#he's allowed to be just as daft as everyone else

[shelli-gator]

Watched Thomas and the New Engine and I adore how Edward isn’t immune to gossip and dramatics. James tells him about Neville being buddy buddy with the diesels and Edward’s immediate retelling to Percy is like “Yeah I heard he fucked the Fat Controller’s wife while the diesels watched. And Thomas was there!”

Literally gossiping around the water cooler. Over drinks.

[jbaileyfansite]

Critics Reactions to Jonathan Bailey's perfomance as Fiyero (Master Post)

“Dancing Through Life,” on the other hand, is the adaptation’s biggest musical accomplishment. Although Wicked is primarily about the relationship between these two women, the charming prince Fiyero always threatens to steal the show, and never more so now that Bridgerton heartthrob Jonathan Bailey is playing him in a dazzling blue/gold suit. Setting this song in a library full of rotating, cylindrical shelves allows the dancers to really show off their moves, while Bailey succeeds at infusing the number with his personality as he flirts with men and women alike. Unless Wicked really hits big with the Academy, it’s unlikely that Bailey will score a Best Supporting Actor nomination at the Oscars, but surely he deserves some honor for being the sexiest actor on Earth at the moment — hope you’re taking notes for next year, PEOPLE! [x]

And Bailey, from his boot-toe book choreography to ovation-worthy gymnastics, is hoofing his way through every step of “Dancing Through Life;” there will be deserved awards attention coming Grande and Erivo’s way for Wicked, and Bailey should be as much a part of the conversation. I can’t remember the last time a performance was so instantly charismatic, the kind of movie-star heist—he nearly runs away with the film during that musical number—that makes going to the cinema so exciting. [x]

A character I was worried about going into this. Jonathan Bailey, he plays Fiyero, who is this kind of just over the top cocky, flamboyant, kind of douchey, but in a fun way character. And there’s just so much there that it could be really easy to mess up. And I didn’t know that he was into song and dance performance, because I’ve only seen him in Bridgerton, so I didn’t know what else was in his repertoire. But I feel like he absolutely crushed that character. You cannot help but love everything he does when he’s on screen. He nails it. [x]

Jonathan Bailey oozes sex appeal and charisma as Fiyero Tigelaar in an utterly swoon-worthy performance, unleashing his West End talents with the dazzling “Dancing Through Life” sequence that cements himself as a true superstar, while his chemistry with both Erivo and Grande is off the charts. [x]

I have to give Jonathan Bailey his freaking flowers. I thought he was going to be good. He got an Olivier award for Company and if you haven't, there is a video of him singing The Last Five Years from years ago….So I was like I think he's going to do a good job, he's also so charming and everybody loves him. I was not prepared to see what we got. The perfomance, the vocals, the gymnastics, the charm, the way he says 'you're perfect' is just engrained in my brain in the right way. And he's so…like he would have chemistry with a chair, I'm convinced. Everyone in 'Dancing Through Life' is now pregnant and so am I. His entire arc of Fiyero being like the daft person and then becoming who he becomes is so clear and every choice, and look, nuances he has…it is calculated but effortless. [x]

Jonathan Bailey delights in the supporting cast as her love interest Fiyero, also offering a fantastic interpretation of someone who hasn’t been called upon too often to be serious but might be willing to give it a try. [x]

“Dancing Through Life” triumphantly translates the joy of seeing Wicked live: Dancers perform acrobatics in rotating circular bookshelves, Jonathan Bailey (who I swear has chemistry with every single person on the planet) taps his way across books with a flippancy perfectly suited to the charismatic prince Fiyero, and the ensemble works (and sings!) in harmony. [x]

Jonathan Bailey uncorks an outrageous scene-stealer as the heterocamp Fiyero, a performance to put alongside Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride. [x]

Chu's usual choreographer, Christopher Scott, delivers again with vibrant, inspired moves, particularly in the elaborate "Dancing Through Life," which takes place in the school's rotating, multilevel library. "Bridgerton" star Jonathan Bailey gets a chance to show off his musical theater background here, and he's terrifically charming as the glib Prince Fiyero, the object of both Elphaba and Galinda's romantic interests. [x]

The true surprise, even more than Grande, is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the charming prince with hidden depths that both Galinda and Elphaba gravitate towards. Bailey has such a light comic touch to him and his performance of “Dancing Through Life” might be the best part of the movie, and the most ambitious set piece in the film. [x]

The true standouts are three-fold, with Grande, Erivo, and Bailey embracing the tonal shifts with unbridled glee. […] Fiyero has major bisexual vibes, and chemistry with every single character. Bailey’s take on “Dancing Through Life” lets the Olivier Award-winning actor unleash his sex appeal on a library full of unsuspecting Oz-ites. [x]

Jonathan Bailey adds renegade bravado as the devil-may-care Prince Fiyero, selling the character's journey from apathy to activism with aplomb. [x]

Elsewhere, British heartthrob Jonathan Bailey steals the show as the vain Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, a love interest for both young witches. Bailey effortlessly dances and sings his way through the film’s most demanding musical numbers. [x]

It's Jonathan Bailey who threatens to steal the show though, instantly charming during Flyero's meet-cute with Elphaba. Anybody not swooning already will be with his excellent 'Dancing Through Life' number, Bailey's palpable charisma shining through the extended number which culminates in a reimagined Ozdust Ballroom. [x]

One more: Jonathan Bailey. His dashing Prince Fiyero is one charming prince, so cheeky that he will have boys and girls everywhere swooning. And swoon they do, within the film — it’s a small thing, and not to get all #RepresentationMatters about it, but I was delighted to see Wicked make very clear that both male and female Shiz students are equally lustful whenever Fiyero’s around. There are some deliciously flirtatious moments between Fiyero and some guys during “Dancing Through Life,” and it had me thinking about the fact that, for as fabulously gay as musical theater so often is, you don’t usually see that kind of thing in a massive mainstream film. Kudos all around. [x]

The standout to me: I’m going to go with Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. He pops up into the film and immediately comes off so cocky, but so charming and likable. Just everybody he talks to, he has this fun rapport and chemistry with them, and just brings to life every scene that he’s in, whether it is just dialogue, joking, dramatic or his big dance number in the library. He’s so good. And it’s one of those things where I am not super familiar with him outside of this, and you just see him and you go - man, that guy is a star, this guy is really good. [x]

And while Wicked is all about is two leading ladies, we must spare a moment or several for Jonathan Bailey’s virile, twinkly Fiyero, who quite literally leaps onto the screen on his horse while clad in tight britches and sturdy riding boots. He’s charming in a way I never found the rather bland character to be onstage, bringing vibrancy to the role as a big screen heartthrob who tears up the floor (and library books) with his aggressive dancing. Now it makes sense that he could turn the head of both Glinda and Elphaba. A West End veteran himself, Bridgerton actor Bailey also boasts an exemplary voice – the casting directors truly spoiled fans here – and there are no exceptions made when every number is treated as a potential show-stopper. [x]

In terms of supporting performances, Bailey’s absolutely dashing and magnetic, giving a star-making performance – a la Rupert Everett’s in MY BEST FRIEND’S WEDDING. He lights up the screen as the object of romantic affection in screwball-esque scenes shared with Grande as much as he does during the library set number leading “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Bailey is a charming Fiyero, using all of his Bridgerton swagger in exactly the right ways. He arrives well into the term, a transfer student who has reached the end of the number of schools to be kicked out of. Fiyero is sometimes treated as a throwaway character–the generically hot love interest for two girls to feud over. But this Bailey’s Fiyero will not be so easily dismissed and his “Dancing Through Life,” plays well when accented by talented professional dancers that make the entire scene pop. [x]

