#don’t be fooled…this is melancholy

[aureatchi]

soon !! :)

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hihi!, This is my first request of something like this but here we go! Male harbingers with a reader who has constant nightmares/episodes of sleep paralysis and proceed to comfort them through the process. Obviously you don’t gotta do it if you don’t have the time, just wanted to put this little headcannon out into the world!

(I swear I’m not dead! I was busy graduating and enrolling in my next uni studies!)

✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe.

In the darkest depth of our consciousness, even we do not possess sovereignty over our dreams. Be it a curse or a blessing, your mind can become your foe. As thoughts and memories convulse into pleasant dreams or horrid nightmares, you end up with the dreaded sense of despair as you witness your own mind betraying you, and waking up with a cold sweat. Tossing and turning, there is only a certain pair of arms that can soothe you in the dimness of such nights - your beloved’s embrace. 

✧ Pierro knows you’re having a nightmare before you even wake up. On a quiet night, when he is sitting beside you in bed, either reading or engrossed in some papers, you’d doze off beside him. But on such nights, he discerns the unease written on your sleeping face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed or softly scowling. The Jester sets whatever he is reading aside and shifts his calculated attention towards you. You start silently tossing as if the very softness of the covers is heavy on you. Pierro sighs, his hand softly coming to rest on your forehead to confirm his suspicion - you are warm, yet breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Dear, shh… open your eyes, slowly now.” - he whispers, as his hands slowly yet deliberately caress your face. “You are having a nightmare again.” 

And indeed, you open your eyes; your dazed expression is one of puzzlement yet evident fear. Pierro knows your first few minutes of waking up from a nightmare are delicate. Through the haze, your first instinct is to seek refuge in the safety of the arms holding you, knowing to who it belongs already. You turn towards him, letting him pull you against his chest. 

 “…Your mind is wary and played tricks on you. You're here now. Breathe.” - you kept your eyes closed, too worn out to get up or speak about your nightmare. Thus, you focused on Jester’s words, breathing deeply as the sound of his heartbeat was navigating you to inhale and exhale. 

You didn't have to explain your nightmares to Pierro - he already knows they mirror the horrors of the cataclysm he once witnessed. Therefore, he squeezes you tightly against him, his lips pressed against your forehead. With silent words of comfort, Pierro continued his vows to protect you, even from your nightmares. 

✧ Il Capitano kneeled beside your bed, akin to a dutiful knight. You lay there, asleep, your wounds and gashes carefully bandaged. This wasn't your first time returning from a prolonged expedition, battle scars and bruises coloring your skin. After all, he often warns you not to be reckless, while you stubbornly return home with bruises. 

Hence, he silently remained beside you, his fists clenched and shoulders taut. His pitch-black helmet stared at you for a prolonged time, anxiously keeping watch of your deep slumber. The Captain's mind reeled, chastising himself for not being there to protect you. But suddenly his attention was diverted as you started to mutter in your sleep. 

It was incomprehensible and lasted only a fleeting second before you jolted up with a sudden gasp, urgently grappling for breath.

“My beloved, what is the matter?” - Capitano rushed towards your side, his arm immediately around your shoulder. “Focus on breathing, steady your heart.”

You wake up, eyes wide with shock and gasping for life, like a fool rescued from drowning. You stared at your beloved in confusion, before your face sourced in melancholy. Il Capitano let you hide your face against him, his arms carefully wrapped around you to avoid pressing your bruises. He sensed your shoulders shaking, small sobs emitting from you - and that sound alone could make the steadfast Harbinger crumble. His hands brush your messy hair aside, offering soothing comfort.

“I shall hold you, my dear. These were only illusions brought about by your fatigue and injuries… It’s all safe now, I am here.” - Capitano squeezed you in his embrace as if his larger frame could shield you from harm. However, in truth, his words aimed to reassure not only you but also himself. Despite his vigilance, his hands trembled whenever he witnessed your distress, fear, or unease. "What did you see, my love?"

You sniffled, recounting the blurry bits of your nightmare. Although you were regaining your breath, you felt how Capitano’s hand trembled, his stern expression faltering with concern. Even you could tell that he was more nervous about your disposition, maybe even more than you. 

“You saw such horrible visions due to your fatigue. I did not shield you from your wounds and nightmares. I shan’t forgive myself for my failure. From here on out, allow me to remedy it.” 

✧ At an ungodly hour of the night, Il Dottore returned to his private chambers. With the long hours of working in the lab behind him, he entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to see you fast asleep. Instead, he noticed the bathroom door ajar, allowing a streak of light to seep into the dark room, and the faint sound of tap water running caught his attention. Most importantly, you were not in bed. 

“It’s rare to see you awake at this hour…” - the Doctor remarked as he stood by the bathroom doorway, observing you cool your face with water. “Why are you not asleep?”

“I…couldn’t sleep.” - you replied briefly, yet your fatigue was evident as you tapped your face with a towel.

The Harbinger did not buy your lies, he carefully stepped closer, his gloved hands placed softly onto your shoulders. “Turn around. Look at me.” 

You did so, and no words were necessary as he analyzed your sorrowful gaze: reddened eyes, darkened circles, and an ashan look of despair bestowed on you. The Harbinger sighed, keenly aware that you had woken from another harrowing dream. His hands now gently caressed your cheek, thumb trailing softly.

“Another nightmare?” - he inquired in a hushed tone, “Staying awake won’t resolve it, you know. Let’s get you back to bed.” 

You wished to object, but Dottore had already sprung into full work mode. He brought you back to bed, deftly fixing the tousled pillows and covers to your liking. Once you were tucked, he instructed quickly: “Now stay here. I will brew some chamomile tea. It will help your slumber.” 

Thus, with his coat removed and sleeves rolled up to the forearms, he moved through the house, swiftly ensuring that your resting area exuded comfort and tranquility. Returning with the steaming tea, he placed the cup on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Careful now, it’s still hot. Do you want me to give you sleeping p-” 

“I’m not ill, Dottore. It was just… a nightmare. Nothing more.” 

“Yet your expression says it wasn’t ‘just’ a nightmare, and your heartbeat is accelerating.” - His hand ran over your forehead, instinctively checking for your temperature. “It’s just a dream. You're awake now. Don’t exhaust yourself anymore - it’s usually my job to stay late, actually.” 

You huffed at him but managed a faint smile. “Undoubtedly… And what would the doctor prescribe for my ailment?” 

Il Dottore smirked proudly, planting a much-needed kiss on your cheek before finally scooting beside you in bed - “Why, a dose of me, of course!” 

✧ The moment Scaramouche perceived the sound of your distress in the dead of night, he swiftly flung the sliding shoji door aside, prepared for murder. But there was no intruder or attacker, it was just you, sitting up on your futon, softly weeping. The confused Balladeer stepped into your room, kneeling beside you as his mind invoked the worst scenarios already.

“What happened? I heard a scream.”

For a moment you tried to regain your breath, gulping. Only after regaining your composure, and hearing much coaxing to tell the truth, did you finally reveal to him what transpired. It was a nightmare, plain and simple. For a moment, Scaramouche was silent. He is no stranger to dreams, particularly the ones that bring tears to the dreamer. Instead, he resented them, viewing dreams as the root of his vulnerabilities and the reason for his estrangement.

But witnessing you weep after a nightmare? It was a foreign feeling, one that left a foul pit in his being.

“Hey, calm down.” - he whispered, reaching for you. At first, the Harbinger wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he persisted nonetheless. “It was all just a dream. A jumble of thoughts made up by your mind, Do not allow such a thing to haunt your sleep.”

“I'm sorry, Scara… I know, It’s foolish to cry. I just-”

The 6th shushed you, but when you tried to glance at him in the dark, you sensed no mockery or animosity in his gaze. “I didn't say you should stop crying. It’s not foolish either.”

With a deep sigh, Scaramouche begrudgingly crawled beside you under the covers. He made sure you were lying down beside him, pulling the covers over you both. "Okay, listen. I will stay with you while you fall back asleep. Only this time! So don't expect a bedtime story."

His irritation veiled his concern for your weary expression. But thankfully, his words managed to elicit a chuckle to your sleepy face. He watched you lay on your side, his fingers idly toying with the ends of your hair.

"Say, Scaramouche...? Do puppets have bad dreams?"

The Balladeer did not think much of your innocent question. He didn't have to contemplate long to let his memories resurface; instead, he just nodded quietly with no elaboration. Regardless, that simple question from you kept haunting his mind for years to come. As Wanderer sat alone in bed, the torturous grip of dreams clutching him anew, he no longer had you beside him. The reassurance he once provided while spending sleepless nights with you was absent, just as you were no longer there to offer the same. 

✧ When you jolted up with a yelp, you likely caused a bigger fright to Pantalone than your own nightmare instilled in you. The Harbinger rose from his slumber, turning the nightstand lamp with half-shut eyes.

“Oh dearie, Shhh… It’s alright, all is good,” - he tugged at you with trepidation, pulling you close to him in bed. “I’ve never seen you so frightened from a dream. There, there.” 

You honestly felt ashamed at first, but both of you understood the uncontrollable nature of nightmares, especially if they caused you to scream in the awakened world. So here you were, hiding your face behind your palms while your beloved hugged you, hoping to provide solace. Once you came out of your shock, you just rested against his shoulder quietly. Once the shock subsided, you remained leaning against his shoulder in silence. However, the lingering taste of the nightmare left a sour impression on your mood, as you found yourself unable to drift back into slumber. 

Pantalone observed your despondent demeanor, his arm still encircling your shoulders - “Do you think you can fall back asleep, honey?”  

“... I’m sorry, Pantalone. I woke you up, too. Now I feel embarrassed.” 

“Nonsense, dear. An unpleasant dream does that sometimes. You’re just… shaken by the memories of your nightmare, and now unable to fall back asleep.” - The Regrator brought the covers closer over your figure, while your head leaned on his shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something? Maybe coffee, or valerian root tea with honey?” 

“No, no. Can you just… keep talking for a while?” - you requested in a sudden coy manner, “You can talk about anything. I want to hear you speak.” 

“Hm, very well,” - Pantalone smiled fondly and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “I think I have just the idea.” 

Reaching for a book he usually reads before bed, the Harbinger scooted closer, ensuring the open pages were visible to you. Pantalone knew that what troubled you did not require in-depth words or solutions. Instead, you sought a distraction from your troubled mind. Something to keep your saddened thoughts at bay while he spoke about whatever he could think of. 

“Then allow me to read for you while you rest easy, okay? Ahem…”

In the dimly illuminated bedroom, you found solace in the soothing voice of your beloved, your gaze tracing the words on the pages as Pantalone remained engrossed in his reading aloud. You kept quiet and still, seeing him flip the pages as he continued. Soon enough, the gentle cadence of his voice ushered you into the embrace of sleep, and you yielded willingly back to slumber. Pantalone detected your drooping head and quietly closed the book before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep well, dear." 

✧ Tartaglia blinked at you, his countenance solemn as he sat upright in bed. You mirrored his gaze, knowing perfectly well what he would say. You could smell it a mile away.

“Let me beat them!”

“No,” - you crossed your arms.

“Let me beat whoever bothers you in your nightmares”

“For the last time, Ajax, you can’t physically ‘fight’ nightmares! It’s a nightmare, not a person!”

Such was the course of your evening. Startled from a haunting dream, you found Childe by your side, showing more concern for your welfare than you did yourself. Instead, he insisted on vanquishing your nightmares with his fists alone.

“Oh come on, you know I’m just joking. I saw you gasping for air after you woke up so abruptly; don’t blame me for being concerned.” - Childe rolled his eyes, gently pulling you to rest on his arms. “Tell me, what did you see?”

You sighed deeply, remaining apprehensive despite his humorous jabs. After much contemplation, you decided it would be worse if you recited your nightmares vocally. “It… It doesn’t matter. It was a nonsensical nightmare, nothing to ponder about.”

The Harbinger frowned softly, he knew you well enough when something troubled you. And it was clear you felt anguished by the recent dream you had. Pressing further would only exacerbate it, instead, he decided to annoy you in a different manner

“Well, next time you have a bad dream… Call out for me. In your dreams I mean!” - He stated with a big smile.

“...What?”

“Think about it! Something is bothering you while you’re dreaming - you call out for me, and I stop my dreams to come to your dream.”

“That’s ridiculous,” - you chuckled

“And then, you know, pow, pow!” - Childe mimicked the motion of fistfighting, pretending to punch some invisible opponent who could be your potential enemy in a nightmare. In the meantime, you started laughing even more. “And there you go! Your nightmares are now rainbows and sunshine.”

You knew well what Tartaglia was doing. He aimed to lift you out of your forlorn state by sharing lighthearted jokes - and it was working. Tartaglia watched you laughing silly as he made some childish remarks, feeling victorious to bring in that smile he adores oh so much. It was his method of alleviating the tensions in your mind, and it proved effective as the two of you snuggled in bed, entertained by amusing banter until your worries subsided. Then, and only then, would you release a contented sigh and allow yourself to drift back into slumber in the comforting embrace of your beloved.

[uplatterme]

aether and kaveh look like disney princesses i wanna fuck the shit out of

there is no need for elaboration

-🪸

—okay. you’ve got me hooked. rapunzel!aether in part 2! (tba)

—cinderella!kaveh/royalty!reader, sub!bottom!kaveh/top!dom!reader, amab!reader (referred with they/them pronouns) | cinderella au, semi-public sex, quickie, clothed sex, cum as lube, porn with actual plot (don’t let the tags fool u, this is so fucking soft)

You completely regret hosting this party.

It was something that your advisor had tasked you to do. Host a party, find a suitable partner, get an heir so the kingdom has someone to depend on, blah blah blah.

It’s not like you were even that old. 

You sigh, a cigarette on your lips as you lay your back on the wall of the balcony. So many folks festering you, for that chance that you’ll somehow hand them their crown. 

Your head aches at the number of conversations you have had to endure just to be polite, the amount of times you’ve had to shake off someone from hugging your arm without your consent.

“Oh, fuck!” You hear someone yelp.

And while the owner of this voice sounds overly anxious, you can’t help but want to hear it again, especially with the polite wording that the attendees have used to butter you up. someone swearing right in front of you catches your interest.

Hands reach the bottom of the balcony, and someone lifts their body up to get on the platform.

“Oh god, why is the entrance so crowded?” The person says.

Your ears perk up at that.

“Well, their highness did host it. it’s been a while since such an event has happened.” You answer.

The figure flinches, turning their attention to you. 

Your mouth gapes as you finally see who that voice belonged to. Everything about him is enticing that you can’t help but to drown in his gaze. 

He’s properly dressed as well, although not anything overwhelming to the eyes.

Now, which family had been hiding such a prince from you?

“Ah sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here.” He quickly apologizes. His cheeks flush, not expecting someone to catch him climbing up a balcony.

“You’re more than welcome to stay.” You offer, craving more of him.

He shakes his head, much to your disappointment.

“I’m actually here for something else.” he says.

You hum. “Also aiming for the heart of their highness, then?”

Take it, unknown prince.

“What?! N-No, not at all!” He screams in reply. “I mean, I'd be flattered if their highness even finds me a bit intriguing.”

“Have you met them?” You ask.

“Oh. I haven’t really got the time for that.” He answers, although he seems to be in a melancholy thought when he does.

Still, you breathe at his beauty. You think you can stare at him for your whole life.

You quickly try to change the topic.

“So, what are you here for?”

He points behind you.

You turn your head back but what faces you is nothing but the empty hallway.

“Sorry?” You question.

“The castle.”

His answers just keep surprising you.

He blushes, rubbing his arm as he paces around the small space of the balcony.

“You’re interested in the architecture?”

As soon as you mention that, he brightens up. “Yes! From what I've seen, it’s alright.”

You feel offended. It is your castle, one for which you’ve decided most of the structure. He seems to notice his mistake as he panics.

“But don’t tell anyone that! Especially not their highness…”

You grin.

“Perhaps, the inside can change your mind?” 

“Inside? I don’t think we’re allowed—”

“If we don’t get caught, it’s fine, right?” 

“Yes, but—”

You grab the stranger’s hand and lead him inside, he stumbles in after you, the warmth in your hand startling him.

You bring him into different rooms, hoping that one of them will at least suit his taste.

“This?”

“It’s a bit cramped, the furniture set is going against the wallpaper.”

You roll your eyes, he’s so damn picky. That, or you’re just really bad at interior decorating.

Still, you smile at every single word he says. Being royalty, you have no damn clue what he’s saying. But with that pretty voice of his, you could listen to it for hours.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh? What if their highness were merely shown bad choices by their architects?” You say, hoping that wouldn’t risk the random attendee persona that you’re playing at the moment.

“If that’s true, they should’ve fired those architects.” He states confidently.

You laugh. “And what, hire you instead?”

He purses his lips, he didn’t expect you to get that so easily.

He stays silent.

“Do you want to?” You ask.

“Get hired?” The look on his face is so innocent like he can’t even believe that you’re asking such a thing. As if the answer is painfully obvious.

You shake your head. 

“To build a castle.”

He stares at you dumbfounded. His eyes glimmer as he grabs your hands and does so aggressively. You don’t mind even a second of it.

“Are you fucking crazy? T-That’s like my dream!” He admits. He’s smiling widely, his face nothing but only a few centimeters away from you.

He starts babbling about the materials he’ll make it with, the different types of rooms and decorations he’ll add. He’s so damn fascinating, you don’t even care about the speech that you’re supposed to give by midnight.

It’s like he has planned this for a long time. Everything he says is so intricate. His hands move as if he’s drawing it, he’s a bit shaky but it’s obvious that it’s from excitement. To your amazement, the way he describes everything makes it seem as if you’re actually in that castle in your head.

Once he realizes how much he’s talking, he stutters an apology.

“Sorry! It’s just that no one has ever asked me about this, I mean at home I—”

“Okay. I’ll give that to you.” You reply genuinely, your eyes are focused on his soft lips.

His chest heaves and his golden eyelashes flutter with grace…just looking at you.

“You know that’s impossible. I’m not even a professionally licensed architect.” 

“It’s not.”

You’ll make it happen, even if your advisor goes against it. It doesn’t matter if you have to demolish the entire castle you’re in right now.

“It is! You’re just flattering me, I get it. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, but you don’t have to promise and lie to about such things.”

“I mean it.” You say it so sternly that he almost starts believing it.

He sighs deeply. “Going to this party is already a dream come true. There was this little green fairy with white hair, I—”

The words slip out of your mouth, cutting off whatever stupid things he has to say.

“Meeting you is a dream come true.” 

The next few moments are a blur. Your hands are all over the unknown stranger. Fuck, it’s as if you’ve been hit with a love spell. You want to keep kissing his mouth, tell him that he has nothing to worry about when you’re with him. That you’ll do anything he asks.

Your prince whines and the sound has you going insane. 

You want more. 

You’ve gotten so addicted easily that your mind is insatiable. 

It doesn’t matter that the room is left unlocked, no one is going to keep your hands off him. 

“Hah—God!” He breathes enticingly. His mind is so hazy, so weak at how his heart is pounding each second.

You take off his coat, the clothing echoes as it falls down on the floor. His blouse is silk and you swear you can see the way his chest is lined underneath the white cloth.

Your fingers rubbed his hardened nipples and his entire body shivers. He holds onto your shoulders for support, the aroused moan that escapes his throat is just enough for you to keep doing it, and so you do.

“W-Wait! I-I’ll—” He pushes you for a moment, to take a breath as he slowly composes himself.

You watch him impatiently. You can see how his cock twitches from his tight pants, the wet spot in the center, and his dick dripping from precum as the white liquid seeps through it.

You keep your hands inside your pocket. Despite how your pants are perfectly fitted for you, your cock is begging for warmth, specifically from the blonde stranger in front of you.

He then nods.

“I’m okay…we can continue.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any—”

“I can take it. It’s fine.” He says as if he’s in a hurry. You’re not sure if it's just because he’s needy or if it’s something else.

You still indulge in his wants, however.

You’ll have to make do with his own fluids although you really don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt him.

Your fingers steadily prepare his walls and you’re trying your best to not be greedy. His needs first, more than anything.

He’s so damn tight, not that you need to worry much as the sounds he’s making are signaling everything but pain.

He’s so soft and so perfect that you’re starting to get jealous of even your own fingers.

“Are you..?”

He nods, and desire fills his eyes. It looks like you’re not the only one getting impatient.

When you finally feel his insides with your cock, the expectations you had were completely blown out of the water. Your hands find their way to his waist and it’s perfect.

The first thrust is enough to send you to heaven. 

“Keep going.” He pleads.

You continue to pound into him, enjoying how each one brings out a soft mewl from the blonde.

His cock is dripping white on the floor, and the carpet gets soaked. You know you need to get that replaced but instead, you want to keep the stain there, as if some kind of trophy.

And while you stir up his insides, a familiar noise bothers your ears.

You don’t let it even phase you, enjoying the pleasure that’s eating you up.

However, your prince decides otherwise.

“H-Hold on! What was that—”

“Just the clock. You don’t need to bother yourself with it.”

A groan escapes your throat, feeling how he tenses up all of the sudden.

“Is it twelve?” He asks.

“N-No, but it’s close. Five more minutes.”

“I need to go.” He says.

No way was he leaving you like this.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, but I—” His words are cut off by his moaning.

The way you fill him up has him salivating. You didn’t even move but god, his walls clenching on you are betraying his choices right now.

“T-Three minutes.” He whimpers out.

“Thank you, love.”

Your fingers feel up his cock, stroking it up and down while still continuing to pound ruthlessly. He continues to scream out, his mind too overwhelmed from getting his ass and cock ravaged at the same time.

His legs quiver and you have to hold him still. You’re both close and you’ll make sure to have him finish in time at least.

“F-Fuck!” He sobs.

And the worries in your head disappear, cumming inside his walls as he splatters more onto the carpet.

You sigh, your chest thumping as you stand there with your clothes a mess.

He quickly slides off you, trembling but still hastily moving as if the adrenaline has gotten into his head.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’ll try to get in contact with you again. I swear!” He stammers out before fixing his clothes, nearing the doorway.

“Don’t go through the balcony! There’s an exit to the right of this room!” You say, helping him out despite your wishes to keep him here.

“Thanks!” He shouts back.

You swipe the sweat on your forehead, zipping your pants back on.

The clock chimes as it signals it’s midnight. What a fucking way to end the night.

You hear rushed steps from the hallway.

Your attention turns to the door. Did he come back?

Your disappointment is immeasurable when you find out it’s just your advisor.

“Your highness! I’ve been looking everywhere, you’re late for your speech—Oh my god, what did you—No, who did you?!” She looks disappointed.

You look down. Ah, right.

Who?

Oh fuck, you never got his name. 

“I didn’t ask. Oh no.” The realization slowly sets in.

“Excuse me?!” Your advisor answers offended by your words. You can tell how stressed she’s been, her teal hair in a mess.

“I’ll be right there. Let me clean up first, Ma’am”

“I’ll get everyone distracted. Jeez, young ones these days!” She says before rushing away.

The urge to punch the wall in front of you right now is high.

You look at the floor and notice the coat on the floor.

It smells just like him.

You lay your head on the cold table, mind filled with everything but your duties. The only thing that’s engraved in there is nothing but the sweet prince you met a while ago.

But no matter how many times you’ve gone through portraits of different royal families, even going through the nobles, you’re not met with a match.

“Your Highness. I see you’ve been distracted again.”

“Madame Faruzan, I cannot do this anymore.” You tell her wholeheartedly.

Your advisor rolls her eyes.

“Right after I caught you and that whole mess, you should be working.”

“He’s a great guy! He’s skilled with his hands.” You argue with her.

“I do not need to hear what he did with you.”

“That’s not what I meant! He’s an architect, he’s good! I’ve heard how he works, I’ll vouch for him.”

“You’re biased. Something that a ruler should not have. I told you this when you were younger.” She warns you.

It seems that she won’t hear you out no matter how hard you try. 

“I really cannot focus.” You say. 

It’s the truth. You’ve been sleeping with that coat for weeks, along with other things. As if it’s actually him to begin with.

“If he’s such a great architect, then why don’t you work with that?”

An idea enters your head.

“Ma’am, you’re a genius.”

“Of course.” She says confidently with a smile.

She shakes the compliment off, lord knows she's the smartest person you’ve ever met.

“So? What’s your verdict?” She asks.

A day after, a letter was sent out to the people of your kingdom.

Needless to say, everyone was freaking out.

“Goodness, that’s a big deal. Isn’t it?”

“Right! That’s a big opportunity.” 

The entire market was in an uproar as Kaveh shops for his family. He couldn’t care any, especially not with the consequences he faced from being caught out late in the night. They never knew that he went to the party, but he’s sure his snarky scholar of a step-sibling knows.

“Oh, Kaveh.” A friendly face greets him.

“Miss Nilou.”

She smiles at him, 

“Are you participating?”

The confused face of Kaveh is enough for Nilou to shake the soul out of him.

“You have to! Their highness is currently looking for an architect to turn the whole castle into something new!” 

Kaveh’s eyes widen. “…Actually?”

“Yes! Oh, you have to hurry! It’s only up till today!” She brings it up, and Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can.

It’s almost like a dream come true.

First, that little green fairy that gave him the opportunity to attend the party in the first place. Then, that person he met at the said party who he flushes at every time he thinks of them. And now, this?

He almost tears the whole place down from searching for his plates. 

Kaveh compiles it in an envelope. He feels rewarded as if everything that he’s gone through has finally led up to something.

“Fuck! Where is it?” He’s missing a folder. 

Technically, what he’s giving is already more of what was asked for. Still, the perfectionist in him cannot stand to not have everything in its place, especially not with the opportunity that he was presented with.

A knock comes from his door and he flinches, his family cannot know about this. They’ll get rid of it again.

“It’s just me.” He relaxes, rolling his eyes before turning back.

“Asshole,” Kaveh says.

“After I saw your folder in the living room and kept it? Alright, I’ll guess I’ll throw it out.” Al-Haitham replies sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I kept it for a reason. I wouldn’t throw it out now.” Kaveh forcefully takes out the folder and shoves it into his envelope.

He wants to say thanks, but his pride is too high for that.

“Be home before your curfew, I won’t cover for you.” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh knows that he will despite the annoying tone that he’s using.

He runs to the front of the castle as fast as he can, his legs were not made out for this kind of journey. Still, he won’t give up.

He reaches the gates luckily, just an hour before the deadline.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“We got a lot of submissions…and most of them are barely even considered actual pieces. I mean, look at this. Who would turn a castle into a teapot?” Faruzan complains, searching through the different envelopes.

You take a look at the amount and you couldn’t help but agree more. It’s absurd.

“Everyone who’s a licensed architect can be thrown away.” You ordered.

“Did I hear that correctly?” She eyes you as if you’re crazy.

You are.

“It’s fine, I have faith in him.”

After that, the submissions are lessened quite easily. While there were some that had fit up to the standards, they weren’t simply what you were looking for.

You remember every single thing he said, if you could just match that up with an envelope then you’ll be fine.

“We have two left.” Your advisor states.

Two names in front of you. One was named ‘Albedo’ and the other one was named ‘Kaveh’. You hesitate to open, the anxiety that he never heard of this competition or that you have sorted away his piece is eating you.

Your advisor notices this and gives one of her very rare encouragement.

