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sprytesukii · 2 months ago

Text

hazy dreams

sero hanta x shinsou hitoshi x reader

rating : 18+, explicit, MDNI

wc : 4.7k

tags : trans!masc!!reader (he/him pronouns, good boy used to refer to reader), afab anatomy (clit, cock, pussy, cunt, hole, all used to refer to genitalia), mmm!threesome, hanta & hitoshi are also into each other (they kiss among other things), drugs! (only weed), oral (reader!receiving), squirting, reader makes suicidal jokes, piercings mentioned, other horny stuff >.<

an : i wrote the first half of this like . a year ago and i don’t remember even doing that but it was fun & sexy so i decided to finish it . it’s deeply self indulgent , i literally wrote this For Me so i will be so geeked if you enjoy it <3

Your living room, however cozy it usually is, currently reeks of weed.

Usually, you’d grimace at the scent, worried about the pungent yet familiar smell seeping into your thrifted furniture and deceptively inexpensive throw pillows, but it is indicative of the presence of your two favorite people on the planet (excluding your cat Doorknob, of course).

Hanta and Hitoshi don’t come over to your place that often anymore — something about your neuroticism ruining the vibe or some other, equally pretentious shit — so when they do choose to grace you with their presence, it’s a real treat.

The last time you’d hung out with them had been over a fortnight ago. The last time you smoked with one another was even longer than that, and you find yourself brimming with childlike anticipation.

You’d already cleaned the modest apartment top to bottom (not that it’s hard - a studio in the heart of the city only really guarantees a place to sleep and not much else) when the two come knocking, a lazy smirk playing on Hanta’s lips while Hitoshi offers you a small nod, his tongue toying with the piercings adorning his bottom lip.

The fact that you don’t immediately heat up and squirm in aroused embarrassment is really a testament to how much you and your composure have steeled over the years.

When you’d first met them in college, you couldn’t look in their direction without feeling that swoop of something tugging at your gut, making you stutter, gape, or, once, spill the contents of an entire tray of food all down your front.

It still shocks you they even befriended you after that, the awkward boy who only wore oversized hoodies and couldn’t make eye contact, but you’ve learned not to question your good fortune.

Of course, they aren’t just pretty faces — but, oh, pretty faces they are, with Hanta’s smooth, tan skin, mischievous, straight toothed smile, and shiny black hair, and Hitoshi’s perpetually tired, kind gaze, various tattoos and piercings creeping over his pale skin, and ringed, long fingers. No, they also have the gall, the audacity, to be good people and even better friends.

It makes you a little sick to think about, how sweet they are to you and how attracted to them you are, but you put it out of your mind as often as you can.

Even if they were interested, which they most certainly are not, you’re terrified of being another one of their groupies that follow them around, begging, vying for their attention and a chance to bed one of them.

These people are rarely, if ever, successful, instead kindly rebuffed by the always smiling Sero or the soft spoken Shinsou, a fact you would feel good about if not for the reality that you’d be met with the same fate if you tried anything near what you’ve secretly fantasized about.

So, instead, you get pleasantly high with the two of them every once in a while, soaking up their friendship like a sponge, knowing it’s all you’re likely to get. Despite your gratefulness that you get anything at all, you can’t help the hunger.

The want.

“Yo, you good? Where’d you go?” Hanta calls out to you playfully, nudging your pajama pants-clad leg with his where he sits beside you on your mattress.

You blink rapidly, bullying your want back into a more feasible, ignorable shape in your chest, shooting him a half smile that feels fake, even to you.

“Nowhere, sorry! I was just thinking about work,” you lie, shrugging. You don’t miss the way Hanta glances at Hitoshi where he sits on a beanbag, your face heating in embarrassment in response to their blatant attention.

Are you really this transparent? Mortifying.

You wave off their concern while trying to smooth your grin out into something more real, reaching for your cart where it lies lost in your sheets.

“Who cares! Weed! Let’s get high, yes?” Your overly exaggerated enthusiasm works, at least a little, Hanta whooping in excitement and Hitoshi’s expression smoothing out into something less troubled.

“That’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about,” Hanta laughs while pulling out his pipe, slender fingers plucking two small baggies from his bag, before tossing the other to Hitoshi. “You finally gonna smoke with us, babe?”

The term of endearment makes your stomach roll, but you manage to shake your head, pouting. “Hell no, not unless you want to bury me when I inevitably choke on the smoke and die in this shithole. Lowkey, would rather kill myself.”

Hitoshi makes a face — he’s never liked your fatalistic way of speech, but it’s a habit you just can’t kick (kind of like the two of them).

“Don’t say shit like that.” He says your name, low but firm, even as he rolls himself a frankly beautiful looking joint, tattooed digits handling the weed gracefully. “You know we wouldn’t let that happen.”

Hanta nods emphatically and you have to look away, lest your face give away everything, choosing to take a hit from your pen instead, shrugging.

“Yeah, you guys are my knights in shining fuckin’ armor,” you say on the exhale, a puff of flavored smoke filling the air by your face. You can already feel it, the high settling in your bones (you’ve always been a bit of a lightweight), and you sigh, tilting your head back. “Ah, there we fucking go.”

This time, you do miss them looking, but not at each other — at you. At your bared neck, your pursed lips. The barely there peek at your pink tongue.

You take another hit and then another, your brain filling with the fog, making it a lot harder to think about why you’re so on guard around the two, about why you don’t do this shit every day.

“Slow down, baby,” Hanta chides, but you know it’s mostly for show. You crack open an eye to watch him light his pipe, taking a steady, deep inhale before exhaling with a low sound that sends a bolt of heat to your gut.

You ignore it to switch your focus to Hitoshi who catches the lighter Hanta tosses him and lights his joint before taking a drag. The only sign it affects him at all is the way he slumps further into your beanbag, his eyes falling even further to half mast where they rest on you.

A part of you preens under the way they both seem to give you their undivided attention every time you do this, but the rest of you cringes and fights to run and hide — this time, like most times, the latter wins out.

You pat around your sheets, searching for the remote to your tiny television at the end of your bed to toss it at Hitoshi’s chest, successfully ridding yourself of the weight of his purple gaze.

“Pick something easy to watch. Nothing scary, I'll shit my pants.”

Hanta huffs out a laugh while blowing smoke through his nostrils, something that shouldn’t be hot, but absolutely is.

“Try that again. Nicely, this time.” Hitoshi raises a pierced eyebrow at you, the action and the order making you throb.

You can hear a soft ‘oh shit, okay’ off to the side of you, but you ignore it, that heavy focus you thought you’d deflected hitting you at full force. You don’t shudder, but it’s a near thing, his tone seeping through your defenses and warming you down to your marrow.

“Can you put on something easy to watch, please?” You want to sound more careless, more jokey, but your voice comes out breathy. A little thready. Hanta exhales harder out your periphery and self consciousness creeps back in like a well worn coat.

You shrink back into yourself, curling up against your pillows, further away from Hanta at your side and Hitoshi on the other side of the room, your eyes trained on the television.

Thankfully, Hitoshi doesn’t push, instead turning on the TV like you’d asked.

Later, you’ll blame the weed for fucking with your senses because you remember just a beat too late what exactly the last thing you were watching was.

“Wait, fuck, wait-" you scramble, but you’re too slow, too syrupy from the substances coursing through your body, and all you really manage to do is get even more tangled up in your sheets.

A soft whine emanates from the tinny speakers, followed by a series of moans, gasps, groans, and slick sounds. You clench your eyes shut, hoping that, somehow, if you don’t open your eyes, there won’t be graphic porn playing in front of the two men you’ve been attracted to for years.

Unfortunately, the childish notion does not work and when you gather the strength to crack an eye open, both Hanta and Hitoshi’s eyes are trained on the images of a woman being tongue fucked within an inch of her life.

“Oh my god,” Hanta breathes, his fingers clenching the sheets beside him, “I had no idea you even knew what porn was. This is the best day of my life.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna kill myself. I’m gonna step into the next room and you will find me swinging from the rafters, fuck.”

The embarrassment is practically pouring off of you, even as the noises coming from the screen make your hole clench in arousal.

Hitoshi says your name in slight reprimand which does the opposite of help, an anguished whine escaping your throat.

“Please turn it off, please,” you beg quietly, pressing your palms to your eyes. Not even the floaty feeling the weed is giving you is enough to spare you the full brunt of shame you feel in this moment.

Hanta doesn’t seem to get the memo, making a noise of protest. “Hell no! As a fellow munch, I love watching someone eat box, especially if you can tell they’re an aficionado, much like myself. Game recognizes game.”

Another wounded animal sound slips through your lips and you collapse, burying your burning face in your pillow while your libido attempts to conjure up images of the two of them eating you out and getting off on it.

“Stop it, Hanta,” you can hear the smile in Hitoshi’s voice even as he turns the volume down a little. “You’re embarrassing him.”

“Aw fuck, sorry dude. Was I pushing it too far?” The genuine apology has you sitting up, despite the molten lava in your veins, shooting him a half smile.

“N-nah, it’s chill—“

“No, he’s horny.” Hitoshi’s blunt words stop you in your tracks, your eyes widening and mouth dropping open to protest - to say anything, really - but the weed slows your thoughts and you just end up gaping.

Hanta’s worry morphs quickly into something predatory, something wolfish as he stares you down, eyes flitting over your form as if to find whatever clue Hitoshi picked up on so quickly.

You press your thighs together, head spinning. “What, I — no! I mean, what?” Not your best work, but what could be done? You tried!

Your sputtering only seems to confirm it to the pair, Hitoshi’s already heavy gaze growing more heated.

“You imagining the best head you’ve ever gotten? ‘s that what’s got you so hot and bothered?” He almost sounds casual, like he’s asking about the goddamn weather and damn, if that doesn’t get you, a choked sound creeping up your throat, unbidden.

You barely manage to shake your head, shaking it again soon after in attempts to clear it, but between the high and your arousal, it’s impossible.

“Uh, I — no. I’ve never — no one has ever done that to me. I just — I like to think about it.” Fuck, your tongue is loose, and you watch as your words hit the pair.

Hanta’s eyes widen, his pupils blooming in real time while Hitoshi’s tongue slips out to nudge his piercings, his gaze darkening.

“You hear that ‘Toshi?” Hanta’s usually bright voice is gravelly, and even though he’s talking to Hitoshi, his eyes are on you. “He just likes to think about it.”

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to die. A soft gasp falls free without your consent, much to Hitoshi’s delight.

“I wonder who he thinks about. A celebrity, maybe? Or maybe it’s someone we know?”

“Ooh!” Hanta eats it up, cocking his head at you in mock thoughtfulness. “Who could it be? Shoto is pretty hot, but he’s probably too soft for our baby.”

Our baby. The words nearly stop you from breathing, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before you get a hold of yourself, but it’s too late. Hitoshi and Hanta are looking at you like they want to consume you, like keeping up your walls for all these years were for naught.

They could always see through you. They know you.

“Please,” The word slips out, soft and thin. “Please, don’t fuckin’ tease me.”

Both of them soften at that, Hanta moving across the bed to be closer to you, one of his hands pulling your head to rest in the crook of his neck, rubbing soothing circles on your nape.

Against your better judgement, you melt against him, the weed in your system urging you closer, melding you to his side.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Hanta hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We won’t let Shoto have you. You’re already ours.”

You blink at that, eyes wide as you attempt to extricate yourself from his grasp, to get a look at his face and judge what he’s saying, but he doesn’t let you get far, instead grasping your jaw and kissing you.

His lips are softer than you thought they'd be and you melt into it, the chaste pecks, just a pressing of lips.

It deepens quickly though and you feel heady, having never been kissed with such intention, with such skill, with such desire.

His tongue probes your mouth, the kiss getting messy as he maps out the wet cavern, before sucking your tongue in past his lips, the action drawing a wanton moan from you.

The sound permeates the space between you and Hanta groans in response, his other head cupping your face and holding you still so he can continue to ravage your mouth.

“Slow down, Hanta, we don’t wanna kill him,” Hitoshi’s voice sounds from behind you and you jolt, pulling away from Hanta with a string of spit connecting your lips.

Hanta makes a petulant noise, but doesn’t argue. Instead, his big hands come up to rest at your waist and pull you into his lap, giving Hitoshi room to slide onto the bed behind you.

Anticipation thrums beneath your skin and you feel yourself soaking the seat of your boxers as you hold painfully still, thighs quivering with the strain of keeping your crotch away from Hanta's.

You're expecting Hitoshi to start grabbing and groping at you with the same hunger Hanta displayed, but you should know better. Quick and dirty isn't really his style.

This is made quickly evident by the way he presses himself against your back, effectively sandwiching you between their two broad bodies, pushing his face into crook of your neck, and inhaling.

You feel embarrassed for some reason — you didn't shower before they came over, having spent most of your day agonizing and cleaning in equal parts, so the idea that all he's doing right now is smelling you is unnerving.

"'Toshi," your voice comes out quieter than you'd like as you try and pull away from him, only to be stopped by one of Hanta's hands back on your jaw, holding you still.

"Be good," Hitoshi whispers, his breath heating the skin of your nape while his hands creep towards the waistband of your pajama pants, your hips twitching instinctively, both towards and away from his questing hands.

It's not even that you don't want this — no one in the room is under that impression, least of all you — but you're so overwhelmed. You're more turned on than you've ever been in your life, slick almost certainly seeping through all your layers, and the idea that these two men who you've been pining after for ages are about to see you at your most stripped bare is staggering.

Hanta seems to notice your internal struggle, the hand on your jaw tilting your head down so he can look you in the eye.

"You okay, baby? Need us to slow down?" He's earnest, red-rimmed, dark eyes flitting across your expression for any indication of true discomfort. It makes your heart kick in your chest and you shake your head slowly.

"It's just -" you pause, voice catching as Hitoshi noses up to your earlobe, cold piercings meeting heated skin, "- it's embarrassing. I want you guys so much."

The latter part of your sentence comes out akin to a whisper. Admittance, no matter how obvious the statement is, is a leap. One you'd have to be hard-pressed to make, if it ever happened at all.

Both men pause completely at the quiet confession and urge to flee comes back at full force. You almost launch yourself out of Hanta's lap, a half-formed excuse blaming the weed for your comment already at the tip of your tongue, but before you can do anything at all, the world spins and you're on your back.

The movement rumples your clothes, your hoodie now exposing your navel and the wet spot at the crotch of your bottoms to the cool air coming from your open window.

Hanta and Hitoshi's glassy eyes trail over your newly dishevled appearance and you try to bury your face into the pillow beneath your head, your face heating up quickly. You can't look at them, not when they look at you like that.

Like you're more than a fuck or a fling or a friend. Like you're something.

Like you're everything.

"Is our baby stupid, Hanta?" Hitoshi speaks first, tone like gravel, and though he's addressing the man at his side, he can't look away from you.

Shame rockets through your body and you shake your head vehemently before Hanta can respond. You know you're a lot of things — awkward, pathetic, soggy — but you aren't stupid.

The corners of Hitoshi's lips tick up at your reaction. He looks amused by you, almost like one looks at a pet who's just completed a simple trick. It makes you want to hide again, but when Hanta chuckles, soft and dark, reaching down to toy with the drawstring on your pants, you freeze, caught.

"He's not stupid," he replies, tugging the knot loose. The bottoms slacken around your waist.

Hitoshi hums in what you assume (hope) is agreement, one of his hands carefully pushing your hoodie further up, exposing you more. "If he's not stupid, why doesn't he know how much we want him? How much we care?"

Your mouth opens, shocked, then snaps shut. Hanta hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your boxers and pants, tugging them down until they get caught between your ass and the bed. They can't be removed unless you help, but you're stunned into inaction.

"You didn't know? We're not very subtle, sweetheart."

Of course you didn't know. You never would've assumed two of the sweetest and sexiest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting would be into you, but now that you're faced with the brunt of their attention and attraction, you feel a little foolish.

"You can't blame me." You glance up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the swimming of your head and the heat pooling in your gut. "I mean, it's - it's you guys. People proposition you all the time and you always turn them down. Kinda thought you were dating each other at one point."

Hanta snorts at that, bumping shoulders with Hitoshi who rolls his eyes, before curling his fingers in the hair at the base of Hanta's mullet and kissing him, hard. Your eyes widen, cunt clenching at the display.

They aren't shy or unfamiliar with one another — no, Hitoshi is easily pushing his tongue past Hanta's lips and dragging it across every surface inside, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth. They've done this before, it's obvious, and you can't help but imagine what it looks like when they're alone. How far they've gone together.

Your fantasies are cut short, Hitoshi pulling away from Hanta with a soft groan, thumbing Hanta's plump, pink lower lip, before turning his attention back to you. "We like each other just fine, but we also like you. Let us take care of you."

There's nothing you can do but nod at this point, tired of fighting the force that's pulling the three of you together. If they end up tossing you away after they sober up, you'll deal with it. It might take anywhere between a few years and the rest of your life, but you'll recover. For now, you want to be greedy.

You want to take.

Hanta watches your expression change and he smiles, wide and horny. "There he is. C'mon, 'Toshi, help me take his pants off. Wanna get a good look at his cock. Bet he's hard, huh?"

You shiver at his words, but lift your hips obediently when Hitoshi tugs them down. He exhales hard at the string of slick connecting your puffy folds to the soaked fabric, his hand clenching in the clothing before he tosses it aside.

"Fuck." Hanta leans down, eye-level with your pussy, his warm breath wafting over you, making you spasm. "He's so goddamn wet."

He sounds reverent, worshipful almost. Two long digits run up your seam, fingertips coming away drenched and you whimper at the contact. He lifts them to Hitoshi's lips, surpassing the pierced flesh to press your essence directly against his tongue.

His eyes flutter shut on a breathless hum, sucking Hanta's fingers like he's sucking dick. You watch his jaw work and cheeks hollow as Hanta pinkens, before pulling them free with a wet 'pop'.

"You're gonna make me cum in my sweats, dude." His words, while jokey, come out breathy and strained. Hitoshi looks delighted.

"Not before our baby does." He nods down at you, biting his lip. "Go on. I want to watch."

Hanta lets out a disbeliving laugh, but follows Hitoshi's instructions, laying on his stomach so that he's inches away from your core. Your cock is swollen and throbbing, twitching at Hanta's proximity. He takes the same two fingers, now wet with Hitoshi's spit, and spreads you open, watching you with an eagerness akin to that of a wild animal faced with its prime choice of prey.

Embarrassment creeps back in and you reach up to cover your face, only to have your hands taken into Hitoshi's own as he moves to sit behind you, pulling your upper body against his.

"None of that." He chastizes. It's not mean, but it is forceful, and so is the grip he has on your wrists.

The tightness of his grasp is distracting enough, but everything flies out of your mind at the first lick Hanta gives to your cunt.

The weed enhances everything, makes you feel like you can discern the texture of every tastebud as they drag against your sensitive nub. It's electric, so much so that your eyes immediately clench shut and you moan. Loudly.

Hitoshi kisses your temple, the cool piercings resting against your warm skin, before he tilts your head up so he can kiss you on the lips instead.

He doesn't kiss you like he kissed Hanta. This is so much more possessive — wet, sloppy, and controlling. Wrenches your mouth open and sucks on your tongue like it's his to do so with. All you can do is grip his arm, trying to stay grounded. It's nearly impossible, though, between the sex and the high that's still lingering.

Hanta sucks your cock into his mouth, his tongue rubbing circles into the underside, pleasure zinging up and down your spine in a way you've never experienced before. You gasp into Hitoshi's mouth, tears leaking out the corners of your closed eyes, while Hitoshi threads his fingers into Hanta's hair, pulling him further against you.

The action makes Hanta moan, the sounds vibrating around your clit. Your hips jerk, grinding against his tongue, and you pull away from Hitoshi to apologize. "S-shit, 'm sorry, 'm sorry -" you stutter out, whines underscoring every word.

Instead of stopping you, Hanta looks up at you through his thick lashes and opens his mouth wide, his tongue flat against the nub. The bed shakes as he thrusts against it, hazy, leisurely. You feel Hitoshi shudder at his display, at the way your cum coats his tongue, at the way he waits to be used.

"Go on, baby." Hitoshi whispers against the shell of your ear, grinding his hard cock against your lower back which effectively pushes your own further against Hanta. You don't know why you're surprised to feel evidence of Hitoshi's arousal, but you are, your head falling back against his shoulder.

Hanta hums in encouragement and you whine, rolling your hips towards his face, dragging your sex along his tongue again and again and again. You don't know how to keep a rhythm, but you chase your high, the weed making it feel like it's coming quicker than it usually does when you're alone.

As your pleasure mounts, your noises increase. You're whimpering and cursing every other word, torn between pushing back against Hitoshi's dick and Hanta's mouth.

"So fucking good, baby, you're being such a good fucking boy," Hitoshi growls against the shell of your ear, his rutting losing rhythm as his cock leaves trails of precum against the small of your back where he's soaked through his sweats. His tattooed fingers tighten in Hanta's hair. Hanta's eyes roll back at the feeling and you can relate.

You feel like you can't breathe. Your cunt is spasming beneath Hanta's ministrations, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening until its a hairsbreadth away from snapping.

"'Toshi, Hanta, 'm gonna - fuck - somethin's gonna come out -"

You can literally feel Hitoshi pulse, dick kicking, at your slurred words. He holds Hanta down, hot mouth enveloping your cock completely while two of those long fingers press inside you and curl up.

They hit your spot with expert precision, massaging it until that razor thin wire snaps.

You cum harder than you ever have at your own hands, your stomach dropping into a freefall. You absolutely soak the sheets and Hanta's face, bucking and jerking as clear liquid sprays with an intensity that forces his fingers free from your cunt. He continues to suck your cock, moaning all the while, prolonging your orgasm until you're openly crying against Hitoshi's shoulder.

Through the haze of pleasure-bordering-on-overstimulation, you just barely register a choked groan leaving Hitoshi as his hips stutter and warmth blooms against your back. He slumps back into your pillows, loosening his grip in Hanta's hair to tug him gently away from your pulsing core.

Hanta goes easily, detaching himself from you with such a graphic, wet, suction sound, you visibly wince. He's absolutely covered in you, but he doesn't seem to mind, sucking his fingers clean with a self-satisfied smirk.

"I'm good, huh?" He's smug as fuck, but you can't blame him. That was the best thing that's ever happened to you, you think, and you say that, filter utterly demolished.

To your surprise, the tips of Hanta's ears pinken. He's embarrassed. Flattered. You would tease him for this if it wasn't for the fact you're about to fall asleep, wrung dry (literally and figuratively), nestled into Hitoshi's side.