Then there’s Jonathan Bailey, who manages to steal the show from his very entrance. Not since Dan Stevens first showed up in The Guest, or perhaps when Glenn Powell out-cruised Tom in Top Gun: Maverick, has there been this much tantalizing testosterone employed in such an effective way. Bailey’s bravura take on Fiyero Tigelaar, the Winkie Prince who sings about “Dancing Through Life,” is by far one of Chu’s most accomplished moments of filmmaking, managing to make the character simultaneously seductive and disarmingly silly. It’s also a moment in Wicked‘s storytelling where there’s fun to be had, and the massive sequence is absolutely a joy that by far exceeds the smaller scope of the on-stage presentation. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is so very “that guy.” His Fiyero doesn’t have the foppish facade of the original. His portrayal makes us aware he’s more complex than he appears from the moment we meet him and his talking horse, but as a Prince Charming, his rizz is high. Who wouldn’t fall in love with Bailey (and who hasn’t)? [x]

Bailey as Fiyero is the ultimate casting as the Lord becomes a Prince. He delves into Fiyero’s shallowness and his moments between Elphaba and Galinda are so starkly different as Bailey plays into both relationships organically with wonderful chemistry between all three. [x]

Jonathan Bailey has a standout musical number with “Dancing Through Life,” and he manages to have chemistry with everyone on screen as the handsome Fiyero. He’s fiercely flirtatious and fun to watch. [x]

Jonathan Bailey could have chemistry with an inanimate object. That man absolutely shines in the role of Fiyero. [x]

But, it’s Bailey’s Fiyero (surprise!) who steals the movie’s second-best scene: the elaborately choreographed “Dancing Through Life.” [x]

Galinda immediately sets her sights on Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey, bringing an outstanding amount of Kenergy to his role). […] And there are certain sequences, specifically Galinda’s signature number “Popular” and Fiyero’s “Dancing Through Life”, where everything does click together nicely and the film suddenly sparks into life. [x]

Jonathan Bailey is absolutely swoony as the flirty Fiyero. While Wicked: Part One is just the beginning of his story, you can already see how Elphaba’s impact is starting to influence him to think more of others versus being shallow and self-consumed. [x]

Jonathan Bailey‘s Fiyero is a joy to watch, and you can see in his physicality and the sparkle in his eyes who he is destined to become. Once we see him dance and sing, he sweeps everyone off their feet. [x]

Fiyero gets one of the film’s most appealing numbers, brilliantly delivered by Bailey, “Dancing Through Life”, as the dashing Prince disturbs the peace of Shiz’s library to entice his classmates to join him for an evening of fun at “the most swankified place in town”, the Ozdust Ballroom. With Bailey gleefully taking on Christopher Scott characterful, silky smooth, choreography, he goes on to offer us seductive glimpses of the more substantial man hiding behind his mask of superficiality. [x]

I can’t say the word scene-stealer without talking about Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero. Give Jonathan Bailey awards, give him every role … for being so amazing in this movie. He is just so effortlessly cool and charming and funny, but I love the heart that he gives certain moments … Fiyero just lives with me now … He enters this movie giving me one of my favourite performances. [x]

The supporting cast proves equally magnificent. Jonathan Bailey’s Fiyero exudes oodles of charisma and a strong voice, easily proving he can handle Christopher Scott’s limber choreography while simultaneously putting his own stamp on it.  While his character plays a more major role in the second film, his introduction, through the stunning “Dancing Through Life” number, leaves a lasting impression and makes for a compelling counterpoint for both leading ladies. [x]

Not to be outdone, Jonathan Bailey of Bridgerton fame plays Fiyero. The heartthrob, almost brainless hunk, who arrives at Shiz and drives so many of the students crazy with lust. Now Bailey’s carefree, but passionate, and decisive in both singing and choreography. With his signature song “Dancing Through Life”, Bailey gets to showcase some awesome footwork, along with amazing vocals, for a scene that is just mesmerizing thanks to the energy and the camera work. [x]

That said, it's BRIDGERTON (2020) star Jonathan Bailey who winds up stealing most of the scenes he's in as the Prince, Fiyero Tigelaar. Bailey is fantastic as the Prince, bringing an entertaining sense of levity and delight to the film. This is to the point that Bailey's absence in the film's finale is quite noticeable, with the film feeling somewhat dull without his presence. [x]

Elsewhere, Jonathan Bailey is charismatic as the dumb-but-charming Fiyero, and there’s a campness to his song-and-dance number, “Dancing Through Life” that will stir the loins in a whole range of viewers. [x]

One standout is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, the Winkie prince who quickly makes a mark on Shiz after his enrollment. Bailey is not only charming and funny throughout, but exudes an energy that many of the other supporting players simply lack. [x]

Supporting roles are strong too, most notably from Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, full of bravado and fun, as well as a hefty dose of yearning – and fans of Bridgerton will know that no one does yearning like Bailey. His 'Dancing Through Life' is a blast but he's just as powerful in the film's quieter moments as his chemistry with Elphaba burns. [x]

As for the supporting cast, Bailey absolutely shines in his biggest film role to date. Much like Galinda, Fiyero is initially privileged and arrogant, but Bailey instils him with so much undeniable charm that you can easily understand why literally everyone at Shiz is falling under his spell. The seeds are sewn for Fiyero to open up in Part Two, but, for now, Bailey nails it as a seemingly one-dimensional hunk with hidden layers to explore. [x]

The film’s biggest strength is its perfectly cast triple-threat performers – Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba Thropp, Ariana Grande-Butera as Glinda Upland and Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero Tigelaar, a handsome prince whose subplot is best not spoiled. […] The charismatic Bailey, Emmy-nominated for “Fellow Travelers,” is known as the oldest son Anthony in the “Bridgerton” TV series, but in England, he is also an accomplished musical theater performer. He won an Olivier Award as Best Supporting Actor in a Musical for playing Jamie in the revival of “Company” in 2018. Fleet-footed and a nimble vocalist, he gives Fiyero an allure that wasn’t initially apparent on stage. [x]

Meanwhile, Jonathan Bailey channels his incredible Kenergy to bring the effortlessly charming Fiyero to the screen, with his fun take on “Dancing Through Life” almost stealing the show (someone please give him his own musical!) [x]

The same goes for Fiyero as Jonathan Bailey who makes his male lead into a much stronger character by leaning into the sobering moments as strongly as the lighter ones. [x]

Another pleasant surprise was Bailey as Fiyero. Best-known for his role in “Bridgerton,” Bailey isn’t as well-known for his singing chops, but he deftly carries one the most dazzling musical numbers of the whole show, “Dancing Through Life,” serving up both impressive vocals and dancing. Beyond his musical talent, Bailey is charming and roguish as the Winkie prince, while hinting that there’s a little more to him beyond his care-free persona. Bailey also has the unique ability to have chemistry with practically anyone he’s a romantic lead with, so he has great chemistry with both Grande and Erivo. The few, briefly swoon-worthy interactions between Fiyero and Elphaba specifically will likely have fans excited to see Fiyero and Elphaba’s relationship develop in “Wicked: Part 2.” [x]

[twis-world]

The Remedy That Is You (Vil Version)

Mentions: Vil Centric, Fluff, Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader

No matter how many a time the students of Nightraven College witnessed how their Housewarden did a complete 180 in your presence, it never ceased to amaze them.