“You said you have faith.”

You sigh, trying to calm down.

“I do.” You say it just loud enough to believe it.

You and Faruzan both take one, opening them at the same time.

Your hands shake as you do. 

This ‘Albedo’ is good. God, it’s gorgeous. Though what he’s sent out are more artistic than they are architectural, you can see the vision that he’s presenting, it’s something you think your mystery man would find great fun studying.

You literally cannot do this.

You only had one chance left.

It’s this or nothing.

Faruzan holds your hand while you go through his envelope. It’s breathtaking, it’s almost as what you imagined that time Kaveh was talking to you were right here, laid out perfectly.

“Kaveh.” The name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

Finally.

You dress up in a nice outfit, sitting on the carriage’s seat, trying your best not to scream. You could have gotten the wrong person, but you’re sure that this Kaveh is him.

You’re not accompanied by anyone except your coachman. You’ve asked him “if you’re there yet” about five times.

You bury your face in your hands. This is fine, you’ll be fine.

You almost smack your head face-first on the seat when the carriage comes to a stop without any warning.

The door opens for you.

You hear the gossiping of the people around you and you give them that perfect smile you’ve been taught to do even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

There’s a person by the door. One who’s certainly not the one you met at the party.

“Hello.” You greet.

“Your highness.” He replies, bowing his head.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. It is clear that neither of you likes talking.

“I’m looking for—”

“Kaveh, I presume?”

You nod nervously.

He opens the door and shouts, an annoyed response can be heard from the outside.

Everything’s fine, you rule this kingdom. If it’s another person, you can just bomb the whole place away!

The joking in your head does not make it any better.

“I swear this better be important, I was busy—” He stops talking as soon as he meets with your eyes.

There’s a flushed look on his face that matches yours.

“Oh. It’s you…”

There come the gasps from around you.

“He did not just call them that.”

“How disrespectful!”

“Right?!”

You cough, unsure how to state why you’re here. You just hand him the contract.

He shakes as he reads it. 

“What…?”

“I told you that I’ll build you a castle.” You remind him.

Kaveh remembers and you can see everything click right in his face. He’s very expressive, not that you were a stranger to that.

“Y-Your Highness.” He stutters.

You wonder if it’s appropriate to go down on your knee.

Fuck it. You can have Madame Faruzan reprimand you later.

The people watching scream in shock as you go down on one knee.

“Now that we have that out of the way…Will you do me the honor of ruling by your side?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say—

“What?!” Kaveh yells at you. 

“G-Get up! Oh my god, your highness!” He tells you.

“I’m not standing up unless you say yes.”

The man you talked to previously whistles before heading inside the house. Kaveh glares at him, he did just not leave him in a situation like this.

“I’m serious, Kaveh.”

“You’re crazy.” He says.

“I know.” You look up to him hopefully.

He’s so red, it’s almost painful to look at. Not that you were any different from his case.

“I—Alright! Yes! So stand up already, your cape is getting dirty and everyone’s looking so—”

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

[starrmarr]

I am haunted by a deep melancholy for a man I’ve never had in my life, a man that may not even exist. I am bride to a phantasm. I search for him in vain, in the curtains I believe he is hiding behind. I become enraged when I am fooled by those who profess to be him so I conform until I don’t, until I can no longer pretend. He beckons me, I must go, I’m terribly sorry. I surrender to his whims, my loyalty is to him, all the songs I listen to are for my love, my ghost. I am in love with his voice, his power, his money, his gentle sternness. I need his redirection— how will I ever find my way to you? I swear I can feel his embrace in the dark, and then again in the light. I am afraid I will lose the language to speak to him with, the gift required to see him. Do not vanish, please. I will wait a lifetime if you are the reward. God and husband.

[affableramen]

They return home drunk ~ genshin impact men x you, the reader

Suitable for characters: Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato.

Tags: gender neutral reader.

Notes: I dunno what this is. Very silly.

You heard the door open into your house and you identified it was your long-expected s/o. You have been meaning to call him as you got occasionally worried. However as soon as the door was shut with what seemed a lazy motion according to the silent noise, you realised it was actually nothing to worry about. Your boyfriend just appeared to be silly.

“Darling?” You tried to reach him with your voice.

The door was finally shut, and the next sound you heard was a groan of disappointment. “Gah!” His heavy body fell against the wall. You walked out of your room and went to the stairs to have a proper look. You tried to suppress your laugh when you saw him in such a ridiculous state.

“Darling! What—”

“…No one loves me. I am so lonely. So poor and pathetic”, he said as he started approaching the stairs but of course, he had to not notice the first step and naturally bumped into it. The fall could not be called gracious as your man did not foresee the barrier. You immediately started going downstairs to lend him a hand yet he raised his palm and stopped you.

“I’m fine, I can take care of myself”, he glared at you with the eyes full of annoyance and shifted his weight to the side. “I don’t need help of some… heroes”, he spat.

The colder man held onto the staircase for a few seconds, heavily breathing, rubbing his nose and muttering something unintelligible before he moved up. There was such distance, such melancholy in the aura around him, that was quite a sight. You were left to wonder where and with whom he had to gulp so much. Seeing that the man did not need your help you returned to your room and laid in the bed. It was quite late, in fact. You grabbed the book you paused in and looked forward to seeing more cringe from your beloved, but incredibly drunk person.

There was dim light in your room- you had a weird habit of reading if not in a complete darkness. After all, too much light was bad for migraines, you thought. And just when you relaxed you heard heavy, long footsteps approaching your room. You put your book to the side and met the man with a curious gaze.

“I thought you did not want to talk?”

“I don’t want talking”, he barked briefly. His eyes, even if alcohol-hazed, were gloomily glowing in the darkness.

The man was going straight into the room, heading to your bed and as he finally crawled to the area, he unwrapped his outer coat and revealed his shirt, (unbuttoned on the top as if he was feeling hot, made him look sexier).

“Why do you look disheveled? You been with someone?”

“You fool”, he climbed onto the bed and shifted his weight on top of you, grasping you tightly and gently at the same time. “Of course I wasn’t. I just felt hot. How could I cheat…” gasp, “…on a gorgeous little prince/princess like you.”

You pulled your hand into his hair and played with some locks. A satisfied moan escaped his dry lips as his face muscles gave up and he relaxed in your embrace.

“I thought you were unhappy with something.”

He moved away for a sec and looked into your eyes deeply, and caressed your cheek.

“I am most unhappy with myself… Take a look at me closely. I am so loser, am I not?”

“No”, with a swift motion you got into a sitting position where both of you were in front of each other. “Not at all. Let me hold you, would you like it?” You were tenderness itself when you were with this man. It was only for him.

“Very much, hold me please. I only allow you to see me like this. You’re the one who accepts me. I cannot imagine my life without you anymore.”

“There, there… It’s the alcohol saying in you.”

The man shook his head.

“No, I mean what I say. No one out there understands me, not one… except for you. But loving you is my torture AND bliss; I hate that I have feelings for you. I know that I should not. I am used to distance myself from the people, I have long forgotten what it is like to trust… Being affable and friendly on public has nothing in common with being not hostile internally. I despise so much around me, yet I never let it be displayed. My people have to witness a perfect image… a designed, refined statue such as I present to them. And sometimes, this façade makes my inner feelings boil even more. Because I know how deep down I despise those I smile to…”

“Pookie… You are forcing these silly thoughts attack you again. I told you to get more sleep, but you always do as you please.”

“See? I am so selfish.”

“I did not mean that. I am only saying that you should consider my advice… once in a while.”

“You are too caring, baby. You deserve a better man, less troublesome.”

“Let me choose for myself”, you brushed his cheek with the back of your hand. “Besides, if you had these pent-up feelings, you know you can always come to me for a little chat.”

“I see… But I did not wish you to tolerate the pathetic condition that I am in,” he laughed at himself. “Well, this one ain’t better. This one might be even worse.”

“I don’t mind your ‘pathetic’ condition. You look rather charming, love.”

The man leaned towards you placing his head on your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against you. As you put your hand over his hair, caressing it once more, you heard silent, yet calm breathing.

“Uh, the alcohol got him.”

Attempting to not disturb the peaceful sleep of your darling, you deliberately pushed him back onto your bed, making sure the pillows were comfortably enough beneath his head, and covered him with the duvet.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 20

Damn guys, wow! Twenty chapters in. Shit. Wow. We've only got five chapters to go.

Hey, remember that breakdown that Steve feared was coming? Yeah it's in this chapter. Just not the person anyone thought it would be. Also Steve learns to lean on the people who love him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

Steve was nervous. He was rarely nervous on stage, but this was special. Eddie had written a duet version of one Corroded Coffin’s songs and Abbadon was going to feature. So when The Fallen left and Corroded Coffin came on, the first song would be the new duet.

Apparently Gareth had been badgering Eddie to include it in the set list since before the whole rehab stint. But that was around the time Steve and he got together and felt it was too close to the mark to sing it on stage like that.

But somehow the three other members had convinced him and Eddie in turn had managed to convince The Fallen, both bands managers, and their tech guys to let them do it in Denver.

The Fallen finished their encore and they huddled together as Corroded Coffin’s equipment was set up.

Then it was time, with all the lights off Abbadon went to stand in the middle of the stage, directly in front Gareth’s stage where his kit was. The spotlights came on, first highlighting Gareth, then Brian, Jeff, and then Eddie.

Abbadon stood in the darkness, microphone in hand, head hung between his shoulders.

This was the moment. The moment Steve had spent his whole adult life dreaming about. On stage with Corroded Coffin to sing with Eddie. His only regret that it was as Abbadon and not himself. But damn, he’d be fool to turn down the opportunity and he knew it.

Eddie started in on guitar; the sweet, slow build up of one of their greatest hits. “Run, Lover Boy, Run.”

But when the first verse started it wasn’t the gravelly growl of Eddie Munson, but the haunting tenor of Abbadon.

“When I see you there,

Standing with your friends,

I have to stop and stare,

Because, baby I know how this ends...”

Finally Abbadon was lit by a pale blue light, making the white of his costume seem ghost like and eerie. He raised his head and the lace mask made him even more beautiful. He walked toward the front of the stage slowly as he joined Eddie front and center.

To say the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. The Fallen fans were freaking out and screaming and crying. The Corroded Coffin fans roared their approval as Abbadon’s voice lent the song a melancholy vibe.

Eddie sang the second verse and then they joined in together for the chorus. Abbadon leaned in close, their spotlights blending together.

“Run, Lover Boy, Run,

Don’t you know,

You were only a little bit of fun

Run, Lover Boy, Run

You were looking for love,

Can’t you see we’re done?”

Abbadon knew he should have moved back for the next verse, but somehow he found himself draped over Eddie. Even though the song was about being used by a guy he thought he could trust but was only looking for a hookup and not something more serious. He just couldn't move away.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on his guitar, playing his hardest and singing about heartbreak. Abbadon’s microphone was at his side as he shared Eddie’s. He had even turned it off to avoid feedback.

They were so close that any closer they would have been making out over the microphone. But the thing that really tipped things over the edge was when the final verse came, Abbadon sunk to his knees and belted it out. So from a certain perspective it looked as though he was grinding against Eddie leg.

The crowd went absolutely feral. There was screaming, crying, and apparently in two extreme cases, fainting.

He wasn’t.

Steve wanted to make that clear. He wasn’t grinding against Eddie’s leg. To both their management and the media. Because, yeah he saw the video the fans uploaded and it was very suspect, but his other fans had his back. They posted the view from the other side of the stadium where he was just a few feet away from the lead singer, on his knees, his free hand clenched in a fist.

But oh boy did fuel rumors about Abbadon and Eddie in ways that made Steve’s skin crawl. It was a good thing they had two days before they got to Vegas for Steve to hide in their trailer.

“Steve!” Robin as Robin called out, banging on the door. “Come on, Steve, you can’t hide in there forever!”

Eddie had tried. Chrissy had tried. Hell, even Vickie gave it a go. But Steve refused to budge. Shane let out a sigh after Simon and Spence were both sent away as well.

“Let me try,” he said softly.

They all cleared out to let Shane have a go. He sat down on the steps to the trailer and leaned his head against the door.

“Hey, Steve,” he muttered. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m gonna start talking and maybe you’ll decide to do that on your own.”

He was met with silence. Which was already a step up from the shouts to go away. So he started talking.

“I worry about us as friends, all of us,” he said, strained. “Simon keeps turning down women who are generally into him because he thinks they’re only into him because of what we do. But there have been some real good ones. One that wanted to get to know him, but he just shuts them down. I worry about his attachment to you. I know he’s straight. I’ve hit on him before... before you I guess. Back when we were just some idiots in a cafe who didn’t know what life was.”

He let out a watery chuckle. “But I’ve also seen girls flirt with him as a roadie and he still thinks it’s because of what he does rather than wanting him for he who is. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best. But he doesn’t seem to want to be better.”

Shane looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a shuddering breath. He hung his head.

“Spence doesn’t want to go out anymore,” he continued, his voice quaking with the feeling of loss. “All he wants to do is spend all his time talking to Nadia. The only time he goes out is as someone else and that can’t be healthy either.”

He ran his fingers through his tight red curls, gripping them at the base and pulling. His hands shook with the effort and the emotions.

“I just came out as gay and I’m frightened by it all,” Shane said. “My parents are supportive. Because of course they are. But I can tell the difference in people from the way they used to look at me and how they look at me now. I was going to teach middle school, Steve. I was going to teach world history to teenagers. But this changed everything.”

There was a soft thud behind him and he figured it was Steve sitting on the floor in front of the door.

“But of all us,” he whispered through his tears, “I worry about you the most. You think you have to be strong for everyone else. You came out with me and I’m getting more support than you are. Yeah, you have a good support system. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come out otherwise, twin. But this moment that blew up in your face, shouldn’t have.”

He lifted his head up and let the tears continue to stream down his face. “It should have been a moment of pure joy and it turned into an embarrassment. You’ll forever look back at the first time you sang with shame. And you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incandescent. You lit up that stage and it was beautiful.”

The door to the trailer opened a crack and instantly Shane was on his feet. He opened the door all the way and slipped inside, closing it tightly behind him. Sitting in the dark on the floor not far from the door was a very disheveled Steve. It looked like he hadn’t slept in awhile. They all traveled together, but Steve had taken to locking people out until it was time to get on the road again.

“Hey, twin,” Shane muttered as he moved to sit next to him on the floor.

Steve snorted. They looked nothing alike but by some twist of fate they had been born on the same day, year and all. Steve was older by like seven hours. So Shane had taken to calling him twin when no one else was around.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate making people worry about me.”

Shane bumped their shoulders together. “Well that’s too damn bad, Steve. Because you don’t get to make that choice for other people.”

Steve out a shuddering breath. “It’s not even the fallout of people thinking I was grinding against him that bothers me the most.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked with a huff. “What is?”

“That I wanted to.” Steve buried his head in his hands. “I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hell even fuck him on that stage. But I knew that if I wavered for even a fucking second the backlash would be, oh so much worse.”

Shane looked at him for a moment. “No it wouldn’t.” Steve’s head whipped around to face him. “Steve...you hang off me and Simon all the time. You flirt with the audience. All the photo shoots of you are in sexy poses. Shit, man. You wouldn’t be doing anything different than a half a dozen heterosexual bands have done on stage.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. And Shane was right. A famous rockstar humped a massive blown up dick on stage and no one thought twice about that. At least none that weren’t going to be pearl clutching about it in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“I think you should play up into more if I’m honest,” Shane huffed. “You’re out as bisexual. Play into the stereotype of being a slut. The people who know you, know you’re with Eddie and monogamous, but those people,” he pointed out of the trailer, “the ones that don’t matter? Soak up all that attention and feed on it.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread out over his face. Pictures started forming in his head. He thought about how his persona was already the opposite of him in real life. He thought about the thrill he got when he saw the photos of him online from the angle that made it look risque. He thought about how he wanted to play up into flirting with Eddie on stage.

“Can you get the rest of the band in here with Robin and Eddie and Vickie if you can get her too?”

Shane’s answering grin was all he needed to know. Shane got to his feet and within minutes everyone was huddled together in the trailer and Steve explained his idea.

Vickie smiled wickedly. “I think it’s a brilliant idea and if Eddie’s on board with it I’d be happy to lean into that.”

Eddie sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think what might make it easier so people don’t focus on me is if I get the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys in on it too. That way if Steve as Abbadon is seen flirting with the whole band it’ll come off as being a flirt and not that there’s something specific between Abbadon and I.”

“I like that,” Simon agreed. “Abbadon is already all over Astraeus and Asmodeus so flirting with Jeff and Brian as well as Eddie that would play up into the slut allegations.”

Steve laughed and then shared a knowing smile with Robin. Yep. Simon might be shy about most things but when it came to Steve... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

“We’ll do another duet tonight,” Eddie said, nodding. “Have Abbadon start Gareth’s lap or something.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Spence said, “but don’t lock us out next time. You’re there for us. It’s time you let us be there for you. Okay?”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They all came up and gave Steve huge hugs before they piled out of the trailer again, leaving behind Shane and Eddie.

“Thanks for getting him to come out of his shell,” Eddie said to Shane. “I didn’t know what to say because it’s always been apart of my contract that I was out and loud.” He stood up and gave Steve a sweet kiss on the mouth before he, too, went back outside.

“You going to be okay, Steve?” Shane asked, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well futon technically, but semantics.

Steve looked up at his friend. “I worry about you, too.” Shane let out a an aborted laugh. “I know you’re frightened of being out, but I know you’ve been coming back from partying all hours of the night and sometimes day. Spence and Simon sleep like fucking logs and snore just like sawing them. But I hear you.”

Shane buried his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers down his face. “I’ll tell you what, twin. I’ll cut back on the partying, if accept our help. And not just some of the time. Come to us for help and I’ll keep the partying to a minimum.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Just take Spence out with you and we’ll call it a deal.”

He reached out his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[sincere1ystar]

Alone Again

peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem! reader

You and Coriolanus have always had a complicated relationship, and before you can mend it fate makes a decision for you.

There were two men who lived within coriolanus snow. The first one was Officer Snow who held his head high and was highly respected among his fellow peacekeepers. The second one was your Coryo who came to your house every night in fragmented pieces. Yet you would always put him back together again while he whispered empty promises to you among his sobs.

He came fractured to you every night and you slowly put him back together every night. As the sunlight poured through the windows, he would be as good as new again. He left you a kiss on your cheek every morning before he put on his peacekeeper uniform and left before anyone noticed he was gone for too long. You were happy to see him at peace during the mornings, knowing that his melancholy would arise with the moon and he would come back to you bruised and broken yet again.

Sometimes you wondered how much longer you could put up with it all. Coriolanus sweared that your love could heal all his wounds. Love, that’s what shackled you to him. He truely knew you, he would trace over the little details over your skin that you never knew existed and somehow always knew what were you feeling by the look in your eyes. But he still kept himself so guarded around you, you could see it in the way all his expressions seemed calculated and how he sometimes bit his lip mid conversation, making sure to never reveal too much. Did you really know the man you loved?

Despite his flaws, you knew he loved you and you comforted yourself with the fact. He still made effort for your sake even when he was in vain. He would always come back to you, was it for your sake or because you were all he had left?You weren’t picky, you never received much love growing up so you latched onto what you could get and you refused to let go of Coriolanus even with calloused and scorched hands begging you to let go.

When the appearance of his footsteps on your doorstep was replaced with a letter, you don’t read too much into it at first. It was later than his normal arrival time and you decided to peek out the window to see if you could catch any sight of him. Instead you were met with a flimsy piece of paper that that didn’t even meet up to his presence. You opened it hoping it was just a warning that he would be coming home later than usual. Your face fell when you slowly unfolded the paper and realized that Coriolanus wasn’t just held up by his peacekeeper duties.

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

To my dearest,

It seems our path has come to an end. Not like I wanted it to, I avoided shortcuts and alternate routes. I always knew deep down we were on limited time, still like a foolish boy I pushed it down hoping for a miracle. Don’t hate me, fate is a cruel thing and set us up from the start knowing we would never stand a chance. Don’t wait up on me either, I won’t come back. Perhaps this was for the best, a soul as gentle as yours was never meant to be with my tainted one. I hope you’ll move on, it’ll be best for you and that’s all I’ll cared about from the start.

Forever and Always,

your Coryo

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

Even know that he was gone he was stil asking so much from you. “Dont hate me.. Don’t wait up on me.. I hope you’ll move on”. You should be angry, yet you can’t help it as tears slip from your eyes. You gave him everything you were, you gave him your being and soul all for a piece of paper with his written words on it. Your tears fall on the paper smearing the ink. Destroying the last memory you would ever have of him. Still, the letter couldn’t capture the way he always knew how to make up for his mistakes or the way his apologizes ran sweet through his mouth like honey. He had turned you into some sort of fool, crying your heart out over a man who could only offer you “I’m sorry’s” instead of “I do’s.

Too little too late.

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part III

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you are found out. Chapter Warnings: Making out, a little bit of groping, teasing, fingering, Loki being a horrendous tease.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s difficult to return to your life the next day.

You try to be pragmatic about it: you’ve told yourself over and over that what had happened in the garden was a fluke, a once in a lifetime bout of extraordinariness that would not—could not—be repeated. You know this and you accept it.

But the magic of last night lingers in a way that makes you feel a little melancholy and wistful. You’re distracted the whole day, your thoughts wandering back to the feeling of soft lips on yours, warm hands on your waist, the glimmer of emerald green eyes.

“Are you well?” Grete asks you that afternoon. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

You force a smile. “I didn’t sleep well,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie, but also isn’t the full truth. Either way, it’s enough to fool Grete, who returns to her work, chattering about something that happened with Solvi and one of the stablehands.

Even if she wasn’t a gossip, you could never tell Grete what happened in the garden. You could never tell anyone. A sudden, lonely feeling rears its head and there’s an ache in the center of your chest. You’re used to being lonely, but this feels different, sharper in a way you’re not expecting.

It doesn’t seem like it should be possible to miss a life that you never had, but you find yourself consumed with that notion.

Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t gone at all.

You don’t go to the library that night. It’s largely because you don’t want to risk the chance of him recognizing you so close to the masquerade. The more time between you and the masquerade, the better: better that you fade from his memory rather than inadvertently jog it

But it’s also because you’re not sure that you can bear to be in the same room as him when you’re feeling like this. Better to wait until your heart felt a little less tender.

You avoid the library for six days. On the seventh day, you decide that you’ve waited long enough to return. 

In hindsight, though, it was the height of hubris to think that you could pull one over on the god of mischief and lies.

In making this bargain with Loki, you were making several assumptions. You had assumed that his memory was imperfect enough to not recognize you without your mask and that your very dull and ordinary life had such a vise grip on you that no force—not even the attention of a handsome and clever prince—could possibly disrupt it.

How very wrong you were.

You’re initially quite relieved when you don’t see him in his usual chair. You’ll be able to fully enjoy yourself without worrying about looking over your shoulder as you wander through the stacks.

You’re feeling rather pleased with yourself and a little giddy with relief and you’re not exactly paying attention as you round a corner in the stacks, a fact that becomes apparent to you when you crash into something rather warm and solid. Hands grab your elbows to keep you from falling and you look up, your mouth half open in an apology.

It is at this point that you begin to process that the warm and solid thing that you’ve bumped into is, in fact, a person.

More specifically: it’s Loki.

For a moment, you think you might be able to wiggle your way out of this particular snag without any problem. But then he locks eyes with you and you immediately, instinctively know that it’s too late: he knows exactly who you are.

His smile is wide and sharp. Predatory—but not in an unappealing way. “Hello, little mouse.”

Your mouth is paper dry and suddenly your legs feel too unsteady to even attempt a clumsy curtsy.

“Your highness, I—” You’re struggling to string a pair of words together and this is made all the more difficult by the fact that he hasn’t let go of you. “Forgive me,” you say, “I can explain.” 

You are not entirely sure that you can, to be quite honest, but it seems like the right thing to say.

“You can explain why you thought it clever to lie to your prince?” he says lightly, his voice rich with mirth. He doesn’t look angry—on the contrary, he seems amused. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Nothing I said was a lie,” you say. “I only did not tell you who I was.”

“Clever girl,” he says. His voice is low and intimate and it’s doing something delicious to your insides, even as your heart threatens to pound its way out of your chest. “Tell me,” he says, “how does a servant come to be so clever as to read Auber and sneak into libraries and fool princes at masquerades?”

“Perhaps I was not always a servant,” you say and then, before you can stop yourself, you add, “And at any rate, I don’t read Auber when I can avoid him. I’m a sensible person, after all.”

It’s an impertinent thing to say and you’re already in enough trouble as it is. But Loki merely chuckles.

“You have a wicked tongue, my dear,” he says with a catlike smile. “That will get you into trouble someday.”

“One could argue it already has,” you say before you can think better of it.

“Indeed,” he says and his eyes glitter like the edge of a knife. “And now that I’ve found you, I believe you made me a promise.” 

You almost want to laugh. The very notion of him still wanting to kiss you is several different kinds of absurd. “Surely you don’t intend to carry on with that game now that you know who I am,” you say.

There again is the catlike smile. “On the contrary, I quite enjoy our merry little chase and I intend to continue it now that I’ve found you.”

“I’m beneath you.”

He gives you a wicked grin. “I’d rather like you to be.”

You’re confronted with two opposing feelings. You can’t deny that you’re flattered: he’s handsome and you’re wildly attracted to him despite the fact that it’s inconvenient, to say the very least. But at the same time, you’re not about to just cede all power to him just because you’re flattered. At the end of the day, he’s a prince and you’re a servant—you won’t let him take advantage of that imbalance.

“I won’t be your conquest of the week,” you say sharply, using a tone that most would consider inappropriate for addressing someone of his status. “I’m some toy you can play with and discard when you tire of me.”

You expect him to reprimand you, to remind you of your place, but instead he laughs. The sound surprises you, even as it does shameful things to your insides. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

You’re skeptical of this and your expression shows it. He registers this and he becomes a bit more serious. “Darling,” he says, placing his hands on the shelves behind you and casually cageing you in, “I’m not letting you go that easily. You have my undivided attention.”

The prospect of receiving his undivided attention sends a shiver up your spine—it’s as intimidating as it is appealing.

“Now,” he says, his voice lowering as his fingertips graze the curve of your jaw, “I’d like to collect on a promise.”

Your breath stutters in your throat as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He looks down at you, his eyes hooded and focused on your lips. He waits one long, agonizing moment, and you remind yourself to breathe and forget the instruction a moment later when his lips brush lightly against yours. Were it not for the heavy, coiling heat he was summoning in your hips, it would almost seem chaste. You feel him take a breath and then his mouth is opening against yours, his tongue tracing your lower lip and then sliding smoothly past it.

That last kiss was supposed to last you a lifetime—you were not expecting another one ever, let alone so soon. You feel drunk on the taste of his lips and his tongue has you thinking wicked thoughts. The longer it goes on, the more your knees wobble and the more breathless you feel.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and tug on it gently; he inhales sharply and presses against you like he has half a mind to take you right there up against the stacks and stars above, you can’t help but want that just a little. 

His thigh slots between your legs and your body sings as you arch against him.

Maybe you want that a lot.

His hands have moved from your cheeks to your waist, pressing you against him, stroking up your back and sides. His thumb barely grazes the underside of one of your breasts and a low whimper escapes the back of your throat.