"Yeah, you are." Hitoshi answers for you, reaching for Hanta's hand to pull him to your other side, the two of them lifting the sheets to cover your bare lower half. "So are you."

He presses a kiss to your temple before leaning over you to kiss Hanta, gentle and chaste. You want to say something, anything, but the world is slipping away from you like handfuls of sand, and all you can manage is tiny grunt of dissatisfaction.

Hanta laughs softly, pecking your slack lips. "Sleep, baby. We'll be here when you wake up."

As you give into the sweet release of sleep, eyes falling shut, Hanta's words reverberate in your mind.

We'll be here.

You choose to believe them.

#sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #cw drug use #[ sprytewrites <3 ]#[ all time faves <3 ]#round two baby !#guys….. don’t look at me #when the reader is soggy / pathetic / awkward asf #<- direct representation of me i fear #this is how i perceive myself #But ! my faves are all bewitched by it hehe #i had fun though :p

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otherone12 · 6 months ago

Note

Hi, I'm obsessed with the way you write your stories and I'd like to ask for a request, it's the first time I've done one but I love your stories. I'd like to ask you for one about basement gee x reader (the plot doesn't matter) but I'd like something smut (of course one where both are of legal age) but I'd like to see gerard as someone who is geeky and is in love (somewhat sickly) with the reader

I'm sorry if it's weird, and also English is not my first language so I'm sorry if the wording of the message is bad.

I’m Awkward, Not Dangerous!

Basement!Gerard Way x Reader

-> Masterlist

Hi!!! Omg, I'm glad you like my fics <3 !!! And also thanks for requesting!! I really loved the idea!! Well, I tried to make his nerdy side very visible, mainly by making him very weird in terms of social relationships and some geek references along in the story. Ngl, I had to write this one like three times, 'cause was never good enought, but I think it's nice now lol. I hope you like it! (If it turned out too different from what you imagined, let me know and I'll try to fix it :) )

(If u have some suggestion, idea, or request, just drop it! )

Summary: It suppoused to be another day, but things turned a different when Gerard invite you to watch a movie in his basement, let's just say he REALLY likes you, and you discovered this in the creepy way possible. (I'm terrible at writing summaries)

- Word Count: 3.000

- Warnings: afab SMUT, awkward gerard.

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1st Person POV

School sucks, our senior year was supposed to be a little funnier, right? Unfortunately, that's not what's happening, but it's infinitely better when they're with me.

Sometimes we spent entire periods outside the classroom, just chatting about anything and listening to our favorite bands, while we smoke behind the bleachers.

This was another one of those afternoons, where one less math lesson didn't make any difference, and it seemed much more interesting to hear Frank make jokes about someone's clothes. Followed by Mikey update us on the latest gigs in town, or Ray making insightful comments on every topic that comes up.

Sometimes, Gerard talks about the backstories of the heroes he created, so we spend hours thinking of outfits and some scenes that might be cool. Is really cute when he gets all excited talking about things he likes.

After a while, the conversation starts to wind down. Frank is scrolling through his phone, muttering something about needing to practice with his band. Mikey checks the time and mentions that his work shift was going to start. Ray says he has to study for some test he has tomorrow, and heads out first, leaving the rest of us behind with a lazy wave.

- Guess that’s it for me, folks. - Frank said, getting up - if I miss one more essay they'll look for another guitarist.

- I think I'll go too - Mikey stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his backpack, making his way to the video store - but I'll probably be home by 9pm… maybe later if Pete and I go drink something after the shift.

Within minutes, it’s just Gerard and I.

He’s sitting a little awkwardly, tucking strands of hair behind the ear, like he’s waiting for the right moment to say something. It’s sweet how shy he gets sometimes, especially when the others aren’t around to drown out the silence. There’s always something a little different about him when it’s just the two of us.

- So, uh…- He cleared his throat. - Do you... wanna come over? I was gonna watch that new horror movie I told you about. The really bad one with the cheesy practical effects…

His voice was low, and he blinked with his beautiful hazel eyes, pleading. After a few seconds, he gave a shy, hopeful smile.

- I mean, only if you’re not busy or anything…

- Nope, I’m totally free. - I smiled at him, excited to watch the movie with him.

The walk to Gerard’s house is filled with easy conversation. He talks about the movie, rambling about the director’s other films, his company was really nice, actually. Every now and then, my shoulder brushes his, and I swear I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Wasn’t something bothering, but it’s kinda… weird?

When we finally reach Gerard’s place, he fumbled with his keys at the front door, a little too eager.

- My parents aren’t home… - He said, being a bit surprised - Well, I'm gonna fix the things in my room in the basement… Can you wait a minute?

he scratched the back of his neck, apparently nervous, so I let out a smile in an attempt to comfort him. I understand that since we hadn't arranged it beforehand, he didn't have time to prepare or anything.

- Sure!

- I’ll be right back - Gerard rushed to his basement, and I stayed in the living room of Way’s house.

Looking around, I saw family pictures, some paints on the wall, books, a pretty carpet… It was a pretty house. Wasn’t long before Gerard returned from the basement, nodding and beckoning me to follow.

Wasn’t the first time I went to his basement, but I was never alone with him.

It’s cluttered but cozy, just like the other times: comics spread out on his bed, action figures on shelves, and posters of old movies plastered along the walls. His bed was covered with a batman sheet, and he gestures toward it with an awkward smile.

- Make yourself comfortable. - Again, he rushed away, going to the kitchen - I’ll grab drinks.

I sat down, noticing the little details scattered everywhere. He even has a stack of DVDs, just waiting to be watched. It’s easy to see how much of himself Gerard has poured into this space, and somehow, that makes it feel intimate.

He came back with two cans of soda, handing me one as he flops onto the bed beside me. His knee bumped into mine, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed play on the remote, the movie starting with a dramatic, over-the-top horror intro.

As the lights dim and the movie flickers to life, I notice Gerard sneaking a glance my way. It’s quick, like he’s checking to see if I’m still there or if I’ve evaporated into thin air. He shifted in his seat, awkwardly pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands.

I tried to focus on the screen, I really do, but out of nowhere, his hand brushes against mine. It was kind of an accidental touch, my heart raced, but I didn’t move it.

After some seconds of just the sound of the movie filling the room, Gerard cleaned his throat and took a deep breath, like he was trying to take courage to say something.

- Y’know… - I turned my attention to him - I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.

I Glance at him, and he’s looking at the TV like he’s afraid it might explode if he makes eye contact with me.

- Do what? - I asked, trying not to sound as jittery as I feel.

- Uh... spend time with just you. - He scratched the back of his neck, and his gaze moved from the tv to me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I defaulted to my nervous habit, fiddling with my bracelet, twisting it around my wrist like it holds the answer to every awkward situation. Gerard noticed, of course, because apparently, he has a PhD in Me Studies.

- You don’t have to be nervous, sugar.

“Sugar”? He never called me that way before. But he kept talking, like it wasn’t a big deal. I did not protest, I actually kinda liked it.

- You always mess with that bracelet when you’re nervous. - He said like it was something obvious - It’s... kinda cute.

I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, only to realize: Gerard isn’t watching the movie. He’s watching me. And he’s terrible at being subtle about it.

Before I can process what’s happening, he slips his hand into mine, like a middle-schooler figuring out how to hold hands for the first time. His palm is warm, a little sweaty, okay, a lot of sweat, but weirdly... I didn’t mind.

It wasn't as if I didn't like him, maybe I really liked him too, I'd just never thought about it before. Back to the movie, my mind was filled with a million other things to think about, so I couldn't even focus on looking at the screen. My gaze traveled around the room, but something caught my eye: a small, familiar notebook lying half-tucked beneath a pile of DVDs on the coffee table really close to his bed.

The same notebook Gerard always carries with him at school, the one he’s always scribbling in during lunch or between classes. I couldn’t help myself to take advantage of Gerard's distraction, and I flipped it open.

My eyes went wide and my heart skipped a beat when I saw what was inside that notebook. Pages and pages of photos of me. Some printed, others cut out from old Polaroids. All of them are candid shots, taken without my knowledge. There’s one of me smoking behind the bleachers, another of me laughing with Mikey, and several from school, walking to class, sitting at my desk, leaning against my locker.

Each one is accompanied by small, scribbled notes in Gerard’s messy handwriting. Things like “She looks so pretty here.” or “I wish this was just the two of us.” … Along with sketches of portraits, pieces of comics that meant something in our “relationship”. There were sketches of us together, drawn in different comic styles, one of us as Jedi, another as superheroes, and even one as cartoon vampires, all accompanied by little speech bubbles with inside jokes.

Every page flipped, I got even more shocked about the large amount of content he has there. Things from years ago, and the last things were from the last days.

- Hey... What are you looking at? - His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a note of panic creeping in.

I glance up to see Gerard frozen in place, his hazel eyes wide with fear as he notices the notebook in your hands.

- W-where did you…? - He mumbled, turning bright red, embarrassed - Uh... I can explain! Wait, no, I mean- don't freak out... It’s... okay, it looks bad, but it’s not that bad.

He let go from my hand and got up, rubbing his hands together nervously. he began to pant, and his countenance indicated that he was desperately looking for an excuse.

- Well, it is exactly what it looks like! - I yell, turning back to the notebook, still shocked, analyzing every page.

He turned around, rubbing one of his hands over his face in a messy motion. Before long, he began to walk around the room in circles, while his shaky voice continued to speak.

- Oh God, I’m gonna die. Yep. This is how I die. - he murmured to himself, before facing me again - Just bury me under these comics.

Before i could say anything, he blurts:

- Okay, look… it’s not like I’m a total creep, okay? I-I just... thought you looked cool... like, really cool, and, um - The words rushed out of his mouth, as if he had stopped thinking and was just throwing anything to ease the situation -… okay, I might have taken some pictures without asking… b-but it’s not like ‘weird’ weird! It’s... more... uh... admiration?

I couldn't hide my look of confusion. At the same time as I wanted to get out of there, I didn't want to. It was obviously strange, but at the same time it was adorable the way he noticed me. The things he wrote in that notebook said so much more than I could have imagined he felt. Not giving me time to think about what to say, he kept going.

- I thought, y'know, maybe if I... cataloged- no, wait, bad word… uh, recorded...? - He groans - I swear I sound less creepy in my head.

- Look, I was gonna tell you... - He insists, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. - I mean, not like this, obviously.

He catched my confused expression and groans again.

-Ugh, you probably think I’m a total loser now.

The more he spoke, the less frightening the situation became and the cuter he seemed to me. So I stood up, in a failed attempt to calm him down, but the result was the complete opposite.

- Wait! Please don’t go. I-I know this is... a lot. But I promise I’m not some psycho. - He pauses, then adds, - Like, I’m awkward, not dangerous!

I don't know where that feeling came from. Maybe it's always been there. I wanted to hug him, kiss him and tell him that it was fine, that I knew he wasn’t a psycho.

- Okay, okay! I know I’m weird, but... don’t leave me hanging here. Please. I really... like you. - the statement caught me off guard. it's not as if it wasn't obvious, but I wasn't prepared. - Like, more than I ever thought possible.

The way he looks at me, a perfect mix of nervous wreck and hopeful puppy is strangely endearing. Something about his awkward honesty makes it impossible to walk away. So I finally react, letting a grin escape from the corner of my lip.

- You’re such a dork, Gee. - I chuckled, and his eyes opened wide.

- W-wait, does that mean…? - A confused happiness made Gerard freeze and look directly at me.

-Yeah. - I approached him, smiling and rolling my eyes - I think I like you too, you idiot.

-Oh my God… - his hazel eyes glowed and a huge smile formed in his pink lips - this is like one of those rom-coms where the nerd actually wins?!

I shook my head, laughing at his words. He’s still red-faced and fumbling, but it’s clear now: he’s just a lovable, geeky mess who adores me in his own awkward way.

- No pressure or anything, but, uh... If we were in a romance movie, this would be the part where the two leads kiss.

I chuckled and my lips reached his. The warm sensation filled my body, the kiss was sloppy and desperate, felt like something he was holding for too long, something he couldn’t deal with anymore. His hands held my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He let out a soft moan and pulled back only to whisper:

- This feels like... you know... that scene in Return of the Jedi when-

- Gerard, - I interrupted, laughing. - Less Star Wars and more kissing, please.

- Right, yeah, sorry. - He turned bright red.

Gerard catched my lips again, deeper this time, with a bit more confidence. His hand slid to my waist, thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin, and his tongue explored my mouth, while he laid me down on his bed. His lips trailing down to my neck, scattering kisses that made my whole body buzz.

-You smell amazing. Like... that forest level in that one game. You know, the one where…

He trailed off, realizing how silly it sounded, but the look on his face was too earnest to be embarrassed.

- You are such a dork. - I laughed again, running my fingers through his messy hair.

- Yeah, but I’m your dork, - he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, planting soft kisses along my collarbone.

His touch was gentle but hungry, as if each kiss, each brush of his fingers, was an apology for all the moments he’d spent longing for this.

When he slid his hands under my shirt, he paused, looking at me with wide, nervous eyes.

- Is this... okay? - he asked, shyly. The insecurity in his tone of voice was adorable, no more so than the sparkle in his eyes as he saw me give him a nod, lifting my arms so he could pull the shirt over my head. His gaze lingered on me, admiration glowing in his eyes. - Wow... You’re so -

- Gerard.- I touched his face, guiding him back down for another kiss. - You’re doing fine.

He smiled, clearly relieved, and kissed me again, this time more eagerly. His hands, still trembling slightly, found their way to the button of my jeans. He fumbled for a moment, biting his lip in concentration.

Once my jeans were off, he took a moment to just look at me, his hands resting on my hips as if grounding himself.

- I don’t want to mess this up - he whispered.

- You’re not messing anything up, Gee..- i calmed him, brushing a thumb over his flushed cheek - Just... keep going

That was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed me again, his hands moving with a little more certainty now, sliding beneath my bra to touch bare skin. I gasped, arching into his touch, and he let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

When he finally got out of his clothes, struggling with his belt in the process,

- Stupid thing… - he muttered flustered and I couldn't stop smiling.

He was trying so hard, and there was something endearing about how eager yet unsure he was.

He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring the moment as his hands trailed down to my thighs, spreading them gently. His boxers were the last to go, and when I felt him against me, the heat between us became impossible to ignore.

- I’ve dreamed about this, - Gerard admitted breathlessly, kissing the side of my neck. - About you... For so long.

I felt my body react to him instinctively, desire building with every brush of his skin against mine. When he paused, hovering just at the edge, his eyes searched mine one last time.

- Is this okay? - he whispered, his voice low and full of both need and vulnerability.

- Yes,- I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. - I want this, Gee.

And then, with a slow, careful thrust, his cock was inside me. I gasped, gripping his hair as my body adjusted to the sensation. The burn was sweet and overwhelming.

He started moving, hesitant at first, like he was still learning how to sync with me. But every time I moaned his name, he seemed to gain a little more confidence, his rhythm becoming more certain, more desperate.

The heat between us grew, the room filled with soft gasps and whispered encouragement. His hands roamed my body, one settling on my waist, the other cradling my face as if I were something precious. As deeper he was coming I felt the tension coil in my stomach, tighter and tighter, until I was teetering right on the edge.

- I’m close…

- Do it, sugar, - he panted, his voice thick with need. - Cum for me.

With a final thrust, the pleasure crashed over me like a wave. I clenched around him, clinging to him, nails digging into his back as I moaned his name, lost in the intensity of it.

Gerard groaned, his movements faltering as he reached his own release. The warmth of the ropes of his cum filling me up pushed me deeper into my own bliss, and we stayed like that, tangled together, catching our breath.

He pressed a lazy kiss to my shoulder, his body still trembling slightly.

- Wow… - he whispered, sounding both dazed and amazed. - That was... better than any dream I’ve ever had.

I laughed softly, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

- Yeah. Way better.

___________________________________________

~ sooo, that's it! Let me know if you liked! :)

#gerard way #gerard way smut #mcr #my chemical romance #gerard way x reader

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chrisrin · 8 months ago

Note

Hey Chris? So my friends and I were geeking out over the Hotguy Zine (personally almost made me cry, poor Impulse) and someone noticed that there were faint images on Smoke Screen's computer screens.

So someone else shifted the image to black and white as well as shifted the contrast so we could see the images and...

Gotta say I was very delighted to see this! < is an avid OP fan

But now I'm wondering why is he reading One Piece and is there any sort of meaning behind the wiki pages he has open (I think I see the wiki pages for Brooke and I think Thriller Bark and Pandaman?) not to mention that the manga panel that is front and center is the "Dreams will never die" scene from the Jaya arc?

Or was it just your brainworms being like "yeah let's put random stuff from my tabs in there to fill in space, it's fiiiine!" sorta thing lol

CONGRATULATIONS!!! YOU ARE THE FIRST ONE TO NOTICE THE ONE PIECE (OR AT LEAST THE FIRST ONE TO NOTICE AND TELL ME ABOUT IT)

if you also look, there is a few one piece references scattered around the comic itself (and impulse's room is. filled with one piece stuff LOOOL)

as funny as it is the idea that these all had intended meanings, i DID just ask the contributor server for random wiki pages to put up there. i finished these pages after taking a 36 day break because i was binging every single chapter of one piece so it infected the chapter as i continued working on it because it's all i was thinking about.

this is the note i left for what i think was the 2nd or 3rd check-in.

so <3 yeah <3 thank you for noticing it, i was wondering if/when someone would eventually point it out! me and all the other one piece fans in the hgcz contributor discord are deeply delighted.

#chris talks #hgcz #hgcz spoilers #technically?

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luvt0kki · 1 year ago

Text

𝟎𝟎𝟏 | 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞

She don't give a fuck about nobody

And she got her whole crew poppin'

And she bend it over like she got no back bone

🎧 six feet under - the weekend

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

001 | next

pairings : ot8 x reader, (with a focus on Mingi and Wooyoung this chapter)

wc: 7.2k ( not fully proofread yet so sorry for any mistakes 🥺)

cw: mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, clubbing, alcohol, futuristic stuff that I had to google cause it’s been years since I watched Star Wars or scifi movies, nud1ty, hints of violence, hints of crime, slow burn, eventual smut, lots of teasing, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns and y/n, fembodied reader, mentions of segss work ( mostly just stripping), hints of violence

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n: this is long I know 😭 but YES, look forward to part 2! Also I would really appreciate and enjoy like your thoughts in the replies or in my ask box hehe we can fangirl together for what’s to come

The former noble turned galactic nomad sighed as he stared out at the endless darkness littered with twinkling stars that maybe was a part of another system. It wasn’t that he found his life on the spaceship boring, in fact, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

When his childhood best friend and also former crowned prince of their home planet, Jupiter, showed up after a year of escaping and denying the future laid out for him by the King, he had to know what he was up to. He had to talk to him and hear all about the life outside their planet and without the protection of their standing, the dangers, the perils, the thrill of the unknown and more.

Wooyoung then had not believed that his best friend, glowing with the freedom he had given himself, was right there in the bustling city’s downtown market. He had thought he had hallucinated and mistook the cloaked figure to be someone else but when his feet carried him to follow him, he was able to confirm that it was indeed his best friend.

Their reunion gave Wooyoung a chance at the same freedom Yeosang had sought after and a chance at meeting the band of brothers that he found that shared the same ideals. On his own volition without even consulting the Captain of the crew that Yeosang had become a part of, he decided that he was going with his best friend. Plus, what better way to create a reputation for himself as former noble turned space pirate? He liked how that sounded.

Which leads us now to the present…

Now he was part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. Not what he had in mind really but he liked the life. The thrill, the danger and the excitement of it all. The not being told to act a certain way nor have his whole life planned to every second.

Was he buddy buddy with a bunch of rogue, violent and defiant pirates? Yup. He was one now too and the crew were like his brothers.

Sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next, never ever really having a permanent dock. The ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

But he hasn’t met one person of the crew…and he didn’t know that.

“Woo. Wake up. ” A firm hand shook him by the shoulder “We just docked at Xileon.” The calm and pleasing voice of their youngest slowly being heard in his ears as he gained consciousness.

“X-Xileon?” Wooyoung muttered, brows furrowing as his eyes blinked and squinted, adjusting to the soft light coming from his open door.

“Yeah, little fun rest stop. Well fun for me,” Jongho chuckled, excited to see all the cool technology and city life Xileon offered. He’s only ever been once when he had been an apprentice. Xileon was every science, engineering and tech geeks favorite planet, other than that the bustling fun night life it offered attracted all kinds of travelers across the galaxy. “C’mon, Captain says we’re free to do what we want while he contacts one of his informants.”

“What if I want to sleep, Jongho?” Wooyoung whined, sitting up despite his words.

“I know you’re always up for a party.”

“Now where did you hear that from?”

“Yeosang.” He shrugged, getting up from the edge of Wooyoung’s bed. “Come on, everyone’s going .” He clapped the raven haired man on the back, the impact making a little ‘oof’ escape Wooyoung.

“Yeah…yeah,” Wooyoung made a face, rubbing the back of his neck as he woke up. “I’ll be there…just wait a bit. Let me freshen up.”

“Don’t make us wait too long,” Jongho’s lips pursed in a childlike way, making Wooyoung chuckle a bit. As strong and intimidating as Jongho was, he was still their youngest and had an inner child that came out now and then.

“I won’t…I don’t want an earful from you anyways,” he snickered, playfully jabbing at him.

Jongho glared at him before leaving.

Xileon was a colorful fluorescent modern, futuristic jungle of a planet. The most high tech flying vehicles and motorcycle cruisers sped by the roads and streets, the avant-garde and neo-futuristic skyscrapers and buildings glimmered during the lively evenings of *Night City*. Clubs and the grandest of parties happened every night. The pounding music, the flashing lights and glittering champagne, and the vast choices of alcoholic concoctions called many for a good time but underneath all of that, it provided many individuals a guise to have dealings of a far more less than lawful nature.

If you’re lucky, Night City’s police would turn a blind eye. Just make sure you don’t get caught or were one of the most hunted wanted individuals of the galaxy.

Luckily for ATEEZ, they were never really caught…except for that one really disappointing and poor depiction of Mingi’s profile that was being plastered in every back alley or lamp post. It was a good thing it looked nothing like him and that that day, Mingi had been wearing an oversized leather cowboy hat that casted a shadow over his eyes so the wanted poster was practically useless. All Mingi had to do was not wear that hat ever again…he grumbled about it for a bit but he had let it go eventually.

The eight men stood in line for one of the top venues to experience the night life the city offered.

