There's a way. Drop me a line! I'm especially good at nailing character voices, hurt/comfort, polyamory, and subtle moments of intimacy. While I don’t mind writing intimate scenes, I don’t accept graphic NSFW requests, non-con, or underage. When in doubt, just check in with me first! You can message me here on Tumblr, or email me at theskeletonprior@gmail.com. The hellsite, as I'm sure you know, does eat asks and such sometimes, so if you don't hear back, don't be afraid to reach out again!

Price List (CAD)

1000 words for $20 1500 words for $35 2000 words for $45 Pro rate for writers these days is $0.08 per word, so my commission rates are an absolute steal. Our dollar is also a little bit trash here in the land of maple syrup and poutine or whatever, so if you happen to trade in eagle bux, even better for you! My commissions help me pay for things like sertraline, funding for my ongoing effort to be reunited with my beloved husband, the occasional good meal, and resources for my work as a professional Dungeon Master (I can't believe that one either). So hire a dead guy, and help support a queer creative. I also donate any tips to Gaza Funds.

If you’re looking for a longer work, feel free shoot me an email at theskeletonprior@gmail.com and we’ll chat. Words are what I do.

Work Samples

You can read all my Tav Tales to date here on AO3, but here are some of the highlights.

To Live in Infamy (2k Durgetash)

The morning, Enver is lucky enough to have pants on. The Slayer snaps his chains as it comes screaming into the daylight, barrelling out of the bed. The force of Infamy’s awakening sends Enver rolling onto the floor, narrowly missing being crushed by the bedframe. He’s tangled in their sheets, and already lamenting that they’ll need to be replaced. This silk had come all the way from Waterdeep. That’s his first thought, even with his heart pounding in his ears. He struggles to free himself, but the Slayer isn’t coming for him. There’s the acrid smell of half-cast sorcery, and then the screaming starts. When something warm and wet splashes onto him, soaking through the sheets, Enver hopes it’s blood. The crunching of bones and the smell of bright copper gives him a little hope that it’s not something worse. It wouldn’t be the first time a would be assassin emptied their stomach or their bowels in terror before the Slayer. Enver unrolls himself at last, leaning back on his elbows to enjoy the show, even as the blood—and thank goodness it is blood—soaks through his nice sheets. The mess quite nearly defies description.

Callus (2k Tav/Astarion/Halsin)

“Oh, my dear, what a miserable turn of events.” Astarion kisses Lukan’s hair gently. “I could probably catch up with him, you know. Plenty of good alleyways in this end of town to drag him into, get him acquainted with my nice new boots. Sturdy enough to kick a man entirely to death.” “You got new boots?” Lukan can’t help a watery smile, desperate to redirect the conversation. He doesn’t want Thindulion killed. It had been bad enough to bury his mother, and as much as he wants to hate his father for abandoning them, he hates the thought of being orphaned even more. And now he knows he has a sister, and he couldn’t put her through that. “That’s beside the point,” Astarion says. “I’m asking if a little spot of patricide might cheer you up.” Lukan shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says. He wants to try to make light, to play along with Astarion’s flippant turn of phrase, but it’s just too heavy. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “I might have another idea, in that case,” Astarion tells him. “Why don’t you have a sit on the bed, get those boots off, and I’ll be back, having done precisely no murders, I promise.”

In the Spider’s Parlor (3.5k Tav/Kar'niss)

She peers over her shoulder at him and then rolls her head, exposing more of her neck. Suddenly his need, that wretched appetite, is not as hideous as it has been, he feels no disgust for what he wants, for the curse that makes him want it. There’s only this moment. He nips lightly, slipping his arms around her, embracing the warmth. He reaches out with his forelegs, feeling her, holding her securely as he had done that first time. He’s heard the sound she makes when letting blood, and now he knows it for what it is. Pleasure. His purr rumbles low in his chest, but he never bites, lapping softly at the thin rivulet of blood that wells from where he’s nipped her, one delectable drop at a time. Solinore reaches up, one hand tangling in his hair, relaxing in his grip. “What you ask of me, is yours,” Kar’niss says, applying pressure to the nick he’d made to stop what little bleeding he’d caused. “You sure?” she asks, playfully. “I could ask for another ride on your back. Or…” He knows what that smirk implies. “What you ask of me,” he says again, “is yours.”