You lose all sense of time and it feels far too soon when he pulls away from you, even though you can hear the clock chiming midnight. You find that you’re rather gratified and proud of the slight redness in his cheeks, how his breathing is slightly labored. You grip the shelf behind you, knees trembling.

He licks his lips as he surveys you. “This isn’t over, little mouse,” he murmurs.

You’re not quite sure if you want to kiss him or scold him. “What do you mean by that?”

He smirks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the library, leaving your head spinning.

You return to the library the next night. There is no reason for this—or, rather, there’s no good reason for this; while you’re enjoying your book well enough, you can’t say that it’s compelling to the point of interrupting your thoughts.

There are other reasons that have been, though.

Well. One reason, if you’re being honest.

Your feet take you to your usual place in the stacks, you find your latest book, but your mind is elsewhere, listening for the telltale tap of a booted foot on the stone floor, the creak of leather.

If someone were to ask you what you were expecting, you wouldn’t know what to say. Obviously, you’re hoping to see him again—and as much as you know it’s not a good idea, you’re also hoping that he’ll kiss you. You’re hesitant to allow yourself to think much farther than that, simply because the fact that he wants to kiss you still seems rather impossible. You learned early on in your days at the palace that daydreaming was almost certain to lead to disappointment. You’re reluctant to allow your mind to stray too far down that path.

It’s easier said than done, though.

You’re not exactly sure how he arrives, just that he suddenly has—there is a presence behind you and when you breathe in deeply, you swear you can catch the faint scent of leather and something wintery and masculine.

“Your highness,” you say coolly, like you haven’t been waiting for him with bated breath.

“Are you really enjoying your book that much?” he says and you have to force yourself not to jump when his voice is much, much closer than you thought he was. 

“It’s not Auber, so yes, I should say I am enjoying it,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles and the sound sends a shiver up your spine. “Always so sharp tongued.”

You force yourself to turn around then and stars , he is so much closer than you thought. You tilt your chin up to look at him. “Why are you here?”

His smile is wide, like he finds you especially amusing. “I am often here late at night. You know this.”

“You do not usually loom over me in the stacks,” you say.

His eyebrows lift. “Is that what I’m doing? Looming?”

“You are standing awfully close.”

Any other person might take a step back: he takes a step closer so that your back is pressed against the shelves, lowering his head so that his lips are right next to your ear. “Perhaps I’m looking for a book,” he says.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He laughs and you feel his breath warm on your neck. “Clever girl.” His lips brush against your collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly at the delicate skin there.

“I don’t understand,” you say, even as your eyes flutter shut and you lean into his embrace. “I’m no one—why are you here?”

“Did I not tell you this wasn’t over?” he says against your neck, allowing his tongue to dip into the hollow of your collarbone, making your knees weak.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say, but it doesn’t matter because he’s now covering your mouth with his and you can scarcely remember your own name, let alone what you were going to say next. He’s demanding and hungry, one hand tipping your head back, cupping the curve of your jaw, the other sliding to your waist, pressing you flush against him.

You’re not entirely sure what his motivations are or how far he intends to take this, but it’s hard to convince yourself to care when he’s kissing you like this. Fire is racing through your veins, filling you with a kind of reckless wanting that makes your toes curl in your shoes.

His hand slides from your waist, skimming up your side to cup your breast over your dress. He is cautious, seeming to wait for your muffled moan before taking it more firmly in his hand, expertly kneading and squeezing in just the right way until you’re half considering guiding his hand down the front of your dress.

It’s at this precise moment that he steps back from you, his dark pupils and the slight catch in his breath the only indication that you’d exchanged anything more than polite pleasantries. You lean against the shelves panting, your entire body crackling with a strange kind of heat.

“Goodnight,” he says, seemingly unable to resist a smirk as he leaves you once again in the darkness of the library as the clock strikes midnight.

He’s playing a game with you. That much is clear. You’d like to think that you’re sensible enough to know not to take his bait, to stay away from the library after dark, but you appear to be mistaken on that count. You spend most of the next day trying to keep your treacherous mind from wandering too far. You are only moderately successful—you nearly burn an entire batch of biscuits due to a particular daydream that leaves you staring out a window for a minute too long.

He’s waiting for you in the stacks this time, giving you the same smirk he did last night when he left you. You decide to keep your distance for the time being—you’re not sure that you can ever say that you've got the upper hand on him, but you’re more likely to have a chance at it the farther away he is.

“Your highness,” you say.

“My lady.”

You give him a stern look. “You needn’t mock me, I know I’ve no titles.”

“Oh, I’m not mocking you, sweet,” he says and you are fairly certain he’s being sincere. “You are an impressive woman. You ought to have titles.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest.

“Of course I am. Did I not tell you that I was trying to charm you?” he says, taking a step toward you.

You swallow and stare at him. “You said that when you thought I was someone else.”

Another step. “You seem to think that I ought to have lost interest when I found out who you are. Why is that?”

You tilt your chin up and stare at him defiantly. “When has a noble ever taken a genuine interest in a servant? It’s not done.”

He smirks again and takes another step forward and once again, you’re pressed between him and the bookshelf. “You know my reputation,” he says, his fingertips trailing against your throat. “I care very little for rules.”

His gaze meanders over your face, lingering on your lips, but you hold steady, despite your pounding heart. “So you’re using me to disrupt things because it amuses you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he says, the backs of his fingers stroking your cheek. “I find you enticing. I’m not inclined to be bothered by rules that say I ought not to because it isn’t done.”

You press your lips together and look at him warily. “I don’t know that I should trust you.”

He shouldn’t look like he finds this amusing, but his eyes glitter in the dim light. “And why is that?”

“I know your reputation,” you say. “You are the god of mischief and lies. I ought to stay away from you.”

“And yet, you’ve turned up here for the last three nights and uttered not a word of protest when I’ve kissed you,” he says.

“I said I ought to stay away,” you say. “I never said I would.”

His smile is slow. “Clever girl.”

He kisses you again, slow to start, like he’s giving you an opportunity to turn him away. When you don’t, his movements become hungrier, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

His hand slips down the front of your dress and you gasp as his fingers pinch and tease your nipple into a stiff and aching point, igniting a smoldering ache between your legs. You’ve never wanted anyone like this and you resolve in that moment not to say so because telling him is the same as giving him leverage and you’re still fairly certain that that is a bad idea.

His thigh has nudged its way between your legs and you press against him as much as your skirts will allow, shamelessly trying to generate enough friction and pressure to provide yourself some relief.

The clock chimes midnight and he steps away and you wonder how much more of this you’ll be able to take.

He’s late the next night—so late, in fact, that you almost give up and leave because you think he’s not coming. You try not to dwell upon the disappointed little twinge that blooms in your chest when you think this is the case.

But then you hear soft footsteps in the quiet of the library and you look up and find him leaning against the end of the stacks, looking far more comfortable than he has any right to be.

“You’re late,” you say before you can think about it.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asks with the slightest of smirks. “Were you disappointed?”

You attempt to keep your expression cool and composed. “I didn’t think anything.”

He chuckles. “You tell such pretty lies, my dear.”

You want to deny it outright, but that feels like playing right into his hands. You consider your next moves as he approaches you, again backing you up against the stacks.

“Do you know what I think?” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I think you’re rather fond of these little interludes.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting with a kind of mischief that makes you press your thighs together. “Shall we find out how fond?”

You’re fairly certain you know what he’s implying, but you’re also fairly certain that he’s not going to actually go through with it. It’s one thing to kiss you like he has been, but it’s another thing entirely to actually touch you. Surely he’s not that bold.

His left hand slides from your hip over the curve of your ass and then along your thigh, raising your leg to hook around his waist. You grab his shoulders, still certain that he’s bluffing even as he pushes the hem of your skirt up.

His hand trails along the inside of your thigh, expertly navigating your petticoats and undergarments. He watches your face intently as his hand inches up your thigh, seemingly cataloging every time your breath hitches, every time you bite your lip in anticipation. You try to keep yourself contained and calm, even as you can feel the slickness between your thighs growing with every passing second.

You realize that he’s not bluffing precisely when his fingers part your dripping sex. You gasp as his fingers lightly brush against your clit and you catch his greedy, triumphant smile as your head tips back against the shelf.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, sliding one finger inside you as his thumb presses against your swollen clit. “What filthy thoughts have left you so wet and wanting, my pretty little kitchen maid?”

This should bother you: you’re not his and you’re more than a kitchen maid. Instead, your body seems focused on its mission to betray you, as his words only make you whimper and tense around his slowly thrusting finger.

“I could make you come right here,” he says, his eyes raking over your body with a raw hunger. “Would you like that?”

“Please,” leaves your lips before you can ask yourself what you’re thinking.

“So polite,” he breathes into your ear. “Had I known it was this easy to tame that sharp tongue of yours, I would have buried my face between your thighs in the garden.”

Your cheeks burn, though you’re not sure if it’s from his fingers or his words. “I would not claim that victory yet, highness.”

His eyes flash and his hips press against you when you use his title—you file that little fact away for later. 

You can’t even pretend that there’s not going to be a later.

“If my hand slowed, you would beg for me,” he says with a smirk that is slightly too self-assured.

You tilt your chin up, staring at him defiantly. “You flatter yourself.”

His smirk widens as his hand slows and you immediately regret challenging him. He slides his hand away from you, holding your gaze. He pauses for a beat and when you continue your silence, he raises his fingers to his lips and slowly draws them into his mouth. You catch a glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue as he carefully licks your essence from his forefinger and thumb, closing his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. It’s indecent—everything about this is indecent—but you can’t look away.

Your resolve crumbles abruptly and completely. “Please,” you whisper.

He releases his fingers and gives you a lazy smile. “Can you be quiet like a good girl?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

He leans in and kisses you. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs against your lips, “because I want to hear you scream for me. And we can’t very well do that in the library.”

He draws back, smirking, and you suddenly know that you’ve lost another point in this strange game that you’re playing.

“Come to my chambers tomorrow night after dark,” he says. 

Stars above, you’re going to kill him.

“You’re an ass,” you say.

He chuckles and kisses you again. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You hate how much of an effect that has on you, but you’re reasonably certain that you’ve managed to hide most of that from him.

“Your confidence is inspiring,” you say.

“And your tongue is wicked,” he says, stepping away from you and it takes every ounce of pride you have not to reach for him and pull him back to you. He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his emerald eyes never leaving yours and somehow it feels just as intimate as what had just happened. “Until tomorrow,” he says before dropping your hand and walking away, leaving you with your heart pounding.

Next chapter

[gaysindistress]

A Fool’s Devotion

disclaimer: shoutout to @malsorie for letting me use her stunning art. The center picture as well as the bottom one are her master pieces. All others were found on Pinterest or Google.

pairings: Minthara x f!reader (could be read as gn since I didn’t use pronouns for reader)

Summary: Only a fool would remain faithful to a coward god.

Warnings: bg3 cannon violence

Word count: 2.7k

Bg3 masterlist

A Fool’s Devotion teaser

Drifting through the stale winds of the Underdark on mushroom spores, I have finally found her.

Sitting in a cold and silent room with her chin resting on her closed fist as she watches the city from the window, I have finally found her.

Singing the songs of both her victims and allies, a reckoning begins in the hallows of slit throats and caverns of forgotten hope but I finally found her.

A paladin who’s lost their oath, willfully broken under the pretenses of another’s twisted lies, she sits with the blood of her mother caked into the creases of her hands. A daughter, once sworn to her house and to her goddess, she no longer is but in her place is a creature of darkness.

A wickedly evil thing lives in the mess that Orin made of her mind.

Darkness from the depths of Mykrul’s personal hell has crept into her heart and warped whatever demented love that Drow society left behind.

A soldier for her people, her house, and her goddess has been lost to the wild of Faerun and now only remains a soldier for herself in the haunting study of House Baenre.

Floating through the open window, I watch her stare at a distant fixated point in the city. Alone she has let her guard fall and with it, the look of desired anguish is pulled taunt on her face. The thought of not remembering her time with the Absolute must eat away at her every moment she is awake and those from her childhood must find her at night given the way her brows are pinched together. Within the red of her eyes, dry tears gather but don’t fall down on her lavender cheeks. Her lips are pulled into a tight line and her jaw is set in a similar fashion.

The veil that hides me from her view falls as my boots make contact with the floor. Like the smoke that dances above a dying campfire, I flicker into existence and come to stand beside the window facing her. Her melancholy comes off of her in waves that lap at my feet but from my spot, I’m a safe distance from her sea of emotions.

“You’re here,” her voice cracks for a moment as she speaks to me but continues to stare past me, “I was beginning to wonder when you would make your appearance.”

“There are rules, Minthara.” She interrupts me by waving me off with the hand her chin had been resting on.

“Rules that even you have to follow,” I continue, “and I tried to warn you about what would happen if you broke them. I told you what the consequences would be if you continued down this path of murder and chased a power you would never hold. I sent you all kinds of signs, omens of what your future would hold should you continue to ignore me.”

I feel those exhausted red eyes cut to me, slicing through the leather of my armor and hoping to find a weak spot beneath. When no vein is ripe for her blade, she chooses a different route to maim me.

“A power I would never hold? You are a fool if you think that I haven’t been successful in my efforts to gain whatever it is that I seek.”

A sigh of defeat escapes my lips. I’d hoped that time would ease her determined mind but from what little she’s said, I can tell that it has only made it more rigid.

“Do the consequences of your actions not matter to you? Have you no sense of self preservation?”

Her hand falls to grip the edge of her chair. White strands of hair are disturbed from her movement but flutter back around her shoulders in moments as angry water laps at my feet. I fear that if I look down I would find a stormy wave ready to overtake me so that I may feel her anguish fully.

“Without it, I would have been dead by my mother’s own hand long ago. Self preservation is what has led me to where I am now. It’s been the only thing that has motivated me when all should be lost, when even YOU deserted me.”

The hole where my heart must have once sat clenches at her words; she believes that I deserted her. When all others have left her and deemed her too maniacal for their liking, she doesn’t care because there has always been one person who remained. When everything was stripped from her and she became a plaything for the Absolute and Orin, it didn’t matter what she suffered because her heart still knew there was one person who cared for her. As Tav decided to save her from that prison and make her a part of their camp, she didn’t seek out the companion of the others because she yearned for one person alone. While standing over Orin’s eviscerated corpse, she felt relief at the reality that this monster was gone but grief that she couldn’t share this feeling with one person in particular. When the Nether brain fell and she returned to her city, she searched for this person in every alleyway and noble house alike. Laying awake at night as she tried to ease the tension that unknown horrors had inflicted on her, she prayed to me and asked me to come back to her.

Can you hear my prayers? She cried one night. Can you hear me? Or are you ignoring me, ust-nor?

My answer feels thick on my tongue but there’s nothing else I can tell her, “I didn’t intend to desert you. I had no choice. I’d been called upon and you know that I cannot leave sooner than necessary.”

She lets out a sinister, mocking chuckle as she adjusts in her chair. She’s taken on a more relaxed pose, slouching with her hands folded on her lap although it’s merely a mask. “You reprimand me for making the wrong choices when you have done the same.”

My whole body bristles at her tone, “Minthara.”

She glowers at me with a menacing stare for a moment before sweeping over my appearance. “I suppose that you’re not here for old time’s sake if you’re wearing your armor. You’ve been called here, haven’t you?”

The armor in question is a complex web of leather and spider silk woven by Lolth herself. The chest plate boasts of Her favoritism from small pieces of Her candles that decorate the neckline and to the intricate spider designs carved into the blessed leather. Trousers and boots crafted in the same fashion fit closely to my legs, both blessed by the Spider Queen to grant me advantages in my line of work. However my gloves are the true testament of Lolth’s favor; a rather unassuming set of black leather gloves that grant me the ability to paralyze any creature that I desire. A soft touch to one’s arm in passing is all it would take for the paralytic to take effect in seconds and remain in effect until I release them. They’ve been the envy of many people but Minthara, in particular, has attempted to persuade me into giving them to her numerous times.

I glance down the gloves and flex my fingers to see the lights around us disappear into their black shade.

I allow my voice to fall into a deeper and authoritative one as I ask, “What is the name that people whisper when they speak of me?”

Her eyes narrow at the change before she answers, “Dobluth.”

The outcast.

I nod my head as I move away from the window at last. My boots make small, almost eerily silent sounds as I approach her and fully look at her. Ragged is not a kind word nor is it one she would ever allow someone to call her but it’s too simple of a word to describe the state that she is in. Now that I’m closer, I can see the true extent of her exhaustion and how it has wreaked havoc on her. No longer is she the vibrant and ever imposing Drow successor but in her place is the rotting corpse of a woman who’s witnessed and inflicted far too much evil. Fatigue has dulled her senses to the point that she barely reacts when I remove my cloak and place it on the small table beside her. Crouching before her, I study her face closely when I ghost my hands up her legs and brush them against her fold ones. I take note of the way her eyes almost flutter closed and she lets out a long sigh when I take them into mine.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

The simple command seems damn near impossible for me as she takes seconds too long to do so. She looks everywhere but my eyes at first and when I squeeze her hands, she finally meets my gaze.

“I’m the first Dobluth, Minthara. I was neither born nor created; I simply have existed since the dawn of time and will continue to exist when all else has perished. I will live in the hearts and minds of all living creatures and will putrefy with them as they take their last breaths. I will feed on the consequences of wrong doings and ease the pain of those who cry out for deaf gods as I do so. I am the devourer of all sin; I absolve souls of their weight and as a consequence, was named the first outcast, the First Dobluth. I am known by everyone yet no one knows who I am.” I keep eye contact with her as I press my lips to the top of her hands and murmur my sacred devotion to her, “No one knows me for who I am but you, Minthara. You may very well be the only person to have said my name in centuries, to know my face, to hear my voice, to have my interest. You’re the solo person who has known who and what I am but yet still chosen to be mine. My heart may no longer beat but it has found sanctuary within yours. My blood may be solidified within my veins but it flows within yours. My body may feel frigid but against yours, it feels alive once more. I may be fundamentally incapable of being anything other than a devourer but I’m sated with you and finally found fulfillment knowing that I am enough for you.”

I cup her face while keeping her hands firmly clasped in the other. Perhaps against her mind’s will, her heart allows her to lean into my hand and savor the feeling of a gentle touch. A lone tear smears against her skin as my thumb catches it and sweeps it across her cheekbone.

“I heard your prayers and I did everything I could to come back to you because without you, my existence would be a blur of fear and loneliness. There’s no reason other than to cause ourselves pain to dwell on what we wish we could change about the past but I need you to know that I never would’ve left had I known what that Bhaalspawn would do. I would’ve fought harder to stay had I known what horrors you would face by her hand. I would’ve slaughtered every cultist and their Chosen myself had I known what I do now.” Her angry waves crashed into me the moment we touched and began to form a hurricane of her emotions and mine within me as I spoke. As more determined tears fall, the hurricane crumbles into a beast of a different nature. Sorrow replaces that anger and tells her that I am here now and that is all that matters.

“You failed to answer my question; were you called here?” she murmurs.

It catches me off guard when it shouldn’t.

“I was called by you, ust-nor.”

Disgust twists her face at the pet name, causing her nose to wrinkle and brows to furrow. She pulls her face from my grasp, meanwhile against the leather of gloves, I feel the minuscule twitch of her fingers as she keeps herself from shoving me away entirely. Although I vowed to never bring her harm, she knows all too well what lethal consequences could come from irrational actions right now. A single misunderstood movement from her could result in endless paralysis with no way out.

A moment passes as Minthara presumably considers her next move. She leans down, close enough that her breath washes over my face.

“I will tell you what I told the first Oathbreaker bastard who offered me a chance at redemption; I will never be governed by another again. I will not vow my life to a thankless coward. I will not force myself to live by an oath that does not serve me nor prioritize my wellbeing. I’ve spent too long serving those who don’t care if it is me or some other mindless soldier who returns victorious. I’ve given everything I have and been forced to give even more for a cause that is not my own. I refuse to praise a god for simply allowing me to worship them.”

I wish disappointment had been the emotion that greeted me as she spoke. I wish I could say that I didn’t expect her to react this way or to say the words that she did. I wish I didn’t know her as well as I do so that this unfortunate reunion wouldn’t bring me as much misery as it does.

Sighing, I pull my hands back and rock back onto my knees. With my hands resting on my knees, I stare at her. It’s an act of submission, my stance but for her, I would strip my armor and present my weapons with a bare heart if she asked.

“If you do not wish to retake your oath, our Goddess has been generous enough to offer…”

“Fuck your goddess.”

The silence is astounding.

She gets to her feet and is at the window in one fluid motion it seems. Candle lights dance down the expanse of her back, across the pale strands of her hair and over her void like black dress. In her chair remained the forgotten over layer of her dress; a structured piece that was crafted to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies and allies alike. Pointed shoulders and gold edges give her a towering illusion that matches her confidence. The dress she still wears reminds me of what she lovingly called her at-ease clothes. It almost feels like a call back to a time simpler and much happier than now.

Almost.

“The so-called Spider Queen has no place in House Baenre.” Her voice is steady now, devoid of any previous emotion as she takes a pin from the window’s ledge and twists her hair back into place, “Soon she will find that she has no place in Menzoberranzan at all. Her effigies will be destroyed, her books burned, and her memory scrubbed from history. I had hoped that you would see reason one day and join me as I fight to reclaim the city but there is no place for a bleeding heart in war.”

Once more she has become Minthara, Matron of House Baenre.

Somewhere lost beneath the countless sins of others I have absolved lies a naive soul that yearns to take my place by her side as she becomes the Slayer of Lolth but it is that very same goddess that binds me to the floor now. Her envy and anger crackles with a ferocity I’ve seen only a few times through my body and into the marrow of my bones. Her power seethes and tightens around me when I try to push back, to stand, to move at all. It was one thing to allow me to come and speak to Minthara but Lolth is not the generous type.

“You are dismissed, Y/N.”

I catch a brief look of longing before Lolth retakes me, wrapping me in her spidery webs and dragging me back to her clutches.

“Goodbye alurlssrin.”

[cloverdaisies]

# THE LOVE POTION

eric sohn x gn!reader/ collab! 007 files w/ @winterchimez

— “you must locate, befriend & kill agent sohn.”

description: the infamous english spy eric sohn! travels into europe searching for an encryption that serves as a communication link for the secret service rival spectre.. it’s sohn’s mission to retrieve the device and return it to safe hands.. however upon arrival his ultimate distraction is you, can you craft the perfect potion that will make 007 fall in love?

genre & warnings: from russia with love! 007 au! 60s au! love triangle! betrayal & romance! mentions of blood! violence! mentions of death/ killing! but no actual character deaths! cursing! alcohol consumption! mentions weapons! kissing & other mildly suggestive themes! pls lmk if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 6k+

a/n: dt: @sohnric happy belated birthday bar 🤍 wellll … what can i say???? this is overdue !! do excuse my hiatus & messy schedule.. i would like to say a massive thank to @winterchimez for inviting me to collab with you for this event !! it REALLY pushed me out of my comfort zone & throughly enjoyed perfecting this plot as much as i could as a big challenge.. sorry for being so late … 🤍 please do go check out the others work for this event which you can find here and enjoy!

Devilishly you smiled to yourself in the mirror as you pulled on your white satin gloves and fastened a thin pearl necklace around your neck.

“Tea?” Your advisor of sorts, Sangyeon, suggested, gesturing a hand towards the teapot with a smile of generosity. “You’ve got a long week ahead, is it not better to relax now y/n?”

Sangyeon was a taller man, with darkish hair and buttery highlights that glimmered with sufficient light source. He wore a long black blazer with tailored trousers and a fitted white shirt to polish him perfectly. He’d been assigned to look over matters concerning your work, making sure you weren’t up to anything suspicious and meet your personal needs when required. Despite him being so helpful, there was something that irked you about his unwavering presence and constant eye over your activity.

Turning your neck ever so slightly, you grimaced letting out a small huff thinking of the mission you’d been proposed a little over the week ago by the organisation higher-ups.

“I suppose so. I mean…” You cleared your throat before chuckling quietly. “It’s going to be hard to fool one of the the top english spies, is it not? I’ve heard he’s a bit of a charmer. I can’t quite understand why I’ve been hired.”

“Quite so. He’s always got company you could say.” Sangyeon laughed in return, pouring the steaming hot tea from the pot with a gentle hand. “That being said, despite his charm you need to be incredibly careful not to reveal anything and stay on your guard at all times.”

“I always am. No man charms me. Id do anything for the mother country.” You reached out to grab the china teacup off it’s saucer and took it to your lips to sip.

“I definitely charm you, don’t I?” He retorted with a sly wink and a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

“Oh you wish.” You scoffed, placing the cup back down and shuddering at the comment before returning to the mirror to fix your appearance. “Besides, I have a dinner party at 8pm and I don’t need your loitering to be dampening my mood. Thank you for the pastries though, you should consider opening a bakery.”

“I’m glad you liked them. I’ll be back to escort you to your car then.” Sangyeon sighed, leaving the hotel suite with a soft close of the door.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

In England, the sound of a melancholy low trumpet hummed over scene from a street player outside, fading into the open window of a grand office. It was almost sunset, the sky tinting a pale shade of orange amongst dark clouds.

“It’s been 2 days since the killing of that agent they masked as you and you’ve got 3 hours until that flight to Istanbul! Do you understand the consequences if you don’t retrieve that lektor Sohn? That cipher machine connects their entire military intelligence and you’re walking around with a blinking target on your head! ” M recited to Sohn, between his fingers a thick cigar emitting a cloud of heavy smoke.

M, the head of the British Secret service, was addressing what was the assassination attempt of Sohn at a British military facility earlier that week. Sohn had been giving a mission to retrieve a soviet device called the lektor, a cipher machine developed to connect communications.

“I’m very aware, I’ll play my cards right when I get there.” Sohn replied, his lips twisting into a sly smirk as he was being lectured by the higher up.

“Very well.” M sighed rising from his chair, leaving his cigar to rest in a glass dish before retrieving a brief case from the side of his desk. “In that case, there’s 20 rounds of ammunition, flat throwing knives and a 0.25 caliber, rifle that folds it has infrared sight. Use this when you need it and don’t let it out your sight.”

“Thank you very much.” His fingers wrapped around his crystal glass of whiskey, Eric took a sip before inspecting the case with a smug smile. “I best be off.”

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

As the evening settled in Istanbul, the dinner party had began not being invited to sit at the table yourself, you felt quite disappointed your importance in the operation had been significantly swept aside. Upon arrival you quickly recognized a ruddy faced man with a well kept moustache, his hair turning a dark grey with age and was smartly dressed in the cream suit that had been described to you by Sangyeon.

“Hello, I give my deepest apologies for interrupting your conversation. However, I must speak to you in private sir.” You gently tapped on the man’s shoulder, watching him jovially turn with attention.

“Very well, may I ask your name? What can I do for you?” The man answered almost like a store keeper with polite customer service, as if a mask of required kindness had been veiled over his face.

“I’m Y/N, L/N, former agent associated with spectre. I have quite the infatuation with Eric Sohn, I heard he was travelling to the country this evening and I was hoping I could help assist his duties.” You replied opening your eyes like an innocent fawn in attempts to convince your ‘pure’ intentions.