While their Captain and First Mate were here to do conduct business, the rest decided to enjoy the establishment as well as make sure they were there should anything go south. But as they entered, guided by a bouncer with a metallic high tech prosthetic arm, Hongjoong dressed in an exquisite Aegean velvet suit tailored to his frame like a glove, turned to them once more to remind them that this whole affair was likely not to be any trouble.

“Don’t worry too much and try to enjoy yourselves,” he ran his fingers through his dyed azure hair before adjusting the lapels of his blazer, some tipsy club goers passing by to leave eyed their captain’s slightly exposed skin. The rest of them garnered looks as well the more they walked into the place, the music pounding and colored lights flashing. “If anything,” he tapped by his ear, earrings glimmering as they’re caught in the lights, the little communication device Jongho fashioned for them hidden behind his and their earlobes. “I’ll call you.”

“But, really, please do enjoy yourselves.” Seonghwa smiled, raven dark hair sweeping perfectly to frame his handsome face. “We rarely get days like these. Have fun.”

The newest addition to their crew grinned like a cat who got the cream, eyes looking over the dance floor with a glint of mischief and the full intent to indulge himself in pleasures he was used to having. “Don’t worry, Seonghwa. I plan to do just that.” He winked at the women who looked his way.

“Oh, he’s in his element.” Yeosang chuckled, throwing an arm over his best friend. “Don’t get into that kind of trouble, Woo.”

“It’s trouble they want anyways.”

“Were you always this cocky?” Mingi’s nose scrunched up at his friend’s obnoxiously flirty behavior.

“Don’t act like you’re not a flirt when you want to be.” Yunho teased the crew’s gunner, poking his side.

“I know I said to have fun,” Hongjoong spoke as they made their way through the spread wide and lively establishment, passing several tables, booths and private rooms. “But do behave.”

That was their last exchange with the group before Seonghwa and him continued down towards the part of the club with another set of bouncers that led to the private and premium rooms. Straight to business while the rest stood by the railings that overlooked the dance floor and bar below, eyeing what entertainment tonight had to offer each of them.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Jongho turned to San, their agent, who stayed close to them, rather protectively, almost like a bodyguard. His posture was straight yet elegant with an air of quiet and unquestionable confidence, almost making one think that he may have come from royalty.

“Places like these…” San’s cat like eyes scanned the room, processing possible exits and blind spots. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Maybe some alcohol in your system will help loosen you up.” Wooyoung came to his side, eyes on the dance floor eying for a partner for one night, the ocean of people reminding him of the days he’d sneak out his father’s manor to party with the other elites.

“He doesn’t hold his liquor well,” Jongho stated, crossing his arms over his chest, a group of what seemed to be innovators, inventors and scientists out to have a good time catching his eye as one of them boasted their interactive hologram that displayed a model of an advanced hover cycle. “I’ll be doing some mingling.” He clapped Yeosang on his back as he made his way to the group cooly while simultaneously getting a shot from a hostess passing by.

“Seems like he’s done this before. Not so baby as I thought he was,” Wooyoung hummed with narrow eyes, watching Jongho easily join the groups conversation and a random woman sizing him up flirtatiously.

“We should get a table,” Yeosang suggested.

“A booth.” San inputted. “Specifically in that corner.” He gestured with a tilt of his head to the far right corner of the dance floor below. “I can keep an eye on things there better.”

“To give Sannie some peace of mind, we should follow his request.” Yunho placed his hands on their agents broad and stiff shoulders.

“I’ll get us drinks.” Mingi decided, heading down the aesthetically pleasing steps to the bar. His tall, muscular figure was clad in a fitting white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows topped with a vest that cinched at his waist, boasting his defined v-tapered back. Little did the people who gave him double takes knew, beneath the leg of his trousers, strapped to his ankle was a knife and at the back of the waistband was a gun.

With Yeosang’s charm, the boys were able to secure the corner table booth that was a bit further away from the dance floor, it was private and one that definitely were for VIPs. What they liked was that it was close enough to where the party was but far enough that they can speak to one another while the music drummed at a less overwhelming volume. San sat took his spot on the dark violet cushioned seat that gave him a view of all the exits and entrances and for now, since it was just the start of a long fun night, they decided to have a couple of drinks and some food while enjoying each others company and the music.

“You need to relax,” Wooyoung tutted at San, unbuttoning another button of his shirt to expose more of his honey skinned chest. “When was the last time you fucked, huh?” He asked the former assassin.

“W-what?” San stuttered, eyes growing wide and ears tinting pink at the sudden question. For such an intimidatingly handsome man, he sure flustered easily.

Yunho looked over at San with concern, the last time San had been with anyone…was before Wooyoung had joined the crew…before—

“You never really told me your type?” Wooyoung wiggled his groomed brows, relaxing in his seat as he watched people dance, bodies pressing against one another, some fitting perfectly and rolling in tandem with whomever they danced with.

Yeosang quietly observed his friends, savoring each sip of his drink and mindful of their interactions.

“I-I don’t have a type.” San murmured, reaching for a glass from the tray Mingi returned with, who settled next Yunho on the other end of the couch.

“San’s not really the sleeping around kind of person,” Mingi’s deep voice almost melded with the low hum of the bass music.

“And you are?” Wooyoung scoffed at their gunner, his newly dyed pink hair catching the eyes of those that passed by them.

“Pleasure is pleasure,” Mingi shrugged his broad shoulders, ringed fingers cradling his whiskey sour. “But,” he reached for one of the thinner silver chains around his neck. He pulled out a specific one with a pendant. “I’m a loyal man.”

San stared at the pendant, a wave of melancholy washing over him as he recalled memories of who that butterfly pendant belonged to and who it signified.

“You’ve got someone?” Wooyoung’s interest was piqued immediately, forgetting the women he had been eying across the dance floor and now staring at the pendant that Mingi displayed proudly and pressed to his lips.

His smirk was answer enough for Wooyoung.

“It must be hard for them.”

Yeosang tilted his head. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because we’re rebels, bandits/pirates? Shall I go on and list the colorful achievements of our crew? Plus,” he turned his gaze to the dance floor, locking with a pair of eyes so magnetic that even behind the intricate lace masque she wore, just a small moment had him looking for them when he lost it. “Isn’t it cruel to make her wait?”

Mingi’s reaction caught Wooyoung off guard. He scoffed with a slight amused smirk on his face, as if what Wooyoung had said was funny.

“She’s not doing all the waiting.” San spoke without thinking before Mingi could reply, his eyes transfixed on the pendant until it disappeared back beneath Mingi’s shirt. His eyes returned to observe the happenings around him.

Wooyoung wondered what San meant but he didn’t have enough time to think much of it when another round of drinks arrived.

As the night progressed, the drinks emptied were quickly refilled and Wooyoung danced, mingled and flirted like he did back in his old life. Seonghwa and Hongjoong after having met with their informants had joined them at their table, while Wooyoung and even Yeosang danced, the rest deciding to play a game of pool.

Wooyoung was not blind to the wandering eyes that were on him and his very attractive crew members. Many flirted with them but it was never more than that. His friends entertained their advances but were quick to turn them down when they asked or suggested for more.

But he didn’t worry much about it, not when he was searching for that pair of eyes he locked with earlier. Where was she? He would catch glimpses of her now and again but she was always a distance away from him, and every time he tried to head to her direction and he lost her in his peripheral, she was gone.

Was he hallucinating ? He wasn’t even that drunk.

Soft fingers brushed the nape of neck, nails scraping delightfully on his skin. He knew what that meant. Grinning and letting himself go, he turned to entertain another flirty party goer, only to meet the masked beauty he was searching for all night.

Sporting what clearly was a shoulder length pink bob wig with bangs, her eyes were hidden behind a white lace masque and she wore the most alluring Mona Lisa smile that haunted his mind since he had seen her.

Wooyoung with his experiences back in his and Yeosang’s home planet, girls like her, like you, who came to happenings like this dressed almost incognito, meant that you were here for a very good time that not even your identity can be disclosed.

He smirked and placed his hands on your waist, pleasantly surprised to feel warm skin against his palms. With how packed the dance floor was, he couldn’t really get a good look of your outfit but from what he could see, you wore a bejeweled bralette with straps that were lined with tiny crystals and brushing over his knuckles as you both swayed were long beaded shimmering strings hanging by the band.

So who were you? Some elite socialite whose reputation was too good to ruin in a scene like this? A noble like he was looking for a good time? A princess of some other planet?

“Hey,” your sultry voice, like honey to his ears. “My eyes are up here.”

Your arms hung over his shoulders, giving the handsome stranger a quick look down as if you hadn’t been observing him all night.

The buttons of his black silk dress shirt revealed his toned chest, honey skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat beneath the party lights and his pretty neck was wrapped in a matching silk black choker with the extra fabric dangling in a classy fashion.

“And mine are up here too,” he teased back and pulled you against him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh?” Glossy pink lips stretched into a smirk and shimmering eyes locked with his. “And why would you be doing that?”

“Because I’ve decided,” he turned you around, his hands on your hips keeping you in place against his own as the two of you danced to the music. His lips were hot against your ear while your hand rested on the back of his neck, rolling your hips sensually. Wooyoung smirked against your ear.

You wanted him just as much as he did.

“That you’re mine for the evening.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head slightly to give him access to your neck, your eyes falling to his group of friends by the pool table.

“Not everyone gets that privilege, baby.” He husked, brushing his soft and hot lips along the column of your neck, breathing in your addicting scent.

Wooyoung wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol and the heat of the dancing crowd that was getting him so easily riled up but something about your aura was so magnetic and intoxicating. Was it because he hasn’t slept with anyone since he left Jupiter?

“Well aren’t you arrogant.” You raked your nails through his hair, shivers going down his spine and sending pulsing heat to his crotch. “Was that supposed to flatter me?”

His eyes shut at the delicious sensation of your touch. He wanted to get you alone, heck, he would have you on the dance floor if he could. He almost forgot how good it was to fuck after months of traveling the galaxy. He wanted to fuck. He wanted you.

“Don’t lie to yourself and say you’re not.” He brushed his lips on your earlobe, his hot breath against your ear and the way his hands roamed your body felt good.

God, how did his friends put up with his cocky flirty attitude?

“Is that what you want me to do?” You rolled your hips against his, completely aware of the growing hardness pressed against your ass as he ground his hips to the music. “Lie?”

“Trust me sweetheart, there’s many things I want you to do.”

“And what are those things?” You purred whilst tugging at his hair, your voice and your gesture spurring his desire further.

He gripped your hips tighter and lowered his lips to your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He pulled you closer to his body to feel the heat of your form on his own before letting his hands roam freely again, feeling the exposed skin beneath the beaded strings that teased every spectators eyes.

“I want you,” he growled against your skin, pressing his lips just a little bit. “Legs spread apart with my head between your thighs.”

The warmth of his hot lips and the lust in his words undeniably sent heat to your core, and the image he painted with his words was so tempting. Plus, the fact that that was his response set him apart from other men. Usually the response you’d get were more about their pleasure never yours.

You hummed at the thought before turning around to face him and meet his eyes. He wore that flirtatious grin and his eyes were blown with lust. They had a look in them that you found so sexy, you couldn’t help but play a little.

“You’re very bold.”

“I’m honest.”

“And what’s an honest man such as yourself doing here?” You caressed his cheekbone with a gentleness that made Wooyoung’s heart skip a beat.

“What do you know about honest men?”

“Well for one, they don’t spend their time in a place like this.” You swayed to the beat closer to him. “Secondly, an honest man always ends up with an honest woman. I’m far from honest.”

“Then maybe we’re just two dishonest people.”

He watched your pretty lips stretch into an endearing grin, their glossiness and plumpness pulling him closer to you.

“Maybe we are.” Your sweet breath fanned over his lips, your foreheads touching, so dangerously close.

“I wonder what you taste like.” His thumbs caressed the skin of your waist.

You grazed your lips over his just a little and Wooyoung could get a little taste of cherry from the gloss you wore while you slid a hand between the two of you. Your fingertip brushed along the exposed skin of his chest then the silk of his button up shirt before they lingered at the waistband of his trousers. Before he could even think about pressing his lips on yours, you turned your cheek and leaned in his ear. Your right hand skimmed over the hardness of his crotch, making a cute little gasp escape the strikingly handsome man.

His cock twitched beneath your teasing touch.

“Like heaven,” you purred.

His forehead fell on your shoulder as he bit his lip, holding back a moan as you palmed him through his pants.

“But…” your touch left his hardened member, the loss of friction making him groan. “Not everyone gets that privilege.” You echoed his words back to him.

Before he could react, his head dizzy and spinning from both the alcohol and your hot touch, you slithered your way through the crowd.

His eyes watched the pink of your hair amongst the dancing and close proximity of people. You headed to the back, to the dark red velvet decorated motif which was below the second floor where the premium private rooms were. You nodded at the two bouncers who guarded the velvet draped entrance, who smiled back at you.

Did you work here?

Before you disappeared behind the curtains to what he assumed was the private entertainment rooms, you casted him one last glance. It was like you were telling him to follow.

Wooyoung wasn’t the type to be whipped by just anyone. He knew what was worth his time or not but with you, he wasn’t even thinking. His feet moved on their own to follow you like he was under some spell.

“Hey, I found you.”

Jongho entered his peripheral.

“Huh?”

“Captain said his informant got us a private room as a treat.” Jongho’s hand on his shoulder started to guide him through the crowd, towards the dark glowing red area.

“For what?”

“For taking care of the man who was his competition. Even though that wasn’t our intention.”

Wooyoung frowned, adjusting his pants to hide his erection. Not really how he wanted to spend the rest of his night but if Captain calls, you do not make him call twice.

“Ugh,” he ran his hands through his hair, missing and imagining your touch. “Fine.”

If he was lucky, he was going to find you…

“This is…odd.” San spoke, sat on the curved plush couch between Yeosang and Mingi of the rather compact red room with just enough space for ten people.

“Why is that?” Jongho asked, pouring himself another drink, the golden liquid in his glass like honey.

Hongjoong made himself comfortable at his spot on the left curve of the couch, legs crossed classily as his eyes stared at the empty little platform in the center of the room, the silver pole glowing cause of the mood lights..

“Isn’t entertainment like this supposed to be for one set of eyes?” San wondered out loud.

It’s not that he hasn’t ever experienced this before. He has. It’s just more private when it’s him and the performer. He never thought of doing an activity with his friends…though they have indulged in some acts on the ship when a certain someone was around.

“Yeosang and I used to do this all the time,” Wooyoung shrugged nonchalantly, making his best friend’s eyes widen at how he threw that info out so easily. “Oh c’mon, they don’t care about your Perfect Prince Yeosang reputation.”

Mingi chuckled at their interaction and Wooyoung narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you a loyal man? Now I feel even sadder for your girlfriend.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Mingi pushed his black shades up higher to shield his eyes. “I am a loyal man cause no matter what, no one can compare to her. I wouldn’t be in this room if Captain’s informant wasn’t a dickhead who will take offense if not all of us accepts his ‘treat’.”

“Also, this club has a policy of not touching the dancers unless they consent,” Seonghwa added. “We just enjoy the show the lovely lady assigned to us will put on, tip her extra and that’s it.”

“And we can’t just leave why?” San sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because the informants goons will report back to him if we turn down his gift,” Yunho explained, knowing the character of that rich man all too well. “Hongjoong still needs to be on his good side til he gets information of the location of the Cromer.”

A soft knock on the door silenced them and all that could be heard now was the vibrating hum of the music that played in the room.

“Boys,” Hongjoong spoke lowly, casting them a glance. “Play nice.”

Jongho raised his glass at that, leaning back into the other end of the curved seat.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Wooyoung stopped breathing. No fucking way.

Too lost in his own surprise of coincidence, he wasn’t able to catch the way his crew mates interest were suddenly piqued.

With you only being the one standing, Wooyoung was able to see you in your full glory. The purple lilac bralette bedazzled with sequins cupped your breasts so perfectly and the crystal beaded strings caught the fluorescent light in a way that made you shimmer and appear like a goddess. Behind the curtain of beads, all of them could see your naked skin but compared to when Wooyoung had danced with you earlier, the silk mini skirt you wore was gone.

Feeling all their eyes on you, you smiled coyly at their Captain, stepping your foot onto the circle platform in the middle of the room, showing off the skin of your legs that were elongated by your silver heels.

“Shall I get started then?” You asked, running a finger from your ankle to the purple garter on your thigh, aware of how their eyes followed the trail of your chrome lilac painted nails.

“It’s you.” Wooyoung breathed out, eyes tracing the waistband of the sorry excuse of an underwear that matched your bralette. It was tiny and flimsy, and almost left nothing to the imagination, except for what your pussy would look like. Wooyoung wanted to know.

Yunho glanced at his friend. How did he know you?

“Oh? Well if it isn’t, Mr. Arrogant.” You gracefully stepped your whole body onto the platform, circling around the pole while playing with the little crystal studded purse you brought with you.

Your words made Jongho chuckle.

“You work here?” It was a dumb question, Wooyoung knew that.

“What does it look like?” You shrugged your shoulders cutely before throwing your tiny purse to the curved platform behind them where you could play around some more if you wanted to.

“How long have you been working here?” Hongjoong asked, taking your attention from Wooyoung.

Smiling his way, you slowly sunk to your knees and ran your hand on your left thigh where your purple lace garter was.

The man before you smirked knowing what you were silently telling him.

Hongjoong dug into the inner pocket of his blazer and in between his fingers was a 50 Zaire bill. He leaned forward and without touching your skin, slipped the bill beneath the garter.

“Three months.” You answered him, sensually getting up to lean against the pole with your arms over your head, elongating your body for their viewing pleasure.

“I like your wig.” Jongho commented, eying you with a knowing gaze.

“Thank you.”

Wooyoung watched as you moved seductively on the pole, unaware of how San became completely relaxed and excited at the same time.

“Does all of this turn you on?” Wooyoung asked, eyes raking your body and feeling his throat dry at how drawn he was to you.

“Sometimes.” You purred nonchalantly, bending over a little to show the arch of your pretty back before expertly twirling around the pole.

“Earlier…were you lying to me?” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs as he tried to meet your gaze.

“No.” You replied, locking eyes with the man in the middle whose hair matched your wig.

He lowered his shades close to the end of his nose, his eyes locking with yours and sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re a good dancer. I had fun.” You admitted still looking at the tall man before you even though you were addressing Wooyoung.

“Are you having fun now?” San asked, surprising Wooyoung that he was interacting with you, his cat like eyes set on you and no one else.

“Because I’m here with eight handsome men rather than the sleazy ones? Yes I’m having fun.” You stepped your heel onto the plush couch, the men making space for you as you stood between Mingi and Wooyoung, your gaze down at Mingi who looked at you with stars in his eyes while the one behind you, going crazy with desire let his eyes wander.

Placing your hand delicately on Mingi’s shoulder, you slowly bent over, giving Wooyoung and Jongho the view of the back of your legs, your ass and your clothed cunt.

“I thought there’s a no touching rule.” Yeosang spoke, feeling himself grow hot, knowing the body his seeing all too well.

“I can touch any of you while I do my business since that’s what I was paid for but none of you can touch me unless I say so. So keep your hands to yourselves unless you’re putting a bill under the garter.”

You traced your finger along the side of your thigh, knowing full well that Wooyoung was watching your every move more intently than the others.

“Are you flirting with us?” Wooyoung licked his lips, mind racing with thoughts of kissing and feeling your skin.

“Maybe.” You winked at Mingi, making him smirk.

“Are you allowed to flirt with us?” Yunho asked this time and you moved to perch yourself on the platform/back rest of the couch.

“Yes I can flirt with you,” you nodded, placing your hands on your closed knees.

Wooyoung driven by desire, took out a 100 Zaire bill from his wallet and waved it your way.

“Open your legs.”

You obliged him, opening them an inch apart, entertained by how impatient he was with your teasing behavior.

“Wider.”

A little bit more.

“Make this worth all our time, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes at his demanding yet bratty tone, you surprised them all by spreading your legs wide, unfolding them into a flexible split on the surface you were on.

“Fuck,” San swore under his breath.

Wooyoung revealed to you another 100 bill. “Show me.”

Looking him dead in the eyes, you pulled your purple panties to the side, revealing your bare mound to their eyes. Some of them swore, some of them let out a groan and some of them just continued to look while they bite their lip. All of their reactions made you suppress an amused giggle, you kind of feel bad for them but you kept a straight face, not wanting to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of winning in the cat and mouse game you were playing.

“Oh baby,” Jongho cooed lowly, the familiarity of the pet name causing a chink in your armor.

“By the way, we can’t fuck.” You threw the rule out there, enjoying the way the handsome man you danced with was breaking at the seams.

“Why not?” Wooyoung scoffed, eyes on the pretty pink folds of your pussy.

“I’m a stripper not a whore.” You adjusted the panties back to cover you and you closed your legs, deciding to crawl to the side where Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho and Yeosang was.

“Like I told you earlier,” you could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on your ass. “Not everyone gets that privilege.”

Mingi swiped the bills from Wooyoung’s hand and handed it over to Yeosang, who nicely slips it beneath the garter. You thanked him.

“Now, Captain,” you turned to Hongjoong, who was looking at you with his signature smirk and his pretty brown eyes shimmering with amusement. “Tell me, where on earth did you find this arrogant, cocky and bratty thing?”

Wooyoung frowned at the sudden shift in your tone. The way you spoke with Hongjoong was as if you two were familiar with one another.

“Blame, Yeosang.” Hongjoong sipped his whiskey.

“He’s not as bad as you think, love.” Yeosang sweetly spoke to you, his hand moving to tuck a strand of your wig behind your ear to get a better look at you.

“He’s just a little dramatic,” Mingi inputted, tapping at his thigh and like a pet called to their master, you moved yourself to Mingi’s lap, straddling his hips.

“More dramatic than you?” You pouted cutely, running your hands through his pink hair. “So…how long did it take you all to know it was me?”

“Not long. We know your voice anywhere.” Seonghwa answered, quietly admiring you with just a small smile on his face. “But it is a big surprise to find you here out of all places.”

“Hi baby,” you couldn’t hold back your smile anymore as you cupped Mingi’s face with your hands. “Did you miss me?”

“More than you could possibly fathom.” Mingi replied, leaning in to kiss you but you leaned back.

“You can’t kiss me. Well…not here. They’re watching.” You tilted your head to where Jongho sat. “They can see us but they can’t hear us.”

“There’s CCTV on the right corner of the ceiling.” San told the group.

“W-wait. Wait a god damn fucking minute.” Wooyoung exclaimed, looking at you, settled on Mingi’s lap like you belonged there. Were you Mingi’s girl? What were you doing in a place like this? “You all know her?”