It eventually got to the point where a majority of students began to question if you really were magickless. There was just no way your mere presence could bring out such light in their eyes, face softening and a smile so tender it was as if they were gazing upon one of the Seven.

Just how did you do it?

Vil

If there was anything Vil would choose to pride himself in other than his looks, it would be his ability to adapt. Adapt, overcome, and adjust to any situation needed. It was a skill he finely tuned at a young age; it would have been utterly foolish not to.

In his line of work you were to always expect the unexpected. Anything could go wrong at any given time. A clothing setback during a shoot. An unavoidable sickness striking before his time on set. A social media scandal that could rip his career to shreds in mere seconds. Nothing was an impossibility.

However, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a time where he would not grow tired of it all.

“Then you would not believe what that imbecile did next,” he seethed. While he did an impeccable job at keeping the hand you held still in order to allow you to paint a clear coat of nail polish onto his nails, the rest of his body expressed his current agitation. The way his foot, though crossed over one leg, would not stop swaying this way and that. His breathing that came out in heavy puffs. “Not only did he manage to spill the very same drink he ran late for all over the place, but he then demanded we wait for his costume to be washed and dried after it got dirtied from the spill. An incredibly audacious move when that stunt ended up pushing back a week of filming because of the damage done to all the camera wirings in the area!”

“Isn’t this the second time he’s done something like this?” You asked with a raised brow, gently beginning to blow cool air onto his nails. The man in question being a fellow co-star of your boyfriend’s. A man who from day one seemed to make it his mission of making every accompanied day with him a living hell.

Vil rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Don’t even remind me. Really, how incompetent do you have to be to continuously waste not just everyone else's, but my precious time above all else? Surely no one is this daft?”

“He could be doing this all on purpose maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to sabotage you.” You gave him a small glance before looking back at his nails, nodding once you confirmed they were indeed dry and gesturing for him to give the other. He did so whilst inspecting the one you gave back, expressing his approval before continuing on.

“I considered that but I refuse to believe he of all people would be able to dedicate himself to this extent. My dear potato, if you were ever so unfortunate to meet him face to face, you would be surprised at how he seems to create mayhem simply through breathing.”

“I know he’s basically a horror show from what you’ve told me but it can’t be that bad.”

“That bad?” He repeated, staring as if you grew three more heads. “That bad? It's only been a month and he’s already managed to delay us so heavily that the producer is considering just scraping this movie altogether. He himself owes hundreds in set damages after today!”

“Careful,” you chuckle, lips curling as you saw just how heavily he was furrowing his brows. Finished with the remaining nail you set the polish off to the side. Carefully, incredibly mindful of the still drying hand you possessed, you leaned forward and gently softened the skin between his brows with the thumb of your other hand. At the contact his eyes practically fluttered shut, barely leaning into the small massage you were giving. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of giving the Vil Schoenheit early stress wrinkles.”

A huff escaped him as you pulled away. “Never. I would rather such a despicable phenomena come from Epel with the trouble he gives me.”

You hummed, fanning his nails while giving him a cheeky smile. “Not even Neige? I’m sure he would be honored.”

“Are you actively trying to raise my blood pressure even higher than it already is?”

“What a horrid accusation! I would never,” you gasped jokingly, hand raising to your heart as he continued to glare at you. “Ah, don’t be like that my love.”

Vil huffed, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t ‘my love’ me. You are lucky I tolerate such an annoying potato such as yourself.”

“Truly,” you mockingly agreed, rolling your eyes this time at the act. Yet, when he continued to refuse looking back, you sighed. Raising his hand up you softly pressed your lips against his one knuckle, then the next, then next. Gently kissing each till you finished with one final one in the center, this time raising your gaze and finally meeting his own. The pupils were all consuming, capturing the beautiful purple you loved so much. Yet, the scarlet hue that painted his cheeks served for an even prettier sight.

“I really am sorry my love,” you murmured against his hand. While he could still hear present humor in the pet name he could also feel the adoration you poured into it. So much so that he found himself swallowing at a loss for words. It didn’t help that your gaze zero’d in on the movement, piercing yet so intimate. “But I don’t like seeing you get so worked up over some nobody who paid his way into this movie. Your movie. He’s undeserving of occupying another second in your pretty lil head.”

“Oh,” Vil began to grin, “and what would you do to make sure of that?”

“Hmm.” You pulled away from his hand, slowly, not once breaking your gaze away from his. “Whatever you would like. You know I never mind pampering you. It’s like my very own treat.” Leaning forward once again you caressed the crown of his head, lightly brushing against his hair and running fingertips down to tuck the very few strays behind his ears. “I went out earlier and picked up some new face masks we haven’t tried yet. Wouldn’t that feel nice? I’ll even run a hot bath for you if you want.”

A delicate sigh left him, cool air running down your arms. He cupped the back of your hands with his, bringing the wrist of each to his lips and leaving behind a dainty kiss. “That would be lovely.”

[dancingbirdie]

Continuation of my series "The Planets Bend Between Us" where I imagine how Astarion's aversion to intimacy and physical touch lessens as his relationship with Tav progresses.

Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!

Also find the series on Ao3 here.

Comments, reactions, and feedback always appreciated!

The Light In Us Both

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, vampire bites, blood drinking, non-sexual intimacy, no smut

Astarion was nearly convinced that bindings would be necessary to keep Tav still this evening. His lovely little wildling continued to fidget beneath him, giggling under her breath and squirming each time he drew close to her neck in an attempt to feed. 

They had been in the Underdark for over a week now. Viable options for “food” were scarce for him, and so Tav had graciously allowed him to drink from her each night in order to maintain his vigor. 

While she insisted she didn’t mind, that it wasn’t an encumbrance, he couldn’t help but notice the looks of disapproval and worry from other members of their party. It was difficult to ignore. They didn’t dare speak their misgivings aloud, though, for fear of Tav’s fierce rebuke that would inevitably follow. 

Astarion loved the duality of his ferocious little darling. She was hot-tempered, demanding and fiery with nearly everyone and everything she came across. Everyone else in the party treated her as the de facto leader. She had even managed to earn the respect of Lae’zel. 

But with Astarion, she was as harmless as a newborn kitten. She joked with him. Teased. Flirted. She was pliant, like clay in his hands. One knowing look from him, and he could watch as she instantly calmed. He wasn’t sure how he’d come to tame such a hellcat, but it gave him immense pleasure, and pride, to be the only person who could call forth that side of her. Him. Astarion.

But tonight, however, he was just about at his wit’s end with her. Tav could not remain still despite his insistences. He even went so far as to describe the embarrassment they’d both share if they had to wake Shadowheart up at this time of night to repair Tav’s lacerated throat because she couldn’t stop squirming. 

Nothing seemed to work. 

“You know, darling, this little exercise of ours is made much more easy when you hold still,” Astarion whispered, a little exasperated, in her ear. 

Tav giggled. His breath against the shell of her ear tickled. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try to behave.”

“Mm, see that you do.” 

He nuzzled at her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, prolonging the temptation of her blood just a moment longer. His hand ghosted up her waist to rest against her lower ribs. He opened his mouth, lips lightly brushing her skin. His fangs were a hair’s breadth away from sinking into her when, suddenly, a fit of laughter bubbled from her between her lips. 

He pulled back to glare at her, squeezing her waist in reproach. At his expression, she broke out in peals of laughter. He made to sit up, obviously affronted, but her hand clutched his nightshirt tighter, preventing him. 