“What’s your interest with Mr. Sohn? How am I meant to trust your being genuine, Y/N, is it?” The head of the British Secret Service in Istanbul spoke softly to you as you chewed at your inner lips nervously. Politely observing your attire, his lips twisting into a curious smile.

Sticking to the script, you began. “I’d be willing to betray this country, for the man has me quite swooned. Therefore, if you would be ever so kind to introduce me to Eric Sohn himself, I’d be ever so grateful. It could get me killed if you tell any other soul.” You spoke eloquently, your demeanour slightly mischievous as you attempted to charm the gentleman.

“If that’s so. I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you.” He returned a smile , turning away from you likely to confront Eric about the matters. Your grin almost resembled that of the cheshire cat, deviously imagining the plans success.

“Aren’t you quite the actor?” The voice of Sangyeon behind you caused you to jolt in fear, in case it was one of the agents unaware of the mission assigned to you.

“You just scared the living day lights out of me, can you not just go jumping out of the shadows at me like that?” You brought your hand out to your chest and let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s what I’m trained to do sweetheart.” He chuckled, patting your head like a lost puppy before pacing himself around to the other side of you.

“Seems your plans going smoothly, you have someone approaching you, west.” He quickly pointed over to where Eric Sohn was with gentleman you spoke to earlier.

It came as no surprise to you that the man was incredibly handsome, his smile as he spoke to the other was just magical it served as almost a charm and worked on people like a spell. It was a smile that evoked emotions inexplicable, love, desire, a false sense of comfort that could easily be used as a weapon for betrayal. It was no wonder he was the most sought after member of the secret service in his country, his looks alone could turn his every target into his puppet. He was smartly dressed like described in a classic black tuxedo, a briefcase slotted into his right hand, his hair an enchanting shade of platinum blonde that emphasised his defined bone structure, a jawline so dangerous it could tear paper.

Almost choking on your previous words that no man could charm you, you gulped slightly, clearing your throat and fixing your posture as he approached.

“Allow me to introduce you to Y/N L/N who I’d briefly mentioned earlier.” The gentleman in the cream attire held out his hand to greet you, gently shaking it with a two hands.

“Hello y/n, I’m Eric Sohn. Its delightful to meet such a gem amongst all these people.” He leaned to great you with a polite kiss on the cheek, gently shaking your hand. Every feeling of morality in your body shuddered, nervously feeling the limbs in your body grow weak almost as if you were one flirtatious comment away from fainting.

“It’s such a divine pleasure to meet you too, I’ve been dying to finally get the chance to meet you in person. I’m such an admirer of you work.” You quickly gathered yourself together and carefully spoke with a soft velvety voice.

“Shall we go for a walk in the gardens?” Eric suggested, his eyebrow raising curiously as he also observed your attire and features.

“I’d be more than glad.” You responded as he held his arm out towards you to link, gently taking your arm and walking you out the grand marble doors.

The night was darker than usual, with a dull moon and stars that twinkled pathetically amongst thick clouds. However the bright lights that had been messily strung across the hedges lit up the the scene warmly. The sound of the blue piano being played from the inside faintly bled out into the garden along with indistinguishable chatter from guests up in the main hall.

“I must ask y/n, what gave you interest in the British Secret Service in the first place?” He began as you walked the side of the grounds arm in arm.

“Well… I felt as if my position in the country wasn’t appreciated enough. I don’t agree with their morale or treatment regarding myself.” You replied gracefully, glancing over to the tidy man. His presence radiated that of a tough masculine self assured nature. He looked at you with suspicion, allowing his guard to remain up like a fence.

“Well it’s in my best interest to not trust your intentions immediately, but I believe the information that resides with you is incredibly valuable to me and my mission.” He took a moment to take a breath before a cocky smirk crawled on to his lips. “Therefore, to test this loyalty of yours. I have to request a map, one of the military base that holds the lektor I’m after. Provide this and you earn my trust, sweetheart.”

You gulped for a moment, you had specifically been told not to leak any intelligence or assist him in anyway. You couldn’t foil his plans by providing a false map either, your hands were tied and even he knew that. Him and his manipulation tactics. He knew sly ways around people, you providing this map would mean surrendering all your loyalty to the secret service and despite having feelings inexplicable for the man beside you, you couldn’t give up what meant most to you. You had to figure out a plan.

“When do you want me to provide this to you?” You attempted the mask the fear that lingered in your throat, strangling your words with thick ropes that made you sound as if you’d seen several ghosts appear before you.

“Tonight, slip it behind the fourth pillar beside the stairs by 10 and I’ll soon be there to pick it up." He smiled, there was something sinister about his words as if he knew that it would be almost impossible for you to hatch a plan within that time.

“Very well, it will be there.” You took a breath momentarily, his warm touch departing you as he proceeded back into the large building. He turned back to you a last time, giving you a sly wink before going upstairs with a bright smile on his lips.

“Are you out of your damn mind? You are aware he’s drawing you right in his trap?” Sangyeon appeared from behind one of the pillars outside, having followed you around the entire time. “He’s not an idiot, he’s trapping you, you providing that map will lead him straight to his plan.”

“Then you best tell them to prepare.” You rolled your eyes, watching his serious dark eyes stare into your conscience. “If I don’t give him this, we lose all trust. He’s not an idiot but perhaps you are, now leave me be.”

You breezed past him, making sure to shoulder check him before making your way back into the hall with a bitter smile on your face. Going into the bathrooms on the left side of the building, you took a pen from your bag and began to map out a rough sketch of the secured military base housing the lektor Sohn was after. Folding it between your fingers, you left the bathroom, discreetly dropping it by the pillar he’d asked you too.

You grabbed a glass of prosecco from one of the many waiters dotted around the function room and joined Sangyeon’s friendly conversation with other associates. Nervously, your attention wavered from the bubbles appearing at the top of the champagne flute, to over your shoulder where Sohn was now making his way behind the pillar.

He walked around it as if he was daydreaming, picking the sheet of paper up and sliding it into his pocket. He gave you a brief smile before proceeding back to his gaggle of officials who’d be overseeing his work in the country.

“I think it’s home time for us.” Sangyeon closed the conversation with a sigh, placing a firm but soft hand on your shoulder. You smiled at the group of men in front of you, before slipping past them arm linked with Sangyeon.

“The officials aren’t pleased with you.” Sangyeon muttered through pursed lips. “However, they understand that you sincerely had no other choice."

"And? Are they preparing?" You replied raising one eyebrow cockily.

"They can't assign enough men to cover the base tomorrow. However if Sohn gets his hands on the device, which is unlikely, they're use as much forces as they can to retrieve it back." Sangyeon sighed at the seemingly idiotic plan, his rough palm wiping the illusion of sweat from his forehead and loosening his slim black tie as you elegantly slipped into the parked Mercedes.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

The quiet hums of soft jazz fell across the café like a warm blanket, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a plethora of pastries baked earlier that morning danced through the air as if it were a spritz of expensive perfume. Outside, rain fell like hail, beating the ground like drumbeats and forming puddles that resembled ponds or even lakes.

Upon first encounter it would seem that you had your nose stuck into an edition of wuthering heights your eyes flickering over the nonsensical words, so often turning a page with a dramatic sigh. However, the act of appearing busy wore you out like no other, your fingers rested on the right side of your face with impatient taps.

“Well… What a surprise to see you here!” An almost sarcastic voice sounded as the bell chimed over the café alerting you from the words on the page.

Your eyes snapped to Eric Sohn, neatly dressed as usual in a tuxedo with pin stripes, the outfit missing the blazer but tied together with a waistcoat. If you hadn’t been so stressed about the date, you would have fainted over his rolled up dress shirt that exposed his toned forearms. You would have been a mess, but that’s not the point at hand.

“Well yes, I do enjoy a morning read, you could say.” You smiled, almost grimacing at the script-like conversation. Finding yourself almost upset you had to talk to him that way, wishing you could genuinely talk to the man on a level that wasn’t inevitably leading to the utter destruction of betrayal.

“You seem like you’re away with the fairies this morning, what’s on your mind?” He sat beside you for a moment, his elbows rested on the table behind him. His face was just above your head, eyes looming over you suspiciously.

“I’m just worried.” You replied simply, packing your things into your bag with a short huff. Awaiting you both was Sohn’s plan to breach the military base that very afternoon.

“How so?” He chuckled almost, smile lines breaking out in his cheeks, his grin lighting up his every feature, helping you to climb down from the stool you’d sat on.

“Well, what happens if this doesn’t go to plan?” You looked him in his deep brown eyes that glistened so prettily under the warm lighting, his smile dampening quickly.

“In my way or yours?” He smirked cockily, turning from you to leave the café, briefly turning to check you were following. However, you stood frozen still, what does that mean? Your plan hadn’t worked? Your blood ran cold, he’d truly had you wrapped around his finger, he knew.

“Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean by that.” You laughed the situation off, watching as his pitiful smile broke again, an almost pathetic laugh escaping his lips.

“Don’t play dumb.” He rolled his eyes momentarily, grinning with a hint of mischief to his words. “You and I clearly have our differences. I don’t fall for this entire act you’ve got going on, sugar.”

You felt sweat forming in the palms of your hands, your lips begin to quiver slightly, whilst your tongue felt like it had been duct taped to the roof of your mouth. With a clenched jaw you chose silence, watching him smirk as you stared into the pitiful void in his eyes. His hand ran through the platinum blonde strands of his hair as he sighed, unable to contain his chuckles as he watched you drown in your own psychological mess.

“Instead of being confused, I think it would be more worth while considering siding with me. Why don’t we get you out of this mess of a life you live? You’re ordered around like dog and it’s not fit for a diamond like you.” He sighed pacing around you like a lion playing with its food. “I’ve taken a liking to your dedication, I can see you’re so badly trying to stay loyal to your work but there’s something else you can’t resist.”

You shuddered as his lips hovered over your ears, whispering words of temptation in the most insatiable manner. Your body still frozen in time had not moved an inch from the table you’d been sat at. Warmth rising to your features whilst your stomach rattled around like a brittle old machine in the dry cleaners.

“You know this too. I’m not trying to manipulate you as I have nothing else to gain from your companionship. However, I’m quite fond of you y/n. I think your intelligence is to be treated better.” He shrugged his eyes glistening in a way that presented his words as something genuine, something honest. His praise lit up fireworks in your system, you were on rich compliment away from detonating completely.

“I appreciate your words Mr. Sohn.” You began, clearing your throat gently before continuing. “However, I think you and I are destined to be opposed. I wish you well.”

You fiercely clutched your bag in the warmth of your hand, swiftly rushing to exit the sheer embarrassment of the situation. The once soft sound of harmonic trumpets now sounded like the chaotic thrill of elephants stampeding through the small confinements of the café. It was in no way complimented by the grating sound of a piano keys being smashed in a way that was neither melodic or enjoyable to listen to. Yet before you could grasp the golden handle of the door, you were beckoned back by the honey sweet sound of your name amongst the frightful waves.

“Y/n?” Eric who turned to face you a final time, smiled, not a classic smirk or sinister chuckle, a small smile that made his eyes resemble those of a harmless puppy. “Contact me, if you change your mind.”

You looked back with a blank expression, observing his relaxed demeanour with bitterness lingering heavy on your mind. A bitterness, a feeling of resentment, but what you would do to run away with him if you could. You’d be killed.

The sound of the café bell chime felt almost like the sound of a distant gunshot to Eric, at heart he knew he’d never be able to swoon you in the way he’d hoped. There was a small rose seed sewn into his heart especially for you, he himself resented the way you as intelligent as you were, could be used as shark bait and treated like no more than a sniffer dog. Unusual for him to grow such a soft spot considering you were the enemy in the equation. He sighed, clutching the briefcase he’d been gifted and headed out to do what he came here for in the first place.

The military base was fairly small, observing the blueprints you’d traced for him, his plan was fairly simple. The box-like building was connected to an underground train link, there was no service running for another half an hour, which gave him that much time to secure the lektor and catch the next train inbound.

A small ladder led up to a hatch secured in the bottom of the facility, gently he used his fingers to open it almost silently. Stupidly, the officials thought Sohn would blatantly try to enter the building through the main entrance, a line of armed men waiting behind the doors.

The operations room was a littered with different documents, weapons, machinery, cupboards the only option for Sohn was to scramble through every shelf hoping to find the device wherever it’d been temporarily hidden. Underneath a satin sheet, there was a black box that somehow resembled the demonstration he’d been shown of the device. However, as he opened the box an explosion of smoke popped causing his ears to ring as the distant sound of yelling was heard from the unmanned room. This couldn’t stop Eric, he calmly continued to rake through the drawers as the voices grew louder.

In the bottom drawer, was the box he was looking for, checking once to see that it was not another trap and the actual device. As he pulled it from its case, the sounds of shots hitting the wall behind him caused him to pull a small pistol from his blazer pocket. Shooting back at the guards, neither of them being able to see clearly through the smoke from the trap. Eric crawled to the hatch, lektor huddled close to his chest.

The honking of the steam engine down the tunnel relieved him as he fired up the hatch to warn the soldiers not to come down. With his back against the wall, the train narrowly passed by him with little space to leave. He elbowed one of the windows as it slowed on the tracks, hurling himself onboard one of the carriages. He quickly switched suits, and sealed the device in his briefcase as protocol before exiting the broken room on the carriage and proceeding to another.

A sigh of relief slipped his lips as he sat down with his briefcase beside him, he even decided to purchase a cup of tea for the journey and peacefully kicked his legs up to read a newspaper. At least for the first ten minutes, the sound of his cabin door sliding open alerted him to look up casually from the words on the page. He couldn’t quite explain who the man who stood at the door was, he was familiar but not a man he knew at least. He was dressed a long black tux with brownish hair, his eyes replicated those of fury, aggression, enough to alert Sohn at least.

“Hand it over.” Pulling a gun from the waistband of his tailored black trousers, his face remained blank as Sohn raised his hands in the air with a laugh.

“That’s not very friendly.” Eric tutted, standing up from his seat with the case laying on the seat behind him. As he observed him more carefully the identity of the man began to become less pixelated, funnily enough it’s as if everywhere Sohn went he saw a face like resembling the man in the crowd. “I’m not a fan of stalkers but I’m sure we could settle this with an autograph.”

The joke seemed to land terribly with the other male, his lips curling in disgust as he readjusted his finger over the trigger of the gun in his hand.

“Get over yourself.” The man sneered before looking Sohn directly in the eye with a cold stare. “Your plan is hardly turning out successful, poor y/n came crying to me about your twisted bullshit.”

“Ah yes, now I remember!” Sohn clasped his hands together beginning to pace the small room, the man’s gun latching target to his head. “You’re y/n’s little lap dog! That makes so much more sense, unrequited love, that must be hard for you buddy.”

Sohn’s words cut through him like a knife, the anger boiling through his veins as he struggled to keep his composure. The gun wavering only slightly as his lips pursed furiously.

“I’m more than that buddy.” The unnamed man laughed in a way that attempted to conceal his emotions but instead the line came out as no more than a high pitch croak. “Now hand it over before I turn your brain into several servings of spaghetti.”

“Sangyeon!” The sound of angry footsteps stomping through the corridor alerted the man, however he didn’t take his eyes off Sohn for a second.

“Listen, Sangyeon is it?” Sohn laughed, his voice sounding assertive despite the noise of the rattling train and noisy horns. “I think you better calm down, she won’t be happy with what you’re trying to do here.”

Sangyeon’s gun lowered, just to the point where it was out of sight of the narrow train passage but still somewhat aiming at Sohn.

“What is it?” He called, the relief of Sohn’s face when he saw yours outside of the window was golden. It would have been so tedious attempting to get out of the situation himself.

“I’ve been looking for you all bloody day! Now I found out you’re trying to leave the country? What are-”Your eyes originally blinking in red fury softened into bright pearls upon meeting Eric’s. Then all of a sudden they turned red again as you looked back to Sangyeon with increased suspicion. “Step away from the door.”

Surprisingly he did just that, revealing the gun that was pointed towards Sohn just out the hallway. Eric discreetly took the opportunity to assemble the weapon given to him as Sangyeon’s eyes focused on yours.

“There is no way, I’m letting you kill a man that’s not business to take care of.” You sighed, blocking the doorway and staring into the soulless void of eyes. “Leave here immediately. You’re only gonna end up hurt.”

“Y/N? Are you out of damn mind?” Sangyeon burst out into maniacal laughter almost resembling one of those villains from a popular comic book at the time. “I’ve spent years protecting you and you repay me by - I don’t know - falling in love with the enemy?”

“I am not in love with Mr. Sohn-” You refuted, the lies slipped from your tongue as denial spun its web around the pink mush of your brain. You couldn’t coherently finish the sentence without entering a spiral.

“Really?” Sangyeon eyes flickered with false confusion, his lips breaking out into a scary grin. “Then tell me why I can’t kill him?” He left a pause for you to fill in the space, but as your eyes darted around the room you realised that he was perhaps right. You couldn’t admit that but there was no reason to let Sohn get away with the device needed to connect the entire unions military operations. It was simply ridiculous.

“Thought so.” Sangyeon sighed. “It’s a shame you’d leave me with such a broken heart.” There was a glint of genuine pain in his eyes, underneath the tough exterior. He was always good at concealing his emotions, rarely showing them and acting as enthusiastic as a piece of cardboard most days.

“Leave.” You looked him in the eyes more seriously than you ever had before, you were of course furious with Sangyeon. However, you couldn’t watch him get hurt or at least die trying to defend a union that didn’t even value his work.

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. You’re going to get us into a situation you don’t know consequences of.” Sangyeon spat his words firm, eyes bulging out of their sockets as if they were signalling your final warning. “I’d do anything to protect you y/n. Now let me.”

With that he pulled your arm out of the way of the door, only to reveal an Eric Sohn that was more than ready to pounce. Sohn tackled Sangyeon, wounding his arm but managing to throw his gun down the other end of the carriage. Sangyeon panicked, attempting to reach for Sohn before he could take your arm. He yelled out for you, the change in his voice causing you to whip your head around as Eric’s sprinting stopped.

“Y/N!! WAIT!” The agonising shriek ran cold through your bones, you gasped turning to the man as he rose from the ground. “Don’t leave. I serve no purpose without you.”

“I love you.”

The scene looked like a shakespearean tragedy, the two men on either side of the carriage looking at you expectantly. Sangyeon the tragic hero, the final villain to be defeated clinging to a last thread of hope that you’d take his hand and run away with him instead. Then on the other hand Sohn, a dream-like protagonist that had fallen in love with an enemy in battle, waiting to ride his horse into into the sunset. Your mind ran codes like a computer, processing your deepest desires battling the virus of conflict that had been hard-wired into your system.

“I can’t, but we will meet again Sangyeon.” You sighed, your love for Sangyeon was purely platonic, forced out of a system that took you for granted and fed you to the sharks. “Leave this line of work as soon as you can, you don’t deserve to be hurt this way. But I have to go.”

Tears welled at Sangyeon’s eyes for the first time in perhaps over a decade, he knew you were right, in fact he didn’t want you to be in danger anymore. Mature, as he always was, he knew your decision was ultimately the right answer. His love for you, was far greater than his selfish desires, but succumbing to your own was the best thing you could do. The only thing he necessarily cared about over his broken heart, was Sohn’s ability to keep you safe - he knew he would. As he clenched his fists watching you and Sohn run into the hills together he smiled, a chuckle leaving his lips, glad you had your happy ending.

“Where is he?” Asked a gaggle of soldiers boarding the train, their rifles over their chests as they marched down the carriage.

“I lost him.” Sangyeon replied, his lies convincing enough to deter the soldiers away from the area, as he weakly stepped off at the last stop of the train. It was a beautiful day outside, a beautiful place to announce his new beginning. He sighed, as he viewed the coast line from the train stop, maybe opening a bakery isn’t a bad idea after all.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

“You ever visited here before?” Sohn asked, leaning across the canoe as he rowed down the streets, the sunshine lighting up his golden skin.

“Well, I’ve never left the country.” You chuckled, causing his face to light up in amusement as you admired the waters surrounding the city of Venice.

“I thought I’d ask, I’m glad I’m able to provide such a romantic spot for such a beauty like you.” He winked mischievously, laughing as you cringed at his advanced his eyes scrunching into crescent moons.

“Do I have to be worried about all this flirting Mr.Sohn? I’m not falling for any tricks.” Your eyes squinted at him suspiciously, propping your head in the palm of your hand as you leaned across the canoe.

“Well, if this is anything to settle your worries. I’m in a bit of trouble with M for accepting your side quest. He said to me a few years ago that if I let romance get in the way of my missions ever again, I’ll either get myself killed by it or even M himself.” He laughed thinking back to conversation. His eyes that sought out reminiscence in the distance then flickered to meet yours. “When I first met you, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep that promise.”

Melting into his words, you laughed as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and the irresistible warmth of true love blossom in the pit of your stomach. As your eyes lingered on each others, you observed the beautiful nature of Sohn himself. He was etched in the model of a greek god, you finally validated yourself for falling into his trap, perhaps the love potion you were casting accidentally splashed yourself. For a few moments, Sohn hesitated, leaning closer to you for a moment as you froze. Your brain almost completely malfunctioned as he smiled, lifting your chin with the palm of his hand. Finally pressing your lips to his you smiled to yourself, as the sun began to set in Venice, the once blue sky-line was painted like a canvas with the most vibrant shades oranges and pinks.

Despite your mission abhorrently failing, the feeling of true love and freedom was the most successful ending your desolate heart could have asked for.

Besides, the love potion seemed to be successful.. Eric certainly seemed smitten as your words fell on his ears like sugar, as you talked the past and other interesting things about yourself. Venice seemed like the perfect place to forget your lives, forget how you met and fall in love all over again.

fin. — “you will locate, befriend and fall in love with agent Sohn.”

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | seven [fin]

Melancholy shrouds you and Yoongi in your last days of vacation – time to get back home to the daily grind. But when you can visit Yoongi in his garage, is it really so bad?

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin. → Trope: friends to best friends with benefits to lovers (they be messy and confused, lol) → AUs: non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!au (Yoongi is a mechanic) → Genre: humor, (slight) angst, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 → Status: complete! → Word Count: 11.3k → Warnings (general): angst and uncertainty, pregnancy test and pregnancy scare. → Warnings (explicit): explicit rough sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, ass slapping, impreg kink (new for me, so it might be light and soft), nipple play, Yoongi’s garage and a certain car 👀 (yes this is a warning and you’ll understand it when you read it 🥵), hair pulling, slight possessiveness 👀, lots of ass grabbing, some brief cockwarming too. → Author’s note(1): This is the end of the road, guys 😭 It has truly been a rollercoaster for me, and I’m so pleased with these last chapters and I feel like this is a good way to end things for this couple and their teasing friends. 

Also, there’s a line of dialogue in this chapter (one of Yoongi’s 🥵) that spawned another fic that I actually wrote to get out of my writers block before I could finish friendcation – It’s ‘Say that Again (I Dare You)’, if you’re interested you can go ahead and give it a read 🙂 (It has nothing to do with friendcation and everything to do with me being an insatiable hoe 😇).

Thank you so much – and thanks to all that likes, comments, reblogs, yeah, anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, it makes me so happy and a damn smiling fool 💜 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“The second statement is a lie,” you laugh, your conviction cutting through the night air. The rest of your group joins in with a collective hum of agreement. 

“You just don’t strike me as the threesome type,” you assert, adding a touch of finality to your words. 

Namjoon casts a curious gaze your way, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, a hint of skepticism coloring his words. 

You nod affirmatively, your confidence unwavering. It’s hard to fathom Namjoon engaging in such endeavors; his other statements seem to carry a more authentic resonance. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief, almost popping out of their sockets, as Namjoon casually shrugs his shoulders, his laughter resonating through the air. “Well, I have,” he admits, reclining in his seat with an air of nonchalance. 

Your gasp is almost audible, a testament to the revelation that shatters your preconceived notions. “Wow,” you utter in awe, realizing that even those you thought you knew well can still surprise you with hidden facets.

“I just didn’t think you were into that, maybe Hoseok, but you, Joonie?” you say in a breathy voice, the disbelief evident. 

The mention of Hoseok prompts an indignant “Hey!” from him, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

Namjoon continues to laugh, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he playfully challenges Hoseok, “It’s your turn, Hobi.”

All eyes, except Yoongi's, focused on the road, shift to Hoseok, waiting for the next set of revelations as he contemplates his three statements. The rhythmic hum of the engine underscores the silence, creating a suspenseful atmosphere within the confines of Holly. 

As you all hum with curiosity, anticipating Hoseok’s next revelation, he unveils another layer of himself. “I once dated a man,” he confesses, a momentary hush falling over the group, the revelation hanging in the air like a delicate thread. 

The subsequent statement, “I’m scared of snakes,” elicits laughter, the image of Hoseok’s comical encounters with the slithering creatures at the zoo playing in everyone’s minds. 

Then, in a surprising twist, Hoseok drops the bombshell, “I was contacted to choreograph a music video.” 

Holly is filled with gasps and widened eyes as the weight of this unexpected admission settles among the group. 

The van is a buzz of whispers and exchanged glances as you and your friends dive into a lively debate, dissecting each of Hoseok’s revelations with an air of camaraderie. 

Yoongi’s voice, a steady anchor amid the animated chatter, breaks through as he shares a practical update.

“We’re almost there,” he interjects, his gaze fixed on the winding road.

You catch a glimpse of his focused expression, the contours of his profile bathed in the soft glow of passing streetlights in the dim morning.

“Just stopping by a store first.” 

Yoongi continues, his words weaving seamlessly into the ongoing banter. 

Seokjin’s laughter erupts like a spontaneous melody, harmonizing with the hum of the van’s engine.

Namjoon chimes in, “But the fear of snakes? That’s so Hobi. Remember that one time at the zoo?” The memory elicits another round of laughter, lightening the atmosphere.

You interject with a thoughtful musing, “The music video thing could also be true.”

Namjoon’s analytical mind chimes in, “But he could also have dated a man, I’m sure he’s mentioned that sometime.” His words ripple through Holly, introducing an element of doubt that swirls around Hoseok’s revelations.

Seokjin’s confident assertion pierces through the deliberations, echoing with finality. “We think the statement with the music video is a lie,” he declares. The collective nodding of heads and the subtle hum of agreement create a shared consensus among you. 

The decision is made, and the spotlight now shifts to Hoseok, awaiting his response.

“That one was actually true,” Hoseok’s revelation hangs in the air, a surprising twist that elicits a collective gasp and a wave of laughter. 

Your voice, laced with a cocktail of disbelief and genuine curiosity, slices through the air like a finely tuned instrument. 

“Hold up, you haven’t actually dated a man?” you query, your eyes widening in a mix of incredulity and intrigue.

“Not yet, but I’m open to the possibility,” he grins, radiating a warmth that rivals the sun itself.

“Wait... Does that mean you’re going to choreograph a music video?” Namjoon slaps him on the shoulder, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, causing him to wince.

Hoseok nods, his expression bright and proud. “They reached out to me before the vacation, and a few days ago, they confirmed that I got the job.”

“Wow!” you exclaim, your face bright and brimming with genuine happiness for your friend.

“That’s absolutely amazing.” Seokjin adds gleefully, his excitement mirroring the collective joy in the van.