You pursed your glossed lips and turned to them, feigning hurt. “You guys didn’t tell him about me?”

“It was a topic that didn’t come up.” Yunho admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not our fault anyways, Mingi was gatekeeping you.” Jongho added, making the big man in front of you pout, a reaction that made Wooyoung reel at the sight. It was unfamiliar to see their intimidating gunner all soft and not…scary?

“When did he join?”

“Three months after you departed on your mission. We had to make a stop at Jupiter and Wooyoung recognized Yeosang, and he followed him, and now he’s one of us.” Seonghwa answered, eying the size difference between you and Mingi.

“And none of you mentioned me?”

“Mingi was gatekeeping you.” Jongho repeated, making everyone but Wooyoung laugh. He was still trying to grasp the new information of how you were Mingi’s lover and a member of the crew???

“Sure he was.” You rolled your eyes, moving from Mingi’s lap to the round platform to continue your little show for them.

“What are you doing undercover here?” Hongjoong asked, placing another bill on the platform to keep up with appearances and you bent over sensually to pick it up.

Was Mingi okay with this? Wooyoung glanced with wide eyes at their gunner. Was he okay with all of them seeing you like this?

Mingi was watching you with desire. He was reclined so comfortably on the couch, his thighs spread apart as he bit his plump lips at the sight of you entertaining them in the sexy skimpy number you wore. Was this a kink of his? Wooyoung wondered, unable to stop the way his face scrunched at his many unanswered questions.

“Because the information Vix won’t give you, I was able to get.” You told Hongjoong with a smile, and the leaders smirk morphed into a grin. “It’s amazing how flowery words and too much alcohol was all it took. I didn’t even have to take my top off.”

“Good cause I would’ve gauged his fucking eyes out if he saw what was mine.” Mingi growled, hands closing into fists to restrain himself from holding you to him.

“Will you?” Jongho confidently suggested with smirk.

“Will I what?” You coyly smiled, acting innocent.

“Take your top off?”

“Was seeing my pussy not enough for you?”

Wooyoung couldn’t believe the conversation flowing in front of him. He was painfully hard but his confusion and shock had his mind a mess. He didn’t know what thought to entertain or what he wanted to ask.

“Nothing is ever enough when it comes to you, doll.” Mingi muttered, tilting his head a little to the side as if to get a better look at you.

“So you have what I want?” Hongjoong casually glanced at the CCTV keeping watch of all of you.

“Yes I do. The timing of everything is kind of funny. It was Vix I was supposed to be dancing for tonight,” you told them, twirling around the pole. “I was going to get rid of him for you since he’s not of use anymore then I would’ve found a way to get to Xeres since that was your next destination for a restock of supplies on the ship.”

“Well it seems destiny is always in our favor.”

“So shall I finish him off?” San asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button up.

“Will he be any trouble to us if we let him live, angel?” Seonghwa turned to you, licking his lips when you were on your knees, sitting prettily before them.

“He’s not much of a threat. We should be more worried about his boss because he asked for me after I finish with you boys.”

Seonghwa leaned over to add more bills to your garter and San’s defensive posture softened.

“Which is why I’m amazed at the timing of finding all of you here tonight.”

“Is it the first time he’s asked for you?”

They saw your eyes flicker with fear for a split second and you shook your head.

“But he scares me.”

Mingi and San’s aura darkened at your words. It took a lot for you to be scared by someone.

“He knows a lot of things he shouldn’t know. He mentioned and boasted about the Academy when I met him. I was sure then that my cover was going to be blown.”

“So what’s the plan now?”

“Well since I hacked into his data systems earlier in his penthouse just above this club and took more than I came for. At exactly 2:27 am, the club will black out and we can make our escape then through the back door here thats used usually by the dancers to get in and out quicker for shifts.”

“What did you take other than the information about where the Cromer could be?” Hongjoong called your attention while his hand raised slightly in a gesture that the rest understood except for Wooyoung.

“Jongho, can you please hand me my purse please?”

They watched as you opened the bedazzled flap of the purse and took the bills beneath your garter and stuffed them inside, giving Hongjoong a glimpse of a glowing crystal that was one of the most sought after items of the galaxy.

Hongjoong only shook his head with a smile and you decided to turn to the new crew member.

“So, Wooyoung, right?”

He was caught off guard by your sudden attention.

“It’s nice to meet you and I hope we can get along well,” you warmly smiled at him, your pretty face glowing beneath the colored lights.

“Two minutes,” San checked the time on his watch.

“Oh, fun.” You giggled, sitting on the edge of the platform.

“Can you even make a run in those?” Wooyoung glanced at your very high heels, trying to remove the image of your pretty pink pussy that you had flashed to them.

He remembered your exchange from earlier.

What do you taste like?

Like heaven.

It was against his morals to want to fuck someone that was someone else’s lover. You were Mingi’s and Wooyoung couldn’t deny the fact that he was burning with jealousy with the thought of you being touched by Mingi.

“She could kill in those,” Yeosang answered for you. “So back door?”

“End of the hall, camouflaged with the wall.”

“I missed you so much baby.” Mingi groaned getting up and placing his large hands on your waist.

“Me too. More than you know.” Your voice softened, no longer in the facade of the identity you’ve been using.

“Ten seconds.” San announced.

“I’m not gonna let you run around like this.” Mingi slid his hands to your hips, biting his lip at the tiny piece of underwear covering the heaven between your thighs.

“Here, Y/N.” Yunho handed you his blazer. “Wear that.”

“Thank you, Yuyu.”

His blazer was like a dress on you and it made you look so tiny. Wooyoung pushed his hair back, trying to ease his frustration of both lust and knowing too late about who you are. He was also a little scared of how and when Mingi will confront him later because he was flirting with you.

“Good to have you back, Y/N.” Was all Hongjoong said before the whole establishment was enveloped in darkness and the nine of you made your escape.

A small squeak came from you in the darkness because Mingi had thrown you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and he carried you easily as you all made your exit.

When the bouncer, one of Vix’s goons, checked the room when the power came back on, he began to sweat nervously at the emptiness he was met with. He was going to be in big trouble.

Jongho hijacked a black van and used it to drive the nine of you to where the ship was docked, which was going to be a solid thirty minutes to get to.

Your soft giggles was a pleasant sound to all their ears as Mingi was all over of you in the back of the van.

“We’re glad to have our favorite girl back.” Seonghwa smiled fondly, watching as Mingi attacked your neck with kisses and his hands tickled your sides causing the very missed melodious laughter to fill the van.

The Vice Captain looked to his left to check on the members all of them well and in one piece minding their own business and checking the parameter if anyone was chasing the crew. Seonghwa spotted Wooyoung staring at you and Mingi through the tinted windows, his Adam’s apple bobbing deeply as he swallowed what he could see was envy mixed with desire.

“You okay there?” He quietly asked their new member.

“Huh? What?” Wooyoung responded as if broken out from a trance. “Oh,I- uh, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah. Just…” he paused wondering if he could confide in Seonghwa but the handsome older man’s gentle eyes was hard to say no to. “Just shocked that’s all.” He decided to not share his deep feelings.

Seonghwa knew and could tell that Wooyoung was attracted to you, and he knew he was feeling conflicted for feeling that way especially after seeing how you and Mingi acted.

Wooyoung gave him a small smile before turning to the window again, staring at the buildings they passed by.

As Seonghwa left him with his thoughts, he wondered how he was going to break it to their newest member the true nature of the crews relationship with you. How kind of unorthodox it was….How Mingi was not your only lover but theirs as well.

taglist : @endeav0rsb1tch @eastleighsblog @scarfac3

Thank you for reading! Make sure to like and reblog hehe 💕

#luvtokki;sway with me #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ot8 ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #jongho x reader

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pixel7777 · 3 months ago

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Editorial Prerogative - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

🪶📜Astarion, making a whole meal of his trust issues, volunteers to beta-read Gale's in-progress historical chronicle of their adventures, intending to control his image and gather intelligence on his companions. Instead, their written exchanges through margin notes and editorial comments evolve into genuine intellectual discourse and unexpected intimacy.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Reader Beware: story features massive geeks perpetrating geekery until they finally manage to get it on. And then they are still geeks. ~14K words.

Work Content Tags: During Canon, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Snark to Spark, Happy Ending, POV Astarion

This fic about beta-reading had amazing beta readers! Any remaining errors are my own 'editorial prerogative' (did you see what I did there?) at play. Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Editorial Prerogative

The wizard had been at it for hours now, pausing only to reference other texts or mutter to himself about proper phrasing. Earlier, Astarion had overheard Gale telling Tav about his 'chronicle' of their adventures.

What was the wizard scribbling about him? That first day, with a knife at Tav’s throat and Gale ready to incinerate him at the first sign of treachery? His nature, his past, his… appetites? The mere thought made his stomach twist—was Gale immortalizing his every misstep for future generations to gawk at? Or, gods forbid, leaving him out entirely, a footnote overshadowed by Tav’s heroics and Gale’s arcane bravado?

Either possibility rankled.

He could nab Gale’s manuscript easily enough for a little peek—he never slept, after all, and the wizard did. A night or two of sly observation would reveal exactly where Gale tucked it away. But Gale insisted on scribbling new pages every evening, which meant Astarion would have to spend every evening sneaking off to steal the damned thing, then sneaking it back. He wrinkled his nose just imagining the tedium. Enough nights of cloak-and-dagger espionage, and Gale was bound to wake at an inconvenient moment. Much better to manage this legitimately—or at least with minimal risk of being blasted by a startled wizard.

Gale dipped his quill again, and moonlight caught the movement. The slight furrow in his brow, the way he mouthed words as he wrote them—all screamed scholarly perfectionism.

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. Of course. The wizard wouldn't be able to resist proper academic review, would he? Every writer needed a critical eye, especially one so devoted to accuracy and detail.

He shifted position, letting his gaze drift over the camp while his mind raced. What self-respecting scholar wouldn't jump at the chance for feedback? Especially someone who could offer such... unique perspectives on current events.

The more Astarion considered it, the more perfect it seemed. He could track exactly what Gale wrote about him, suggest helpful corrections where needed, and ensure the wizard's account painted him in an appropriate light. Astarion found it difficult to think past his current list of pressing and potentially disastrous emergencies, but there was a chance he would live a very long time. If Gale's narrative could be weaponized in his favor, this chronicle could make his long future more pleasant. All while appearing helpful and scholarly himself.

Astarion settled more deeply into his cushions, considering the angles. Tav had proven frustratingly immune to his usual charms—barely responding to his most practiced lines with more than a distracted smile before turning their attention back to Wyll. Always Wyll, with his tiresome heroics and his endless stories of saving orphans or whatever nonsense occupied would-be heroes these days.

Right on cue, Wyll's booming laugh carried across the camp. Tav had just handed him some sort of trinket—a child's doll rescued from gods-knew-where—and the warlock clutched it to his chest like it was made of solid gold. "This will mean everything to her," Wyll gushed, and Tav beamed at him with such nauseating earnestness that Astarion had to look away.

He'd chosen Tav deliberately. As the group's de facto leader, having them wrapped around his finger would have provided security when—if—Cazador found him. But perhaps he had been going about this all wrong.

His gaze drifted back to Gale. The wizard was still absorbed in his writing, absently running one hand through his already-disheveled hair. And really, this could work out even better. Gale was still thoroughly shattered by Mystra's rejection—he'd probably welcome any distraction that didn't involve discussing his romantic failures.

A scholarly partnership. Much more palatable than his usual methods—which, come to think of it, were really beneath him now—and likely more effective, more predictable, more interesting, more fun, with someone like Gale.

Astarion rose and crossed the camp with calculated nonchalance. "Still burning the midnight oil, I see."

Gale barely glanced up, quill still moving. "Mhm. Just trying to capture today's events while they're fresh."

"I couldn't help but overhear your plans for this little project." Astarion leaned against the desk, automatically positioning himself where the light caught his best angles. "A proper historical chronicle, you said?"

"Yes, exactly." Gale's quill paused mid-word as something in Astarion's tone finally caught his attention. He looked up, eyes brightening with interest. "Though I must admit, the scope is rather daunting."

"I imagine so. Particularly when it comes to the more... nuanced aspects of our adventures." Astarion examined his nails. "You know, I spent two centuries observing Baldur's Gate's political landscape. The sort of context that might prove invaluable to a historian."

Gale set down his quill. "Are you offering to contribute?"

"I thought perhaps I might review your drafts. During those long hours while you're sleeping—I only need four hours of trance, after all, and hunting doesn't occupy nearly that much time." Astarion gestured at the parchment. "I could note any inaccuracies, provide an independent perspective. That sort of thing."

"That would be..." Gale's whole face lit up. "Actually, that would be incredible. I really could use a fresh eye."

"Precisely." Astarion fought to keep the triumph from his smile. "I'd be happy to leave notes in the margins. For accuracy's sake."

"Yes, absolutely." Gale was already shuffling through papers, practically vibrating with scholarly excitement. "I can leave the latest sections here each night. Just... perhaps use red ink? To distinguish your comments from my original text?"

"Of course." The eagerness in Gale's expression sent an unexpected uneasiness through Astarion's gut. The wizard clearly took his offer at face value—pure academic collaboration, no ulterior motives.

He pushed the guilt aside. This was necessary. And really, he would be helping Gale create a better historical record. The fact that he'd be controlling his own narrative—and perhaps even the way Gale saw him now—was simply... a bonus. His consulting fee. It was a win-win, really.

"I should wrap this up soon anyway," Gale said, stifling a yawn. "The first few chapters are ready for review whenever you'd like to start."

"Wonderful." Astarion kept his tone light, casual, despite the triumph zinging up his spine. "I'll fetch them once you've retired."

He waited in his tent, listening as Gale shuffled papers and packed away his other materials. Only when the wizard's breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep did Astarion slip back to the desk.

The manuscript sat neatly stacked, exactly as promised. Beside it waited a bottle of red ink and a fresh quill—thoughtful of Gale, really. Astarion didn't have a desk at his own tent, and it felt generous of the man to share his… domain with Astarion, although it was obviously sensible given their circumstances. The desk itself was organized chaos, scattered with reference texts and marked maps, all meticulously labeled in Gale's flowing script.

Astarion settled into the chair, oddly aware of occupying the same space where Gale had sat earlier. The cushion was warm. Had Gale enchanted it? For himself or for Astarion? He supposed he could enjoy it either way. He shifted, trying to ignore how strangely intimate it felt to be surrounded by Gale's books and papers, breathing in the lingering scent of ink and parchment and whatever herb the wizard used in his hair oil.

The first page bore Gale's precise handwriting, complete with numbered sections and footnotes. Astarion snorted at the dramatic opening lines describing his capture by the mindflayers.

The mindflayers struck without warning, their nautiloid vessel descending from the night sky like some terrible leviathan of legend. As a scholar of the arcane, I had of course studied accounts of these fell creatures, but no dusty tome could have prepared me for the horror of their presence. The very air seemed to congeal around them, thick with psychic malevolence that pressed against one's thoughts like a physical weight.

Trust Gale to turn even that horror into something almost poetic. The nautiloid crash wrapped up the first chapter, fairing similarly with particular attention paid to copious speculation about the mechanics of the helm.

But the next chapter fully drew him in. Here was their first meeting, when paths had coincided in the aftermath. Astarion leaned forward, dipping the quill in red ink as his eyes flew across the page. Time to see exactly how the wizard had interpreted those early days, and where his perspective might lack a certain nuance. Where it needed... adjustment.

Our peculiar fellowship formed under circumstances that could only be described as extraordinary. The crash of the nautiloid—that impossible vessel of the mind flayers' astral voyage—scattered us like seeds, each bearing our own bitter secrets alongside the parasitic passengers in our minds.

Really, darling? "scattered us like seeds"? A bit precious, don't you think?

The vampire spawn hiding among us proved particularly intriguing—a being of refined tastes and careful mannerisms that spoke to centuries of rigid self-control, yet harboring an almost desperate hunger for freedom.

I do not harbor anything "desperately," thank you very much. Though I'll grant you the "refined tastes" observation.

Astarion continued reading, his quill hovering over particularly egregious passages.

His skills at stealth and subterfuge proved invaluable during our early encounters. The precision with which he dispatched threats—silent and lethal as shadow itself—spoke of training far beyond mere noble upbringing.

Finally, someone notices. Though you might have mentioned how that "precision" saved your life at least twice.

Yet these same abilities served to conceal his true nature from us, a deception that might have proved fatal had circumstances aligned differently.

Oh, that's rich coming from the man carrying a magical bomb in his chest. At least my secret wouldn't have obliterated half the Sword Coast.

Astarion skimmed past several pages of Gale's theories about the tadpoles—all premature speculation without proper data. The wizard had filled entire pages with arcane formulae and references to obscure texts—none of which would matter once they actually understood what they were dealing with—and he noted as much.

His attention caught on a new section about their mysterious camp guest.

Withers presents an enigma worthy of deeper study. His apparent mastery over death itself suggests connections to powers beyond our current understanding. While his services prove invaluable, one must question the price of such assistance.

The skeleton's ability to maintain our camp's location across vast distances implies either incredible magical prowess or access to ancient technologies we've yet to comprehend.

Or both. Have you noticed how he always appears precisely when needed, yet never seems to actually travel with us?

Astarion sat back, tapping the feathered quill against his lips. Gale's observations about Withers were surprisingly astute—he'd clearly been paying attention to details Astarion himself had noted but hadn't shared. Perhaps the wizard's chronicle might prove more valuable than expected, beyond mere image control.

He dipped his quill again, adding one final note before finishing:

We should compare notes. Over wine, perhaps? I promise not to bite.

Astarion stared at his last note, quill hovering as he considered the impulse to strike through the words. The flirtation had slipped out—an old habit, really. He'd spent centuries using charm as armor, wielding it like he now wielded his daggers. Even now, when he'd meant to keep things purely academic...

But scratching it out would only draw attention. Questions. And truly, the prospect of discussing their observations over wine didn't sound terrible. Gale's writing showed genuine insight, even if his prose needed work. Perhaps Gale wouldn't make much of it anyway.

He set the quill aside and stretched, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of Gale's workspace. The desk had become a familiar space over the past hours—comfortable, even. Strange how the wizard's scholarly clutter felt almost welcoming.

Astarion gathered the marked pages, sliding them carefully into the protective folio Gale used. He weighted them down exactly as he'd observed the wizard doing earlier, ensuring nothing would scatter in the night breeze.

His throat tightened—he'd need to hunt soon. But first, everything had to be perfect. No carelessness that might make Gale hesitate to share future drafts.

With one last glance at the desk, Astarion slipped away toward the forest.

* * *

Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of camp, watching Gale scribble frantically. The wizard hadn't properly written in days—just hasty notes between battles, ink-stained fingers marking his urgency to capture details before they faded. Their promised wine and discussion never materialized, pushed aside by the constant demands of survival.

The past few days had been a blur of stealth, combat, and gathering intelligence. The ruins of a village crawled with goblins, their crude camps dotting the landscape like festering wounds. Each encounter brought them closer to finding Halsin, but left little time for scholarly pursuits.

He had caught glimpses of Gale's newest notes—rough sketches of goblin fortifications, hurried observations about their strange devotion to the Absolute, tactical assessments of their numbers and capabilities. All practical, nothing like the flowing prose and careful analysis of his earlier work.

The parchment Astarion had annotated sat untouched in its folio, carefully preserved despite their rushed camp relocations. He'd seen Gale glance at it occasionally, a slight smile touching his lips before duty called him away again. The wizard clearly wanted to respond to his comments—Astarion had caught him reaching for his quill more than once, only to be interrupted by some new crisis.

It was maddening, really. Here he'd crafted the perfect opening for deeper investigation into Gale's thoughts, and instead they were crawling through mud and blood, tracking a missing druid. Though he had to admit, watching Gale fling spells with precise fury was its own kind of fascinating. The wizard's academic nature masked a surprisingly vicious approach to combat. Astarion liked it.

Astarion watched Gale pull fresh parchment from his satchel, arranging his writing materials with practiced efficiency. The random goblins had been dispatched, the hag dealt with, and the blighted village seemed clear of immediate threats. Finally, a proper evening for chronicling. His fingers itched to see what observations the wizard would make about their recent skirmishes—and more importantly, about that business with the Necromancy of Thay.

He'd snatched that book right from under Gale's nose, hadn't he? The wizard's disappointment had been palpable, though he'd covered it with polite grace. No doubt that incident would warrant several footnotes and perhaps a biting observation or two about the distribution of magical artifacts within the party.

Best to give Gale space to write without hovering. The wizard composed more freely when he thought himself unobserved, and Astarion needed to feed anyway. The deer in this area were plentiful, if a bit gamey for his taste.

"Don't wait up," he called to no one in particular, though his eyes lingered on Gale's bent head. The wizard's quill was already flying across the page, completely absorbed in his work. Perfect.

Astarion slipped into the shadows beyond camp. A few hours of hunting would give Gale plenty of time to document their recent exploits. And perhaps, if he was lucky, to process his feelings about losing that book to a mere rogue with no formal magical training.

When Astarion returned to camp, he found fresh pages waiting on the desk. Gale had even left a bottle of wine. He recognized the vintage as one he'd mentioned enjoying during their last proper conversation.

Settling in the chair, he uncorked the wine and lifted the first page. Gale's familiar script flowed across the parchment, still carrying traces of sand from the hasty drying powder.

The diplomatic acumen of our leader continues to impress. When confronted with three ogres checking for brands of the Absolute, Tav opted for negotiation rather than combat. Their astute observation that the ogres were underpaid and underappreciated led to a remarkable employment negotiation.

Oh, is that what we're calling it? I distinctly recall Tav offering them "all the goblins they could eat" as a signing bonus.

The resulting arrangement has secured us formidable allies, though I confess some ethical concerns about the terms of their compensation.

Darling, they're ogres. They were going to eat someone anyway. At least now it's goblins instead of travelers, and the goblins are dead either way.

Astarion smirked at the next passage, which detailed their unfortunate timing near the windmill.

Our tactical infiltration of the ruins was somewhat compromised by an unexpected encounter with an amorous hobgoblin commander and his ogress paramour. While the resulting combat was brief, the psychological impact of interrupting such an intimate moment cannot be understated.

You've missed the best part—the look on Tav's face was priceless. Perhaps this scene could benefit from illustration?

In truth, Astarion had most enjoyed Gale's face during the hilarious encounter, and wondered if he could manage to observe Gale's expression when he read Astarion's commentary on this bit.

The rescue of Barcus Root earned several paragraphs of Gale's most precise prose, complete with footnotes about the historical significance of windmills in torture techniques.