“Tsk. You daft thing,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Honestly, have the Myconid spores gone to your head?” 

She continued to chuckle. “Astarion, I’m sorry, but I’m ticklish.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hand. On my ribs. It tickled,” she explained. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“You’ve never had this issue before,” he replied, dubious.

“Because normally you’re holding onto my arm. Or my shoulder,” she quipped, her laughter finally quieting. 

“I see,” he murmured, mulling over her words, his expression thoughtful. 

“I’ve upset you,” Tav responded soberly, finally taking stock of the fact that Astarion hadn’t found the situation nearly as humorous as she had. “I really am sorry. I’ll keep still this time. Promise. Just maybe don’t touch me around the ribs.”

He observed her quietly a moment more. Tav couldn’t decipher what thoughts were percolating behind his expression. But then his lips curved into a sly smile. 

“So, to be clear, what you’re saying is, that if I touch you here,” he began casually, his hand tracing light swirls across her ribs. The skin of her arms and neck immediately broke out into gooseflesh. She mashed her lips together to keep from giggling once more, squirming slightly under Astarion’s touch.

“...it’s especially ticklish for you?” he finished, looking up at her in mock innocence. 

Tav could sense a game was afoot. And she hated losing. Clenching her teeth together, willing herself to keep still, she managed a slight nod. 

“I see,” Astarion said seriously. “And what about if I do this?” he asked before leaning down to blow lightly against the shell of her delicately pointed ear. 

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else besides the urge to laugh and sidle away from him. 

“Oh my,” he intoned. “Seems like that’s dangerous territory as well.”

Tav opened her eyes, taking in the full devilish grin that graced Astarion’s mouth. He was enjoying this. She glared at him.

“All right, all right,” he placated. “But purely for my own edification,” he continued. “Is this off limits as well?” 

And before she could jerk away, he began tickling her outright. Swinging a leg over her hips to pin her down, his hands were everywhere across her ribs, her soft stomach, and under her arms. 

Tav shrieked with laughter, too distracted by Astarion’s onslaught to keep her voice down. Her hands chased his, attempting to grab them, but he was far too quick. She switched tactics then, bucking her hips in an effort to knock him off of her. But, try as she might, he stayed firmly situated atop her. Above the din of her own noise, she made out his own peals of laughter. 

He sounded utterly carefree. Playful. Filled with joy. 

“I give! I give!” she squealed finally. 

“COULD YOU TWO PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN?!” they heard Shadowheart suddenly shout from across the camp. “SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO REST.”

Grumbles of assent from around the camp floated up after her. 

“SORRY,” Tav shouted with equal fervor, grinning like mad at Astarion. “I’LL TRY SUFFERING IN SILENCE IN THE FUTURE.”

“MUCH APPRECIATED,” Shadowheart returned. 

Astarion rolled his eyes and sighed. “Killjoys, all of them.”

Tav chuckled. Still smiling up at him, she raised her hands in mock surrender. 

“You win, Astarion,” she whispered.

He huffed a laugh as he clasped her hands between his. He bent over to kiss the tops of her fingers lovingly before lifting off of her and lying back down at her side. 

“And what should be my reward, for winning so spectacularly?” he returned quietly, resting a palm against her cheek.

Tav turned her face to kiss his palm before arching her neck, giving him a meaningful smile. 

“I promise to hold still this time,” she teased. 

Astarion chuckled, slipping his hand down her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone. He stopped at her shoulder, clutching it lightly. He lifted himself up so that he could position his mouth precisely against the column of her neck. 

But before he bit down, he pressed a kiss against her neck. It was reverent. Worshipful almost. Tav fought back a shiver, holding good on her promise to remain still. 

When his fangs finally sank into her skin, it was with a gentleness far greater than Astarion had ever shown before. Tav felt only the slightest prick of pain before the icy numbness began to spread under her skin. For the first time since she’d agreed to let him feed on her, the act felt like something other than a means to satiate him. It felt akin to the intimacy she had felt when they had been together that first time, in the moonlit forest following their victory party with the tieflings. They were joined together, even if it wasn’t in the same way as then. 

She hummed contentedly as he continued to drink her in. One hand against his scalp, she combed her fingers through his hair with the devotion of a supplicant. Her other arm lifted to wrap around his waist, rubbing his lower back in slow, measured strokes. 

He groaned softly at the feeling of her embrace. Whether she had meant it to be or not, her caresses were a subtle reminder to withdraw before he took too much of her. Extracting his fangs from her neck, Astarion licked softly at the blood welling from the two puncture marks he’d left in her skin. 

Taking her blood was the nearest thing to a religious experience he had ever had. She tasted holy. As if one drop alone could absolve him of all his past sins. 

“Finished already?” she asked. Her vocal cords vibrated against his lips. A delightful thrum. 

“Mm, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop if I go any longer,” he murmured against her skin. 

She hummed again in acknowledgement. 

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known,” he whispered, planting one last kiss on her neck before rolling off of her. 

“Only for you,” she replied, turning onto her side to face him. She placed her hand gently over his heart. “My star.”

He stilled in surprise. “Wh-what did you call me?”

“My star,” she intoned. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “That’s what your name means, you know. Star.”

Astarion just stared at her, too shocked to speak. Her words had shaken something loose in the back of his mind. Something from long ago. A memory perhaps. Or a memory of a memory. It was so dusty, it was hard to tell. 

Someone else had called him “my star” once. Her face was blurry in his mind’s eye, but she seemed beautiful. Regal, even. And her voice - it was a faint echo, but it sounded so sincere. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He heard Tav’s voice drawing him back from the recesses of his mind. He blinked once, twice, before refocusing on the woman in his arms. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you by calling you that.”

“No… you didn’t. Not at all,” he assured. “I… I think you caused me to remember something… My… my mother used to call me ‘my star,’ I think.” 

“You remembered your mother?” Tav asked, hopeful.

“Barely. It was like peering through fog. But yes… I think I did,” he paused, reflecting. 

Tav remained silent, giving him time to process what he had recalled. 

Finally after a few moments, he squeezed her waist and grinned. Her breath caught in her throat at his expression. 

It was open. Boyish. Happy. 

Quick as a flash, he leaned forward to press a light kiss against her lips. It was chaste. The kind of kiss a man would give the woman he was courting. It was over before she knew it, but still, it felt wonderful. Like another wall had fallen down around his heart. She felt honored to witness it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, clutching her close to him as they settled down to sleep. “Thank you.”

[suugarbabe]

Mattheo Riddle 27 & 36, possibly a smutty end?

(27) "Are you really so oblivious?" (36) "Can I kill him now?" 18+ MDNI!