“Congrats.” Yoongi adds from the driver’s seat, his voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of pride for Hoseok’s achievement.

“Thank you.” Hoseok says proudly, launching into enthusiastic explanations about his new job, his eyes lighting up with passion for the upcoming project.

“We’re here.” Yoongi announces, effortlessly maneuvering Holly into a parking spot before cutting off the engine, the sudden silence emphasizing the arrival at your destination.

You all spill out of the van, a lively group on a shared mission, and step into the store, ready to stock up on essentials and treats for the upcoming days of your adventure.

As you step into the store, the unspoken choreography of your group takes over, each member moving with purpose to efficiently tackle the shopping list. 

You and Yoongi, armed with a basket and a secret mission for a pregnancy test, navigate the aisles in search of canned goods, weaving through the vibrant array of products. Meanwhile, the rest of the team secures a cart, ready to explore the realms of meat and veggies. 

In no time, you and Yoongi expertly pluck a selection of canned goods from the shelves, tossing them into your basket with practiced ease. As you navigate the aisles, hand in hand, your journey takes a deliberate detour to the toiletries and sanity section. There, amidst the array of products, you both zero in on the elusive pregnancy test with the finesse of seasoned shoppers.

As you reach for a package, an unexpected weight settles in your hand, the incongruity of such a small item bearing a significant burden dawning on you. 

In this moment, the weight transcends the physical, carrying with it the gravity of what it represents—questions, possibilities, and the potential to alter the course of your relationship with Yoongi.

Locking eyes with Yoongi, you muster the courage to break the news subtly. “Is it okay if I head up to pay for it now? I’d rather keep it between us for now,” you confess, your voice carrying a blend of vulnerability and anticipation. 

His response is a reassuring squeeze of your hand, a silent affirmation that he understands. “Of course. Go pay for it, and I’ll round up the others. We’ll join you outside,” he assures, the unspoken promise of solidarity evident in his gaze.

With a tender yet uncertain smile, you part ways from Yoongi, fully aware that within the confines of this unassuming package rests the key to your shared destiny.

You hasten to the cashier, swiftly complete the transaction for the test, and then make your way to Holly, anticipation knotting your stomach as you await the arrival of your friends.

In no time, your friends conclude their shopping, and you assist in loading the van with groceries. Safely tucked away in one of your bags is the pregnancy test, a secret that remains concealed from prying eyes.

Returning to Holly, Yoongi takes the wheel, steering you toward a hidden forest oasis where he skillfully parks, creating a cocoon of tranquility amid the lush surroundings.

As the sun bathes the surroundings in a golden glow, setting up camp in the middle of the day proves delightful, offering ample light to illuminate your tasks. With a symphony of coordination, each of you contributes to unloading Holly and assembling the tent, a well-practiced ritual that transforms the serene landscape into a cozy haven.

While the guys gather around a crackling campfire, savoring light snacks and sipping on cold beers, you find it challenging to fully unwind. The weight of the pregnancy test preoccupies your mind, its presence an insistent reminder. An undercurrent of nervous anticipation builds within you, urging you to take the test and unravel the mystery that has woven itself into the fabric of your thoughts.

You rise from your seat with purpose, drawing a few curious glances, notably from Yoongi, yet determinedly stride towards the van. 

Each step feels charged with the weight of the moment, the bag clutched in the comfort of the van holding not just your belongings but the potential key to your future.

Startled, you almost jump at the warm and familiar voice that breaks through your reverie. Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him approaching. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, his presence both surprising and comforting.

His hands find your waist, their warmth and rough texture grounding you in the present. With a reassuring touch, he gently nudges you, calming the swirling thoughts that had momentarily carried you away.

You arch an eyebrow at him, your fingers tightly clenched around the pregnancy test. 

“You wanna watch me pee?”

He chuckles at your furrowed expression, gently turning you around to face him. With a tender touch, he brushes stray strands of hair away from your face, locking eyes with you as he nods, a silent reassurance passing between you.

“That’s gross, Yoongi. You don’t have to watch me pee.” You mumble, keeping your voice low to avoid the others catching on.

“If you’re pregnant, watching you pee on a stick will be the least grossest thing I’ll see.” Yoongi teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

Admitting defeat, you concede, and let him accompany you into the serene depths of the forest, away from the prying eyes of your friends and the campsite.

His hand, warm and reassuring, intertwines with yours, a conduit for the palpable love that flows between you. Seeking solace beside a sturdy tree, you carefully retrieve the test, holding it up for closer scrutiny.

“I’m scared.” 

You admit, the words almost a whisper in the quiet of the forest. Yoongi’s gaze softens with understanding, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “I understand,” he reassures, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze, “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

“Okay?” he murmurs, his gentle touch stroking your cheek before he leans in, placing a chaste kiss on your trembling lips. In that simple moment, he somehow eases the fear swirling within you. You nod, a wave of gratitude washing over you for his unwavering presence.

You carefully open the package, extracting the instructions and scrutinizing them. This marks your first experience with a pregnancy test, and you’re determined to ensure every step is executed correctly.

“I should’ve brought a cup or something to collect the pee,” you groan at the inconvenient realization. “Oh well,” you chuckle, pulling down your pants to relieve yourself against the tree. Yoongi efficiently unpacks the test and hands it to you, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

In a million scenarios, you never imagined finding yourself in a forest, peeing on a stick while Yoongi watches. It’s almost laughable, the twists life takes.

Your voice wavers with uncertainty as you pull your pants back up, glancing at the test. 

“Can you set a timer? Three minutes.” You request, the seconds ticking away with the weight of anticipation.

Yoongi swiftly retrieves his phone, the soft glow illuminating his focused expression as he expertly sets a timer, the seconds ticking in sync with the nervous beats of your heart.

Restlessly, you tread back and forth, clutching the test in your hand, each step echoing the restless beats of your heart, anxiously awaiting the passage of time.

Yoongi’s reassuring touch envelopes your waist, leading you to another tree, one untouched by your earlier predicament. “Relax,” he murmurs, settling you down against the sturdy trunk, both of you finding solace in its shelter.

A flicker of curiosity brightens your eyes as you break the silence. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” You inquire, secretly craving insight into his seemingly calm demeanor, a shared vulnerability between you two.

“Not really.” He shrugs, a nonchalant exterior belying the subtle lean against your shoulder, a silent reassurance echoing louder than words ever could.

Then silence envelops you, a palpable tension that’s not uncomfortable, but rather pregnant with anticipation, each passing second stretching the boundaries of waiting.

As the timer beeps, you gasp, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the sound echoing the suspense that has built up within you.

With trembling hands, you bring the test closer to your face, inspecting the results. Your heart gallops like a herd of wild stallions, and your breath quickens in anticipation. 

Are you ready for this revelation? 

Ready or not, here it is—just one line. 

Not pregnant.

Your heart plummets at the stark results, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

The sting of tears gathers at the corners of your eyes, and a single teardrop slips free.

Yoongi swiftly brushes away your tears, his touch a comforting blend of warmth and reassurance, his fingers tenderly tracing the curve of your cheek.

“Not the results you were hoping for?” 

Yoongi’s voice carries a mixture of empathy and concern, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for the emotions hidden within.

Tears cascade down your cheeks in a torrent, your sobs escaping in uncontrollable waves. With a mix of frustration and despair, you discard the test, shielding your face in trembling hands. “I don’t know,” you confess through the emotional turmoil, your vulnerability laid bare.

He cradles your hands, gently freeing your tear-stained face from its hiding place. Drawing you into a cocoon of warmth, he envelops your trembling form in a tender embrace. His fingertips dance soothingly along your back, a silent promise of unwavering support as you release the weight of your emotions on his shoulder.

“It was negative,” you choke on a stifled cry, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“You were hoping for a positive.” He murmurs warmly against your ear, sending delightful shivers down your spine. Damn it, he’s right. The test has consumed your thoughts for days, and a part of you had secretly wished for a positive result. Fuck.

“I didn’t realize I wanted that,” you sob, clinging to his embrace as if your very existence depended on it.

“It’s okay, babe. To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed too,” he confesses in a tender voice as you slowly pull away from him, locking eyes.

In his eyes, you search for any sign that he’s just saying that to make you happy, but the determination, love, and care in those beautiful brown eyes tell a different story. He wanted the test to be positive too. He wants to have a kid with you. The thought finally hits you, and you begin to cry again.

You ask in disbelief, your body still shaking with the aftermath of tears, “You want to have a baby with me?”

“Yeah,” he looks at you tenderly again, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean, we haven’t been together long,” you begin as your crying turns into small sobs, your heart slowing down gradually.

“Babe, we’ve known each other for over ten years. Spent so fucking much time loving each other, without telling the other. It’s not about the time, it’s you.”

At this, tears well up again, a cascade of emotions unleashed by his beautiful words. 

Your heart leaps and somersaults because, damn it, he’s right. Maybe you haven’t been ‘officially’ together for that long, but the bond you share spans years. It feels natural, like the coming together of two souls that have known each other intimately for decades.

As he speaks, his words paint a vision of a future you never dared to imagine. 

“I want kids in the future, and I want them with you,” he declares, his sincerity echoing through the forest. You sob at the beauty of his words, your heart swelling with emotion. 

“You’ll be an awesome and fearless mom. You’re strong, incredible, and your heart is so big and full of love,” he continues, each compliment a brushstroke in the portrait of your relationship. 

“With you, I want everything. Why waste any more time?” he asks, his soft chuckle carrying the weight of a promise for a future filled with love and possibility.

In the wake of his heartfelt confession, you’re overwhelmed by the cascade of loving and wonderful words that have poured from his lips. You yearn for everything he’s just described, and the intensity of your desire propels you into a kiss that speaks volumes. 

It’s not just a simple meeting of lips; it’s a fervent exploration, a hunger for all of him. 

The kiss is messy, tears and saliva mingling to create a salty sweetness on your tongues. Yet, in this raw and unfiltered moment, you find solace because, for the first time, you’re not just kissing; you’re tasting the promise of a shared future.

“Damn. I want that too.”

Your moan escapes into his mouth, a symphony of pleasure, as your hands entwine in his long hair, pulling with an urgency that draws a deep groan from him, echoing in the intimate space of your kiss.

As you softly pull away, the realization hits that the tears have ceased, replaced by a new and electric tension. A surge of desire courses through you, prompting you to grind your body against his, teasing and stoking the flames of arousal that now dance between you.

“What does this mean?” 

You ask, the taste of salt still lingering on your lips as you lick them. The remnants of your earlier mood dissipate, making room for a lighter and happier atmosphere.

“That I’ll fuck you raw,” he smirks at you, his eyes turning dark with desire.

“Make you nice and round.” he strokes your stomach before cupping your clothed core.

You release a sultry moan, “Fuck, yes.”

You stroll alongside Yoongi, hand in hand, your cheeks likely marked with the remnants of tears, yet you’re beaming, the joy evident. With Yoongi by your side, nothing else holds significance.

As you return to your friends, you catch the intrigued glances they shoot your way, a silent curiosity lingering in the air, though no words are exchanged.

You settle into the chair with Yoongi, the contours of his lap perfectly accommodating your form as you nuzzle your head against his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart.

You feel the weight of curious eyes on you, a silent conversation unfolding in their gazes, laden with unspoken words yearning to break free.

“We’re thinking about heading home tomorrow.” Hoseok starts, his voice carrying a subtle air of decision with each sip of his beer.

“So you can savor a few days of solitude before your vacation bids farewell.” Namjoon chimes in, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

You exchange glances with him and offer a gentle, appreciative smile. Your heart swells with gratitude for the sweetness and thoughtfulness your friends never fail to show.

Seokjin chimes in with a smile, “I miss my girlfriend too.”

“We’ll drive you to the station tomorrow.” Yoongi says, his hands intertwining with yours, a gesture that speaks volumes of comfort and support.

As the night unfolds, a cascade of laughter and clinking beer bottles paints the scene. Hoseok, with his infectious energy, pulls you into a dance, and the rhythm of the music becomes the soundtrack to a night filled with camaraderie and unforgettable moments. Laughter echoes around the campfire, weaving together a tapestry of joy that lingers in the memories of friendship.

“Friday at the bar, don’t be late!” 

Hoseok’s enthusiasm resonates in his voice as he envelops you in a warm, anticipatory hug. Then, he turns his exuberance towards Yoongi, squeezing him tightly, a bear hug that elicits a gruff grunt from your usually composed boyfriend.

“Absolutely, can’t wait for the gang to reunite!” Your words ring with genuine joy as you share heartfelt hugs with Namjoon and Seokjin. Even Yoongi, typically reserved, offers reluctant but sincere goodbyes in the form of tight hugs.

As their figures gradually blend into the bustling station crowd, you continue waving, the distance adding a bittersweet tinge to your farewell. The echoes of laughter and shared moments linger, fading with each step they take, leaving you with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation for the next reunion.

“What should we do now? So much alone time.” 

Yoongi’s voice, soft and filled with the promise of undisturbed moments, lingers in the air as you both face the van. The question carries the weight of endless possibilities, a canvas awaiting the strokes of your shared desires in the quietude of alone time.

As you both enter Holly, the air crackles with a newfound anticipation. Leaning into Yoongi’s side, you murmur your plan, your words a bold invitation that sets the atmosphere ablaze. 

“You drive us back to our campsite,” you start, the door closing behind you, “and then I’ll fuck you senseless.”

Yoongi chuckles, the sound a tempting melody in response to your boldness and the unmistakable glint of desire in your eyes. “Bossy,” he teases, the word laced with a promise of playful surrender.

As he ignites the engine, the subtle purr of the vehicle syncs with the quiet hum of anticipation. Driving back to your campsite, the warmth of your touch on his thigh acts as a silent yet palpable connection, a prelude to the intimacy awaiting both of you.

With Holly’s engine silenced, you pounce on him, the urgency in the air charging the atmosphere. Your hands glide up his thigh, boldly exploring the terrain beneath the fabric. A daring grip on his clothed dick elicits a soft, impassioned moan, your name escaping his lips like a whispered prayer.

“Impatient much?” 

He chuckles, the sound a harmonious melody to the rhythm of your teasing palm. Your deliberate touch prompts him to throw his head back against the headrest, surrendering to the escalating desire coursing through every fiber of his being.

“Yeah, I’m already so wet. I just want you inside me, Yoon.” 

Your words, laced with a sense of urgency and desire, spill out as you hastily discard both of your pants and underwear, the anticipation building in the air like an electric charge.

“Shit,” he mutters, closing his eyes, savoring a soft breath as you unzip his pants. With his assistance, you deftly pull down both his boxers and pants, leaving them pooled at his knees.

Without hesitation, you straddle him. The confines of the front seat are a bit tight, creating an intimate space that’s not entirely uncomfortable, but charged with anticipation and lust.

His arousal is evident, and you tease him by grinding your core against his throbbing length. The dual response, a twitch and a moan, sends shivers down your spine. The symphony of his pleasure fuels your desire, and you savor every intoxicating sound escaping his lips.

With a confident grip, you guide his dick to your eager entrance, then descend upon him in one seamless motion. The delicious stretch and the raw sensation, liberated from the confines of a condom, draw a heartfelt exclamation. 

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you gasp, relishing the intimate connection that electrifies the air.

His husky voice, laced with desire, breathes out admiration, “Damn, you’re so tight, taking me so well.’” His hands confidently find your hips, anchoring themselves in a rhythm that mirrors the growing intensity between you.

Your movements become a rhythm of urgency, bouncing in his lap with a fervor that sets a relentless pace from the very beginning. The sensation of fullness overwhelms you, and the impending climax rushes towards you like a tidal wave. 

Damn it, the pleasure is so exquisite, so consuming, that you can’t help but surrender to its intoxicating embrace.

Your breath comes in furious pants, a symphony of desire echoing in the air. Fingers entwined in his hair, you tug hard, prompting a hiss of pain from him as you practically impale yourself on his cock. 

“Fuck!” The expletive escapes your lips in a primal scream, a raw expression of the overwhelming pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being.

Yoongi’s hold on your hips tightens, his movements synchronized with yours, creating a rhythm that feels like a shared heartbeat between you. With a firm grip, he guides your ascent and descent, an intimate dance of passion and connection.

“Babe,” he pants, his gaze locking onto yours with hooded eyes. “I won’t last much longer.”

You pant and moan his name, “Same here.”

You roll your hips over his, desperately seeking release, while one of your hands trails down to your clit, vigorously rubbing it.

With a few intense strokes on your clit, a surge of pleasure radiates from your core, and you feel a release building up. You let out a breathless moan, calling his name as your vision momentarily blurs. As your body succumbs to the waves of ecstasy, Yoongi takes control, guiding you up and down by your hips, plunging into you with fervor, seamlessly melding with the throes of your orgasm.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gripping and releasing in a rhythm matching the intensity of your movements. With each passionate kiss to his neck, you leave behind a trail of bites that elicit a symphony of pleasurable sounds from him, creating a delicious melody of desire beneath you.

Your name escapes his lips like a fervent prayer, a raw confession of imminent release as he gasps, “Fuck, I’m gonna come, babe,” the words laced with urgency and desire.

In the throes of pleasure, you hiss, “Fill me up, Yoon,” your moan a seductive melody as you sink down on him again, deliberately clenching your walls around him.

“Shit!” he grunts, his release flooding into your welcoming warm pussy.

“You’re absolutely amazing, babe,” he says, his voice dripping with so much love that it envelops you like a warm embrace, making you feel like you could swim in its depths.

“As are you, Yoongi.” You murmur into his ear, wrapping him in a big and warm hug, your breath steadying against the curve of his ear.

You make a conscious effort to savor every fleeting moment of these last few days of your trip, acutely aware that the return to your mundane daily lives is inevitable.

Your period has finally made its appearance, adding a bit of a damper to your spirits and contributing to your already sour mood, but you try not to dwell on it.

You embark on what feels like a magical ‘date,’ where the warmth of a campfire, the sizzling sounds of grilling, and the joy of each other’s company create a perfect, intimate evening in the cocoon of your campsite.

In the familiar rhythm of your camping routine, Yoongi takes the lead at the grill, but tonight, the dance of preparing the meat and chopping vegetables becomes a shared symphony. Surrounded by the serene seclusion of the forest, the campfire’s glow paints a warm ambiance on your faces, casting playful shadows that dance and flicker. 

As you skillfully turn the vegetables over the crackling flames, a wistful sigh escapes your lips. “I’m going to miss this when we get back home.”

“We can always go camping on the weekends,” his voice, tinged with a hint of nostalgia, carries the weight of the inevitable return to reality. Yet, his smile, soft and bittersweet, speaks volumes of the preciousness he finds in the present, a moment cocooned in the dancing flames and the quiet murmur of the forest.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” your smile mirrors the warmth of the flickering flames, an unspoken promise to seize the simple joys of weekends and the solace found under the stars. 

“What are we gonna do when we get back home?” 

As the flames dance, casting a glow on your contemplative expression, you can’t help but sigh, the question lingering in the air like the smoke from the crackling fire. Poking at a charred vegetable in playful defeat, you turn to Yoongi, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in your eyes, as if the answer lies in the shadows painted by the dancing flames.

His gaze locks with yours, a quizzical expression playing on his features. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you can sense the curiosity dancing in his eyes, eager to unravel the depths of your thoughts.

As you voice the concerns lingering in your mind, your eyes search his face for a glimpse of understanding. 

“How are we going to make it work, Yoongi? We’re both workaholics.” You sigh, a smile playing on your lips, a mix of worry and anticipation painting your expression as you contemplate the intricate puzzle of your relationship.

His eyes flicker with a thoughtful gleam as he ponders your question, a soft ‘ah’ escaping his lips, carrying with it the weight of consideration and the promise of an honest response.

With a sigh, you add, “And I don’t want our relationship to fail,” as you skillfully pull the vegetables off the fire, their sizzling sounds a backdrop to the sincerity in your voice. The tray in your hands becomes a vessel for both grilled sustenance and the weight of your heartfelt words.

Yoongi expertly turns the sizzling meat, his eyes focused on the grill as he addresses your concerns. 

“First off, I don’t think it’ll fail,” he reassures, the aroma of barbecue blending with the warmth in his words. “We don’t have to see each other every day, although I’d like that very much. You are always welcome in my home or at the garage anytime. And we can do stuff on the weekends,” he adds with a hopeful voice, his smile matching the flickering flames as he places the perfectly grilled meat in a clean tray.

Your eyes light up with enthusiasm. “That sounds nice,” you respond eagerly, reaching for two plates as the prospect of a shared future with Yoongi takes on a tangible, comforting shape.

“I just hope we can make it work.” You express with a hopeful lilt in your voice, the sincerity of your desire for a future with Yoongi shining through.

“I know we can.” He reassures you, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that matches the unwavering belief in your love.

Together, you savor each bite, the conversation flowing effortlessly between dreams of future destinations, the nuances of work, and the tapestry of life itself.

As dawn unfurls its radiant hues, you embark on an early morning hike through the forest, the sun casting golden ribbons through the foliage. The breathtaking spectacle of the sunrise filtering through the trees paints a memory you know will linger, a vivid scene etched in your mind, a treasure to carry with you as you reluctantly prepare to drive home later in the evening.

Hand in hand with Yoongi, you traverse the winding trails, enveloped in a comforting silence that needs no words. The stillness is a serene companion, allowing you to immerse yourselves in the natural symphony of your morning hike—the heady scents of the forest filling your noses, and the ethereal dance of dewy fog casting a mystical spell before you.

Returning from your invigorating hike as the sun climbs the sky, the lure of a sizzling farewell lunch beckons. 

Determined to make the most of your remaining moments in this woodland haven, you opt to ignite the grill one last time, infusing the air with the savory aroma of grilling meat and vegetables before bidding adieu to the serenity of the forest.

The atmosphere takes a bittersweet turn, the air thick with a sense of impending departure. Yoongi tends to the grill, the sizzle of meat a poignant soundtrack to your shared melancholy. 

You attempt to uplift the mood, filling the air with music that usually brings joy, but its lively notes seem to echo the underlying sadness that has settled between you two. As the speakers play on, both of you navigate the delicate dance between creating a facade of happiness and the somber reality of impending separation, etching the moment with shared glances that speak volumes.

“I don’t want to leave.” You force a laugh, the sound devoid of any genuine mirth. It resonates with an emptiness, a profound hollowness that mirrors the depth of your reluctance to part ways with this place.

“I know. Me neither. But we both have work tomorrow.” Yoongi confesses with a sigh, as if attempting to absorb every detail of this moment in nature. The bittersweet truth hangs in the air, a poignant reminder that, despite parting now, the prospect of future camping trips offers a glimmer of solace.

“It sucks.” You declare, your chopsticks attacking the innocent food on your plate as if it were the source of your frustration. A heavy exhale follows, a gust of annoyance and disappointment that echoes your sentiments louder than words ever could.

In the aftermath of your meal, a heavy silence descends as you both quietly consume the last moments of your enchanted getaway. Once the plates are cleared, a symphony of clinks and clatters follows as you meticulously dismantle the campsite and tidy up the van. 

Each fold of the bed, every item stowed away, feels like sealing away a fragment of the magic you’ve experienced.

As you pack with a heavy heart, the memories of this time resonate within you, a bittersweet melody. This retreat has been more than a mere escape; it’s been a rejuvenating balm for your weary soul. 

And unexpectedly, amid the rustling leaves and crackling campfire, you discovered more than tranquility—you got Yoongi, a devoted and caring partner who has etched himself into the canvas of your heart more than before.

As the final pieces are carefully stowed away, Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, “Let’s head home.” 

Casting a wistful glance back at the forest, you feel a twinge of longing, realizing just how much you’ll miss this tranquil sanctuary. With a mix of reluctance and anticipation, you join Yoongi in Holly.

“I’m ready,” you declare, a determined spark in your eyes. 

“Let’s go.” You add, as if ushering in a new chapter, the engine’s hum signaling both an end and a beginning.

In the whirlwind of days since Yoongi bid you farewell at your apartment, work has morphed into a chaotic dance of demands. Despite the relentless pace, your passion for your job propels you forward, a driving force pushing you through the challenges with unwavering determination.

The ache of missing Yoongi has become a relentless companion, one that tightens its grip especially during the chaotic intervals between your demanding job tasks. In the relentless storm of work, the absence of Yoongi weighs heavy on your heart. 

The saving grace amid the chaos is the lifeline of texts exchanged during your fleeting breaks—a comforting escape when the demands of your job threaten to engulf you completely.

Yoongi has been engulfed in a torrent of tasks himself, with a queue of eager customers awaiting the magic touch of his expertise. The relentless stream of demands has formed an impenetrable barrier, rendering it impossible for you to reunite with him since that bittersweet moment he dropped you off.

Exhausted from a taxing day at work—navigating irate customers and orchestrating the intricate dance of formulating next year’s marketing strategy—you feel the weariness etched into every fiber of your being. 

Yet, fueled by a deep longing to be with Yoongi, you summon the last reserves of your energy and embark on a drive to his garage.

The brief journey from your workplace to Yoongi’s garage unfolds in a mere 15 minutes, the streets whispering tales of anticipation beneath the tires of your car.

You enter through the door, finding Yoongi engaged in conversation with a client. A warm smile graces your lips as you exchange pleasantries. Yoongi, visibly taken aback by your unexpected visit, manages a surprised expression. Making your way to a cozy corner at the back of the garage, you settle into a small lounge area with a plush couch and a quaint table – a designated spot for clients to wait while Yoongi tends to their automotive needs.

The plushness of the couch cradles your body, its soft embrace a welcome comfort. You surrender to its inviting texture, your eyes drifting lazily downward as relaxation takes hold.

In the gentle embrace of slumber, time becomes a blur, and you awaken to a tender caress on your cheek. A radiant gummy smile and affectionate eyes welcome you back to consciousness.

“You didn’t have to make the trip if you’re exhausted, love.” He remarks with a soft chuckle, playfully poking your nose.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” You admit with a playful pout, rising from the couch. Yoongi chuckles at your expression, then turns back to the car he was tending to while you napped.

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi’s enticing figure, a mischievous spark in your eyes. His black coveralls, stained with a mix of grease and oil, only seem to enhance his rugged appeal. The plain white shirt beneath, now more of an art canvas of his work, adds an unexpected allure. Unable to contain the fire building within, you confess, “You look so damn sexy in those black coveralls.”

His hair is tousled, as though his hands have navigated through it in moments of frustration. A subtle hint of anticipation makes you unconsciously lick your lips, and with deliberate steps, you close the distance between you.

Yoongi’s laughter resonates through the garage as he continues working beneath the hood of a sleek red car. Unconcerned about the specifics of the make or model, you saunter over, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Playfully, you grab hold of the belt loops on his coveralls, tugging him closer, his frame melding into yours with an enticing collision of desire.

A husky grunt escapes him, “I’m filthy, babe,” he warns, yet he willingly surrenders to the allure of your touch, leaning into the intimacy that lingers between you.

“I couldn’t care less.” 

You declare boldly, diving in for a kiss that speaks volumes of your longing. Your hands venture southward, seizing the firm curve of his ass, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

Abandoning his tools, he seizes your cheeks, intensifying the kiss with a hunger that mirrors a man starved for the taste of your touch.

“I missed you so much.” He breathes as he pulls away, gazing at you with a tender intensity in his eyes.