Astarion paused, wine halfway to his lips. He was actually enjoying this—not just for the intelligence gathering, but for the genuine pleasure of adding his observations. How quaint.

Astarion turned the page, eager to see Gale's take on their exploration beneath the alchemist's shop. The account was unusually dry—just facts about the layout, details of the mechanisms they'd bypassed, and a catalog of items discovered.

The chamber contained several items of note, including a tome of necromantic magic originating from Thay. After discussion, the party determined the book's optimal allocation lay with our roguish companion rather than myself, despite my expertise in matters arcane.

The clinical tone set Astarion's teeth on edge. Where were Gale's usual meandering footnotes about Thayan magical theory? His typical asides about the historical significance of finding such a tome in a simple alchemist's shop? Most importantly, where was Gale's actual indignation at Tav's decision to give the book to Astarion? Astarion couldn't glean insights about Gale's state of mind if Gale were deliberately hiding it.

The rest of the passage continued in the same detached voice, lacking any of the wizard's usual flair for dramatic description or academic passion. No mention of the way Gale's fingers had lingered on the book's spine before passing it over, or how his scholarly mask had slipped for just a moment.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink, considering his words carefully.

My dear chronicler, your attempt at objectivity is painfully transparent. Where's that florid prose I've come to expect? The fascinating personal reactions which readers of a first-person account will expect? I do believe you're censoring yourself on my behalf.

He paused, then added:

Perhaps we should discuss this over that wine we keep postponing? Your tent or mine—I promise to bring the book.

The invitation felt dangerous somehow, more revealing than his previous notes. But he couldn't resist the opportunity to draw out Gale's true thoughts on the matter. After all, what good was reading an eyewitness historical account if the historian refused to include his actual perspective?

Astarion's invitation hung unanswered in the margins. Days passed, then weeks. Gale always had a reason—spell preparation, research, tactical planning with Tav. The excuses were perfectly reasonable, yet rang hollow.

The wizard's avoidance became a subtle dance. He'd duck into his tent whenever Astarion approached with the manuscript, leaving fresh pages or collected edits on his desk instead. Their paths crossed constantly in camp, yet somehow never quite aligned for that promised discussion.

Still, their written exchanges deepened. Astarion found himself spending hours crafting the perfect cutting remark or clever observation, just to see Gale's reaction. He'd position himself carefully in camp, pretending to sharpen his daggers while actually watching Gale read through his latest comments.

The varying sleep patterns of our group present both tactical advantages and social challenges. The distribution of watch duties must account for individual requirements and capabilities.

Your snoring presents a particularly fascinating tactical challenge. I've heard owlbears with quieter sleeping habits.

The wizard was expressive when he thought himself unobserved. His eyebrows would arch at particularly biting criticism, and sometimes he'd bite his lip to hold back laughter at Astarion's more outrageous suggestions. Once, Gale actually snorted aloud at Astarion's detailed critique of his purple prose regarding their encounter with the Myconid colony.

Our encounter with the Myconid colony presented a unique opportunity to observe a complex fungal society. Their method of communication—the release of specialized spores creating a shared consciousness—demonstrates remarkable evolutionary adaptation. The resulting telepathic rapport manifests as a symphony of thoughts, though the experience might be likened to an especially enthusiastic group hug for the mind.

A "group hug for the mind"? Darling, you were high as a cloud giant’s sky-castle on mushroom spores. The only "symphony" was your giggling while trying to pet Shadowheart's hair.

The sound of Gale's laughter had sent a rush of satisfaction through Astarion that lingered for hours.

Gale's responses appeared regularly—thoughtful rebuttals, acceptance of suggested edits, and even playful counter-arguments. But that section about the Thayan tome remained untouched, a conspicuous gap in their otherwise comprehensive collaboration. The clinical tone stood out even more now, contrasting ever so sharply with Gale's increasingly engaging writing style elsewhere.

Astarion found himself reading and re-reading their margin conversations, tracking the subtle shift from academic discourse to something more intimate. Gale's formal footnotes had evolved into personal asides, sharing opinions and observations he never voiced in camp. The wizard was far more candid on paper than in person—except about that damn book.

Astarion watched Gale set up his writing materials as they set up camp near the blighted village. Their final expedition had yielded surprising treasures—including that curious amethyst from the well. His fingers traced the spine of the Necromancy of Thay, anticipating Gale's written reaction to their discovery of its key.

The wizard had been particularly quiet during that encounter, his usual commentary conspicuously absent as Astarion declared his intention to unlock the book's secrets himself. Now that they were heading to Moonrise Towers, surely Gale would want to document this significant development in their journey—and perhaps finally address the tension around the tome.

Instead of settling into his usual writing routine at camp, though, Gale approached Astarion's tent directly. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand and wore an expression Astarion couldn't quite read.

"I believe we have an outstanding appointment to discuss certain editorial matters," Gale said, holding up the wine. "Unless you're otherwise occupied?"

Astarion's carefully prepared remarks about the amethyst scattered like startled birds. He'd imagined a dozen ways this conversation might finally happen, but none quite matched the reality of Gale standing there, waiting for his response.

"Well, this is unexpected," Astarion said, leaning against his tent post with studied carelessness. "I'd almost given up hope of collecting on that promise."

His fingers itched to reach for the book, to use it as a shield or bargaining chip—but something in Gale's direct gaze made him hesitate. Their written exchanges had shifted something between them, created a space where masks seemed less necessary.

"Your tent or mine?" Gale asked, echoing Astarion's long-ago invitation.

"Yours," Astarion said quickly. Too quickly. He covered it with a flourish toward Gale's tent. "You've the better furniture, after all."

Gale's tent welcomed them with its familiar scholarly clutter—stacks of books, scattered scrolls, and that ridiculously comfortable reading chair Astarion secretly coveted. The space smelled of ink and parchment, with undertones of arcane components.

Gale poured the wine, his movements measured yet somehow uncertain. He handed Astarion a glass, their fingers not quite touching in the exchange.

"I've been meaning to discuss—that is to say, I've observed—" Gale cleared his throat, started again. "The Necromancy of Thay."

"Ah." Astarion settled into the reading chair, feeling quite smug at the chance to try it out. "I was wondering when we'd address that rather clinical passage in your chronicle."

"Yes, well." Gale paced a tight circle, wine sloshing dangerously in his glass. "I've been researching similar texts, you see, and the contents are often... particularly unpleasant. Designed to inflict maximum suffering before giving up their knowledge. And given your previous experiences—"

Astarion's grip tightened on his glass. "My what?"

"I mean no offense," Gale said quickly. "But you've endured more than enough horror for several lifetimes. I worry that delving into such dark magic might... reopen old wounds."

The wine turned bitter on Astarion's tongue. He'd prepared arguments about his right to the book, about the tactical advantages of understanding such magic. He'd even rehearsed a few cutting remarks about Gale's obvious desire for the tome.

But concern? For him?

"I—" Astarion found himself without words, a rare and uncomfortable state. "That's why you've been avoiding this discussion? Not because you want the book?"

"Of course I want the book." Gale settled into the chair opposite, his expression earnest. "But I've had time to consider, and perhaps it would be best to set it aside. For now."

Astarion's jaw clenched. First Tav's rejection, then the others' constant suspicious glances, and now this? He'd thought at least Gale understood his need for advancement, for power. The wine glass creaked in his grip.

"How magnificently patronizing." He kept his voice light, though acid burned beneath the words. "Shall we lock it away with all the other dangerous toys? Keep the spawn from playing with sharp objects?"

"That's not—"

"No? Then what exactly are you suggesting? That I'm too fragile to handle a bit of dark magic?" The words tasted like ash. He'd worked so hard to appear strong, capable, worthy of trust. And here was Gale, trying to take away perhaps his only real advantage.

"I'm suggesting," Gale said carefully, "that I'd rather not see you suffer needlessly. These texts are notorious for extracting a terrible price from their readers. The knowledge they contain—"

"Is power. Power I need." Astarion caught himself, smoothed his voice back to silk. "Power that could benefit us all."

Gale leaned forward, his face so damnably sincere it made Astarion's teeth ache. "I wouldn't deny you power. Never that. I only..." He ran a hand through his hair, scattering loose strands. "I find myself concerned. For your wellbeing."

Astarion froze. The admission hung between them, heavy with implications he wasn't prepared to examine.

"That is to say," Gale added hastily, clearly reading something in Astarion's expression, "as my editor, naturally. Can't have my primary source of objective feedback suffering adverse magical effects. Think of the footnotes I'd miss."

The silence stretched too long. Astarion's grip on his wine glass loosened as he processed Gale's weak attempt at humor.

"I only meant—" Gale stumbled over his words. "If you're determined to unlock the book's secrets, that's your choice to make. But would you consider letting me be present? As a precaution? These texts can be... unpredictable."

Their eyes met across the cluttered space of the tent. Something unspoken passed between them—concern, understanding, perhaps more. Astarion's throat tightened with an unfamiliar sensation. He looked away first, unable to maintain contact under the weight of whatever this was becoming.

"Fine," he said, aiming for dismissive but landing closer to relieved. "If you insist on hovering."

"Now?" Gale asked.

Astarion retrieved the book and amethyst from his tent. The skin binding felt greasy against his fingers, hungry somehow. He and Gale sat on the bedroll in Gale's tent as Astarion inserted the amethyst into the cover and the book opened for him at last.

The process was excruciating. Each page fought him, magic lashing out with memories of pain and darkness. But Gale remained steady beside him, watching, occasionally steadying Astarion's hand when it shook too badly to turn a page.

The wizard's presence anchored him through the worst moments. No judgment, no criticism—just quiet support and the occasional murmured encouragement.

It was... nice. Different. Just someone watching out for him, with no agenda beyond keeping him safe.

When the third page yielded its secrets, Astarion closed the book with trembling fingers. "Well," he managed, "that was certainly an experience."

Gale's hand hovered near Astarion's shoulder. "Are you—"

"Perfectly fine." The lie came automatically, though his hands still shook and dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. Perhaps Gale had been right about the book's defenses. His back burned where phantom knives had traced familiar patterns, and his throat felt raw from screaming he hadn't actually done.

"You don't look fine." Gale's voice held no judgment, just that damnable concern again.

"Well, I am." Astarion forced his fingers to release their death grip on the tome. "And I've gained… well, something. I know how to speak with the dead now. I just know—isn't that strange? I think putting myself through that… whatever that was—I'll be stronger resisting similar attempts to overcome my will in the future."

He started to stand, but the tent tilted alarmingly. Gale's steady hand caught his elbow, keeping him from stumbling.

"At least finish your wine first." Gale pressed the forgotten glass into his hands.

Astarion accepted, using the moment to collect himself. The wine helped, washing away the taste of remembered terror. When he could trust his legs again, he rose more carefully.

"This was a gift," he said, meeting Gale's eyes. "I won't forget it."

He meant the support, not the wine, and from Gale's expression, the wizard understood. Before either of them could say something unfortunate, Astarion slipped out into the night air.

His own tent felt hollow after the warmth of Gale's. He sat the wooden plank that served as his bed, turning the necromantic tome over in his hands, unsure what to make of the evening—or the confused tangle of emotions it had stirred up.

* * *

Astarion traced his fingers over Gale's latest annotations, the wizard's precise script filling the margins of yet another chapter. Their written exchanges had grown more frequent as the landscape changed around them, the verdant wilderness giving way to twisted shadows and blighted earth.

The pages had become a refuge of sorts. Here, safely confined to ink and parchment, they could maintain their usual wit and banter without the awkward tension that now plagued their face-to-face interactions. Astarion lost himself while crafting the perfect cutting remarks about Gale's overwrought metaphors, and the wizard responded in kind with increasingly elaborate defenses of his prose style.

He shifted in Gale's chair adjusting the manuscript to catch the lamplight. A fresh comment caught his eye—Gale questioning his edits to the account of a particular skirmish with some shadow creatures. Astarion's lips curved despite himself. The wizard had a point about the improbability of that particular acrobatic maneuver, but he wasn't about to admit it.

A movement across camp drew his attention. Gale sat by the camp's central fire. The flames caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell forward as he put away the things from dinner. Astarion looked away quickly, focusing on the pages before him.

These... thoughts had been occurring more frequently lately. Intrusive little observations about Gale's hands, his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. In the past, Astarion would have known exactly how to proceed—a carefully calculated seduction, another conquest to be manipulated and discarded. The very idea turned his stomach now.

He had no other template for desire, no framework for whatever this unsettling attraction might be. Better to ignore it entirely. Focus on the safety of their written discourse, where physical proximity couldn't muddy the waters of their intellectual sparring.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink and began composing a particularly scathing critique of Gale's latest philosophical tangent. This, at least, was familiar ground. He could lose himself in the comfortable rhythm of their literary fencing match and pretend the rest didn't exist.

Astarion flipped to the next section, where Gale's neat script filled the page:

The Last Light Inn stands as a testament to the power of Selûne's blessing, maintained through complex abjuration resonance. The metaphysical architecture of Isobel's protective wards demonstrates an intricate understanding of lunar phases and their correlation to planar barriers. Of particular note is the way the silvery radiance...

For someone who claims to write for posterity, you've managed to make sanctuary sound absolutely tedious. The contrast is what matters—a bastion of safety amid endless shadow. Save the technical treatise for your next symposium.

...The mathematical precision required to maintain such a barrier suggests years of careful study and preparation, likely drawing from ancient texts preserved by the Church of Selûne...

Oh yes, I'm certain future generations will be riveted by the arithmetic of salvation. Perhaps mention how it felt to step inside? The relief of finding light when all hope seemed lost? No? More equations then?

Astarion smirked as he turned the page, finding Gale's account of their encounter with the "surgeon" of Reithwin town:

Our investigation into the source of the Shadow Curse led us to confront one of Ketheric's agents, a deeply disturbed individual who had perverted the healing arts. While the exact nature of Ketheric's involvement remains uncertain, the evidence suggests...

Evidence suggests you've developed selective amnesia, my dear wizard. Have you forgotten how I avoided a battle for all of us by talking the man into slaying himself? Now that's the kind of detail readers want.

The theological implications of Ketheric's actions require careful consideration, particularly regarding the balance of divine power in the region...

Theological implications? The man turned an entire region into a nightmare, and you're pondering metaphysics? Sometimes I wonder if you actually experienced any of this or just read about it in one of your dusty tomes.

He dipped his quill again, adding:

Though I suppose I should be flattered that you've managed to make even my finest moment sound like a lecture at the College of Lore. Quite a gift you have there.

Astarion finished his notes on the newer pages, capping the ink with more force than necessary. He flipped back through the manuscript, searching for the section about their encounter with Elminster. Finding it, his jaw clenched.

The Sage of Shadowdale's appearance proved fortuitous, offering vital intelligence regarding the nature of our adversary. His message from Mystra herself provided clear direction for our efforts against the Absolute...

Astarion's fingers tightened on the page. Astarion had filled the margins of this section with vitriolic commentary about Mystra's manipulations, comparing her to Cazador in explicit detail. He'd outlined exactly how she groomed young wizards, used their devotion, and discarded them. He'd particularly emphasized how she'd cultivated Gale's obsession from childhood, only to send him on a suicide mission.

Yet Gale had addressed none of it. His newest draft remained unchanged—still that same reverent tone, still treating her "mission" as some grand destiny rather than the calculated disposal of an inconvenient ex-lover.

The red ink from his previous notes stood stark against the parchment, a furious indictment that Gale had simply ignored:

So the great Mystra collects pretty young mages, fills their heads with dreams of glory, beds them, then sends them off to die? And you are defending this?

Astarion's quill hovered over the page, tempted to write it all again, larger this time. But what was the point? Gale clearly preferred his delusions about divine purpose to facing the truth about his goddess's machinations.

He traced one finger over Gale's unchanged text, fighting down the urge to tear the page to shreds. The familiar rage at seeing someone else trapped in a Master's web of lies burned fiercely. But Gale couldn't—or wouldn't—see the parallel between Mystra's manipulation and Cazador's control. He'd rather die believing he'd chosen his fate than admit he'd been shaped into a willing sacrifice.

Astarion shoved the manuscript into its folio. What was he doing, getting invested in someone who'd already chosen their path to destruction? He'd spent two centuries under Cazador's thumb—he wasn't about to watch someone else march willingly toward their doom, no matter how fascinating their written exchanges had become.

Better to maintain distance. Keep things professional. Academic. After all, hadn't he originally approached this project to manage his image? When had it transformed into caring about Gale's welfare?

Across the camp, Gale finished with his tidying and stood, presumably heading to his tent to sleep. Astarion's fingers twitched with the urge shake some sense into him. To demand how someone so brilliant could be so wilfully blind about their own situation.

But Gale's tent meant privacy. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that made it harder to ignore the way Gale's presence affected him. No, that conversation would be dangerous—for multiple reasons.

Perhaps Tav could handle it instead. They'd already tried talking Gale out of his martyrdom once before. Maybe with the right leverage, the right arguments... Astarion could provide some choice phrases about divine manipulation, let Tav deliver them without the complicated baggage of whatever was developing—or not developing—between himself and Gale.

Astarion watched Gale disappear into his tent, the blue fabric swaying closed behind him. The lamp inside cast the wizard's shadow against the canvas—a dark silhouette bent over his trunk.

His throat burned. Usually, a good hunt helped clear his head of such distracting thoughts, but the Shadow-cursed lands offered no such relief. No rabbits darted between the twisted trees, no deer grazed in the blighted fields. Even the rats had abandoned this cursed place.

He checked his supplies, counting the bottles of blood tucked away in his pack. Three left. He could do without—had done so for most of his life—but it would be another irritant grating on his nerves. He would ration as best as he could while the party wasted time chasing down lost (almost certainly dead) parents and playing with creepy children.

Astarion settled onto the wooden plank that served as his bed, arranging the thin blanket around himself more from habit than necessity. The familiar discomfort of hunger gnawed at him as he closed his eyes, preparing for what would undoubtedly be another restless trance.

* * *

The party trudged back into camp, boots caked with the muck of Reithwin Town and depressed from the events of Moonrise Towers. Astarion's skin still crawled from their encounter with that insufferable drow. He needed a proper wash, fresh clothes, and most importantly, to forget the entire ordeal.

But Gale made straight for his writing desk, barely pausing to dump his pack.

"I'll take first watch," Wyll offered.

"Excellent. And dinner?" Shadowheart asked.

"Also Wyll," Gale called over his shoulder, already pulling out fresh parchment.

Wyll's protest died under Shadowheart's glare. "Fine. But tomorrow—"

"Yes, yes," Gale waved vaguely, ink already flowing.

Astarion settled on his usual perch, watching Gale's quill dance across the page with unusual urgency. Normally the wizard labored over each word, consulting references and muttering to himself. But now he wrote as if possessed, barely pausing for more ink.

Strange. Their routine typically involved Gale cooking dinner and then writing late into the night before retiring, leaving the pages for Astarion to review in privacy. This feverish pace was new. Intriguing.

Astarion had just resigned himself to wait when Gale suddenly stopped, gathered the fresh pages, and marched over.

"I need your input. Now. Before I continue."

"What, no beauty rest first? How irregular of you." Astarion tried to mask his annoyance with humor. Could the man not give him a few minutes of distance before making him relive the whole unsavory encounter?

"This can't wait." Gale thrust the pages forward. "I need to know if I've captured the, ah, nuances correctly."

"Nuances?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Of what, precisely?"

"The encounter with Araj. The political implications. The, um, historical context of drow-vampire relations in Baldur's Gate."

It was a terrible excuse. Gale knew perfectly well that Baldur's Gate's drow population was minimal, and Astarion's knowledge of them even more so.

"Historical context?" Astarion drawled. "How fascinating that you'd need that particular detail at this exact moment."

Gale shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. Well. Will you read it or not?"

Now this was interesting. Gale was many things, but abrupt usually wasn't one of them. Whatever drove this urgency, it wasn't academic accuracy.

"Oh, very well." Astarion plucked the pages from Gale's hands. "Since you're being so charmingly mysterious about it."

Astarion settled back against the log and began to read as Gale retreated. His eyebrows rose higher with each paragraph. This wasn't Gale's usual measured prose at all—no footnotes, no academic distance, not even proper punctuation in places. Just raw, unfiltered fury poured onto the page.

He'd completely skipped their confrontation with Ketheric. Nothing about finding Minthara again. Instead, Gale had filled pages with increasingly creative invectives about Araj Oblodra.

The absolute gall of this creature, Gale had written, to demand such intimacy from someone who had clearly refused. Her presumption that Tav could simply order Astarion to perform such an act speaks volumes about her own twisted relationship with consent.

The next paragraph contained several crossed-out words that looked suspiciously like swearing in the old Thorass language.

I cannot fathom why Tav didn't simply let us dispose of her after such a display. The way she kept pressing, kept trying to manipulate the situation—disgusting. Utterly revolting.

Astarion's throat tightened as he read on. Gale had captured every micro-expression, every subtle tension in his shoulders when Araj wouldn't take no for an answer. But rather than clinical observation, the writing blazed with protective rage.

Astarion's refusal was admirably firm, Gale had written, and I find myself quite proud of how he handled the situation, though I shouldn't have expected anything less.

Something warm bloomed in Astarion's chest. He'd been ready to deflect questions about his reaction, to laugh off the whole incident. But Gale had seen. Had understood.

Had been angry on his behalf.

The writing deteriorated further into personal commentary about Araj's parentage and probable relationship with various Underdark creatures. It was messy, emotional, and completely unlike Gale's usual work.

It was perfect.

Astarion looked up from the pages to find Gale had vanished from the campfire. A quick scan revealed lamplight flickering in his tent. After a moment's consideration, he slipped over to their stores and liberated a particularly nice Sembian red—the kind Gale favored when deep in his cups. The rest of the party watched him cross to Gale's tent, but he ignored their stares.

"Knock knock," he called softly, unable to actually rap on the canvas.

"Come—" Gale cleared his throat. "Come in."

Inside, Gale perched on his bedroll, having made an absolute disaster of his hair. His fingers twisted in the ends of his sleeves as he watched Astarion enter.

Astarion settled beside him, close enough to share the wine but not so near as to crowd. He uncorked the bottle and poured generously into their cups. Gale accepted his with visible relief, taking a long swallow.

"So," Astarion said, tapping the pages. "I can see why you might want feedback before adding these particular... observations to the official record."

Gale's shoulders hunched. "I shouldn't have shown you. It was unprofessional. I'll rewrite it properly—"

"Don't you dare." The words came out sharper than intended, and Astarion took a measured sip of wine before continuing. "It's refreshing to see you write without stuffing every sentence full of footnotes and qualifiers."