"oh come on, Matty, he was just being nice! Other people are allowed to be nice to me, yanno," you were doing your best to keep up with his strides. He huffed in annoyance, "Cormac is not people, he's dodgy, a right fucking tosser he is, and he was fucking hitting on you." You scoffed as you followed him through the portrait hole, and through the common room, right up the steps to the boys dorms, "He was not hitting on me, he was just-" Mattheo spun around, cutting you off, shouting at you "Are you really so oblivious?" He was angry, you understood that but for him to scream at you, imply you were daft was too far. Now it was your turn to be frustrated, to be pissed off and now you were going to play with Mattheo's mind. You flicked your wand, opening his dorm door. "Room. Now." you practically spat the sentence at him and you saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. As tough as he was with everyone else, he never yelled at you; you didn't allow it. But he just broke that rule, and now you were seething. He backed into his room, every step he took backwards you took forward until the back of his knees hit the foot of his bed frame. With another flick of your wrist his door was shut and locked, silencing charm applied. "Do you really think Cormac would have any chance with me?" a shudder of a breath left his lips as you ran your finger up his chest, tracing a line beside his tie and up to his neck. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look down at you, "You know you're the only one, I want Matty. The only one I'd let touch me here," you grabbed his hand, placing it between your thighs so he could feel the heat radiating from your cunt, the dampness on your panties that was forming. "Bloody hell," he breathed, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. You ran both hands down his chest now, lightly scratching at him as you made your way to his belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning his trousers as you spoke, "You know you're the only one I want in my mouth, deep down in my throat." A whimper left his pretty pink lips and you dropped to your knees, tugging down his trousers in the process and freeing his cock finally. "Fuck, Y/n," he breaths out when you grab the base and lick the underside and up, wrapping your lips around his leaking head as his hand moves to the back of your head and gives you a little push as you take him fully in your mouth, allowing him to bottom out to your throat just like you said. His hand grips your hair tightly and the burning in your scalp only fuels you further, swallowing around him at the back of your throat before pulling back slightly, working him with your mouth in tandem with one hand as the other comes up to cup and massage his balls. Mattheo is a whimpering mess, doing his best to restrain himself from just grabbing hold of your face and fucking your mouth until he's spilling down your throat. You grab his thighs, raking your nails down the flesh as you bob your head faster, deeper each time until you're nearly gagging each time. "Fuck," he hisses as you scratch down his legs, "you keep doing that, princess and I'm gonna be filling your mouth." You can't help but laugh to yourself given the current state your mouth is in, the vibrations from this on his cock being exactly what sends him over the edge and you grab hold of his ass, holding him deep in your throat as you swallow around him, lapping up everything he's giving you in his release. You slowly release him from your mouth as he's panting. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, gathering a little bit of his release that managed to leak out before pressing his thumb into your mouth and you're sucking on it greedily, savoring the last of him. "Feel better?" You ask as he's stuffing himself back into his uniform. He's still panting, catching his breath but he nods. You know he's still probably angry and this is confirmed when Mattheo gently cups your cheek, kissing your forehead, "I'm going to pay you back for that in the best way later tonight. But, can I kill him now?" You sigh, nodding your head and in a flash he's out the door.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I remember your submission about H and national security implications. So, with the new Boris revelation- that he had a talk about Harry just before megxit to convince him to stay- what do you think about this from a national security angle?

To me, it seems, that the uk govt also realised what the possible implications could be if Harry's loyalties landed on the wrong side. Do you think that is why, as a last resort, the then PM was recruited to have an informal chat with him? Obviusly harry is so thick and daft, that he would take any allegations of possible defection very poorly. But, surely that must have been a point of discussion at the palace as well as 10 downing.

It seems that everyone but Harry, took his leaving very seriously. And he didn't realise the repercussions until just recently. What else do you will could think might come out about megxit?

So first, the palace has announced that they never asked Boris to speak to Harry. I think what probably happened is one of the following two scenarios:

Scenario A: The Queen discussed Megxit with him in one of their weekly audiences and he thinks she’s asking him to problem solve this, so Boris steps in.

Scenario B: It was Charles/Clarence House that asked Boris to step in and not the palace, but Boris doesn’t know the difference. (Which is very plausible considering that he confirmed in his memoir he never read his briefing papers and often learned things from The Queen herself.)

Second, there’s no national security angle to this. It was made very clear that take away their demands in the Megxit Manifesto - which the BRF did at the Sandringham Summit - the Sussexes didn’t actually have a plan for what they were going to do. Where would they live? Were they going to lease/rent or buy? What would they do about transportation? How would they pay for their expenses? For childcare? For security? What would they do for work? Would they immigrate or just live there? What kind of visas did Harry need? Could they keep their diplomatic passports or did they need to get regular ones? Etc, etc. That’s probably how they got the 1-year trial period; there was no plan and the little plan there was wasn’t realistic.

The BRF was doing everything they could to make the Sussexes wake up to the reality that the grass wasn’t greener on the other side and that Harry, especially, was too dependent on the machinations of the monarch - living expenses paid for, generational wealth, do-nothing career, household staff, drivers - to be able to manage it exclusively and entirely alone without support. Since the Sussexes weren’t listening to the BRF, someone thought an “outsider” might be able to make them listen and Boris (who’s very much equally privileged and tone-deaf on similar issues) was chosen. Or self-appointed.

I think had the BRF called the Spencers in to help, they might’ve had a chance but it was still too late because once Meghan got Archie out of the country, she was gone and if she was gone, so was Harry. The opportune time to get the Spencers involved would’ve been Summer 2019 or right after Africa. But even then, I’m not sure that the Spencers would’ve been able to do anything; at that time, Harry wasn’t speaking to the Earl (he either no-showed or was NFI to Archie’s christening) and he was probably the only one that could’ve made the Sussexes happy, by allowing them to stay in Diana’s home. I know, Althorp wasn’t really her home but the association of Diana to the estate is really strong and probably would’ve mollified the Sussexes long enough for things to cool down but it doesn’t address the issue that Meghan hates the UK and desperately wants the golden glorious glamor of Hollywood.

Harry does seem to have better relationships with Diana’s sisters but I’m not sure they could’ve convinced the Sussexes to change their mind without being able to give them Diana in the way that only Earl Spencer could, as he is the current occupant for Althorp.

But for all I know, maybe they did call the Spencers for help and it just didn’t work. But I don’t think they did, because it would’ve leaked out. Maybe they tried to and Meghan blocked it because she knew once Diana was invoked, it was game over and she’d be stuck. Or maybe she had already invoked Diana to Harry and that’s how she convinced him to do this in the first place and now Diana’s sisters coming in with their version of Diana would undo her hard work.

Anyway. Not really a national security analysis. Personally, I don’t like doing hindsight analysis - where you take everything you know now and apply it to a situation years ago in the last - because then you’re making assumptions and assumptions end up turning opinion into fact. That’s not objective.

I prefer to focus hindsight analysis on “what we knew then” with “what we know now about what we knew then.” Specific to the January 2020 bro-chat, there isn’t much context for that. The only thing that changes is how much anger Harry had at the time, with revelations in all the royal books, towards not being treated exactly the same as William by everyone - his wife, the public, the family, the monarchy, etc.

I can’t comment on the national security aspects of why the PM may or may not have decided to speak with Harry about Megxit because at the time in January 2020, there weren’t concerns about defection or bought loyalty. Not publicly, at least. At the time, the public concerns were about Harry’s relationship with the press, and with that we knew that Harry was friendly with certain members of the press and liked speaking to them because they made him feel important. Remember, the interview with the Russian pranksters where the general public began to realize “wait a minute…” wasn’t until March 2020.

I don’t know that I have anymore predictions for Megxit. Obviously the biggest issue is whether Archie is “of the body” as there’s been a lot of speculation Megxit happened (partially) to obscure that. I’m not sure we’ll ever get the answer to that.

Some other guesses:

Exactly when, where, and with whom all the contract negotiations for their content deals (Quibi, Netflix, Spotify, The Bench, Penguin Random House, and Oprah) began. There’s a lot of very plausible speculation that these talks (and Netflix filming) began way before 2020.

The press lawsuits - who, what, where, when, and how. I want to know everything - who finally convinced Harry to sue? What role did Elton really have in it? Who’s bankrolling the lawsuits? Did Harry seek lawyers out or did lawyers seek Harry out? How much influence did Meghan have on the lawsuits? Were the lawsuits preemptive to get Fleet Street to stop investigating or talking about the inconsistencies in Archie’s birth?