“Me too. Yoongi, I want you.” You plead, your hands tracing the contours of his body until they rest on his chest, where the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm to which your desires dance.

“Fuck. Now?” 

He chuckles, running a hand through his tousled hair, and you bite your lip, nodding with eyes that plead for the immediacy of desire.

“You’re so needy. I love it.” He murmurs before diving back into your mouth, a breathless kiss igniting between you. His hands find your ass, squeezing it possessively, eliciting a moan that vibrates through your bodies. 

He guides you toward a navy car, and as your legs meet the cool hood, he gently eases you down onto it. The surface sends a shiver in your spine, but the contrasting warmth of arousal floods your senses, creating a delicious tension in you.

You meet his gaze, finding his eyes already dilated and hooded, a hungry anticipation shimmering within them, ready to consume you whole.

His hungry gaze traces every curve of your body, and you catch the subtle motion of his tongue moistening his lips, a clear sign of the anticipation building within him.

He skillfully slips off your shoes, smoothly unzips your pants, and lets them cascade down your body, the fabric whispering against your skin before landing in an eager heap on the floor.

You draw your legs up, finding a perch on the sleek hood of the car, a tantalizing contrast of warmth against the cool metal that sends a shiver of anticipation through your body.

You part your legs, a silent invitation beckoning him to immerse himself in the feast that awaits, an unspoken promise lingering in the air.

“Damn. I can already see how wet you are, fuck,” he remarks, his gaze lingering on your wet panties before slowly dragging them down to join your pants on the floor.

His rough and calloused hands explore the warmth of your pussy, gently teasing your clit, eliciting a moan of pleasure from you. “Such a perfect little pussy. All mine,” his voice drips with possessiveness, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as a surge of lust courses through your body.

He gracefully drops to his knees, and in an electrifying moment, his warm, skilled mouth claims your pussy, causing an immediate arch in your back as waves of pleasure surge through your body.

His tongue dances expertly over your sensitive folds, collecting the intoxicating essence of your arousal, each stroke sending tremors of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

Passion courses through you, and you moan uncontrollably, your hands tangling in Yoongi’s hair as you pull, eliciting a deep groan from him, sending shivers of desire through your entire being.

The scenery is nothing short of breathtaking, a sinful feast for the eyes. As he gazes at you, those once deep brown eyes now bordering on black, you can’t help but feel a magnetic pull, an intensity that sets your heart ablaze.

His relentless suction is met with the playful dance of his tongue, teasingly exploring the depths of your pussy. The sensation is so intense that your eyes involuntarily roll to the back of your head, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

“If you continue with that sinful tongue, I won’t be able to hold back much longer,” you pant above him, and you can practically feel the wicked smirk against your sensitive folds.

His nose occasionally brushes against your sensitive clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself going feral with an overwhelming surge of arousal.

He skillfully switches it up, his hot mouth returning to your throbbing clit as two of his fingers expertly delve into your core. Your back arches instinctively, and you can’t help but moan his name, breathlessly exclaiming, “Shit, Yoongi!”

With a swift and deliberate motion, he thrusts his two fingers into you at a relentless pace, unerringly targeting your sweet spot from the very outset.

Sensations intensify; your clit pulsates with an insistent rhythm, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with each passing second. Every breath quickens, and it feels like you’re on the verge of snapping at any given moment.

“Shit, I’m coming!” 

You pant, your body thrashing above him, arching in the throes of ecstasy. A ringing noise echoes in your ears as he continues to lick you through the waves of your orgasm. When he finally pulls away, you find yourself instinctively closing your legs around him, overwhelmed by the lingering sensations of pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Yoongi. You are incredible with your mouth. Come here and give me a kiss.” 

You yank him up by his shirt and draw him in for a passionate kiss. You can taste the remnants of your essence on his lips, but you don’t mind.

He moans into your mouth and abruptly pulls away, fixing you with a gaze filled with both need and unbridled lust.

He tugs at your shirt, demanding, “This. Off.” 

Without hesitation, you comply, raising your arms for him to swiftly pull it over your head and drop it to the floor. Now seated on the hood of the car, clad only in your bra, you’re relieved to find that the metal beneath you has warmed, erasing any lingering chill.

He playfully gropes your breasts, his eyes smoldering with desire. 

“Off with this too,” he commands, a hunger evident in his voice.

You unclasp your bra, letting it fall down the car to the floor. Yoongi hisses as he takes in your fully naked body, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

His words pierce through you, igniting a fire within, and you sense your nipples responding to his gaze, hardening with a subtle ache.

“Shit.” An involuntary moan escapes your lips, your body ablaze with sensation and desire.

“Why am I the only one naked again?” You chuckle seductively, fingers teasingly pulling at his coveralls.

You strip away his coveralls, letting them cascade to a pool at his feet. Now free from the constraints of it, he leans in for another intoxicating kiss, the air charged with the promise of desire.

You notice the unmistakable outline of his dick through his boxers, and you teasingly pull away, whispering with a seductive smirk, “Those need to go.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, swiftly dragging the fabric down his legs to join the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You eagerly tug at his shirt, mirroring the way he assisted you earlier, revealing the contours of his body free from the constraints of the grease-stained fabric.

You glide your hands over his sculpted chest, tracing the lines of his toned torso and the softness of his tummy, evoking a light chuckle from him. “Damn, you’re irresistible,” you moan. “Every inch of you, I love.” Your whispered words in his ear accompany a firm grasp on his throbbing cock, teasing it with a few playful strokes.

He seizes your breasts, skillfully rolling a sensitive nipple between his fingers, eliciting a sensual moan of pleasure from your lips.

He gently guides you back, allowing your hair to cascade around your face, creating a frame that accentuates the desire etched in your features.

As he explores the curves of your body with one hand, the other skillfully strokes his dick, aligning himself with the heat of your eager folds.

Your patience wearing thin, you feel his tantalizing cock on your folds, gathering traces of your essence. The plea escapes your lips, “Please, just fuck me already.”

He indulges in a lustful chuckle, his words dripping with desire, “So needy and impatient.” 

He glides into your warmth with a single, seamless thrust, reaching the hilt effortlessly. A moan of pleasure escapes your lips, savoring the exquisite sensation of how perfectly he stretches you.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a firm grip on your hips. The car sways and rocks in sync with each powerful thrust, creating a symphony of passion and movement.

The intensity builds, and you gasp, questioning between pants, “The car’s in park, right?” as he unerringly targets your sweet spot, delivering each stroke with precision and pleasure.

He chuckles between breaths, his laughter a sensual melody in the air, “Yeah, it’s not going anywhere.”

Lost in the ecstasy, unsure where to anchor yourself, your hands find solace on his strong arms, gripping tightly as if to merge with the intensity of the moment.

As he relentlessly pounds into you, your intoxicating moans harmonize with the rhythm, your velvet walls clenching around him, eliciting a hiss from his lips. “You’re always so damn tight,” he growls, the raw desire in his voice echoing the fervor of your entwined bodies.

“Hey, Yoongi,” caught off guard, you hear a familiar voice calling Yoongi’s name from behind. Your heart races, realizing it’s too late to shield yourself from the waves of embarrassment flooding over you. Mortification takes hold, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“I wanted to see if you were done with my car.” Jungkook’s voice startles you, and as you turn, you’re met with wide-eyed disbelief written all over his face. He stands not far away, his eyes seemingly on the verge of popping out of their sockets. With a gaping mouth, he appears utterly speechless.

“Ah–, Jungkook…” caught in a scandalous embrace with Yoongi, the sudden intrusion of Jungkook startles a moan from your lips. Your eyes lock with his, and as Yoongi continues his relentless pace, the intensity of Jungkook’s unwavering gaze heightens the illicit thrill. 

Your body responds, walls clenching around Yoongi, a confusing mixture of embarrassment and arousal coursing through you. 

Why isn’t Jungkook looking away? 

And why, against all logic, does it only turn you on even more? Fuck.

As the symphony of primal sounds, a mixture of Yoongi’s guttural groans and the rhythmic slapping noises, reverberates through the garage, Jungkook finally seems to snap out of his trance.

“Fucking shit, I’m so sorry!” 

Fumbling for apologies, Jungkook hastily covers his eyes and spins around, as if attempting to erase the explicit scene he’s unintentionally stumbled upon. 

“I’ll come back later!” He shouts, almost sprinting out of the garage, leaving an awkward air lingering in his wake.

Yoongi’s powerful thrusts continue, unyielding. He leans down, his intense gaze fixating on your face. His voice, low and venomous, slices through the heated air, commanding, “Never moan another man’s name again,” as if marking his territory with each impassioned word.

In the absence of your response, his hands assertively claim your breasts, skillfully pinching both nipples. An involuntary twist of pain courses through you, a visceral reaction to his unrelenting touch.

“Did you hear me?” 

His voice cuts through the charged air, a stern demand echoing in the garage, his eyes eclipsed by a profound intensity that demands your attention.

“Fuck! Yes! I won’t do it again!” 

In a breathless chorus of affirmation, you surrender, the raw urgency in your voice harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of your panting breaths as the impending release surges through you.

With a final series of primal thrusts, he withdraws from the depths of your pussy, leaving you tingling, breathless and confused.

“Follow me,” his command hangs in the air, and with a firm yet gentle pull, he guides you off the car and onto your unsteady feet.

As he guides you through the garage, both of you naked and exposed, you can’t help but inquire breathlessly, “Should we lock the door?”

He smirks, his voice a low rasp as you arrive at his office. 

“I don’t give a fuck.” He declares, the audacity in his gaze intensifying. “Seems like you like being watched. Just like in the forest, huh? Don’t think I didn’t feel you clench around me as Jungkook watched you get fucked.” 

With purpose, he propels you toward the couch in his office, ruthlessly clearing half of its contents to the floor. Pillows and discarded clothes cascade, creating a scattered pool at your feet.

In a low, demanding tone, he orders, “On all fours. Couch. Now.” 

As you hasten to comply, he positions himself just behind you, prompting a swift bend on his firm couch. The assertive grip on your ass intensifies, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m going to fuck a baby into you.” 

He pants, desire thick in his voice as he strokes his dick, aligning once more with your eager pussy. “Make you nice and round, babe,” he grunts, the raw intensity of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure through you as he effortlessly slips back into the depth of your core.

“Fuck!” The sensation is even more constricting than before, and the provocative baby talk is pushing you to the edge. It’s utterly sinful, igniting something primal within you.

He pins you forcefully against the unforgiving couch, driving your head down, each powerful thrust causing it to shift and creak in protest, mirroring the intensity of your entwined passion.

Your senses are on the verge of overload, the relentless pleasure almost too much to bear. Thoughts dissolve into a blissful haze, and all that remains is the exquisite sensation of him sliding perfectly between your thighs.

“I bet you’ll look so incredible carrying our baby,” he pants, his grip tightening on a makeshift ponytail of your hair as he pulls you upwards with a low moan.

“Fuck!” 

You arch your back, relishing the delicious pull on your scalp that sends electrifying shivers down your spine.

You’re completely lost, a symphony of pants and moans escaping your lips. All you can do is surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his incredible thrusts.

His fingers leave a fiery trail as they wander from your hair to one of your breasts, teasingly groping. “Damn, your breasts will get bigger too,” he breathes, his words a sultry promise echoing in the heated air.

“Though I like them just as they are.” He murmurs in rhythm with a punctuated thrust, his voice a seductive melody harmonizing with the passionate dance between you.

At the sound of his words, a surge of desire courses through you, causing your walls to instinctively clench around him. He responds with a sharp intake of breath, a symphony of pleasure echoing in the intimate space between you.

“You like this, don’t you?” 

His voice, low and sultry, fills the room as he pulls on your hair once more, a tantalizing twist that sends a shiver down your spine. A subtle burn lingers, a delicious reminder of the electrifying sensations between you.

His name escapes your lips in a breathless moan of agreement, words failing to convey the intensity of the moment.

As he relinquishes his grip on your hair and breasts, his hands now firmly anchored on your hips, he rasps, “You look forward to being all puffy and swollen, don’t you?” 

His voice carries a seductive promise that sends shivers down your spine.

As the peak of pleasure beckons, the intoxicating blend of his presence within you and his lascivious words has you teetering on the edge. It’s as if the mere fusion of his dick in your pussy and the erotic cadence of his dirty words might propel you into climax without any further touch.

Attempting to vocalize your pleasure, a choked moan escapes your lips, a visceral symphony echoing the tightening coil of your body.

As he relentlessly thrusts, plunging into the depths of your pussy, he smirks and provocatively questions, “Are you coming, babe?”

In a fervor, you attempt to nod, your head resting down on the couch, eyes tightly shut, and hands clenched in the grip of pleasure.

His voice rumbles with desire as he commands, “Come on my dick,” his grip on your hips tightening, forcefully pulling you onto him, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through his office.

You release the tightly wound coil within you, and a warm flood of your essence envelops his pulsating dick. Colors dance before your eyes, a vivid symphony of sensations, as he, too, begins the pursuit of his own intoxicating climax.

His fervent praise echoes through the room as your moans and pants harmonize with the symphony of pleasure. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” His words, like a sultry melody, intensify the rhythm of ecstasy.

His raspy voice, saturated with pleasure, reverberates in the air as he relentlessly delves deep, bringing you to the brink. “Almost there, babe,” the promise of climax hangs in the room, each thrust a pulsating step toward an imminent release.

His fingers carve ephemeral imprints into the canvas of your hips, a testament to the intensity of his grip. With a primal and forceful thrust, he spills into you, a guttural exclamation escaping his lips, “Fucking shit!”

He persists in his rhythmic thrusts, a seamless dance that continues for what feels like an eternity. The symphony of heavy panting fills the air, a harmonious testament to the intoxicating pleasure enveloping both of you.

As he tenderly withdraws from the embrace of your walls, a bittersweet ache lingers. 

The ebbing warmth of his departure leaves a void, and you sense the telltale trickle of his semen tracing a tantalizing path down your trembling thighs. His appreciative hisses and groans echo the shared intimacy, turning the aftermath into a mosaic of shared passion.

With a resounding smack, he playfully ignites the fire beneath your skin, “You look so hot like this,” he remarks, his words carrying a teasing heat that matches the fiery imprint on your ass.

With a mischievous twirl, you shake your ass provocatively, a sassy smirk dancing on your lips, “Don’t I always look hot?”

He chuckles at your brattiness, delivering another firm slap to your ass, “Always, and I can’t get enough of you.”

You finally turn around, sitting down on the couch, to face him, licking your lips with a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Yoongi,” your voice filled with a mix of passion and sincerity that leaves no room for doubt.

He smiles, his touch tracing a delicate path along your cheek, “Fuck, I love you too, babe,” his words carrying the weight of a thousand emotions, a confession that lingers in the air like a sweet promise.

Love saturates the atmosphere, wrapping around you both so tightly that the soft rumble from your stomach escapes like a playful secret, painting a grin on his already handsome face.

Your stomach protests again with a subtle growl, and he chuckles, the sound like a melody blending with the tender kiss he places on your lips. 

“Hungry, babe?” he teases, the warmth of his laughter echoing the affection in the air.

Amidst the afterglow, you share a playful chuckle, the joyous sound filling the room. 

“Yes, I’m starving,” you confess, relishing the delightful nakedness and the shared intimacy of the moment.

As the Friday sun dips below the city skyline, a wave of contentment washes over you. 

Work today was surprisingly pleasant, but what truly fuels your excitement is the anticipation of reuniting with your friends at the bar later. The prospect of laughter and camaraderie lights up your evening horizon.

After a demanding day at work, you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of Yoongi’s home. The soft sanctuary of his sheets cradles you, offering solace and a much-needed respite from the challenges of the day.

As you reluctantly peel yourself away from the embrace of the bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets left in the wake of a time filled with passion, you’re greeted by the stark reality of time ticking away. Your naked form, a canvas marked by the shared intensity, moves with purpose. In the urgency to locate your scattered clothes, a playful smile dances on your lips. 

“We have to get ready now, or else Hoseok will kill us if we’re late!”

“We’ll make it,” his laughter, a melodic assurance, echoes through the room as you engage in a hasty scavenger hunt for the garments that will shield your modesty. 

Triumphantly seizing the clothes, there’s a playful finesse to your actions as you toss his attire in his direction, a comical dance of urgency and amusement. 

With effortless efficiency, you transform from the cozy intimacy of his home to the bustling anticipation of the cityscape. Your steps echo determination, a rhythm set by the pulse of the impending night. Brisk and purposeful, you navigate the urban terrain, a seamless transition from the quiet haven of his house to the lively rhythm of the city streets. 

The search for a bus becomes a quest, an adventure laced with the promise of vibrant encounters awaiting you in the heart of the metropolis.

Entwined in the lively hum of the crowded bus, you and Yoongi carve out a cozy haven amidst the kaleidoscope of humanity. Hand in hand, your fingers dance in silent symphony, finding solace in the familiar warmth of each other’s touch. With your head nestled on his shoulders, you embark on the journey to the bar to meet up with your friends.

As you step into the lively ambiance of the bar, the infectious melody of your friends’ laughter orchestrates a beacon, guiding you unerringly to their gathering. Their exuberant joy reverberates in the air, making them a vibrant constellation impossible to overlook amidst the bustling backdrop of the bar’s chatter and clinking glasses.

“Hi,” you join the lively cluster of your friends with a warm greeting, sliding seamlessly into the open space next to Jungkook, who graciously makes room for both you and Yoongi. 

A subtle, rosy hue paints Jungkook’s cheeks a bright red, mirroring the flush that graces your own face as you and he share a shy glance, deliberately sidestepping prolonged eye contact in the midst of the gathering.

“You’re late,” Hoseok’s voice carries a mockingly stern tone as he playfully rolls his eyes at your belated entrance, his knowing gaze signaling that he’s well aware of the delightful reason behind your tardiness.

“Hey,” a collective greeting resonates from the group, their eyes discreetly flickering between you and Yoongi, deliberately sidestepping Hoseok’s playful comment.

Your warm smile encompasses the group as you inquire, “How have you all been?” 

Your eyes sweep across each face, a genuine affection evident, and you add, “I’ve missed you.”

Namjoon passes a pair of beers your way, and with a subtle gesture, you gracefully direct yours to Yoongi, ensuring he has two. Opting for a bottle of water, your choice doesn’t escape Namjoon’s notice, though he maintains a thoughtful silence.

Jungkook, still blushing beside you, stammers out, “It’s going well. I’ve landed more modeling gigs, and some are even international!” He chirps with infectious happiness, sharing his success with the group.

“Wow, that’s incredible, Kook,” you pat him on the shoulders, your touch conveying genuine pride and admiration. Feeling him tense beneath your hand, you can’t help but marvel at how he’s fearlessly pursued his dreams.

“The trip was amazing; I actually got contacted because of the pictures I uploaded to my Instagram,” he boasts with pride, and the table erupts in cheers. Everyone is genuinely happy for him, celebrating his success. 

You can’t help but notice his still lingering blush and how he subtly avoids making eye contact with you.

You shift your gaze to Hoseok, who’s casually sipping his beer. Sensing your lingering attention, he speaks, “Not much has changed since our last chat,” a warm smile playing on his lips.

You chuckle and take a sip of your water, scooting closer to Yoongi at your side, the warmth between you growing with every inch.

Seokjin’s infectious chuckles draw you in, the sound a delightful melody weaving through the air. “When I came home, my girlfriend had orchestrated a full-scale rearrangement of our entire apartment,” he shares, laughter dancing in his eyes. 

“I thought the nesting phase happened later in the pregnancy, but now I don’t know where my stuff is, and neither does she.” The room erupts in laughter, and you find yourself clutching your stomach, the ache from amusement almost as sweet as the camaraderie in the moment.

“That sucks man,” Taehyung remarks, his laughter lingering in the air.

“What about you Tae?” Namjoon asks him with a smile.

“Ah, life’s the same old rollercoaster, but that vacation? Absolutely necessary.” He shares, his smile a vibrant punctuation to the story in his eyes.

“Spill the tea, Joonie. What’s been brewing in your world since we got back?” Yoongi takes a leisurely sip of his beer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he nudges Namjoon, inviting a glimpse into the tapestry of his recent adventures.

“I took that girl from the dating app out on a date,” he confesses, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Turns out, she’s not just nice; we’re practically living parallel lives. It’s uncanny how much we have in common.”

“That’s wonderful, Joonie!” you beam like a lovesick fool. “I’m genuinely thrilled for you. Wishing you all the best, and I hope things work out perfectly for you two.”

Wrapped in Yoongi’s comforting embrace, you surrender to the warmth, a lovesick fool drowning in the bliss of his arms.

You catch the heavy sigh escaping Jimin’s lips as he nurses his beer, and with a knowing look, he confesses, “The vacation was incredible, but reality hits hard. Work hasn’t changed a bit, and I’m already feeling drained,” he laments, taking another sip of his beer.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, taking a hearty gulp of his beer, “Why the hell is your face as red as a tomato, Kook? What’s wrong?”

Everyone’s gaze converges on the youngest, and the deepening shade of his blush is impossible to ignore. You sense the topic at hand, your cheeks mirroring the rosy hue. Yoongi, nonchalant, chuckles beside you, adding to the collective curiosity in the room.

“Why the laughter, Yoongi?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow inquisitively. 

As he scans the expressions on both you and Jungkook’s faces, it becomes evident how you both go out of your way to avoid each other’s eyes.

“Something definitely went down between you two,” Hoseok chimes in, his voice filled with playful curiosity.

Jimin suddenly becomes intensely interested, leaning over the table to scrutinize both you and Jungkook. “Spill the details,” he demands with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Nothing happened!” Jungkook blurts out, raising his arms in a hasty defense, desperately trying to shield his crimson face. You, on the other hand, find solace in staring at the floor, unable to meet the curious gazes probing at your secret.

The guys persistently badger Jungkook for more information, but he clams up, sealing his lips tighter than a vault. Frustrated, their attention shifts to Yoongi once again.

Yoongi, nonchalant, raises his beer to his lips for another sip before casually revealing, “He saw us fuck.”

Jungkook lets out a dramatic groan, his hands shielding his eyes as if the vivid image of you and Yoongi in the throes of sex is still burned into his mind. The other guys, practically choking on their beers, sport eyes as wide as teacups, thoroughly amused by the revelation.

“What?” Taehyung practically yells, laughter bubbling up so much that his eyes glisten with tears. He turns to Jungkook with an incredulous expression, as if seeking confirmation for the unbelievable revelation.

“Why the hell were you watching them?” He interrogates Jungkook, genuine curiosity mirrored in the eyes of the entire group.

Jungkook finally glances at the group, his voice trailing off hesitantly, “I came to pick up my car at Yoongi hyung’s garage…” His eyes wander across the faces of the group, finally locking onto yours.

“And they were... at it,” his eyes reflect a blend of hurt and discomfort, “on the hood of my damn car,” he states with a stern and definitive tone.

A collective gasp fills the room, and all eyes turn towards you. 

Your gaze immediately drops to the floor. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks – it was Jungkook’s car. 

The hurt in his eyes now makes sense; he adores that car. The frustration builds as you grasp that Yoongi was well aware, yet said nothing! There will definitely be a conversation about this later, dammit.

“Gross!” Taehyung scowls and audibly scoffs, taking an exaggerated sip of his beer to mask the disbelief etched on his face.

Seokjin shakes his head in amused disbelief, his words carrying a playful scolding. “Aish, you’re not teenagers anymore! You’re in your thirties for God’s sake.” Laughter erupts from Teahyung, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok, echoing the sentiment.

Namjoon bursts into earnest laughter, his words carrying a teasing tone. “Forgot to lock the door? Rookie mistake.”

Jimin raises his beer high in the air, a mischievous glint in his eye. “A toast!” you all turn towards him, curious about the unexpected celebration.

“To ___!” Jimin bellows, breaking the silence, and with some hesitation, the rest of the group chimes in, including Yoongi. You can only watch them with a mix of surprise and amusement.

“She finally got that office fuck!” Jimin exclaims with contagious joy, and the rest of the group erupts in laughter so uproarious that it turns heads throughout the entire bar.

Author’s note (2): OMG! This is the end of Friendcation 😭 What a wild ride it has been to write it. But so, so good. What first started as an idea because my sister and brother-in-law were going on a roadtrip in their van around Europe, birthed this lovely story 😭

I truly want to say a big enormous thank you, to you. Yes, you! Thank you so much for all the time you have spent reading this series – I really hoped you liked it. I appreciate every single one of you, you guys are amazing 💜

If you liked it, please consider commenting (even an emoji is fine!), or reblogging or getting in touch with me in an ask – I don’t bite, I’m very nice I promise. It’s also completely fine if you don’t want to do any of those things too, no pressure!

Please stay happy and healthy 💜

Author’s note #3 (very important): when I wrote this chapter, I’d simultaneously been reading @kithtaehyung’s 3tan series, and without even realizing it, I had written a scene similar to hers. They do it on a desk—, and I know, yes, in many fics the characters do it on a desk, but to me, this was enough for me to say something was wrong with my work. It wasn’t even that similar in the wording or the specific scene, but to be on the safe side, I have rewritten the scene in question. ✨

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts, @constancelayon, @wobblewobble822, @ktownshizzle, @moonchild1, @ultimatefangirl0, @baechugff, @jimintaemin, @parapiop7, @fckkntired, @iluvfndms, @citypop-princess, @tarahardcore, @bergandysam, @massivelyfullenthusiast, @tatyhend, @gimeow *strikethrough means tumblr isn’t letting me tag you :( **you can still be added to the taglist, just drop a comment here, on any chapter or the masterlist and I’ll add you 🌸

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[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 4 (NSFW)

There’s a weird energy on set the last day of shooting. Excitement for reaching the end for sure but also a kind of melancholy that soon it’s all going to be over. 

Eddie himself is so on edge he feels like he’s going to start levitating any minute now.

The first thing they shoot is a close-up of the Corrored boys plus Robin looking surprised as they pull a curtain on the bus tour that’s supposed to be revealing Eddie and Steve making out.

They will shoot the scene again actually featuring them there, later. But Argyle wanted to do a couple of different takes on it. And they do lots of them since they can’t stop laughing and putting on ridiculous overemphatic expressions.

And then, finally, it’s time to get the money shot. Argyle asks that only essentials stay on set to give Steve and Eddie some sense of privacy. And the boys leave grumping loudly all the way out of the set while Robin is dragged away by Jeff, walking backward and doing kissy faces at both of them.

Laughing Eddie turns to look at Steve, and he had been so excited with the thought of touching him, of feeling him close, that he hadn’t noticed until now, Steve looks really nervous.

Argyle is explaining to him how the scene goes, a comforting hand on his shoulder as he points at the set,

“You don’t have to lie down on the bunkbed, just stand near the wall. We can do you against it or Eddie, he’s comfortable with both so you can choose whichever floats your boat,” Argyle guides him, not noticing Steve getting progressively redder by the second,

“You just have to kiss him like your life depends on it, ok?” To his credit, Steve is nodding along to Argyle’s words and he has the smallest frown like he’s concentrating on the instructions, “Like you can’t get your hands off each other, you know.”

Once they are in place, with Eddie against the wall and Steve crowding him, he puts one hand on the wall next to Eddie’s head and the other on his shoulder. Eddie places his hands on Steve’s waist making him jump a little when his fingers dip under Steve’s shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the awkwardness of it all, this is not what he was imagining at all.