Astarion traced the edge of the parchment, weighing his next words. "Perhaps this particular passage isn't suited for your grand historical chronicle. But..." He folded the pages with careful precision. "If you've no objection, I'd like to keep these."

Gale's eyes widened slightly. "You would?"

"Mm." Astarion slipped the pages into his vest pocket, next to his heart. "It's rather remarkable, isn't it? How well we've come to know each other through ink and paper."

"I was just thinking the same." Gale's fingers drummed against his cup. "Though that makes it all the more frustrating that I still—that is to say—" He took another fortifying sip of wine. "There are still considerable gaps in my understanding of, well, certain matters. Particularly regarding how to... that is, what might be welcome or unwanted in terms of..."

Gale's usual eloquence abandoned him entirely as he rambled on, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "The last thing I'd want is to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted advances or assumptions about—not that I'm making assumptions! Or advances. Unless they'd be welcome. Which I have no way of knowing, hence my current..."

Astarion felt his smile growing wider as Gale continued to tie himself in verbal knots. The wizard who could lecture for hours about the minutiae of magical theory was completely undone trying to navigate this conversation. It was, against all odds, utterly charming.

Astarion indulged a wicked impulse to let Gale continue stumbling through increasingly convoluted sentences. This brilliant, powerful man who could probably level the camp with a thought was sitting here blushing and babbling like a schoolboy, all because he was worried about making Astarion uncomfortable.

Astarion watched Gale spiral deeper into his verbal maze, now fretting about consent and boundaries and "not wanting to be anything like that presumptuous drow." The wine in Astarion's cup caught the lamplight as he swirled it, considering.

He'd surprised himself today, hadn't he? That firm "no" to Araj had felt... right. Natural. After centuries of being unable to refuse anything, he'd found his voice. Found his limits.

But knowing what he didn't want was only half the equation, wasn't it? The other half sat right here, working himself into knots trying to be considerate of Astarion's feelings.

"—and I would never presume to—"

"Gale." Astarion set his cup aside. "I need you to choose me."

Gale's mouth snapped shut, eyes wide.

"Not as some temporary distraction while you wait for your goddess to take you back." The words spilled out, sharper than intended. "And certainly not if you're still planning to martyr yourself for her at the first opportunity."

Astarion's fingers clenched. "I won't… invest in someone who's already plotting to abandon me."

Astarion's throat tightened as Gale continued to stare, mouth working silently. The silence stretched painfully, and Astarion's carefully constructed walls began to rise again.

"Though if you're worried about how… this might affect my editorial contributions—" He forced a light tone, reaching for his familiar armor of wit. "I can assure you I'll be every bit as ruthless with your purple prose if we... if certain advances were made and accepted." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "I cannot make any promises beyond trying right now, but I would like to. Try."

Gale's surprised laugh broke the tension. He set his wine aside with deliberate care, and Astarion's couldn't pull his gaze from the serious look in Gale's eyes.

"Very well then." Gale's voice was soft but certain. "I choose you. Mystra can find someone else to blow up."

The words hit Astarion like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Everyone who'd ever shown interest in him had wanted something—his body, his skills, his submission. Even Araj's recent attempt to "offer him blood" had been about using him, treating him like a toy to be passed around at her whim, rented by her alchemical prowess.

But here was Gale, casually tossing aside his divine destiny, his life-long obsession with Mystra, all for... him. Just him. No conditions, no demands, no expectations beyond what Astarion was willing to give.

Joy bubbled up, wild and unfamiliar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like it.

"Stay tonight?" Gale asked, voice soft. "Just to rest. Nothing more than you're comfortable with."

Astarion hesitated. The offer was tempting, but old habits died hard. "I don't sleep."

"I know. But you could trance here. If you wanted."

The earnest hope in Gale's expression melted Astarion's remaining resistance. "Well, I suppose your cushions are more comfortable than mine. Alright. After your dinner, then."

They emerged from the tent to find Wyll's attempt at dinner nearly ready. Shadowheart's knowing smirk made Astarion bristle, but Gale's steady presence at his side kept him from snapping at her.

"About time," Wyll called from the fire. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Astarion drawled, earning a quiet snort from Gale.

The stew was barely edible—Wyll had somehow managed to both burn and under-season it if the general consensus was to be believed—but Gale seemed oblivious and Astarion couldn't eat it anyway. He focused on the way Gale's knee pressed against his as they sat, the brief brushes of their hands as they reached for and passed wine and food among the party members.

Gale hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left the tent. It transformed his entire face, softening the worried lines around his eyes. Astarion caught himself staring more than once, but surprisingly didn't feel the need to hide it.

When the others began drifting toward their tents, Astarion followed Gale back to his. Inside, they faced each other awkwardly until Gale gestured around from the reading chair to his bedroll.

"Whereever you're most comfortable."

Astarion considered his options. He could maintain some distance. But Gale's warmth beckoned, and for once, Astarion allowed himself to want.

In the end, after a stupid amount of awkwardness, he settled against Gale's side, tension melting as strong arms wrapped around him. Gale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Good night, Astarion."

Astarion tilted his face up, catching Gale's lips in a soft kiss. "Good night, Gale."

The kiss lingered on Astarion's lips as Gale's breathing slowed and deepened beside him. Such a simple thing, really—just the brief press of mouths, no heat or urgency behind it. Yet his mind kept circling back to that moment, analyzing every detail. The slight roughness of Gale's beard. The way Gale's hand had cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. The soft sound of contentment Gale made when they parted.

Gale shifted in his sleep, arm tightening around Astarion's waist. The wizard radiated warmth like a furnace, his heartbeat steady against Astarion's chest. The sound should have made him thirsty—it frequently did, with others—but in this moment it felt... comforting. Like a lullaby.

Astarion nestled deeper into the embrace, savoring the novel sensation of being held without ulterior motives. No demands, no expectations, just the simple happiness of closeness. When was the last time anyone had touched him like this? Had anyone ever?

The thought should have been depressing, but somehow it wasn't. Not with Gale's steady breathing in his ear and strong arms around him. Not with the memory of that kiss still lingering on his lips.

His racing thoughts gradually settled as the night deepened. The familiar patterns of meditation beckoned, and for once Astarion didn't fight them. He let his consciousness drift, secure in the knowledge that he was, perhaps for the first time in centuries, truly safe.

His last coherent thought before slipping into trance was how perfectly they fit together, like pieces of a story neither had known was incomplete.

* * *

Astarion emerged from his trance hours before dawn, finding himself thoroughly entangled with Gale. The wizard had wrapped around him like a vine, one leg thrown over his hip, face buried in Astarion's neck. Their position left no room for modesty—or denial about the way Astarion's body had responded to the intimate contact.

His erection pressed insistently against the soft curve of Gale's hip. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through him with each tiny movement, making it difficult to think clearly. When was the last time he'd felt genuine desire, untainted by calculation or necessity? Even his attempted dalliance with Tav had been strategic rather than passionate.

This was... different. Dangerous, perhaps. There were no scripts to follow here, no carefully crafted personas to hide behind. Just raw want, as honest as it was unexpected.

Gale shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pressing closer. The movement dragged a quiet gasp from Astarion's throat. Gods, but it felt good. Too good. He should extract himself, retreat to safer territory. But Gale's warmth surrounded him, tempting him to stay, to wake the wizard with kisses and see where this newfound hunger might lead.

The choice was terrifying. Exhilarating.

Astarion impulsively traced his fingers along Gale's jaw, admiring how peaceful he looked in sleep. "Gale," he whispered, voice rougher than intended. "Wake up, darling."

Gale stirred, eyes fluttering open. Astarion watched as awareness dawned, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Gale registered their entwined state. A flush spread across Gale's cheeks, and Astarion felt a corresponding press of heat growing against his own hip.

"Astarion," Gale began, voice husky with sleep and something more. "You're... we're..."

"Quite the predicament, isn't it?" Astarion murmured, trying for his usual nonchalance. But his voice was too tight, too breathless.

Gale shifted slightly, enough to look into Astarion's eyes. "What do you want, Astarion? What do you need?"

The question caught him off guard. No one asked what he wanted. Not Cazador, not the countless pawns in his games of seduction. He was a tool, a plaything, not a participant with preferences.

But Gale was asking, waiting patiently for an answer. And gods help him, Astarion wanted... something. Anything. Everything.

Gale must have seen the confusion in his eyes. He reached up, cupping Astarion's cheek. "Would you like me to leave it alone? Or would you like to explore this further?" He pressed gently against Astarion, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. "I would very much like to make you feel good, Astarion. To focus on your pleasure."

Astarion swallowed hard. "I... I want..." He trailed off, unsure how to voice the desperate need building within him.

"Tell me," Gale coaxed softly, thumb brushing Astarion's cheekbone. "My hand, my mouth, my body—what do you want, Astarion?"

The words sent a shiver down Astarion's spine. No one had ever offered him such a choice before. And he found, to his surprise, that he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Your mouth," he whispered, barely able to believe he was asking. "I want your mouth on me, Gale."

Astarion's eyes widened at his own audacity. But Gale only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "As you wish."

Gale cast a hasty spell, and a dome of silence enveloped them. Then he leaned in, capturing Astarion's lips in a searing kiss. Any lingering hesitation dissolved under the onslaught of sensation. Gale's mouth was hot and demanding, his hands roaming boldly over Astarion's body.

Astarion moaned into the kiss, arching into Gale's touch. His sleep shirt was in the way, and he tugged at it impatiently, wanting skin-to-skin contact. Gale seemed to read his mind, breaking away just long enough to strip off his own shirt before attending to Astarion's. Soon, both shirts were discarded, forgotten on the ground as their mouths found each other again.

Astarion's hands wandered over Gale's bare back, relishing the feel of warm skin under his fingertips. He mapped the contours of Gale's spine, the subtle shifts of muscle as the wizard moved above him. Gale's lips trailed down Astarion's neck, sparking pleasure wherever they landed. He nipped gently at the juncture of Astarion's neck and shoulder, earning a sharp gasp.

Their hips rocked together, the friction sending sparks through Astarion. His control slipped, desire coiling tighter with each touch, each kiss. His breath came in ragged gasps as Gale's mouth worked its way down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on his nipples.

By the time Gale's mouth reached the waistband of his sleep pants, Astarion was already dripping with need. He could feel his desire slicking his belly. He bucked his hips involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Gale looked up, eyes dark with desire. Astarion had seen Gale's eyes narrowed in thought, sharp and fierce in the middle of combat, soft and cow-eyed when they had spoken of their feelings, but never like this. Knowing, wanting, undone with passion.

With gentle movements, Gale pushed Astarion's sleep pants down, baring him completely. Then Gale was settling between his legs, kissing Astarion's thighs and palming him gently before cupping his balls.

Gale stroked his thumb over Astarion's balls, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Astarion's breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation. Gale's hand was warm, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed just behind Astarion's scrotum, applying a steady pressure that made Astarion's eyes roll back.

"Is this alright?" Gale asked softly, looking up at him with those dark, desire-filled eyes.

Astarion could only nod, words failing him. It was more than alright. It was overwhelming, consuming. He spread his legs wider, inviting more.

Gale smiled, a sweet, almost reverent expression. "You're incredible, Astarion," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Astarion's inner thigh. "Every part of you is perfect."

Astarion's head spun at the words. Perfect. He'd been called many things, but never that. Not like this.

Gale took his time, exploring Astarion's body with a thoroughness that left him gasping. He licked and kissed his way up Astarion's shaft, his tongue hot and wet. Astarion's hips bucked, seeking more, but Gale held him down, his hands strong and steady.

"Patience," Gale whispered against his skin.

He took Astarion into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Astarion's hands fisted in the bedroll, his body trembling with need. Gale's mouth was heaven, his touch divine.

All the while, Gale's thumb continued its steady strokes and his finger pressed rhythmically. Astarion panted, his body coiling tighter with each lick, each kiss, each sweet word murmured against his flesh.

Gale's eyes flicked up to meet Astarion's, and the raw hunger in them sent a thrill through him. This was real, raw, unscripted.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Please..."

Gale hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. He took him deeper, his head bobbing slowly, his tongue working magic.

"You taste so good," Gale murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. "Like sin and sweetness all at once."

Astarion's head fell back, his body writhing under Gale's ministrations. It was too much, too good. He could feel his control slipping, his body racing towards release.

Gale seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more focused, more intense. He took Astarion deep, his throat working around him. His finger pressed harder, the pleasure cresting.

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing. He was close, so close. And Gale was right there with him, his eyes locked on Astarion's, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony.

"Gale," Astarion gasped again, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm going to..."

Gale hummed in encouragement, his eyes never leaving Astarion's. And that was it—that undid him. With a cry, Astarion came undone, his body shaking with the force of his release.

Astarion shuddered through the aftershocks as Gale's mouth gentled, working him through the last waves of pleasure. Even as he softened, Gale continued to place delicate kisses along his length, each touch sending tiny sparks through his oversensitive flesh.

Finally, Gale pulled back. His expression was pure self-satisfaction—that particular brand of smugness he got when successfully casting a difficult spell. He settled between Astarion's thighs, resting his cheek against Astarion's belly and looking up at him with twinkling eyes.

"Well," Gale said, grinning. "That was rather spectacular, wasn't it?"

Astarion huffed a laugh, reaching down and running his fingers through Gale's disheveled hair. "Aren't we pleased with ourselves?"

"Mmm, shouldn't I be?" Gale pressed a kiss to Astarion's hip. "The sounds you made were quite encouraging."

"Insufferable." But Astarion couldn't keep the fondness from his voice. He traced his thumb along Gale's jaw, feeling the wizard's smile against his skin. Then he noticed Gale's obvious arousal still straining against his sleep pants. "What about you, darling? What would you like?"

"Oh, don't worry about—"

"Let me take care of you," Astarion purred, running his fingers through Gale's hair and then tugging gently. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Gale's face—or at least match it with one of his own.

Gale caught his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Actually, I had something else in mind." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he shifted the tilt of Astarion's hips. "If you're amenable?"

Astarion allowed himself to be repositioned, curiosity piqued. Then Gale's hands were on his ass, spreading him open, and—oh. The quick press of lips against his hole sent a jolt through him.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Only if you like that sort of thing." A wicked grin spread across Gale's face as he darted his tongue out, the quick, teasing flick against Astarion's sensitive rim sending electric shivers up his spine. The warmth of Gale's breath ghosted over his exposed flesh as the wizard pulled back just enough to catch his eye, one dark eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and the smugness radiating from him made Astarion want to both kiss and throttle him. Instead, he found himself caught in that questioning gaze, his own body trembling with anticipation for what might come next.

Heat pooled in Astarion's belly. He absolutely did like that sort of thing, when done well—and he was deeply convinced Gale knew how to do this well—though he couldn't resist teasing. "My, my. This seems rather focused on my pleasure again."

"Trust me," Gale chuckled, the sound rich with promise. "I'll get as good as I give, in the end." He reached for his nearby bag, rummaging until he produced a vial of oil. "But first—ground rules. If I tap twice anywhere on your body, I need verbal confirmation to continue. Three taps from either of us means stop immediately, no questions asked. Understood?"

Astarion nodded, already anticipating what was to come. "Crystal clear, darling."

Gale set the vial of oil nearby and pulled off his pants before settling back between Astarion's legs, his eyes locked on Astarion's.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice low and husky.

Astarion nodded, spreading his legs wider in invitation. Gale leaned in, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. He placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then another on his inner thigh, teasingly close to where Astarion wanted him most. Then, finally, Gale's mouth was on him, his tongue circling his rim, slick and hot and perfect.

Astarion gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Gale's hands steadied him, holding him open as his tongue worked its magic. He licked and sucked, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out each sensation until Astarion thought he might scream from the pleasure of it.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Alright?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Gods, yes," Astarion panted, his body already craving more. "Don't stop, Gale. Please..."

Gale grinned, his eyes dark with lust. "As you wish."

He dove back in, his tongue pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's tongue slipped inside, the sensation overwhelming. He could feel his body opening, welcoming the intrusion. His cock twitched, already hardening again with need.

Gale's tongue fucked him slowly, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. Gale tapped twice against his thigh.

"More," Astarion gasped, his hands fisting in the bedroll. "Gale, I need more..."

He could feel his control slipping, his body coiling tighter with each movement. And yet, he loved this feeling of control—of directing Gale, of guiding his own pleasure.

"Like this?" Gale asked, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. Before Astarion could respond, Gale's tongue was back, pressing deeper, pushing into him faster.

Astarion's breath hitched "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, like that."

Astarion sank back and rode the waves of pleasure for some time as Gale worked him, his body opening eagerly. Astarion's hips bucked upward, seeking more contact as a desperate whine escaped his throat. When Gale paused, tapping twice against his thigh in silent question, Astarion couldn't stop himself from begging.

"More," he pleaded, voice rough with need. He could feel himself flushing, the borrowed blood in his system rushing to color his pale skin. "I need... I need more inside of me."

Gale pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire and something softer, something Astarion couldn't quite name. Gale poured the oil over his fingers.

Gale's fingers circled his entrance, slick and smooth against his heated flesh. Astarion pushed back against the touch, craving more. While his fingers stroked, Gale put his mouth back to work, sucking one of Astarion's balls into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue.

Astarion cried out, his body jolting at the intense sensation. Gale's finger pressed into him, slow and steady, filling him perfectly. He could feel his body stretching, accommodating the intrusion. It was intense, overwhelming, and exactly what he needed.

Gale's mouth released him, moving to place soft kisses on his inner thighs. He nipped gently at the flesh, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through Astarion. All the while, his finger moved in and out, fucking him slowly.

"You're so tight," Gale murmured, his voice rough with desire. "So perfect, Astarion."

Astarion could only moan in response, his body coiling tighter with each thrust. Gale's mouth moved back to his balls, sucking the other one into his mouth. The sensation was intense, almost too much. But Astarion craved it, craved more.

Gale tapped twice against his thigh. Astarion nodded eagerly then gasped a yes, remembering their rule about confirmation. Gale's finger slipped out, leaving him feeling empty. But then, two fingers pressed against his entrance, circling, preparing.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," Astarion panted. "Gods, yes, Gale. More."

Gale's fingers slid in, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed the sensation, his body opening to accommodate them. Gale's mouth moved up, kissing his hip, his stomach, his chest.

Finally, Gale was above him, his fingers still moving slowly. Astarion reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. He could taste himself on Gale's lips, and it sent a thrill through him.

Gale moaned into the kiss, his fingers picking up speed. Astarion's hands roamed over Gale's body, feeling the firm muscles under smooth skin. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Gale's cock.

Gale groaned, his hips bucking into the touch. Astarion stroked him slowly, matching the rhythm of Gale's fingers. The sensation of Gale's cock in his hand, hard and hot, sent a wave of desire through him.

Gale pulled back from the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "You feel so good to me. Does this feel good? Is it good for you?"

Astarion could only moan and nod in response, his body on fire with sensation. Gale's fingers curled inside him, hitting a spot that made him see stars. He cried out, his hand tightening around Gale's cock.

Gale's hips bucked, his breath hitching. "Astarion," he gasped. "If you keep doing that, I won't last long."

Astarion grinned, a wicked curve of his lips. But he didn't stop, didn't want to. He wanted to feel Gale come undone, wanted to know he was the cause.

"Isn't that the point, darling?" he purred, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of Gale's cock.

Gale paused, his breath hitching as Astarion's thumb dipped gently into the slit. His eyes locked onto Astarion's, a hesitant, almost vulnerable look in their depths.

"Astarion," he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. He tried again, his voice soft. "Can I... Would it be alright if I... came inside you instead? I want to be inside you."

Astarion's stomach flipped at the question, at the raw need in Gale's voice. He nodded, his own voice barely a whisper. "Yes, that would be… yes."

Gale's eyes fluttered closed briefly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire and something softer, something that made Astarion's chest ache.

Gale's fingers began to move again, scissoring and twisting to stretch him gently. Astarion stroked Gale lightly, matching his pace, drawing out soft gasps and whispered curses from the wizard. He could feel Gale's cock twitching in his hand, could feel the way Gale's body trembled with restraint.

A third finger joined the others, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed it, his body craving more. He rolled his hips, fucking himself on Gale's fingers, his own cock leaking onto his stomach.

Gale's eyes were locked onto the sight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gods, Astarion," he murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

Astarion preened under the praise, his body flushing with heat. He wanted more, needed more. He was about to beg, to demand that Gale fuck him properly, when Gale pulled his fingers out. Before Astarion could protest, Gale gently unwrapped Astarion's hand from Gale's cock, slicking Astarion's hand with oil and placing it instead on Astarion's own length.

Astarion stroked himself lightly, his eyes never leaving Gale's. Gale watched him while he poured out more oil and stroked himself to spread it. Astarion found himself smiling at Gale and Gale smiling back as they touched themselves and watched each other for several long moments. Then Gale leaned over him again and lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion could feel his body tensing, anticipating the intrusion. He held Gale's eyes, seeing the reflection of his own need mirrored back at him.

Gale pushed in slowly, the stretch burning, the sensation overwhelming. Astarion's breath hitched, his hand stilling on his cock. Gale paused, his eyes searching Astarion's face. "Alright?" he asked softly.

Astarion nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. More, Gale. I need more."

Gale's hips flexed, pushing him deeper. Astarion could feel his body opening, accommodating Gale's length. It was intense, almost too much, but he craved it, craved more.

His hand began to move again, stroking himself as Gale sank into him fully and began to move, slowly. Their eyes were locked, their breaths coming in sync. It was intimate, raw, real. And it was terrifyingly beautiful.

Gale shifted, adjusting the angle of his hips. Astarion gasped as Gale's cock hit a spot inside him that sent sparks shooting through his nerves. "There," he panted, his hand tightening on his own cock. "Right there, Gale."

Gale smiled, a soft, intimate curve of his lips. He shifted again, settling into a rhythm that hit that spot perfectly with each thrust. Astarion could feel his body coiling tighter, the pleasure building with each movement.

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, all tongues and shared breath. Astarion stroked himself in time with Gale's thrusts, his body trembling with need. Gale's hips moved faster, his cock fucking Astarion deeply, while he whispered to Astarion tenderly.

Astarion moaned into Gale's mouth, his free hand grasping at Gale's shoulder, his back, any part of him he could reach. Gale's skin was slick with sweat, his muscles taut under Astarion's touch.

"Gale," Astarion gasped out between kisses. "It's good. You're so good."

Gale's breath hitched, his hips stuttering. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "You feel incredible. I'm close, love. I'm so close."