The exact details and timing of how Megxit went down. Who stayed with Archie, and where, while the Sussexes were in the UK each time? Who financed their expenses? When did Trudeau learn that he was footing their entire bill and how long before he booted the Sussexes - was it immediate or was it only when the public began complaining? When did Meghan start complaining about Canada and began demanding they move to the US? When did Oprah and Tyler Perry come into the picture? How long did they really plan to stay in Canada before moving to the US? Did they take advantage of the Covid panic to expedite their US move or were they already in the US before the revenge tour? What did/does Dan Wootton know that he didn’t publish? What did/does Scobie know about Megxit? Was the BRF aware that the goal was always to move to the US? Did the BRF really believe it was the media that made the Sussexes quit? Did the Sussexes really quit monarchy or did The Queen actually fire them as speculated

[g1rlken]

┏ 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 ┐

part3.

Alex turner x fem!actress reader

an: this part gives slightly “the Peter” by Taylor Swift vibes

word count: 3.6k+

Warnings: mention of depression

-

It was difficult to keep on going on your whim, time and time again looking for reasons to belittle or make it difficult for y/n to work on this project. She absolutely regretted come to this godawful grassland for the world’s pettiest man’s song. Not that he hadn’t moved on, y/n would see him: hand around shoulder, slipping down the waist as he’d laugh with one of those model stand ins. Every meal. The common dining area of the hotel they stayed at, Alex was the charming machine to all these lady guests of his. She couldn’t keep on distracting herself talking to the rest of crew, small talk was fine and longer conversations were embarrassing. She felt ambushed talking about her acting hiatus because the general narrative was that she got way too into her own head, she probably did but what business was that to the intern Sam who was a disguised coffee guy. She kept on telling herself and everyone else that the ‘whole thing’ wasn’t a ‘big deal’ but god forbid someone mentions an award function, her tone would immediately get guarded as if she was being tested. As if she was on that stage again being a laughingstock. Too much. She didn’t talk at all, hence decided to order room service for almost all her meals.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Y/n exclaimed slumping her shoulders down. There was a rain forecast on their original location so they changed production to a planned cliff, second day of the same shoot and the municipality shut down entry to the place because of supposed lightning forecast. It was taking forever to finish this godforsaken music video.

“They said they’re closing it for a week.” Richard informed her with a sigh, bummed out himself. Too much time on production as it is, getting to a peculiar location as such. From the centre to outskirts through the hilly roads it was already such a hustle only to find the place shut down. “The studio said we might as well extend a while for the location since we came all this way.”

The whole crew was growing increasingly restless on this project, no more than y/n and no less than Alex who was apparently enjoying the sights. A smirk on his face, clicking a picture of the no entry sign for the joke of it, snickering as he did so. It just fuelled her annoyance. “Cant we just shoot here? We drove four hours to come here!” Y/n proposed pointing to the open grass landscape, the whole place was just gigantic dunes of grass and grey skies. The first two days of shoot, it was beautiful. With more and more delays it was the most daft place ever.

“We have done the landscape part we need a cliff shot now…” Richard trailed off with a sigh, “Look, guys, let’s stay positive yeah? We can maybe find a new location”

“We can’t, they close the roads by sundown remember? It’s already 2, I don’t think we can make it.” Alex added into the conversation, his tone was laced with amusement so bad it made y/n infuriated but she didn’t say a word given he was a master of creating a scene. Absolute zero fellowship in him, he was enjoying everyone else’s suffering coming all this way just to spite her.

“Don’t we have a pass for it? With the shooting permit?” Y/n inquired about it, such remote locations generally allow access to a shooting team on permit.

“Guess who forgot it at the hotel?” Giving a disappointed look to Sam, the coffee guy/intern.

Deadpanning her face y/n rubbed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Disappointment clouded her problem solving abilities “Don’t we have any cliff other equivalent location in this stupid place?” She said with a scoff. Every place looked identical anyways.

“What a great idea!” Alex exclaimed ironically joining his hands together, his classic taunting was about to follow “How about we find her a park bench, will that be cliff equivalent for you?”

It had already been a lot of days of this mockery and a miserable time here. At hotel, the locations, failed shoots, his constant jabs were resulting in a lot of piled agitation. “Shut the fuck up.” She said blatantly.

Richard widened his eyes as did the crew, they were busy in finding network to make the maps work and Google nearest new locations but this was rather difficult to not be moved by, Alex too, “excuse me?” he was taken aback to say at least. Raising a brow he leant forward as to express his offended demeanour.

“The whole crew is really tired, we all woke at 4 am. Packing, equipment, dress, make up-to drive all the way here only to not shoot. If you can’t contribute stop irritating people who are actually working.” She told him off crossing her arms, shifting her weight on one leg.

“Is that so? What are you doing except for whining?” Alex said with a bitter laugh.

“This is stupid” she shook her head, instantly deciding to not engage anymore given she was here for work not engage in petty conversation with him besides in front of the whole crew it was anyways unprofessional. “You’re unreasonable” she waved her hand in mid air, crossing her arms as she was turning away.

“You haven’t changed a bit. Go on go leave, you’ve never had it in yourself to stay when things get difficult.” Alex scoffed, absolutely unfiltered in front of the whole crew perhaps purposely harsh.

“Alex, I’m being professional here you don’t have to go that far.” She replied with a frown on her face, surface level comprehension of his words which she knew would hurt so much, they already were but she wanted to be removed from this conversation before he made matters worse.

“Oh you’re being professional now?” To him, anything to do with her wasn’t professional. For exaggeration, if she even breathed in his direction he was agitated. Just a huge grudge to not see beyond professionalism. “Such a professional in everything you messed up your most serious two year long relationship.”

“I know it wasn’t mutual and I regret you were hurt but this isn’t the place to have that conversation now-“ she tried to reason with him in a subtle way, instead of biting back like him she could’ve approached with bitterness of how it’s been half a year since they parted, how he was seemingly moving on yet constantly berating her for leaving.

“You don’t get to decide where and when we have this conversation? You’ve already decided enough for me.” He said mockingly, his gaze fixated on her as he stared her down. He wasn’t aware for the root of his hurt and anger, originally he knew it was because she left him yes. But other than that, the fact that she felt like just waltzing back into his life through small talk or the fact that she didn’t waltz back into his life. It was the later. She decided to break up without of a second thought because she deemed it right for him, thinking she was a burden. She decided to leave for him and all he wanted was her. Back then and even now he didn’t know what he was trying to prove to her but it was surely drifting her father from him and he didn’t know how to stop that so he just let his anger out, “Tell me, is it better now? You learned to cook did you? You take your own meds on time…if you actually do? You attend all possible award shows you’re nominated in?” He scoffed, reminding her all such things he was helping her through and she refused him. He couldn’t stomach that she wanted to heal without him and it was a rather low blow when he mentioned the award show thing, she didn’t attend award shows at all even now. He kept tabs even after the break up because It brought him a sort of reassurance that she wasn’t completely alright, not without him. He loved her so infatuatedly he didn’t know how to act.

Y/n was sick to her stomach as he went on and on, in front of everyone just spewing out her personal miseries. “You don’t get to play the martyr just because I didn’t want your help.” To think that man that once hand fed her all which he cooked, with so much love, the man who set alarms to remind her for her medicines and the award show thing. He knew it was and still is a sensitive subject for her, he put her in the exact same situation like back up at that stage again. Right now amongst the camera crew, it was just a handful of people and y/n felt increasingly uncomfortable yet he didn’t stop talking.