And he laughs when he’s nervous, sue him.

Still, he smiles at Steve reassuringly, trying to make him relax, “Nervous?”

Steve visibly swallows and shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he says, totally not fine.

He’s making Eddie nervous now. He feels he misinterpreted everything that happened the last few days with how reluctant Steve seems at the thought of kissing him, and he wants to ask for a time out and talk to him about it, but before he can, Argyle calls for action and next thing he knows is Steve is kissing him.

And it’s a good kiss, don’t get him wrong, Steve’s lips are just as soft and wonderful as they look and he’s an excellent kisser, but it’s soft and hesitant and not at all what they were supposed to be doing. Steve is actually leaning in to kiss him, their lips being the only point of contact like this is a middle school dance and they need to leave room for Jesus.

Argyle lets it go on for a while before saying ‘cut’, no need for yelling in such a tight set.

Steve immediately steps always from Eddie, “Sorry” he says.

“Stevie, mind putting a little more oomph into that?” Argyle asks him softly like he’s trying not to spook him.

“Yeah, I know, sorry,” he says again, nodding and looking at the floor.

And Eddie is so fucking confused right now, is he into him or not? Maybe he’s nervous because he doesn't like an audience. He really thought they had something going on, what happened?

Argyle calls for action again and this time Eddie is the one who initiates the kiss. He goes all in on it, coaxing Steve to part his lips with his tongue and then Steve complies and then, oh then it’s a real kiss. 

Steve finally gets into it and if he thought Steve was a good kisser before he was a fool, a clown, a jester because he had no idea what was in line for him.

It’s fucking hot and passionate and everything he had imagined and he’s so into it he can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth, and suddenly he’s standing alone, mouthing at nothing, the cold air of the set hitting him hard where he was just so warm against Steve. He opens his eyes confused and Steve is against the other wall, as far away as he can manage in the small space.

“Cut!, Steve?” Argyle asks him worried.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, sorry” Steve blabbers scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Shit, should I have asked for an intimacy coordinator? Am I gonna get sued?” Argyle thinks out loud and Steve’s eyes open widely,

“What? Argy, of course not, I’m sorry! I-” but he doesn’t say anything else and just hugs himself and shrugs.

“Hey, Argyle give us a minute?” Eddie asks looking at Steve. He needs to know what’s going on inside that pretty head of his.

Argyle sighs but smiles reassuringly at Steve, he’s seriously done a fantastic job so far, and Argyle probably doesn't want him to feel bad for one little hiccup.

“Sure dude, let’s take an early lunch break, yeah?” he says to the few people left in the studio, “Be back in an hour”

Once everyone is gone Eddie turns back to Steve, ducking his head to catch Steve’s eye.

“What’s wrong?” he inquires shily, debating whether or not he should bring up how confused he feels.

Steve blushes and mumbles, “I’m sorry,”

“You keep saying that but I don't know what you are sorry for” He answers with a kind smile even as cold runs through his spine at the thought that Steve might be apologizing for leading him on.

“I'm not a professional!” Steve states suddenly looking around the studio, “I don’t know how- how am I supposed to not get worked up while making out with the loveliest, hottest guy I’ve ever met-”

‘Oh’

The blushing, the stiffness, the distance, they all take a new meaning with that. And Eddie, in a  completely obvious way looks at Steve, his eye landing on his crotch, where his wardrobe is doing a very poor job at hiding just exactly how worked up he is.

Eddie is delighted by this, so much so that he laughs and Steve frowns at him, and slaps his arm, “Don't laugh at me! Asshole” he whines, which makes Eddie laugh even harder.

And he grabs Steve by the waist and pulls him closer to him, purposely making their crotches touch, letting him feel how into him Eddie is too.

Steve’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he bites his lip at the contact, 

“Oh,” Steve articulates eloquently.

“Yes, oh,”

And then Eddie kisses him again, kisses him like he wanted to from the moment he first saw him. Like he wants to eat him.

And Steve ups his game even more, positively driving him insane.

“Changing room?” Eddie offers dropping kisses from his lips to his jaw and neck.

“Uh?” Steve says and groans loudly when Eddie bites him.

“Little more private” Eddie chuckles licking Steve’s pulse point.

“Yes, fu- fuck yes,” Steve says and grabs Eddie’s wrist, dragging him with him as he practically runs there.

As soon as they are inside the changing room, Steve pushes Eddie against the door and kisses him so hard he bumps the back of his head against it, and he bolts the door shut behind him.

Steve chuckles and cradles the back of his head, “Sorry” he murmurs against his lips, Eddie bites his bottom lip and tells him to stop apologizing.

They make out fervently, can’t seems to get their hands off each other, not even to move farther into the room, and when Eddie pushes his hips into Steve’s looking for some friction Steve growls and picks Eddie up by the back of his legs, using the door as support. Eddie immediately hooks both his legs around Steve’s waist and fuck yeah that hits the spot.

Frank was right, Steve can pick him up with no effort, and it's really fucking hot.

The angle and the closeness are phenomenal, Steve is essentially humping him and it feels so fucking good. But it would feel a heck of a lot better if he could make Steve take his shirt off.

He lifts it up over his torso mapping the exposed skin but reaches a dead end when he hits Steve’s armpits. He’s going to have to drop Eddie to lift his arms and Eddie is conflicted between a shirtless Steve and being devoured against a door. Decisions, decisions…

In the end, he chooses nudity.

He unhooks his legs from Steve and stands, pushing the shirt up. Steve gets the message and lifts his arms letting Eddie take it off.

He shakes his hair out of his eyes and they stare at each other for a bit, trying to catch their breaths. And Eddie looks at him, and Jesus was the payoff worth it, Steve is fucking beautiful, with toned hard muscles and chest hair and moles, so many, many moles. He dives into Steve's neck and touches his chest, pushing his hand through the hair on his pecs, it’s absolutely lovely. 

Steve starts slowly unbuttoning Eddie's belt and jeans, “Eddie I want-” he starts but Eddie interrupts him,

“Yes, yes to whatever you want”

Steve chuckles and drops to his knees in front of him and Eddie's knees threaten to give up on him because holy shit.

He pulls Eddie’s boxers down mindful of the elastic and Eddie is thankful for that because his dick is so hard that if Steve is not careful he could lose an eye with it.

And he absolutely doesn’t laugh at his silly thoughts because right then Steve grabs the shaft of his dick and looks up at him,

“I want to see you again after the shoot is over, I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” He says right before he takes Eddie in his mouth.

Eddie moans and slaps his hands on the door loudly, he nods furiously even though Steve can’t see him do it, he’s too busy sucking obscenely, moaning when Eddie’s dick hits the back of his throat, he pulls back and forth a couple of times before pulling off completely and licking the head, looking at Eddie while he slowly jerks him off, “Can I take you out on a date? Please?”

“Yes! Fuck yes, of course.”

Steve smiles sweetly at him and goes back to trying to suck his brains out. A date? He wants to ask Steve to move in with him, marry him, never be away from him again, please.

Are you mine, please be mine, you are mine.

Shit.

He touches anywhere he can reach with his hands, following with his fingers the lines and angles of Steve's face, his jaw, his nose, his eyelids, how his cheeks hollow as he sucks, his eyebrows, and the little frown between them with worshiping soft touches and then cradles his hands through Steve’s hair and pulls.

Steve moans and Eddie feels it all over his own body.

It’s over pretty quickly after that, Eddie comes so hard he doubles over Steve and ends up resting his forehead on Steve's head.

His knees do give up then and he slides down the door legs sprawled open on either side of Steve’s and he grabs him by the cheeks and kisses him deeply.

Then, he moves his hands to Steve’s waist and slides him closer to him, palms his clothed erection.

Steve never stops kissing him, moaning and groaning and panting into his mouth as Eddie lowers his pants just enough to take his dick out and jerks him off fast and dirty.

Still kneeling, Steve holds himself steady by placing his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and then slowly moving them to circle around him and burying his face on Eddie’s neck, nipping at it between intakes of air. He’s hugging him close and moving his hips in sharp little trusts into Eddie's hand and it’s gotta be the prettiest thing Eddie has ever experienced.

Worked up as he was after giving Eddie the best blowjob of his life, Steve comes pretty fast, and Eddie tries to catch most of it on his palm, bringing it to his mouth and tasting him, making sure to keep eye contact as he does so.

Steve groans and lets himself fall to the floor theatrically, “Fuck! You are so hot.”

It makes Eddie laugh, “Right back at ya,” he tells him and he barely has time to catch his breath before Steve sits right back up,

“Shit! What time is it? We need to get back, did I stain my pants?!” He says frantically looking at himself and checking his crotch.

Eddie just keeps laughing and watches him walk around the room, looking for his shirt and trying futilely to fix his hair in the mirror.

“Hey, give me your phone,” He tells Steve making grabby hands at him.

Steve gives him a big smile and throws his phone at him, Eddie- doesn't catch it but it falls in his lap so it's all good.

He quickly makes a new contact and names it “Eddie 🦇” and gives himself a lost call, saving the contact as “Steve 💘”.

He fixes himself as best he can, thankfully they didn’t ruin their clothes and stands up waiting for Steve.

Steve turns around and walks up to him, looking nervous before opening the door, “How do I look?” he asks.

And Eddie knows he’s asking in a ‘Can you tell what we were up to just now’ kind of way and not in a ‘Do I look pretty’ kind of way but he still responds, “Gorgeous,” very unhelpfully.

And Steve, precious as he is, blushes deeply as if he wasn’t just deep-throating the life out of Eddie minutes ago.

When they get back to the set, Argyle is already there, and he takes one look at them and shakes his head, 

“Well, at least I don’t have to ask makeup to make you two look like you just fucked,”

Steve pales and starts stammering but Eddie cackles and shakes Argyle’s shoulder, who is trying and failing to keep a straight face and not laugh too.

“It’s ok, Steve” Eddie assures him and Argyle does chuckle then, nods and winks at him for good measure.

This time when they get to their places, Steve is relaxed and pliant and Eddie is, Eddie is just thrilled.

When Argyle says ‘action!’, Steve bumps their foreheads together and rubs his nose against his before diving in and kissing him intensely. Eddie swears he hears Argyle saying ‘Aww’ at some point.

They kiss for a while, smiling through it and nipping at each other's lips, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, and then they hear Argyle yell,

“Cut! Eddie for fuck’s sake!” By the looks of it, it’s not the first time he’s said it, but he’s laughing and shaking his head, so it’s not a big deal.

Steve apologizes and Eddie bites his nose, “Stop apologizing”

Steve shakes his head and looks at him bewildered and Eddie laughs at his expression and kisses his nose making Steve laugh too.

“What’s so funny?” Robin asks as she walks in, the rest of the team just coming back to film the last scene.

Which is basically the same thing they did just now except they have to get interrupted by Gareth opening a curtain.

Argyle goes over the scene once more with everyone before starting and then Steve and Eddie are kissing again but when Gareth opens the curtain, Robin screams so loud, everyone’s surprised expression is one hundred percent real.

“Jesus, Robin!” Steve scolds her, burying his face in Eddie’s chest.

“Sorry! Sorry, Jesus! I knew it was coming but it was still so jarring to see” She says with a hand on her chest, “It was like a jump scare! What are you doing to my boy?!”

Eddie and the boys crack up and Steve blushes and grumbles, “Stop it dingus”

“I… loved that take actually, I think it’s the best we’ll get,” Argyle says, “But let’s do it one more time just in case, and then we’ll call it.”

Everyone cheers and gets in position and Steve and Eddie look at each other, something achingly similar to love in their eyes as they eagerly wait for Argyle to call action so they can kiss again.

That’s a wrap!

part 1: ♫

part 2: ♫  

part 3: ♫  

part 4: is this

☕ cafecito?

[aevallare]

vow

light plot. heavy smut. mind the warnings. you can read on ao3 here

pairing: ascended astarion/f!tav

word count: 5220

warnings: menstruation kink, throne sex, oral sex, obsession, jealousy, kidnapping, power dynamics, dubious consent, light bondage, inappropriate use of mage hand

preview:

Astarion asks, “Won’t I hurt you?”

His voice. She hadn’t forgotten, really, but melancholy floods her nonetheless. “I don’t know. But I had to make him think that.”

“Devious.” He claps in a mockery of applause. “You’ve made me look a downright fool, darling. Imagine my disappointment when I showed up to that godsforsaken pity party Withers threw and you weren’t even there.”

“I was busy.” She has to keep her answers short. If she gives him an opening, she’ll be lost forever. It’s that simple.

enjoy!!

-------

Auri’s cycle has always been a fickle thing. It’s stabilized some in the months following their defeat of the Elder Brain and as her stress and anxiety have leveled out, but her cycle is still far from predictable.

The twisting pains in her stomach are far from the worst they’ve ever been, but they’re uncomfortable nonetheless, and when she wakes to them and a sealed letter in her pack, she knows today will be strange.

Auri recognizes the author of the letter instantly, though. She’d know Withers’ hand anywhere. Her lips part as she reads.

It’s an invitation. Withers has invited everyone who liberated Baldur’s Gate and, apparently, a few others besides. He’s arranged for Karlach and Wyll to come up out of Avernus and transport for Halsin and Shadowheart from their respective homes. Lae’zel, too, will be in attendance, and Gale is on holiday anyway.

And Astarion, of course, though Withers leaves his name for last. Auri imagines that he’d rankled at the slight of not being asked to host.

When her stomach twists, it isn’t just menstrual pains. She tries not to think about Astarion if she can help it, though it’s much harder when her troupe is in Baldur’s Gate and the Szarr-turned-Ancunín estate looms over her at every turn.

The invitation’s for tomorrow, and Deadwinter is one of the biggest performances of the year. No one would ask any questions if she begged off for the night, but–

“Auri, can I get your help out here?” Amar calls, and Auri blinks.

She stares for a moment longer at the invitation, and then she says, “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Auri throws the invitation into the fireplace. The flames lick away at it until Auri could almost forget she ever received it in the first place.

She steps towards Amar’s voice, and as she walks, the burden bears down on her.

When she’d helped Astarion ascend, it had seemed like the right choice for a multitude of reasons.

It would make him stronger, for one, in the fight against the Elder Brain. The odds were already so stacked against them; it made sense to make him the Vampire Ascendant.

He would never fear anything again. That mattered to Auri, and it mattered a lot. She’d known it would change him. She’d known it would ruin whatever love they had. She simply wanted him to feel safe.

And before every other consideration, it was what he wanted. If there was anything that she’d tried to impress on him in the weeks leading up to that moment, it was that what he wanted was important.

But she hadn’t understood. Neither had he. The Astarion she was in love with wouldn’t have wanted to become what he is now, a caricature of a vampire.

Auri doesn’t think that’s what he would have wanted, at least, but it’s been more than a year since she’s spoken to him. It’s been more than a year since she was in Baldur’s Gate at all.

She exhales. They’re here for three days. If Withers somehow comes knocking when she doesn’t attend the party, she’ll say she never saw the invitation at all.

Auri always feels silly at the Deadwinter performance. The outfits show far too much skin for what the weather should allow, but the venue is always artificially warm, so she can’t complain.

She just can’t leave the tent without nearly freezing to death. Auri pulls at the skirt, thankful that she’s at least allowed a semblance of short leggings underneath. If Amar’s to be believed, the outfit is supposed to evoke the idea of a snowflake, though her hair seems at odds with the concept.

Before she steps out on stage to take her usual place at Amar’s side, she exhales.

The others are all together by now. Karlach and Wyll have stepped out of the hells. Gale and Lae’zel have teleported in. Shadowheart and Halsin have no doubt arrived. Did Astarion arrive as a bat? They’ve surely realized that she isn’t coming.

It doesn’t matter. There’s a show to put on.

The smile Auri wears is radiant. It would glint off snow if the tent allowed it entry. When she steps into the light, the crowd is raucous.

They know her, of course. How couldn’t they? She’s the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. There’s a statue of her in the middle of the city.

Auri waves, smile never faltering, and Amar, voice magnified by a spell, says, “And you all know Aurora, I’d imagine! After all, without her, this crowd would look much different!”

He lets out a bellowing guffaw that almost turns the smile on Auri’s face real. Amar’s good at his job. He loves it and it shows.

When he gestures for Auri to take her lyre in hand, she does. This is like breathing. Her head tilts to the side and again, she exhales. Her fingers brush against the strings lightly, and she manages to play precisely one note before she sees the mist.

The lyre falls to the ground. In any other situation, she’d wince at dropping it, but there’s no time.

“You need to get out of here,” she says to Amar. “You need to get everyone out of here.”

But that’s futile. How wouldn’t it be?

Astarion’s the Vampire Ascendant, after all.

When Astarion manifests before her, all air leaves the room. He’s as stunning as ever with his marble skin and ruby eyes, perfectly manicured hair and nails.

And he doesn’t slaughter everyone in attendance, which is thoughtful of him.

Amar hasn’t moved from her side. He knows exactly who Astarion is, and he’s unwilling to leave Auri alone.

“Go,” Auri repeats. “He won’t hurt me.”

Amar swallows hard behind her. Auri herself doesn’t know if she believes that’s true. Regardless, he finally leaves, and the spectators continue filing out as Astarion asks, “Won’t I hurt you?”

His voice. She hadn’t forgotten, really, but melancholy floods her nonetheless. “I don’t know. But I had to make him think that.”

“Devious.” He claps in a mockery of applause. “You’ve made me look a downright fool, darling. Imagine my disappointment when I showed up to that godsforsaken pity party Withers threw and you weren’t even there.”

“I was busy.” She has to keep her answers short. If she gives him an opening, she’ll be lost forever. It’s that simple.

Astarion sets his mouth in a line. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Deadwinter is our biggest performance of the year.”

He casts a sarcastic glance around the now-empty room. “You wouldn’t know it from the crowd.”

Auri scowls. “Yes. I wonder why.”

“Embarrassing, really, this turnout.” Astarion sighs, shaking his head. “You’d think more people would have shown up for the Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

“You know I never wanted that title.”

“I personally always thought that Consort of the Vampire Ascendant was much more prestigious, but what do I know?”

Auri has a million things to say to that, chief amongst them that she misses him more than words can say, but instead she stays quiet.

When she doesn’t rise to the passive aggression, Astarion exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Well, in any event, your evening seems to have been freed up.”

Auri’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“Relax,” Astarion says, every inch of him a predator, and Auri’s always felt like prey. “I have nothing but the best intentions.”

Anxiety bubbles in her throat, but it’s not like it matters. When he steps forward and his mist swallows her, she can only be thankful that he hadn’t leveled the troupe entirely.

It’s fast, traveling this way. Auri expects to arrive at the party, where she’ll have to field a hundred questions about why she hadn’t come in the first place and why Astarion had fetched her.

But it isn't the party at all. When her eyes open, she’s standing in the halls of Cazador Szarr.

Or they used to be his halls. They’re Astarion’s, now, Auri supposes, and the decor’s changed drastically.

Auri’s breath catches. There’s finery as far as the eye can see, yes, but more than that, this isn’t the lair of a singularly self-obsessed vampire.

It’s the colors. There’s Astarion’s red and black, yes, and the Ancunín crest is present everywhere, but there’s another color threaded through the hall.

There are accents of seafoam everywhere.

Auri’s lips part. He’s laced his lair with her. It wouldn’t matter where he looked. Astarion’s designed this room so that her favorite color is intertwined with his.

“This–” Auri swallows and steels herself. “What trick is this?”

“Trick?” Astarion asks, unimpressed.

It has to be a trick. It must be.

But it’s not. The seafoam alone could have been a trick, but there’s something else.

Auri walks down the hall with Astarion as her shadow. The room is conspicuously empty; it takes an army of servants to run this estate, no doubt, but Astarion has clearly arranged for them to be nowhere near here.

And at the end of the hall, there are two thrones.

One, clearly, is his. It’s better-worn, and every throw and cushion is in his colors. The other looks almost untouched.

When they met, Auri had been wearing seafoam and gold. The throne that isn’t Astarion’s looks like a concentrated vial of ocean and sunshine. It would be altogether out of place but for the way the same blue-green color weaves through the rest of the decor.

“I have made reminders of you to never forget how the thing I crave more than anything else walked away.” Astarion stands next to her as if he’s considering the throne himself. “And then you step into my city bleeding freely and expect to simply avoid me by not attending a function I only deemed worth my time because you would be there.”

“You could not smell my cycle from here–”

“I could smell you from the moment you set foot in Baldur’s Gate. I could certainly smell you this morning when you woke.”

Auri blushes despite herself. “That’s none of your business. You have your pick of meals these days anyway. I have no doubt about that.”

Her pulse pounds in her throat. Astarion can probably see it.

“If I have my pick,” he drawls, circling behind her, “Then surely it won’t be a problem if I choose you to feast on.”

Still, his voice holds this much power over her. When Astarion speaks, Auri bites her lip. He continues, “I have craved you every moment since we parted ways. No taste has compared, and believe me when I say that I’ve searched.”

Auri doesn't know if they're talking about sex or blood. She doesn't think it matters. Still, she doesn't speak. Astarion says, “Don't you find it funny how your traveling band of misfits never meets trouble on the road? Do you think that that’s a coincidence?”

Auri swallows hard. “What are you saying?”

His voice is at her ear. “I became this for you, little love. I kill and I maim and I slaughter, and I do it all for you.”

Astarion’s right, in his way, though Auri doesn’t want to admit it. He’d made it clear that he wanted to ascend to protect himself and her, too.

“Then stop all of it for me,” she says.

He chuckles, smirking. “It doesn’t work that way, darling. We made me into this. You’re the one who decided that she didn’t like the result." He pauses. "What say you that we make a deal?” Astarion asks. His hand is cool on her cheek and Auri leans into his touch reflexively. “Whether you admit it or not, you’ve missed me. I’ve been honest about how I’ve hungered for you.”

And he’s right, of course. Here, alone with him, the year without him falls away and Auri is as weak as she ever was.

“What do you propose?” she asks. His touch is feather-light along her collarbone.

Auri tries to steel herself, but it's futile. He's already won and he knows it.

“You're attached to your pathetic excuse for freedom, I know.” His fingers inch closer to her breast. “But let's put your willpower to the test.”

This is a mistake. She knows it.

Astarion is in front of her again. His hand switches course and finds purchase on her chin, tilting her head to the side to expose Auri's neck.

“For every climax that I bring you to, you give me a month.”

His words snap Auri from her lust-drunk haze. “A month? What do you mean a month?”

“I mean a month.” The hand that had exposed her neck falls between her legs, palming her clit through her leggings. Auri exhales a shuddering gasp as he continues, “For each time you come, you'll spend a month on the throne that I've built for you. My bed will be yours. This estate will be yours. And for that month, you'll be mine properly.”

This is a mistake. She’d known it already, and the fact becomes clearer by the moment.

“I stay mortal,” she says, her voice trembling. Astarion applies pressure again between her legs, and Auri whimpers.

When her hips buck into his hand, a wicked smile spreads across Astarion’s face. “Why you're so attached to your mortality is beyond my comprehension, but yes. If that's what it takes for you to agree, then mortal is what you'll remain.”

His words are annoyed but his tone is far from it.

“You won't touch Amar. You'll leave the circus alone.”

Her resolve was never going to last. She'd given in before they'd even begun.

Astarion rolls his eyes and his hand leaves the spot between her legs. Auri gasps with loss, but it doesn't last long. He scoops her into his arms and turns, depositing her onto the throne next to his.

Her throne.

“I would make you royalty, and your concern is with that ragtag group of nobodies.”

Just as she's adjusted to sit properly, Astarion falls to one knee, pulling her legs forward so that he's between them.

“They aren't nobodies–” Auri protests, but it's futile. This was over long ago.

His knife sits at the hem of her leggings. “If they aren't nobodies, then why did you spend the entire time that that pretty little fire dancer was between your legs wishing it was my mouth on your cunt instead?”

A blush burns through her as hot as the lust she can't deny in her core. “That's not true–”

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side. “Then tell me to stop.”

The fling with Evana had been short-lived and mediocre. This will no doubt be anything but.

When Auri doesn't protest, Astarion pushes her skirt upward and runs his knife down the seam of her leggings with ease.

“Do you accept my terms, then? Or are we going to let all this blood go to waste?”

Need throbs in Auri's stomach.

“You won't touch them,” she repeats.

Astarion stares at her with twisted devotion.

“For you, my treasure, anything.”

She can regret this tomorrow. For now, she fists a hand in his immaculately coiffed hair to help his mouth find the place it belongs.

The first swipe of his tongue is like coming home. Astarion licks her clean without shame, and Auri doesn't know how she ever thought she could replace him with another. When the flat of his tongue presses against her entrance, she squirms impatiently. Astarion looks up at her, left hand gripping her thigh–

And with his right hand, he snaps.

His eyes dance with dark delight, and something spectral pulls at her fingers.

A mage hand.

“What–” she starts, but that’s all that she manages before the apparition gathers both her wrists in its grasp and pins them behind her.

His mouth pulls away to answer her unasked question. Auri's hips try to follow, but Astarion only smirks.

“It's your throne, darling, but I'm the one who built it.”

Blood adorns his face. He seems entirely uninterested in wiping himself clean. His tongue runs along his lips, and he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

The Vampire Ascendant kneels before her, but it's a mockery of control that the position gives her.

“You'll get what you seek, and you'll get it many times over. In fact, I plan to give it to you as many times as there are months in the year.”

Twelve times– there's not a universe where she can orgasm twelve times–

She doesn't get to finish the thought. Astarion's mouth continues what it started, and Auri can do nothing but fall prey to his expertise.

There's no learning curve for him. He knew her body perfectly before he ascended and she became the Hero of Baldur's Gate, and he hasn’t forgotten in the year that they’ve spent apart. Astarion nips at the soft flesh of her inner thigh and all Auri can do is cry out, the pain intermingling with pleasure.

When he devours her, Auri can’t remember why she ever let him leave. She can’t remember why she left him.

Since she was named the big damn hero, everything has been an exercise in trying to be good. It’s exactly like it was before the tadpole but with the pressure of everyone’s expectations piled on top.

When Astarion’s lips pull at her clit, two fingers slip inside her.

Hasn’t she earned it? Hasn’t she earned this instance of selfishness, of desire?

The mage hand is unrelenting. She wants to thrash; she wants to ride his fingers, wants to fuck herself on them to orgasm. The pace he builds instead is infuriatingly slow, the suction torturous. When his fingers curl to press at the spot that only he has ever been able to hit perfectly, she gasps out, “Please–”

His mouth leaves her clit with a pop that Auri will never forget for as long as she lives. “What’s the rush, darling? We’ve got, well, as much time as I decide we have.” When he pushes the third finger inside of her, Auri’s eyes roll back into her head. His smirk is infuriating, but all it accomplishes is making Auri even slicker. Astarion continues, “On the other hand, there’s no reason not to start all of this with a bang.”

His thumb presses into her clit, and just when Auri thinks that release is imminent, he replaces his thumb again with his mouth.

Auri shatters.

Still, the mage hand doesn’t release her. When she tries to free her hands, its grip tightens if anything. Her wrists will be purple with bruises tomorrow, but Auri doesn’t care. Her hips cant upward into Astarion’s face, but he’s gracious toward her climax. As he works her through it, his mouth slows, careful not to overstimulate her as he goes.