Astarion's heart—or the memory of it—swelled at the endearment. He tightened his grip on his cock, his body chasing release. "Me too," he panted. "Gale, I'm right there with you."

Gale's thrusts picked up speed, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside Astarion with each movement. Astarion's body tensed, his breath coming in short gasps.

Their mouths met again, their kiss sloppy and desperate. Astarion could taste the salt of Gale's sweat, could feel the wizard's heart pounding in his chest. He stroked himself faster, his body racing towards the edge.

"Come with me, Astarion," Gale whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you come around me."

Astarion moaned, Gale's words sending a shiver through him. His body tightened, his cock pulsing in his hand. He was right there, right on the edge. And Gale was there with him, his breath hitching, his body trembling.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Astarion felt connected, truly with someone, for the first time in centuries. And it was that look, that connection, that sent him tumbling over the edge.

His orgasm hit him like a storm, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came undone, his cum painting the space between their bodies. His body clenched around Gale, his muscles tightening as waves of pleasure crashed through him and zinged up his spine.

Gale groaned, his hips stuttering as Astarion's body gripped him tightly. "Astarion," he gasped, his voice rough with need. His hips moved faster, fucking Astarion deeply as he chased his own release.

Astarion could feel it, could feel Gale's cock swelling inside him, could feel the pulse as Gale came, filling him with hot, liquid warmth. Gale's hips jerked, his body trembling as he rode out his orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Astarion watched Gale's face as he came—eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack with pleasure, all that clever wit stripped away to raw need. Beautiful. His to witness. His to have.

"Say it," Astarion demanded, voice rough. "Tell me you're mine now."

"Yours," Gale gasped, still shuddering through the aftershocks. "Only yours, Astarion."

Astarion marveled at the words, spoken with such earnest abandon. He pulled Gale down for a messy kiss, tasting the salt of sweat on his lips. Gale slumped forward, his weight pressing Astarion into the bedroll, his cock still buried deep inside him. The wizard's skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his dark hair falling in his face as he scattered feather-light kisses across Astarion's chest. Each press of his lips felt like a benediction—reverent, tender, almost innocent compared to what they'd just done. Astarion's hands found their way to Gale's shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer, just holding on as if to anchor himself in the moment.

When Gale finally withdrew, they both gasped at the same instant—a shared, breathy "ah" of loss and sensitivity. Their eyes met, and Astarion couldn't help but smirk at their synchronized response, even as his body clenched around the sudden emptiness. Gale fumbled, managing a weak gesture. The sticky mess between them vanished with a shimmer of magic.

Astarion waited for the familiar crawl of shame to surface, that centuries-old reflex of self-loathing that always followed intimacy. The edges of it whispered at his consciousness—

"So," Gale murmured against his neck, "any editorial commentary on my performance? I do value your critical analysis."

A startled laugh escaped Astarion's throat. "Are you actually asking me to grade you?"

"Well, you've been quite thorough in your other assessments." Gale's hand splayed open on Astarion's chest, stroking softly. "I'd hate to miss an opportunity for academic discourse."

"Academic discourse?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Darling, if you want me to critique your technique, we should establish proper parameters for peer review."

"Ah yes, of course." Gale propped himself up on an elbow, eyes dancing. "Shall we start with methodology?"

The creeping darkness receded further as Astarion found himself grinning. "Your approach was..." He paused dramatically. "Adequate."

"Adequate?" Gale's mock offense was delightful. "I believe I heard rather more enthusiastic feedback in the moment."

"Perhaps a practical demonstration of improvements is in order?" Astarion stretched languidly before fixing Gale with an imperious look. "But first, hold me properly. I refuse to conduct this evaluation without appropriate accommodations."

Gale's smile softened as he gathered Astarion close, arranging them so Astarion's head rested on his chest. "Better?"

"Marginally." Astarion nestled closer, feeling unexpectedly safe in the circle of Gale's arms. "Though I may require extensive testing to be certain."

Gale's chest rumbled with laughter. "Extensive testing? Well, as a dedicated scholar, I could hardly refuse a request for thorough investigation."

Astarion hummed contentedly, tracing a finger along Gale's collarbone. The wizard's skin was warm against his cooler touch, and he could feel the steady thrum of Gale's heartbeat beneath his ear.

"Though I must point out," Gale continued, his fingers carding through Astarion's hair, "that proper research requires multiple trials under varying conditions."

"Does it now?" Astarion smirked against Gale's chest. "And I suppose you've already devised a testing schedule?"

"Naturally. Though we may need to adjust for... spontaneous variables."

Dawn's first light began filtering through the tent walls, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Astarion noticed but felt no burn, protected as he was by the tadpole's gift. Still, old habits died hard, and he pressed closer to Gale's warmth.

"Spontaneous variables?" Astarion affected an academic tone. "How very unscientific of you."

"Sometimes the best discoveries come from unexpected directions." Gale's voice was growing drowsy, but his arms tightened protectively around Astarion. "Like finding love in the margins of a manuscript."

Astarion's breath caught at the casual mention of love, but Gale just pressed a sleepy kiss to his temple and continued stroking his hair. They lay there as the morning light grew stronger, trading quiet murmurs and gentle touches, neither quite ready to face the day ahead.

* * *

Later that evening, Astarion watched Gale stir the pot over the campfire, the wizard's movements mechanical after a draining day. The day's revelations about Ketheric's past had left them all subdued. Another noble life twisted by circumstance—it felt sadder than Astarion cared to dwell on.

His fangs ached. These cursed lands offered nothing to hunt, and he was tired of rationing bottled blood. He uncorked another vial, grimacing at the stale taste. At least it took the edge off.

Gale served the others before retreating to his usual spot with his writing materials. The familiar scratch of quill on parchment filled the evening air. When Gale finally set aside his writing, he approached Astarion with an endearing mix of confidence and shyness. "I thought perhaps we might retire together first? The editing can wait until later."

"Eager to continue our other research project?" Astarion smirked, but his teasing tone couldn't quite mask his pleasure at the invitation. "And here I thought you were devoted to academic pursuits."

"I'd say this qualifies as field research." Gale held out his hand.

Astarion took it, but guilt suddenly twisted in his gut. He had to come clean. "I should tell you something. About why I originally offered to review your writing."

"Let me guess—you wanted to control how you were portrayed? Perhaps gather intelligence on the rest of us?"

Astarion stiffened. "You knew?"

"I suspected." Gale's thumb traced circles on Astarion's palm. "But your feedback was genuinely helpful, and I rather enjoyed where our collaboration led. Unless you regret—"

"No," Astarion cut in quickly. "No regrets. Though I'm beginning to think you're far more cunning than you let on."

Astarion allowed Gale to tug him back to Gale's tent, and they sat on the bedroll. Astarion noticed the wizard's hands fidgeting with the edges of his robes. Fascinating—Gale hadn't shown a trace of hesitation last night. Perhaps he was one of those who needed time to warm up each encounter? Astarion found himself holding back too, uncertain how to navigate this unfamiliar territory of a second night. He'd had more first nights with someone than he could count, but no second nights, none that he could remember anyway.

"I've been thinking," Gale started, then paused to adjust a stack of books that didn't need adjusting. "That is to say, I couldn't help but notice—well, observe really, in a purely academic sense of course—that the Shadow-Cursed lands have been particularly lacking in, shall we say, sustenance options for your specific dietary requirements."

Astarion blinked, trying to parse through Gale's nervous rambling. "Are you attempting to discuss my eating habits?"

"Yes! Well, sort of." Gale's hands stilled. "I've been remiss in my duties as camp cook, haven't I? Everyone else gets hot meals, while you make do with whatever you can find or brought with you."

The academic veneer cracked, revealing genuine concern underneath. Astarion's eyes flicked away at the care in Gale's voice.

"What I'm trying to say is—" Gale touched his own neck. "I think with the orb stabilized, well… I'm offering. If you'd like."

The words hit Astarion like ice water. Fresh blood. Willing blood. His fangs ached at the mere thought. He'd been denied the blood of thinking creatures so long, trained himself to reject even the possibility...

"You don't know what you're offering," he managed.

"I believe I do." Gale scooted closer. "I trust you."

Those three words scattered Astarion's thoughts completely. Trust. From someone who knew exactly what he was, who he had been. His gaze fixed on Gale's pulse point, watching it flutter beneath tanned skin.

Two firsts in one night. The thought drifted through his mind as he struggled to form words past the hunger suddenly roaring through him.

Astarion's attention snapped back to the present as Gale produced a scroll from his robes with a flourish.

"Lesser Restoration," Gale explained, setting it carefully on the cushions beside them. "Just in case. And I've been reading about proper recovery techniques—fascinating stuff really, though the texts are woefully lacking in practical application data. But the theory suggests that proper hydration and rest afterward are crucial. Not that this is any sort of transaction, mind you. The blood isn't payment for—well, for anything we've done or might do. Or for the editing either. Which has been invaluable, truly, but this is entirely separate from that arrangement—"

A smile tugged at Astarion's lips as he watched Gale's hands wave through increasingly elaborate gestures. The wizard's nervous rambling was oddly endearing, especially given how commanding he could be in other situations.

"—and I want you to know that while I'm certainly amenable to continuing our other activities, there's absolutely no expectation or obligation tied to this offer—"

Astarion moved before he could overthink it, sliding onto Gale's lap with practiced grace. The sudden motion cut off Gale's stream of words, his eyes widening slightly.

"Darling," Astarion purred, "you're talking too much." He caught Gale's mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing whatever response the wizard had been about to make.

Astarion broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Gale's. "Tell me again that you're mine."

"I'm yours." Gale's breath ghosted across his lips.

"Not Mystra's." Astarion's fingers curled into Gale's robes. "Mine."

"Yours." Gale's hands settled on his hips. "Only yours."

"And if anyone tries to take you from me?" The words slipped out before Astarion could stop them, vulnerability raw in his voice. "If Cazador—"

"I'll incinerate them to ash." Gale's tone hardened with an edge Astarion had rarely heard. "Sixth level fireball should do it, or—" He twisted, reaching for his scroll case. "I have a disintegrate spell in here somewhere that would work even better."

Astarion caught his hand, tiny sparks tickled his throat with something that felt dangerously like joy. "That's quite alright, darling. I believe you." He pressed his lips against Gale's mouth, delighting in how eagerly the wizard responded.

He found it all deeply gratifying. Following their many shared notes, his meticulous corrections and commentary, Gale had at last mastered the art of perfect responses. Maybe his role as a critic held more rewards than he'd initially thought.

Armed with red ink and centuries of snark, Astarion had set out to control his narrative—and lost control of his heart instead. He supposed if someone had to write his story, it might as well be Gale.

Though of course, he reserved editorial prerogative. Writing romance was tricky, and Gale's prose tended to be purple even when describing the most mundane activities. Astarion smiled into Gale's kiss as Gale pulled him closer. There was no need to worry. He was sure that between the two of them, they'd manage to get the ending right.

#bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #bloodweave #myfic #bg3 fanfic

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jetra4ivor · 1 month ago

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The Minecraft movie has the pink sheep get ripped apart by Zombies. We don’t see it but we hear it screaming and it’s never seen again.

Endermen make you hallucinate your insecurities.

Creepers are friendly and only explode when you hit them.

The nether looks the way it does because “they mined it out too much.” That’s… that doesn’t even make sense.

“As a child I yearned for the mines” is literally Steve’s backstory.

The movie spends so much time explaining how the world of Minecraft works, only to then continuously and repeatedly get how the Minecraft world works WRONG.

Steve has barely been to the nether, but thinks he has 3 Elytra in his inventory at all times (he actually only has 2).

The rails in the creeper cave are activator rails, not powered rails. They never bothered to fix this mistake.

The Nitwit hit by Jennifer Cooledge’s character goes on a date with her and they make loving eyes at each other, and NO ONE QUESTIONS THIS.

Technoblade is references as a pig wearing a crown in the city.

The Piglins can talk.

Jack black songs like 4 different songs, complete with dance numbers and dancing pandas. Why?

Jack Black just announces EVERYTHING. “Flint and steel!” “The nether!” “Chicken jockey!” He has to tell you what everything is in the most Jack Black way possible. That’s his whole character.

Jason Mamoa gets routinely beaten up. Every 5 seconds hes being hit, knocked over, smacked, attacked, or does something stupid to injure himself.

Jason Mamoa and Jack Black 69 each other at one point.

When Steve goes back home to the real world he finds out that Alex is living in his old home and it’s implied they’re gonna team up for a sequel (please god NO).

The kid puts swiftness boots on an iron golem recipe to make a “special” iron golem that doesn’t use swiftness or speed.

Steve’s “full set of Diamond armor” doesn’t include pants, despite us seeing Diamond pants in the background earlier in the film.

One of the Piglins is named “General Chungus.”

Someone unironically says “unalived.”

Several prominent Minecraft YouTubers appear…. For about 10 seconds. And then they’re gone.

Jason Mamoa’s character just says Spanish phrases wrong. Constantly.

The green screening in many shots is atrocious, especially when characters are running. Often times it’s clear that some of the actors weren’t even talking to each other the same day or acting together in the same shot,m and they were just comped together later in post.

There’s a bunch of Napoleon Dynamite references for some reason. I know it’s the same director, but wtf who is this for? No kid today knows Napoleon Dynamite.

“First we mine! Then we craft! Let’s MINECRAFT!” Is a thing that is said….

Herobrine isn’t technically n the movie, but Steve appears with white eyes after the kid looks at an enderman and hallucinates.

The movie is supposedly about “creativity” and yet we never see any of the characters doing anything really creative at all. Even when they’re being “creative” they’re making the most generic safest looking builds and traps. The creativity here is if someone spawned into Minecraft and just built nothing but Villager homes instead of anything uniquely interesting.

Everything about this film’s humor comes from laughing at how weird things are. Look blocks! Weird! Look blocky humanoid creatures! Weird! Look day night is fast! Weird! Isn’t it funny that Jenifer Cooledge is on a date with the Nitwit cuz Villager’s are inherently ugly! It feels condescending towards the people who actually love Minecraft in the way The Big Bang Theory is condescending towards actual fans of geek culture. It’s 90’s level “look at this freak” style humor. It’s like if Minecraft is a game for autistic people, the Minecraft movie is for normies to make fun of autistic people.

#minecraft movie review #minecraft movie criticism #a minecraft movie #jack black is steve minecraft #minecraft movie critique #Minecraft movie spoilers #spoilers #tw: animal death #tw: death

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garlicbreadbatstarion · 3 months ago

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Rolan Valentine's Day One Shot - Sex Pollen

Inspired by this vday challenge from @fic--writer finally finished one of my older WIP pieces. It's a different format than what I normally do, so lmk what you think about the outline style. Cute and fun, but also wildly smutty.

NSFW, piv, unprotected sex, oral, marathoning, unintentional psychadelic usage, anal

pairing: f!reader x Rolan, f!Tav x Rolan

word count: 2000

You and Rolan had travelled to the Underdark for a week to attend a conference hosted by the Society of Brilliance. It was a celebration including guest lecturers, demonstrations, and vendors who were all there to highlight the flaura and fauna of the Underdark as well as their uses, and any recent discoveries. Blurg had sent over an invitation to the Tower inviting the pair of you to partake, which you both enthusiastically accepted.

Rolan was absolutely thrilled and babbled excitedly while you packed your bags and prepared for the journey to the convention. After saying goodbye to Cal and Lia, you both took the pass through Bonecloak’s basement and ventured into the Underdark.

When you arrive at the festival, you check in with Blurg who excitedly shows you both the schedule before leading you to your tent for the week. After unpacking, you lay on the bed rolls with Rolan as you both pick out the things you must see and do as he rubs you back and you both relax for the evening, excited for the week ahead.

The first three days go according to plan; Rolan picks out several lectures on new species that have been discovered as well as some demonstrations on new uses for Sussur blossoms. You find an interesting talk on physical areas that need more exploration hosted by Omeluum. It’s an exciting week, and you love seeing Rolan geek out as he asks many thoughtful questions at every lecture you attend.

As you both get ready for bed that evening, Rolan mentions learning about the Myconids from a lecturer. You can’t help but animatedly recount your own encounter with them as Rolan hangs on your every word. He is so fascinated, and you begin to scheme up a small side adventure for the next day as you drift off to sleep.

You both signed up for a tour group that travels through the Underdark for several hours as a guide points out various species while you wander about. After an hour or so, you recognize the terrain as being somewhat close to the Myconid colony and you stop Rolan as you pretend to relace your boots and the group moves almost out of sight.

“Tav we’re going to lose them!”

“Well, the good news is that I happen to have some friends nearby…some friends I think you’d like to meet.”

Rolan’s eyes grow wide and he quickly catches on and excitedly helps you back to your feet as you give him a sly grin and start heading in a different direction, Rolan’s hand firmly around yours as you lead the two of you deeper into the Underdark

You walk for a short time before something catches your attention; a glowing, pink, sphere-shaped fungus that practically buzzes when you look at it. Rolan quickly follows your line of sight, “Do you recognize that species? I haven’t seen anything like that catalogued in any of my reference books!”

Shaking your head, you notice a trail of these plants leading into a crevice in the rock. You glance at Rolan playfully before squeezing yourself through and you find a small pool of aqua blue water surrounded by the little pink fungi, its glow illuminating the small cave in a rosy glow. That’s when you notice several bedrolls around the water, as well as a large bottle of what smells to be…rose oil? You start to speak, but Rolan cuts you off, excitedly shouting from across the small cavern, “Look at this one!”

You turn around and crouch next to him on the ground and see a particularly large mushroom with reddish spores on the surface. Ever the scientist, Rolan pulls out an empty test tube from his bag and reaches to scrape some of the substance into his sample jar. He delicately scrapes the top with a blade and gently brushes the spores into his sample jar. He no sooner puts the cork on his sample and the mushroom begins to pulse- no, hum?

You share a confused look, and as you turn back to the fungus it bursts into a thick cloud of magenta pollen and you both cough and try to wave it out of your faces

Rolan shouts through the thick, pink cloud, "TAVVV!" When the dust finally settles, he looks at you to make sure you’re alright, but his face twitches with an odd expression as he scans your body for injuries. Before you can question it, you feel a ripple of heat rush over your body, your mouth goes dry, and you feel a sudden and intense need in your core.

Before you know what’s happening, both of you are furiously tearing your clothes off and Rolan practically pounces on top of you, knocking you back onto the pile of blankets as he starts planting wet, harsh kisses on your neck and his hands start to play with your ass while he desperately begins to hump your thigh

Your hands trail all over his chest and shoulders and you moan loudly as your eyes roll back with pleasure. You glance to the side and see the large bottle of oil, and the excited squeal you make forces Rolan to come up for air as he follows your gaze. He growls enthusiastically as he grabs the bottle and pops the cork off in one motion as he begins drizzling the oil over your nude form before letting it drip down his ridged chest.

You stare at him intently and start touching yourself, rubbing the oil into your skin, begging him to come back to you and the sight practically makes Rolan explode. He pumps his cock and you swear it’s even larger than normal as you watch the oil and precum coat his hard length as he stares at you hungrily

You don’t even realize that you’ve started crying, the few seconds without his touch feels like an eternity and you start begging him to fuck you even louder

Rolan firmly grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap as he lays back against the blankets, he gently lifts you directly over his hard member and drags your soaked entrance over his tip, causing you to slam down onto him in desperation. He screams your name and you start energetically bouncing on his length, and he slams his hips up to meet you as the sound of your moans echo loudly in the small cavern.

“My Tav, my sweet, beautiful Tav. I want to fill you so full that you can’t stand up, I want to make love to you until I collapse.” Rolan growls out praises at you as his hands play with your breasts and tummy as they bounce with each hard thrust. You feel yourself starting to come, but you can’t stop yourself from bouncing even as you feel your toes curl and you grip around Rolan’s cock so tightly it causes him to fill you with hot seed that starts dripping out of you as he continues thrusting into you at an intense pace

You both shake from your orgasms, but miraculously neither of you are phased as you continue making intense love on the bedrolls. You continue for hours without tiring.

You both get creative with your positions as you continue to please each other. Rolan flips you around in his lap before leaning back and dragging your hips back with him as he pulls your core onto his face and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against his tongue as you lean over to take his ridged length as far down your throat as you can

Rolan even uses a variation of mage hand he’s been practicing to hold down your arms and legs and you scream his name as he eats you out passionately, smiling up at you from between your legs

You grab the oil and wave your ass in the air as you beg Rolan to take you in every way. While normally he’s hesitant for fear of hurting you, his inhibition is gone as he gently presses into your tight ass and he can’t stop swearing as he gently rocks his hips back and forth as you cry loudly at the overwhelming stimulation

It’s like a dream, the way the time passes like nothing as you both explore fantasies you didn’t know you had. Neither of you remember stopping, which is why it’s such a surprise when you awake in an unfamiliar tent.

You hold your head as it pounds, and you notice Rolan stirring awake and he is similarly dazed. It is only when you notice the melodic hum of the myconids that you begin to piece together what must have happened.

As the memories of your wild lovemaking come flashing back into your mind, you can’t help but blush as you glance over at Rolan, whose spellbound grin tells you he also remembers your long side quest.

You quickly put on your clothes that are carefully laid out next to you and the two of you shyly pop your heads out of the tent flap. You smile awkwardly as you make your way to Sovereign Spaw, your lover following close behind you, staring wide-eyed at the colorful creatures that surround you. You kneel in front of your old friend, and Rolan follows suit, but he is unable to hide the wonder on his face

“Life-chanter, you need not kneel to me. You are welcome here, as is your mate. We are thankful we recovered you when we did.”

You both blush intensely as you rise to look at your old friend. “What was that stuff?”

“We have no name for it in your language, but it has proven to induce breeding in creatures of many different species. Its purpose we do not yet fully understand. Not all of your kind have the stamina to survive such a prolonged encounter. ”

Rolan chokes on his spit and he tries to cover it with a cough. Thankfully, the Sovereign either doesn’t notice or is kind enough to ignore the outburst. After he recovers, his curiosity gets the better of him and Rolan asks softly, “May I ask you some questions Sovereign Spaw? About your customs?”

Spaw hums his approval and begins a long conversation with your wizard; you are amazed at the thoughtfulness and care he has put into his questions and hours go by like minutes because of their genuine connection with each other

When you finally depart, Spaw and his entourage walk you to the steps leading back towards your conference. “Life-chanter, I am glad to have crossed paths again.” He turns to Rolan and continues, “Master of the tower, keeper of knowledge; your respect for our customs is unmatched in our many centuries of existence. We shall call you Light of Truth, and you shall always be welcome here.”