“I’m not playing the martyr but I didn’t asked to get left either.” He said emphasising on the word ‘didn’t’ right back at her. He wouldn’t say it but this whole lashing out was not because she didn’t want his help but because she didn’t want him and that still word.

“It’s been…” she paused, “six months.” It was really hard to see him say all that so easily and she could barely formulate words trying to fight back tears simultaneously. Just how could he show indifference so such extent.

“I’m aware.” He scoffed changing his stance looking away for one second, contemplating if he should go on because he did take a not of her quivering voice she always did that when she was about to cry, he could recall from their time together and that reminder just fuelled him even more. He knew her like the back of his hand back then, even now, yet she walked way. “You were scared I’d leave you if I got to know you were depressed but when I chose to stay you were even more scared and left me. It is so difficult to love let alone work with you!”

“Work, yes of course” she nodded slowly registering the hurt of his words bit by bit because he was going further from far. “I’m going to go revise…” she told Richard, rest of the crew as well. All who’d been witnessing this conflict awkwardly and painfully silently. Y/n couldn’t look at anyone’s faces as she walked back to the trailer, it was a bus in itself because the whole crew travelled together but if the universe had any ounce of mercy left for her nobody would join her this very moment. Her ears were numb to the silent background, she thought Alex would have the last word surely but he didn’t. She walked the longest walk back to the trailer, closing the door behind her. There was a heavy feeling in her chest, the mechanical setting of sadness. Her heart racing, mind replaying the whole ordeal. Every word, everyone’s surprised faces. She wanted to break down, tears already brimmed her eyes but then again if they were to resume shooting on a new location the very same day her eyes would be so puffy and displaying that to the makeup crew. After everything they witnessed, absolutely not. She paced back and forth air drying her tears, trying to divert her mind. She did. She thought about the dreadful night of their breakup again, she must’ve put Alex in this very situation back then. His pleading, begging voice. The man who was on his knees for her who wanted her to do anything but leave, just how right now she wanted him to do anything but keep talking. But well, both things happened and the later was the consequence of the first one. She had nobody but herself to blame and the inherent guilt crept right back in.

-

Thankfully, there was no resumed shooting later that day given the rain check was really bad to commute to another location as well so the crew all returned back to the hotel. Four hours, just staring out the window. Fixated completely y/n didn’t even look at anyone the entire ride and nobody approached her even. Straight into her room at the hotel, for dinner she ordered just room service. After an awaited long breakdown in her room she couldn’t go down and have dinner with the rest of them, the breakdown session was as it is evident on her face plus everything was so awkward after the whole ordeal. Everyone looked at her with agitating sympathy, as if her dog had passed.

She opened the door to “Room service!” knock, taking the food in, not exactly meeting the eyes somewhat hiding her face as if she was some alleyway dealer. “Thanks.”

“Miss y/l/n, I’m really sorry for what you’re going through.” The room service guy told her out of courtesy and also genuine compassion.

“What?” She was immediately confused, what exactly was he referring to?

“The whole…your ex-I was there.” He explained, not sure how exactly to term Alex lashing out on her in front of everyone. But he wanted her to know his sympathies lay with her “I was assigned by the hotel to the filming crew as a local here” he said referring to why exactly he was there in the first place.

“Oh.” Y/n nodded, wonderful. This whole interaction had the same feeling of a funeral when someone explains how they’re related to the person in subject however in this case y/n was full well alive. “Yeah…thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“For the record, I’ve seen almost all of your movies and I have loved you in every single one of them and your order is the most easiest order to make. So you’re not difficult to love or work with I’ll have you know.” He tried to be hospitable and also as a fan, he felt really bad for the actress in question. His heart was there, trying to offer kind words but it just made y/n feel ambushed.

“That’s-that’s really sweet.” She nodded with a small smile regardless. What a time! Even absolute strangers feel sympathetic to her and Alex who-no. “It means a lot…”

“Always. If you need anything, the restaurant is open till 11.” He said politely and pushed out the empty cart out of her room and bid her goodnight.

Just as she was about to close the door as the cart moved out, a foot stepped in the middle refraining her from closing it completely so she opened it instead to see who it was. “Hi.” Alex said as he tilted his head forward, he didn’t think she’d actually open the door to him.

Y/n just took a deep breath, visibly raising her guard she did not have anything to say him at this point and she couldn’t believe he had something more to say. She just stood there, trying to appear stiff but with just the first glance he could tell she had been crying. Crying really bad. He wanted to apologise, after a lot of thinking over the words shared he felt like he crossed a line. Especially with what he said, he said in front of everyone. He messed up. Apologies came cheap, he didn’t know what to say. “The shots from yesterday came in, it’s good. It’s great. Beautiful-you were beautiful.”

Tears were already formulating her eyes, just at the sight of him. The casualty of his tone after what he did, she wanted the slam the door in his face so that’s what she attempted too. Slowly closing the door but he stopped her again, “please, can we talk”

“Just go…” she sighed averting her gaze from him so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He leant a bit lower to see her face, conforming the tears she was trying to hide. He wanted to reach out and hold her but he was just out here in the lobby. He experimented professing further and she did let him inside, dejectedly moving aside y/n just didn’t want to see his face anymore.

Getting inside Alex softly closed the door behind him, anxiously she was pacing back and forth. He once made fun of her, he called this method of hers “air-drying tears, love?” he asked. She did not want him here in the first place so he didn’t breach that boundary, stopping by the small of hallway to her hotel room a few steps by the door.

“Why are you even here?” She asked firmly as she had been successful to air dry her tears back. It wasn’t pride, maybe on the prideful spectrum but she would not cry in front of him even though it hurt like hell.

“I know I can’t make things right after what I said today, I shouldn’t have said that. Especially not in front of everyone like that-you, you were at work.” He said in a calm tone leaning against the wall, “I’m sorry…I’m really sorry.”

“Okay.” She nodded without even looking at him, barely acknowledging his words because she was fixated on not breaking down at this very second.

“That’s it?” He asked, not frustrated just underwhelmed that his genuine apology accounted for so much less? “Okay?” He couldn’t tell if she was okay with it in a true sense or if she was being passive aggressively ignorant about it.

“What do you want me to say?” Y/n asked scrunching her brows as she crossed her arms.

“We are not at the best terms, I know. We both messed up, you were trying to be civil. Today I crossed a big line, I know. I really want to just make things right-“

“Then why don’t you just leave?!” She stopped his self serving closure set apology mid way, “You are here in the first place just to spite me aren’t you? To give me a hard time and so far Alex, you have been very successful-“ she was so angry, she couldn’t hold her her tears anymore as they streamed down her face breaking her voice.

“Hey, hey” he cooed softly as he approached her in small steps. Ever since he saw her face, evidence of a long breakdown on it he had wanted to just pull her into his embrace. Now she was crying again and he couldn’t fight the urge as he gently placed his hands on her shoulder to soothe her.

The familiarity of his touch, his consolation punched y/n back to the good years just him and her and they rarely had these moments where she would be falling apart but she knew that if she did, he’d be there. Just like how he was here. But this time it wasn’t healthy, this wasn’t right even if it felt so. She pulled herself away from him shaking her head as she sat on the bed of her hotel room crying into her hands.