She’s still in love with him. He’s not the same man that he was, but as the lightning bolt of an orgasm rips through her body, it’s the only thought in her mind.

When she comes back down, he’s staring at her as if she’s some marvel of the universe.

“A month, then, that you’re mine.”

He withdraws from her cunt, and Auri exhales at the loss. Astarion never stops watching her as he stands, the mage hand dissipating. He licks at each of the fingers that were inside of her in turn.

“I’ll claim this month, I think,” he says, almost absently.

Auri’s still breathless. “This month?”

He raises an eyebrow as if she’s asked a stupid question. He should look disheveled, untethered in some way, but he doesn’t.

He just looks hungry.

“What better way to ring in every new year than by tasting your blood and cum?”

And Auri can’t really argue with that, especially not when desire makes her face flush again. She deflects instead.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to make good on those twelve climaxes?”

Auri recognizes that the challenge is a mistake the moment that the words leave her lips.

Astarion's grin is devilish. “I was erring on the side of hyperbole when I implied twelve.”

There's blood underneath her. It stains the pillows and throws that he's taken care to decorate the throne with.

Astarion's always been fast, but now, he's supernaturally so. When Auri blinks, he's on top of her.

“How many can you handle, I wonder? How many times will your body let me unravel it?”

A lifetime ago, when they were both other people, Auri was gentle with him.

But that was a lifetime ago.

She fists her hands in the front of his shirt and pulls him to her. Her teeth clatter into his fangs when she kisses him. Auri’s never had the grace that he does.

“Let's find out,” she hisses into his mouth.

When he grins, it’s bloody. “How shall I give you my cock, then, sweet treat?”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as it’s him.

“The Vampire Ascendant, asking my opinion–”

Auri gets the feeling that he might be annoyed were he not drunk on the vitality he’s just lapped from between her legs. Instead, he says, “A privilege, to be sure,” and when Auri throws her head back and laughs, it’s real. Astarion blinks at her, almost surprised, but it lasts only a moment. He exhales, nodding at the shirt she’s somehow still wearing as he begins to unlace his breeches. “Off.”

She complies gladly, slipping out of what little clothing remains on her body and expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t. Auri swallows hard as Astarion’s cock slips free, but he makes no motion to further undress.

Instead, he once more lifts her into his arms effortlessly, taking the seat she’d occupied just before. He’s flush with the back of the throne, and Auri’s exposed entirely on his lap.

And again, any illusion of power that Auri had slips away. She has a knee on either side of his hips, and she grasps for equal ground when she says, “You always did like me on top,” but she’s already panting. “My cycle is going to ruin your lovely outfit.”

His cock teases her entrance. Auri’s mouth is dry.

“What better fitting metaphor for the way I’m about to ruin you?” he asks.

Fine things tainted by taboo. They’re the same that way. They always have been.

When he sheathes himself inside her, Auri thinks she might black out. Her head lolls backward as she takes him, and to any god that might be listening, she whispers, “Fuck.”

His hands are on her waist as he guides her downward, soaked as she is with blood and cum, and Auri moans as he fills her. He thrusts up into her once, softly, and one of his hands drifts to her breast. His nail flits along her nipple, a tease of a thing, and Auri’s hips roll instinctively.

Astarion exhales through his nose, his eyes half-lidded. For all his posturing, he wants her as badly as Auri wants him. She raises her hips to take him again, to fuck him until she can’t breathe, but even as she rides, he sets the pace. The hand on her waist helps her up and down as his cock turns slick with her, and with the other, he kneads the soft flesh of her breast.

When she tries to lean back and take him as deeply as her body will allow, the hand on her waist stops her.

“What–” she starts, dizzy with lust. His cock throbs inside her. When she tries to move, again, he stops her. “Let me–”

“How many were there?” he asks, voice cold.

“What?”

Obsession wars with lust in Astarion’s eyes.

“Who else tasted you, fucked you, loved you while I pined after you?”

“Are you seriously asking this right now?”

Astarion grips her face with the hand that had been preoccupied with her breast. “Yes.”

Auri’s racing heart stems from fear, adrenaline, and the cock still buried inside her.

“There were only two. You know about Evana.”

“And the other?”

Auri barely remembers the other one. She was blackout drunk in a bar in some backwater dive, looking for any way to bury the fact that she’d let Astarion slip out of her grasp.

“I don’t even know his name.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe her. She’d be happy to play his cock sleeve another day, but this wasn’t the deal they struck.

“Read my thoughts if you think I’m lying,” she challenges, but the intrusion of his mind into hers never comes. The intrusion between her legs, though, fucks upward, and Auri cries out.

“Did they fuck you as well as I do, darling?”

He knows the answer. Auri knows that he does. He just wants to hear her say it.

“No one fucks me like you do,” she says, and at last (at last) he gives her what she wants. Her body’s so sensitive; Astarion thrusts into her hard enough that it almost hurts, but it doesn’t matter. Every move he makes electrifies her, and again, her own pleasure’s outside her control. She’d meant to ride him, an at least symbolic display of power, but he’s stolen it from her.

And she’d let him do it forever.

The realization coincides with the hand on her waist drifting down her body. Auri doesn’t notice. She’s too busy losing herself in the heat that’s building in the pit of her stomach.

When his fingers find her clit, Auri falls forward at the stimulation, catching herself on the back of the throne. Her face is nearly touching his, and the movement has the side effect of grinding her clit into his hand.

“You’ll come for me, won’t you?” he asks, voice low.

He doesn’t have to ask. She would anyway. But when he speaks, it pushes her over the edge. Pleasure rips through her body for a second time, and Auri isn’t sure, but she thinks she actually screams. She collapses into his chest, every muscle in her body contracting as he thrusts slowly into her twice more before coming to a stop.

“A second month, then.”

He sounds so self-satisfied, as if he isn’t waiting to spend himself inside her, too.

She loves him.

Gods, but she loves him, still.

Auri can’t give him what he wants. But maybe she can meet him halfway. Her mind’s not working. She’s been fucked so thoroughly that she barely knows up from down, but she can’t afford that.

When he slides out from inside her, Auri’s confused. Surely he’s not done after all his talk of ‘an orgasm for every month of the year.’

“Since you like deals,” Auri says, undercut by the fact that she can’t catch her breath, “I have a proposition for you.”

Astarion’s tongue runs along his teeth and he raises an eyebrow.

“I won’t give up my life with the troupe, but–”

Astarion clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Disappointing, but unsurprising,” he says, and without a modicum of decorum, he turns her so that her back is flush with his chest. Auri rests comfortably in his lap, and momentarily, she thinks that this is surprisingly tender.

His hand spreads her legs.

“If you’re going to offer me some sort of consolation prize, I’d like you to see just how lovely you look with my cock stuffed inside you while you try to negotiate.”

How is it possible for her to still crave him after she’s come in his mouth and on his cock? It looks obscene between her legs, rubbing up against her clit, covered in her blood and cum both.

“Just think about how much easier it would be to keep an eye on me if you were here,” Astarion says, a hand under each of her thighs. His mouth is at her ear; he’s closer to coming apart than he wants her to think. His voice is ragged with it. Auri reaches a hand behind her to catch in his hair.

“Why can’t I have both?”

He answers by sinking himself inside her. Auri watches as his cock disappears into her, and again, there’s that inimitable feeling of fullness. This position–

She’ll never last.

“I’ll give you everything.” Astarion’s cock slams into the spot that makes her vision go white. “Gold, jewels, instruments you’ve never even heard of.” Auri can’t think. She can’t breathe. He’s the only thing there is and the only thing that matters.

Except that’s not true, no matter how much she wishes that it were.

“Three months. I’ll give you three months a year, whichever ones you want.”

Astarion nips at her neck, just enough to draw blood. “You’re going to give me that anyway, precious thing. Those were the terms.”

She’s going to break. She’s going to cry. He thrusts into her mercilessly, and the pleasure is relentless. Again, his hand finds her clit, and Auri briefly thinks that this might actually kill her.

“Three months,” she repeats, though not without scraping her nails against the back of his head.

“I think not.”

Auri cries out but steels herself. Ecstasy is just within reach, but Astarion’s close, too. She can feel it in the way his fingers dig into the flesh of her thigh. “Six, then.”

“Twelve, then, if you’re going to be stubborn.” A veritable growl bubbles from his throat, his thrusts lose their rhythm, and his fingers on his clit lose their discipline as finally, finally his unaffected veneer slips.

“Six,” Auri gasps. “Six months each year, but you can come to me and feed as often as you like.”

It’s the first time that Auri feels the balance of power shift in her favor.

“Come for me, you confounding thing,” he says, and he isn’t asking this time. The pressure on her clit is rough and she spirals into a third climax. Astarion chases her into it as her muscles spasm around his cock and in the same moment, his fangs pierce her skin.

She writhes, coming around him as he spends himself inside her. Her own blood trickles down her neck, but she has no doubt that he won’t let it go to waste. His cock pulses as he rides out his own end, and Auri doesn’t think she has ever been this deliciously full.

“Six months I'll be with you, but year round I'll be yours to feast on.” Auri’s vision swims as she speaks, the cumulative effect of three orgasms and Astarion feeding. When he finally pulls his mouth from her flesh, he’s silent.

He’s still hard inside her. When he shifts to a more comfortable sitting position, Auri’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not convinced,” Astarion says, and Auri bites the inside of her cheek. “But perhaps you could try to sway me in the bedroom, instead.”

He kisses the wounds he’s just inflicted on her throat. Auri smiles.

She’ll get her way. She always does. And she loves him.

Maybe that’s enough.

“You don’t want to make an appearance at the party?” Auri asks.

Astarion smirks. “I’ll drop you off there naked after I’ve had my way with you if you’re still being stubborn about letting me give you the life you deserve.”

Auri snorts. No matter what path her life takes, it always seems to lead her back to Astarion.

Auri likes Deadwinter.

thanks for reading love u bye

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

As usual, rumors spread through camp like a wildfire in greenleaf. When Sagetooth got back from tending the garlic patches, she immediately overheard Ospreymask and Branchbark whispering about something scandalous. 

“It’s just ironic, isn’t it?” Ospreymask was saying. “Like, he’s always getting on me for being too chummy with Pebblefall or whoever and then he goes and has kits with a rogue.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Branchbark, tail twitching. “I honestly don’t think it’s that big a deal, but it’s a little funny that it’s him. Like, I guess now he’ll get a taste of his own medicine.” 

“Who will?” snapped Sagetooth. Both warriors flinched, fur brushing up, and turned to look at her like they had been caught eating prey on patrol. 

Ospreymask recovered quickly, though. “Russetfrond,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He got Mystique pregnant.” 

Sagetooth sighed heavily. “That fool boy. What was he thinking?”

“Who knows,” Branchbark huffed. “Maybe he thinks the rules don’t apply to him now that he’s deputy.” Sagetooth wasn’t listening anymore. She stalked off towards her den, rehearsing the scolding she was going to give Russetfrond when she saw him next. 

She couldn’t believe it! She knew that the world was going insane these days - both Stormwhisper and Blazingbrush having broken the code and had kits - but if there had been anyone she had expected to stick to tradition, it would have been Russetfrond. He’d always had more sense than his mother. Honestly, Sagetooth liked the boy. It was that small affection that was feeding her massive disappointment now. 

She wasn’t expecting to see him in her den. He was talking with Oddstripe and both of them looked up when she entered. Russetfrond’s ears slid backwards in shame. 

“There you are,” she said, scowling at him. 

“Sagetooth,” Oddstripe started, surely about to counsel her to go easy on him, but Russetfrond raised his tail to stop the other healer. 

“It’s alright, Oddstripe,” he said grimly. “Would you give us a moment?” 

Oddstripe hesitated but nodded, lips pursed. “Alright.” Ears back against his skull, he slank out of the den, leaving them alone. 

“I can't believe you,” Sagetooth said. “How could you be so foolish?” 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, looking down at his paws. “I’m sorry Sagetooth. This never should have happened.” 

“Damn right!” she huffed, stomping past him to deposit her garlic in the herb stores. “Goldenstar has always had trouble respecting Clan tradition so I would have expected this from someone like her but you? You must have known this wasn’t acceptable behavior!” She sat down and turned to look at him, making her disapproval clear on her face. 

“I did,” he said, and Sagetooth was surprised by his melancholy. “I knew the whole time that it was wrong and I still did it. I thought it would be fine if I kept it a secret, as if StarClan didn’t already know. I’m lucky they didn’t pick a harsher punishment.” Despite herself, Sagetooth felt her heart soften. 

“Yes, you are,” she said firmly. “I’m glad you at least seem to understand what you did wrong.” 

“I do,” he nodded, meeting her eyes with a hollow, hopeless gaze. That broke her heart. That expression didn’t belong on his powerful face. 

“Tch, come here,” she sighed, spreading her tail to invite him close. He obediently approached and settled down against her flank, leaning down into her despite his superior height. Sagetooth stretched up to give him a few licks around the ears. 

“What’s done is done, kit,” she continued. “All that’s left is how you make it right. You’ve told Goldenstar?”

“Yes,” he huffed sullenly. “She said it wasn’t going to be a problem. I hate how accepting she’s being about it.” 

“It’s her way,” scowled Sagetooth. She pushed down the complaints she had that were begging to be voiced. Her duty now was to guide Russetfrond, not gripe about Goldenstar. “Have you tried convincing the kittypet to join the Clan?” 

“Yes,” he sighed. “She’s not going to cooperate. It was all I could do to keep her from taking the kits back to her twolegs.” Sagetooth growled lowly. Kittypets…

“Well, good on you,” she said definitively. “Once they’re born they’ll need a strong paw to raise them up. I’m sure you’ll be able to foster their loyalties properly and turn them into excellent warriors.” 

“Thank you, Sagetooth.” Russetfrond closed his eyes and leaned into her. She wrapped her tail around him and purred reassuringly. 

“It’s going to be alright,” she said into his forehead. “The Clan will be there for you. StarClan is forgiving. This is a blessing in disguise, mark my words.” Russetfrond grunted tiredly. The two of them sat there for a good long while, Sagetooth letting him take comfort in her presence. It was good, she thought, to feel like her guidance was needed again. 

She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to StarClan. Let him learn his lesson, she prayed. Let these kits be loyal warriors. Let their mother cause no problems. 

After a few more long, quiet moments, Russetfrond gathered himself and stood up with a deep, slow breath. “I should get back to work,” he said. “Sparrowpaw has a lot of training to do before he gets his warrior name.” 

“Good,” Sagetooth nodded. “Devote yourself to your Clan. It will make these next few months easier.” He nodded dutifully, looking a little less defeated. “And don’t be afraid to come to me if you need advice. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you, Sagetooth.” 

“StarClan guide you, kit,” she dipped her head and he returned the gesture.

[amethysts-tavern]

Apparently being in the airport is good for inspiration. This may have a bit (a lot) of self-insertism. (is that a word? It is now.) There will be more to this later, I have no doubt. But boarding has just started. I hope you enjoy.

—————

Dance like no one’s watching

Tav had started dancing. That’s how they all knew. Tav was usually fairly cheerful, but this was different. They had started humming or outright singing and dancing to a song only they could hear. Every so often a smile would creep across their lips out of nowhere. That’s how they all knew.

“Who is it, darling?” Astarion asked at camp one evening.

“Who is what?” Tav replied with their own question.

“C’mon, we all know.”

“Know what? Seriously, Astarion, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re singing. You’re dancing. You’ve got a ridiculous far off stare a lot of the time. You’re in love, hon. The only question is, with whom and do they know?”

“You’re out of your mind,” Tav replied, but their eyes gave it away. Following their line of vision, Astarion got his answer.

“Gale?!? I would have thought you had better taste than that,” the pale elf scrunched his nose. “Does he know how madly in love with him you are?”

“I… I don’t know,” was all Tav could muster. There was no sense hiding their feelings now that they’d been found out.

“Do you want me to talk to him for you? I can see how you pine for him, even if I don’t understand it,” Astarion offered in a moment of kindness.

“What?? No. No no no. I’ve got a partner in Baldur’s Gate, you know that! This is just a silly crush.”

“Tav, you’re not fooling anyone. It’s been months since we were abducted. You’re likely presumed dead. Take it from one who knows,” Astarion said with a note of melancholy. “And we may still be if we can’t figure out how to rid ourselves of these tadpoles. Will your partner still love you if you’re a mindflayer?”

Tav turned this thought over in their head. They’d been with their partner for over a decade, that’s true. But the last few years have been less than perfect. They’d become distant and inattentive, not listening to a thing Tav said. They had been prioritizing their work over their relationship for years and it was evident. Feelings of anger, neglect, and loneliness struck Tav in the chest when they thought about it.

“They might not even notice if I sprouted tentacles,” Tav said sullenly.

“The only guarantee we have is the here and now,” Astarion continued.

Tav focused their eyes on Gale. Smart and kind Gale. Sweet and adorable Gale. He was everything Tav’s partner wasn’t. That wistful smile crept across Tav’s face again. Astarion raised his eyebrows at them.

“We all want you to be happy. And you’ve been happy the last few weeks, is all I’m saying,” Astarion said before turning to walk back to his own tent.

[dulcewrites]

Fire & Desire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (mentioned) , Aegon ii Targaryen x reader (wc: 2.2k)

Summary: Many sacrifices have been made to get Aegon on the throne. Including ones made by you

A/N: this had been sitting in my drafts for sooo long. I thought I’d revise it a bit, give me a bit of a break from fool me once. Hope y’all like it 🫶🏽🫶🏽. Sorry if there is lots of typos this was sort of posted on a whim

When Aegon becomes King, it is up to us to guild him in the right direction. To have the ear of your husband is ever important…. That may mean giving things up in return.

The words had been ringing in your head all night. Along with the image of Alicent’s uncomfortable grimace. Your instinct was the ask her what she meant by that; play silly and confused. Easily moldable and docile, the way most people like.

But you know your good mother too well for that. She knows all. You should have seen this moment coming.

The next thing you wanted to do was apologize. Tell her that you do not know how you got yourself in this predicament. But Aegon has never been one to apologize for his indiscretions, so why should you. All you can give her a curt nod.

You know she advices you without any malice. The bolstering hate you sometimes saw in Queen Alicent, the kind you see in all her children in different dosages, had cooled to a melancholy resentment over the years. She’s grown older, a bit wiser. Or maybe she is just tired.

The type of debilitating exhaustion that only women would get. Women forced to do the bidding of those around them.

It was never going to be simple. It is never easy with this family. An heir that is never around, a dead King that was never suited from the job, and a circle of scheming noblemen. Recipe for chaos and destruction.

Alicent does not have the hope to be disappointed anymore. Everything is for survival now. So much has been given up for this, and now comes your time to pay the price. Just like Alicent has.

If she knows, you can assume that means Aegon does too. He is more observant than anyone would give him for.

There are days he looks at you, and you think he can tell what you have been up to. He can look right through you and see what his brother did to you that morning, or late the night before.

Does he wonder where you run off to, the way you did with him at the beginning of your marriage. When there was a blinding and painful need to make it work. If he does know, you are surprised he has not said anything to do… or to Aemond. Aegon’s emotions flow hot and wild. Being on the opposite end of it is a sight. But then he levels off, normally numbs whatever he feels with wine or whores. He is simple in a complicated way.

If he has any inkling about what you have been doing, he has not made it known. You don’t know if that is a relief or if it hurts. None of that Targaryen madness dealt out for his wife.

Your thoughts are broken when he stalks in. Freshly washed, slight bruises on his face, and wrapped in despair.

He does now acknowledge for presence, just climbs into bed after blowing out the few candles on his side of the room. The two of you lay in silence before you feel like you will crawl out of your skin if you do not say anything.

“I will stop seeing him… in that way,” you say into the darkness, voice stronger than you thought it would be. “If that pleases you.”

You turn from your back to your side to face him; you are greeted with a eyeful of silvery hair that seems to glow in the dark. His back facing you, rigid and uncomfortable.

“Aegon, did yo-“

“I heard you the first time,” he sighs, interrupting you.

There is more silence. You continue to stare at his back, till he slowly turns to face you. Even in the dark you can see the frown on his face. The moonlight illuminating him It is like speaking with his mother all over again. Does Alicent look at Aegon and get frightened? To give birth to someone who looks so much like you but disappoints you so deeply must be haunting. A terrible mirror to have.

“I am surprised you are even admitting it,” he mutters.

You decide not to tell him that the admission comes at the behest of his mother. There is no need to add to the list of things that splitter that relationship.

“We are going to need each other, now more than never. I am willing to admit… wrongdoing and repent for it. But we both have to do that for it to work.”

Your tongue feels heavy calling whatever Aemond, and you have wrongdoing. The proper term for it does not come because you don’t know what you two are. Lovers, confidants, prisoners. It’s all the same.

The frown deep softens a bit.

“Aenar is mine.”

It comes out like statement, but you suppose it is meant to be a question. Aenar is all Aegon is best and worst ways. Sweet cherubic features and a rambunctious spirit. They even pout in the same way when they do not get what they want. They are so alike that it stupidly makes you wonder at what age he will let you down. The way his father has before him.

“He is yours,” you whisper. “A tiny terror.”

Aegon lets out a short fit of playful laughter. The affection Aegon has towards the kids is something you were constantly taken aback by. When he was around, and in his right mind, he is electric with them. It made you a bit jealous. You pushed your body to the max, and Aenar follows him like he is a god. A Targaryen God.

“But Valaena…” he trials off bitterly.

You do not answer immediately. While Aemond barely even looked at you by the time you became pregnant with Aenar, things were different by the time you had your little girl. Your relationship with Aemond sweet and syrupy. The glow of intimacy neither of you had experienced before.

“No, she is yours.”

It is easier to say that, her features still soft and indiscernible. You think she is his. You hope for his sake she is. Aegon becomes extra warm around her. Baby talk and soft looks of love.

Perhaps you hope he is for her sake as well. If Aemond thinks Valaena is his daughter, he makes no effort to show it. At first, you thought it was him being smart. Knowing that taking too much of a liking would be suspicious. Then you quickly learned he just has no interest in that part of you. Sometimes you fear he sees that extension of you, your kids, as obstacles instead.

Living and breathing embodiments of the duty you put first.

“You would really stop,” Aegon rips you from his thoughts. “Tell Aemond that it is done?”

His voice lifts intrigued. A different conversation you had with Alicent floats in your mind.

Their want for different things keeps them from expressing their love, but it is there.

“Will you stop fathering flea bottom bastards?”

Aegon scoffs at your question, but nonetheless shuffles closer to you. He smells like lemon and roses.

“This is going to be so bad,” his voice wobbles a bit.

You want to agree, because it will; it is going to be blood spilling amounts of terrible. Instead of expressing that you lean forward too.

It is how the two of you fall asleep. Foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, and slow breathes mangled together.

Is that what having your husband’s ear is like?

You know you are staring, unabashedly and grotesquely.

The only saving grace being that you are not the only one. Everyone in the dragon pit has their gaze on Aegon. Small folk watch on in confusion or admiration. Everyone on the stage hold more somber or stoic faces. Everyone accept Otto that is, who looks as pleased as you have ever seen him.

Alicent’s face is serenely flat. Helaena cannot look at her brother for too long, looking away at times. You do not dare turn to see Aemond’s reaction. Especially not after avoiding him all morning. There was a sinking feeling you got when your lady in waiting told he was outside of the door. Cowardly, you told her to tell him you were occupied. You did not know what to say to him yet.

Now all you can do if stare, and fiddle with the crisp fabric of your mute pink and gardenia dress.

It is terribly quiet in the pit. It only makes the affair even more uneasy.

There is something so devastatingly beautiful about his tear-stained face. You enjoy Aegon like this. Needy, helpless, and metaphorically flat on his back with shock and despair.

When he finally rises, Conqueror’s crown on his head, his eyes darts to everyone on stage. When his large, watery eyes finally get to you, you try to give him an encouraging smile. You are sure it reads more painful than reassuring or comforting. You bow your head expectedly.

King Aegon, Second of His Name. Gods helps you all.

The tides change once he turns to face the crowd. When the cheers start, there goes your meek Aegon. He lifts Blackfyre with a vigor you have never seen from your husband. There is a satisfaction that radiates off him. It’s stunning and terrifying to watch.

Despite everything, your eyes tear themselves away long enough to briefly glance at Aemond. If Aegon’s feeling burn fast and dissipate to light fizzles of hate, then Aemond’s resentment simmers for years, and flares when the flames are fanned.

His eyes never leave his brother’s back. Everyone enraptured by Aegon’s attitude change for different reasons.

The cheers reach their peak, and foolishly you think maybe things will be alright.

Then everything goes black.

This is going to be so bad

It is only in the comfort of his own chambers, where Aemond feels like he can finally let out the breath he has been holding in for days.

His stomach has been in knots for days, waves nausea fluttering in certain moments. It reminds him of after he first lost his eye. He would get such painful headaches that it made sick. 

Now it is not his lack of an eye ailing him, it is you.

He should have known something was wrong when you would not allow him to see you. The necklace was missing too. The sterling silver locket with a sparkling sapphire in the middle of it. You had not taken it off since he gifted it to you… till today.

Aemond knows what it means.

You could barely meet his eye, as if you think your rejection would break him. He would rather gouge his other eye out than give Aegon the satisfaction of that.

The only time you seemed aware of his presence is when you squeezed his arm when they were all face to face with Meleys. The squeeze was surprisingly strong. Though it was not a scared squeeze, it was almost reassuring. You were ready to die. You had told him one night; whispered it in the dark. You knew it would be coming, and sooner than you wanted.

“Of course, we are going to die young,” you smile with little mirth. “Think of family we are in.” 

You had only expressed sadness for your children. That you hope when that time comes someone kind will take care of them and prayed, they would remember you as a gentle mother.

What a way it would’ve been to die at the fire of dragon. You, him, his siblings, and his mother… one big happy family.

Aemond decides not to tell you that sometimes he goes in Valaena’s room and just looks. He waits for the paternal instincts to kick in. One day he expects to look and see flashes of himself. As of now all he sees is your eyes. He supposes that is the next best thing. He already must see his brother, and mini version of him that hides behind your skirts.

He has no desire to take care a child right now, and he is not even sure she is his. But to be bound to you another way would be so lovely. So many parts of him are now yours, and vice versa. What is one more?

Aemond is not mad. He finds the whole idea of a mad Targaryen a bit macabre, even for his taste.

But he sees visions of Aegon sitting the throne with you at his side as queen and thinks it would be ok to see King’s Landing up in flames. Even better if he is the one to light the fire.

He saw the way your demeanor instantly shifted. Tending to hurt small folk, telling guards where to go and what to do. There was not a lick of fear in your eyes when someone addressed you as the queen. In fact, Aemond was sure he saw a flicker of glee run through your eyes. He cannot fault the self-serving side of you. He wishes to devour it the way he wishes to devour every other part of you.

You would have never agreed to marry Aegon if this outcome was not a possibility. Giving up a chance to have your name in the history books as Queen and your son as future heir is not an opportunity you would give up. Certainly not for him. Aemond knows Rhaenyra is coming. If not his half-sister, then his uncle will be plotting and planning. So, he will do what he always does. Sit and wait. One eye firmly on his clever girl.

When the spark is finally set, he hopes you two will burn together.