Rolan gushes in excitement as soon as you are out of earshot and repeatedly thanks you for bringing him to meet the myconids

It isn’t until you’re both back in your tent and getting ready for bed that Rolan quiets down…too quiet. You sit up on your bedroll and see him hunched in the corner, “Rolan?”

He glances over his shoulder with a devious grin before gently biting his bottom lip, “Tav…how much do you remember from our journey to the myconid colony?”

You blush uncontrollably as Rolan quickly closes the distance between you on all fours, climbing on top of you so that your bodies are just inches apart. From his pocket he pulls his glass vial, shaking the burgundy spores suggestively in front of your face with a smirk.

“ROLAN!” You gasp with shocking realization; you had almost forgotten how your romantic escapade had started.

“Tav darling, it’s for scientific research! You wouldn’t want to stand in the way of important discovery, would you?” He whispers the last part into your ear before trailing kisses and soft bites down the side of your neck. You can’t stop the purr in your throat at his touch and he chuckles into your skin, “I think though, for the time being, I’ve got quite a bit of inspiration for my own tests before I need use our sample again.”

#ValentinesDayAndScreamingRolan #bg3 fanfiction #holy rolan empire #bg3 rolan #rolan brainrot #tiefling #rolan smut #rolan x tav #rolan nation #sovereign spaw #myconid #sex pollen #dividers by saradika

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heartsforvenus · 1 year ago

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supernova ⛥

robin buckley x fem reader

summary- you and robin are newfound friends, but you wish you were something more. little did you know, so did she. you were both too afraid of admitting your own feelings

tags- song fic 'red wine supernova' by chappell roan, fluff, kind of angst, 'one-sided' pining, sex references, mention of drinking, the joys of a first homoerotic friendship

lowercase intended

this is lowkey trash and all over the place, but i had the idea and thought it was cute. hope you enjoy my first fic <3

i'm in the hallway waiting for ya, mini skirt and my go-go boots

"we're gonna be late!" you exclaimed, standing outside of robin's bedroom.

you had recently befriended robin buckley, one of the band geeks of hawkins high, and somehow convinced her to go to a party thrown by tommy h. not only is she your new friend, she is also your longtime crush, but that was a secret between you and your diary.

that led you to this moment, where you were standing in the hallway outside of robin's bedroom waiting for her to get ready and contemplating your life actions. robin did say that you could stay in her room while she changed, yet you knew yourself better than that. even if you were turned around and forcing your attention on the most mundane object in her room, you were sure to die of embarrassment, thinking about her bare body standing mere feet away from you.

"would you chill out? i'm getting ready for a party i didn't even want to go to, nor was i invited to for that matter," she reminded you and you leaned your head on the wall behind you.

"half the people at those parties weren't invited, he's not gonna point out you in particular," you told her and you saw her head pop out of the door.

"i look like a fucking idiot and i can't zip up this dress. let's just not go," robin decided. your body was on autopilot when you turned the corner into her room and grabbed her arm. the touch of her soft skin against your own was almost enough to make you forget what you were even doing, as she stared at you waiting for you to say something.

"let me zip it for you." your voice came out in almost a whisper as you were still kind of stunned from the previous interaction. and don't get me wrong, the two of you have touched each other before, even held hands, but you weren't sure if you would ever get over this phase.

"fine. but don't break it. maybe i can return it after tonight," robin thought aloud, which made you frown.

i just want you to make a move, so slow down, sit down, it's new

"robin, you look... i mean, this dress... it's so nice."

you mentally facepalmed at yourself. obviously she looked beautiful. this was not the first time you chickened out on complimenting her and it surely wouldn't be the last. you were honestly just saving yourself from the inevitable embarrassment. you couldn't handle the 'i only see you as a friend' from robin, that would just be the point where you would genuinely hope the ground would swallow you whole. or that you'd get hit by a car. or that the world would end.

"thanks, you can have it if you want it. it would probably look better on you anyway," robin commented, and you could feel the all too familiar feeling of warmth rising to your face.

"no..." you shook your head. you wanted to tell her that the dress looked like it was made personally for her. it showed off all her curves in a way that wasn't too revealing, but it was just enough to catch your eye as you glanced over her body in a manner that was not as discreet as you hoped.

in an attempt to change the subject, you yet again grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the room.

"let's go before all the attendees get too bored and start having sex in every room," you suggested. her lack of resistance was a shock as she willingly let you drag her out of the house.

"now, how are we even getting there? if you plan on drunk driving me home then you're even worse of an influence than i thought," robin wondered, leaning back on the hood of your car.

"i was just thinking we could walk. it's not too far from here." robin groaned at your suggestion before standing up straight.

"fine, but you can carry me on the way back," robin agreed.

i just wanna get to know ya, guess i didn't quite think it through

once the two of you made it to the party, you began drinking whatever anyone would hand you in a red solo cup. you guys were stuck inside of your own bubble, accidentally ignoring everyone around you to just speak to each other. you each spoke about your families and your deepest fears, but there was always that one thing on the tip of your tongue that you couldn't force out.

not here, you'd tell yourself, someone might hear and then everyone will know.

as if she could read your mind, robin narrowed her eyes and asked, "what's on your mind?"

"oh, it's nothing," you promised her, not realizing your dilemma was so evident on your face. or maybe she could just read you that well already.

"right... well i just told you about how i literally peed my pants a year ago, so i think we can talk about anything." her blue eyes pierced into your soul, and you so badly wanted to tell her what you were thinking about. another day.

"i was just thinking about how embarrassing it is to pee your pants," you lied and she giggled, that giggle that would've had you weak in the knees had you been standing.

"okay, you jerk, i'm sure you've done embarrassing things too." she pushed your shoulder lightly.

"not yet," you told her. she shook her head, wondering why you were such an enigma, and why it always felt like there was something you weren't telling her. for a moment you snapped out of your bubble to notice everyone around you was either making out or passed out, just as you had predicted. "maybe we should take this as our cue to leave."

this caused robin to notice her surroundings for the first time and jokingly gag, which caught the attention of one of the girls who was kissing some guy. she just glared back at her, and robin jumped up.

"yeah, let's go before this girl beats the shit out of me," robin, wide eyed, agreed. the two of you clumsily rushed out of the front door, passing more and more couples until you finally made it out into the night.

there was a breeze in the air, but it wasn't too cold. you hoped that robin wasn't cold, because you didn't bring a jacket to offer her. she hoped the same about you.

fell in love with the thought of you, now i'm choked up, face down, burnt out

now, you were laying next to her in her bed. wearing her spare pjs, literally surrounded by her scent. you couldn't sleep, because you were thinking about the girl beside you, as you often did in the middle of the night. usually in your own bed, though, so being near her was making it much worse. you had half a mind to just leave, but you didn't know if you'd ever have the opportunity to sleep in her bed ever again. you certainly wouldn't once she found out what you were, or so you thought.

you felt her shuffle closer to you, and you tensed up. she had been jerking about the bed the whole time, but you didn't expect her to unconsciously move closer to you.

god, you had it worse than you thought.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #stranger things #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader fanfic #maya hawke #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #robin stranger things #stranger things x reader #robin buckley fanfic #wlw #wlw fanfiction #fxf

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juliasmesmerized · 5 months ago

Text

Video Games

pairings: Josh Washington x F!Reader, Chris Hartley x Ashley Brown (Until Dawn) type: fluff, too deep into the friendship, mutual pining, subtle flirting summary: Josh and Chris have gaming nights as the only 'geeks' in the group. Chris and Ashley got together and she found out of this 'secret'. Since they knew nobody else would be interested they didn't invite anyone and they knew nobody would care for it regardless. Ashley tells you about it and you join Chris's party and surprising them both. AU: sister's never disappeared, all of them are university students now too. vibes intended: cherry flavored - The Neighbourhood (I personally listen to Odetari when playing competitive games such as Overwatch which will be reference to the video game they'll be playing.) for the best experience: unfortunately we lost interactivefics, but there's another chrome extension called word replacer II; I recommend using it to have this be read in the way it was intended. I will have this on my masterlist at some point, but for now this'll be a disclaimer on every post I make. I hear when people say it breaks the immersion when using y/n and such, but I use the extension above and it gets me more excited to read. hopefully, with this, people can enjoy this piece of work and other y/n works. (i can also make a you / y/n-less version, but i just prefer seeing my name for DR purposes) word count: 2944 part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Chris booted up his computer to get into his and Josh's untimely tradition of playing video games until dawn. Their current fixation stands tall to be a five versus five shooter with each character having unique abilities and are divided into three ranks. Each team has one tank, two damage dealers, and two supports. Chris is a serious tank main while his main damage dealer teammate would be Josh. Josh may sometimes switch it up by taking up the other roles, but it was clear which one was his favorite.

Chris's phone buzzed; the screen lit up to reveal a new-found message from his gaming buddy, Josh. The chat log reads:

Josh: still up for the matches? Chris: yeah im just turning the game on Josh: ok cool i thought maybe bc ash was with u you'd forget Chris: nah bro we had a plan ill stick to it Josh: that tight bod bro, bro we're gonna lose u to it Chris: i dont have a raging libido like u josh Josh: u wound me

As soon as the game loaded up, an invite from Josh immediately popped up on the top part of the screen. He accepted and as soon as the voice chat system on the game connected he could hear screaming on the other side: "YEEEEEEAAAH!" Their names pop up on the left side corner of the screen with a speaker graphic to symbolize them speaking.

Chris's expression turned quizzical, "Josh?" the username 'c0destopher' perked up on the screen while the username 'washingmachine' never left.

Josh, still excited for having his winding down time, kept going. "We're finally doing this since we've been buried under exams. They're OVER! Let's get this party started!"

Josh chose the role queue option which allows players to pick their ranks ahead of time which ensures better play experience as everyone enters the match knowing what they want is given. Chris, without taking much time confirmed only tank. Josh decided on all roles, and since Chris was only tank, he only had the chance to be a damage dealer or support.

Chris's door swings open. Ashley, who was too engrossed in her phone, began to speak. "Hey Chris, I'm going out to the store to get something I'd need for the-" She looks up to realize the dark atmosphere with his computer screaming RGB lights that lit the room in an unnatural way. "You playing with Josh?"

His heart sank from her sudden entrance, but regained his composure. "Yeah Ash, he could still hear us if you wanna say hi." Ashley took him up on his offer and took the headphones off of Chris. She held one ear pad up to her ear to not ruin her hair, but still be able to hear Josh.

Ashley smiled as he greeted her. "What's up Josh?" Chris couldn't actually hear what Josh was telling her, the muffled sounds were whisked away by his thoughts overwhelming him. It'd only been a while back he confessed to Ashley and she excitedly accepted to be his girlfriend. It still feels surreal to him. She tucked her hair behind the free ear and began speaking once more.

"That's good, I'm well. You do this often?" Her eyes looked up unintentionally, as to focus on the conversation. She slightly nods her head from time to time.

She tilted her head and hummed before speaking. "Well, I just wanted to see if Chris wanted anything from the store." Chris's eyes were locked onto her facial features, the way she moved, and her cute mannerisms when she's talking to somebody on the phone.

She keeps nodding out of nowhere and he could hear Josh stopping to allow her to speak. "Oh! I'm getting some stuff I need for my hair, and also some snacks. I forgot some things I needed."

Josh's muffled voice perked up and Chris could hear him going on about the match about to begin. Ashley responds immediately. "The game's starting? I'll get you back to Chris." She places the headphones back on for him, trying her best not to hurt him. The character selection screen opens, but Chris looks back at Ashley as she leaves the room.

Before she closes the door after herself, she peered into the room once more. "I’ll get you some snacks, anything else?" He nods sweetly to her and she smiles and closes the door.

She got her coat from the hanger and wore it. With her purse on her shoulder, Ashley left the apartment and locked the door behind her. She placed her key in her purse, and took out her phone from her pocket. She messaged y/n asking to call her.

A few moments later, her phone rang to see a call premeditated by her own message asking for it. “You won’t believe what I just saw!” Ashley giddly spoke to the phone. She pressed the button to the elevator to signal it to open on her floor.

Her friend responded on the other side. “What happened?”

“I just saw Chris and Josh playing the game you like! This is your moment! Surprise them and join them!”

y/n audibly gasped. “What?! They used to bully me about it all the time!”

y/n continued on, this time mocking Josh’s words to her when talking about the game she liked. “Call Of Duty is the better of the competitive games and not that hero rainbow bullshit!” Her voice went sarcastically deeper and had a few ‘blah blah blah’s splattered around it.

Ashley left the elevator to walk outside. The wind gushing through her as she left the complex. “I know! That’s why I got so shocked, I thought you’d love to know that they got into it so you could tease back. Especially, Josh. I didn’t show that I cared too much so they wouldn’t suspect a thing!”

She took some time to think it through before responding. “I don’t think I should even if I want to show them for teasing me and then playing it. If I wasn’t invited then it’d look bad on me to join their group.”

“Oh come on, y/n. We both know they wouldn’t mind you playing, they didn’t invite you because it’d look badly on them for teasing you about the same game they got themselves into. I even got Chris’s username memorized for you.”

y/n relented and gave in to Ashley’s plan. “Alright why not. I’m down to cause a little bit of chaos.”

“I’ll send you everything right now.” Ashley closed the phone and looked ahead of her to cross the street. She arrived at the grocery store and went inside to escape the cold. Once inside, she opened her phone once more. Ashley spilled out everything she remembered, hoping it’d suffice.

Ashley: c0destopher#5576 y/n: thats actually so geeky Ashley: i know its so stupid y/n: birds of a feather, your username on goodreads reminds me of the one he has on the game Ashley: dont compare me to that when im doing u a favor to get closer to josh y/n: aye aye captain y/n: i friend requested him Ashley: im sure he accepts everyone y/n: and that u are right ab bc he accepted me right away Ashley: ok ill go focus on doing what i have to do update me whenever ill read when i can y/n: okay thanks ash i will let u know how it goes, stay safe

She booted up the game as she friend requested him on the mobile app. Unsurprisingly on Chris's account, it shows a new button: 'join group' and y/n had a long and hard moment of clarity set in that she's going to have to face Josh if she entered. Her face felt warmer, not that they were anything special, but he was special. She regretted relenting to Ashley's plans due to the trouble she went through getting the information to her.

She took a deep breath and entered their group. The bottom left corner displays a party chat message: unforgettable has joined the group.

Josh, not realizing the message, spoke up. "Yeah I think out of the group, y/n stands out the most, you know? The only person that has playful banter back towards me within the group from the girls. Jess and Em both would do the same, but they're too into their boyfriends so they act like they're untouchable. Sam likes to ensure I wouldn't get hurt which is sweet, but it ruins the fun. Like you could tell she's holding back for my sake."

She, who obviously entered a conversation which shouldn't be privy to her, shoved a palm onto her mic to mute it which showed her name with the speaker graphic. She didn't waste time in messaging Ashley.

y/n: I dun goofed. Ashley: what?

Chris realized first that a message showed up in their party chat that isn't accounted for and the voice chat had a third person suddenly. "Wait who is that?" She could see him using his charge attack to stun his enemy into a wall to kill them. When a friend joins a party in an ongoing game, the leftover friend spectates the match. The chat still open on her phone, y/n stayed quiet to just see the chaos begin to brew and to text Ash.

y/n: I seriously fucked up. Ashley: you gotta explain EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!

Josh took a look and was at a loss. "I dunno. Did you invite them?" Josh was playing a character with double shotguns, and his character needed to creep near enemies to deal serious damage. Typical shotguns.

y/n: he didn't realize i heard him neither of them did?????? Ashley: STOP BEING CRYPTIC WHATS GOING ON??????

"No, did you?" Chris, even if nobody could see, shook his head due to habit. His character slashed his hammer at the enemy tank, dealing some okay output, but the reason for this is to create space for his team to do the damage. She realized this quite quickly.

y/n: WELL i listened to u and joined them and i joined them as josh was talking about the girls and he spoke about me saying i was the only one that stood out to him between all the girls since i give and take in his banter with us. Ashley: OMG? THEN WHAT?

Josh answered his question and was about to say something else, "no," but Chris remembered something.

y/n: heres where i fucked up, yk my mic has an external mute button where placing a palm on it would mute? Ashley: yeah so?

He spoke up. "Oh! They added me a few minutes back and I accepted." Score, he remembered her, but didn't realize who she was. She thought to herself. Josh was getting ready to use his 'ultimate' ability since he charged it to the max. y/n got more focused into the conversation with Ashley that her fingers were going to reach the speed of light.

y/n: well i kinda sorta fucked up by being so nervous after i heard what i heard that i literally kind of slapped the top part where the palm was supposed to go and they heard it and realized i was there Ashley: GIRL WHAT SO THEY DIDNT REALZE YOU HEARD THEM OHMYGDOS???? y/n: YUP IMAGINE WHAT THE HELL? Ashley: SO CHRIS KNOWS THIS ENTIRE TIME THAT JOSH THINKS YOIURE SPECIAL NAND NEVER TOLD ME? THE AUDAXITY OF THAT MAN y/n: WHAT LOL?

Josh chuckled a bit. "Why do you accept randos?" He hid on the roof of a high building on the map, then jumped down and used his ability which sent bullets in a good radius in a circular motion, killing three members of the enemy team. He was shot in the head by the enemy sniper after, and thought for a second as he respawned in game. "Kick them out?"

y/n: HES TELLING CHRIS TO KICK ME OUT Ashley: NONONONO ITS GETTING GOOD

Chris didn't skip a beat. "Sure alright."

y/n: YOUR BOYFRIENDS A BASTARD HE SAID SURE TO KICKING ME?? Ashley: SAY SOMETHING OF COURSE THEY DON'T KNOW ITS YOU y/n: OK GTG BGYE

Ashley was right. y/n had to speak up now or forever hold her peace. "WAITWAITWAIT! It's just me." She peeped as if she was a criminal, but all she did was join her friends.

Josh perked up, things were getting interesting. "y/n?"

"The one and only." Her voice getting a little more confident over time.

Chris was absolutely on edge. "How'd you get my username? What? We hid this from you for months!"

"I know! Ash told me about you guys playing. How about Call of Duty being the best game on the market for these types of games?"

Chris got defensive, he didn't belittle her for her choice of games. "Hey, I didn't say that." If anything, Chris sees himself as the most understanding in that aspect. All games could be fun if done right and with the right people.

Josh, sounding sarcastically defeated, sounded like he was raising his hands to surrender himself to y/n's beck and call. "I didn't think the game would be this addictive!"

"I'm officially inviting myself to join you." She continued, she liked how she got Josh back for belittling her.

They could hear the smile come up his face. "Our group is yours, y/n." Josh said.

Chris knew exactly what he was doing. "You couldn't have come at a better time, y/n, we were just talking about romance." He was hoping Josh would take the reins to say something witty.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked against the screen. "Romance, huh? Tell me about it, Josh. We're all friends, right?"

Josh quickly regained his composure after Chris kind of just outed him. "Chris is overdramatizing it. We were just talking about the group and our opinions on everyone."

"Yeah, right." Chris rolled his eyes.

Josh also rolled his eyes at him, he knew he was going to get him for this later. She spoke up which redirected them both back to the conversation. "Oh? What're his opinions Chris?"

Chris spoke up. "I can't share on behalf of somebody else, dear lady."

"Josh?" y/n called out into the cyber void that is their online voice chat. Their game has finally ended now, they queued up for another match where y/n also chose all roles like Josh.

The queue waiting time has begun, and Josh sighed; unsure if he should reveal the truth, but he did anyway. He didn't understand why he wanted to be honest with her even if he could've easily lied. "I was just saying how Emily and Jessica create barriers with the guys after getting boyfriends, it's not the same as before."

y/n nodded. "Mhm... And Ash and Sam?" She heard this story before, but to avoid suspicion, she decided to ask and follow what Chris might've set up.

Josh continued, the conversation being tame enough for him to ride the wave without falling off the board or having to admit something that was specifically between him and Chris. "Sam is a pacifist, we all know that, and Ash could be talked about by Chris for days."

"And..." She trailed off at first, but his words gave her confidence. He already admitted to her unintentionally and that's all she needed.

y/n thought she was being smart about it to get him to confess. "Me?" She would never admit that she heard him though, never, ever.

Josh chuckled and began to tease her. "Couldn't get to you until you rudely interrupted our conversation." Chris chuckled at the banter, knowing that was a complete lie. Josh didn't react to sound as honest as possible.

y/n bought it to keep face. "Uh huh, nice one, Mr. Washington. What a coincidence."

Josh returned. "Yup."

"A quinky-dink." y/n continued.

Josh replied, once more. "Mhm." Chris kept holding in a laugh at the awkward yet funny atmosphere that surrounded them, even if it meant he was the third wheel. y/n sent Josh a friend request ingame, which he promptly accepted.

A match started which changed the topic.

Josh directed his attention to his new friend's banner which would show her selection when she chose. "I never asked you who you played."

She sat deciding what support character she should choose. "Me?"

Josh took a second to try to understand her thought process when asking that. "I mean I play with Chris, I know who he plays."

She realizes her stupidity at this moment in time, but played it off cool. "Right...! I play everything including tank, but it seems like Chris takes the cake for that. I play whatever the team needs."

"Nice. Yeah, Chris likes playing tank." Josh slightly smiles at her comment. "Seems like you'll support our team, what shall you pick, madam?"

"I like playing based on the team when I'm support. I'll see what everyone else picks to best help the team with my choice of character."

Chris always keeps his number one choice unless the other team counters him. Where they'd play a character that makes his own completely useless. "I already know what I'm choosing."

"I'll play this guy this time." Josh decides to try the soldier.

"I see, if you play that then..." She chooses the damage boosting support and their teammate picks a main healer to focus on keeping everybody's health satiated.

Josh smugly replied to her action. "I think I see where this is going..."

y/n rolled her eyes behind the screen. "Not that I have any faith in you, but your ultimate that 100% doesn't miss, would need this to change the tides."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."

hi everyone! i hope u enjoyed what you've read. i do wanna continue it, but im a bit busy and got too excited to keep it in the drafts, i want it to eventually end with one of them realizing their likeness towards one another. i usually do write longer chapters, 5k-10k, but i have a midterm tomorrow and i couldn't stop myself from writing something. comments, likes, and everything else is appreciated for ur friendly neighborhood budding writer. took about 2 hours to write this.

#until dawn #josh washington #josh washington x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn josh #chris hartley #ashley brown #chris harley x ashley brown #until dawn 2024 #until dawn 2015 #until dawn 2 #fanfiction #reader x josh washington #x reader

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