Hesitantly he followed her, this was all so instinctive. “Y/n…” he trailed off as he knelt in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed. She had covered her face with her hands so he tried to gently remove them as to see her face. “It’s alright, you’re alright.” He soothed as he finally got to see her weeping face. He kept on wiping her tears as new flew down her face. “You are so much stronger than this, you’ve been okay before. You’ll be okay again, just breathe.” This is what he was perfect at, piecing her back together. She held the colour only his paint brush knew.

This scenario was almost like an extremely long déjà vu, this exact scenario y/n had been here so many times. Him comforting her, so willingly and so warm. As if it was worth being this hurt, she couldn’t get words out through her crying, that perfectly but she didn’t have to for he already knew. To be loved is to be known and he knew her like she was the last thing he’d ever know, the last he’d learn. “Can I hold you?” He asked softly, eyes expectant for a yes.

Nodding she hesitantly met his eyes and she recognised Alex for Alex. After so long, she didn’t think about anything else but the familiarity of the lover she once held. The one who was holding her now. He stood up and sat beside holding her, enlacing his arms around her. A warm embrace shielding her from an awful time he inflicted on her.

She returned his embrace as well, his hand rubbing her back in a repetitive motion her weeping dying down but he didn’t let go. He didn’t want to.

Alex nestled her closer to him, words unsaid and a vague understanding. Neither of them broke the cocoon of warmth. It almost felt like a fever dream to y/n, she wasn’t aware of any reality she’d let herself be in this situation in. But here she was. Slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms. He could tell she was, he settled the two of them in a lay-down position on the bed. He didn’t think she could fall asleep and he also didn’t want to move. With her small grip at his shirt with the two of them cuddling he figured she wouldn’t want him to leave either.

He planned to leave silently once she was sound asleep, as time went on he didn’t realise when he drifted off to sleep too. Just holding her in his arms, cuddling the two of them slept on their grievances entangled with one another.

—

HIII!!! I’ve got like two more chapters left to this pls let me know what you think or I will d!3 and don’t forget to drink water xx

@indierockgirrl @turnersverse @ladydraculasthings @libertyybellls @kelizai @sagegreensimmr @supernaturalandpain

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

OoTP, Chapter 4 - Choosing Sides

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: vague hints at abusive parents (I mean it's Lucius Malfoy)

Masterlist

Word Count: 4291

After Herbology, you tried to catch Draco on his way out.  He seemed preoccupied, and his friends trailed behind him, guffawing over some trinket they tossed back and forth, but he ignored them and you.  They turned away from the castle and you gave up; it wasn’t worth it being late to Potions.

Perhaps you could write him a letter and send it in the post, you thought, absentmindedly stirring the contents of your cauldron.  That should be discreet enough.  It still irked you that you couldn’t just talk to him like a person, but in all truth, you didn’t really want people knowing you were associating with each other either.  He had something of a reputation.

Though by the end of Double Potions you had formulated a plan, as you left the classroom you caught a glimpse of that unmistakable silver hair and green robes turning a corner down the corridor.  You pretended to have left your quill behind, and peeled off from your friends and the stream of students heading to lunch.  The soft pattering of your shoes on the cold stone floor must’ve given you away, for when you turned that same corner, Draco was leaning against the wall, arms folded, waiting for you.

“Why are you following me?”  He looked somewhat harried; his hair hung slightly awry, and the shirt under his sweater vest was uncharacteristically wrinkled.

You stopped, confused.  “I wanted to talk without having to send you a notarized letter.”  His eyes narrowed.  “I had just forgotten that this weekend was Hogsmeade, and I wondered if we could push our meeting to Sunday.”

“Oh.  Sure that’s fine.”  He paused, weighing his words.  “I actually, uh, I’ve changed my mind.  I’ve decided I’d like to work for the Ministry, so I won’t need Herbology after all, so don’t worry about it.”

“What are you talking about?  Is this because I want to reschedule?”

“Don’t be daft,” he snapped.  “I can’t really picture myself doing something so undignified, working for goblins.  The Ministry will be a much better fit for someone of my family’s standing.”

“I see,” you said quietly, taken aback by the venom in his words.

Draco continued quickly, “It’s just that I’ll have more important, more relevant things to focus on, and-and-and you probably do too.”

You nodded curtly, “We agreed we wouldn’t be friends.  You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”  You paused before turning on your heel, “Good luck.”

Saturday morning came early, Wilbur purring on your chest with his wet nose sniffing at your closed eyes.

“Cat, one day you’re going to startle me so much I throw you off this bed, and it’ll be no one’s fault but yours.”  He sat up, tail curled regally around him, waiting.  “I can’t give you treats if you’re on top of me.  Yes, yes I know.”  You threw back the bed curtains and glanced at the enchanted windows.  It was still somehow before dawn; everyone else was still asleep.  You tsked at Wilbur, setting two treats beside him on your bed, and dressed quietly.  You eased your broom out from under your bed and slunk out of your dormitory, then through the round painting door.

Almost a full week into October, the pre-dawn air was bracing as it whipped around you and your broom.  The Quidditch pitch was deserted, thankfully, as it was the only area that allowed unsupervised flying on the whole grounds.  There was nothing you wanted more than to fly through the trees and over the lake, but if anyone caught you they’d confiscate the broom and dock enough points to earn side-eyes until Christmas.  So instead, you circled the pitch as fast as you could go, ignoring the stiff chill in your fingers as they gripped the broom handle. Patches of muddy ground spun by faster and faster until the whole world seemed brown.

“Y/N?”  Your concentration broken, you yelped and had to pull up hard to keep yourself from ramming into a tower.  On the ground, Yvette stood at the ready, broom in one hand and quaffle tucked neatly under the other arm.  She kicked off and met you in the air.  “Something you wanna talk about?”

“Not really.  You don’t get enough fly time during practice?”

She shrugged.  “I got into the habit, you know?  After, I’m awake, and I feel better.  You wanna run some passes with me?”

“Shoot, what time is it?”  You’d forgotten about Hogsmeade, and the Hog’s Head, and Harry Potter.  The sun was peeking over the trees, casting shadows with the tops of each tower on the pitch.

“Seven thirty, why?”

“I wanted to go to Hogsmeade today, but I can play for an hour.”

Yvette grinned and tossed you the quaffle.  For whatever reason, completing random passes and scoring against imaginary opponents did a much better job of settling your mind than speed-flying in circles, although it was clear from the onset Yvette’s talent far out paced your own.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you remarked breathily, touching down.

She scoffed, “I was always good, I just got better.  So, no tutoring today?”

“Huh?”

“Your Slytherin, you aren’t sneaking off to tutor them?”

You bit your lip, the secret, evidently, out.  “Donna told you?”

“You didn’t think she would?  She tells everyone everything.  Besides, three mornings in a row you don’t come to breakfast?  We were bound to know something was up.  So, you aren’t meeting them today?  Or are you meeting them in Hogsmeade?”

You snorted at the thought of being seen with Draco Malfoy anywhere but a classroom.  “No, no I’m just meeting up with Ginny and Luna.  Besides,” you stretched your arms up, thinking how to phrase it, “I’m not tutoring the Slytherin anymore, they didn’t need much help.”  She shot you a sidelong glance but didn’t press the issue.  

“What about you?  No Hogsmeade today?”

“Can’t, I’m behind on Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts and I do not want Umbridge or McGonagall cross with me.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll get you something from Honey Dukes?”

“Yes, please.”

Filch was in an uncharacteristically chipper mood as he snatched permission forms from nervous third years, grinning maniacally all the while.  You couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the alternative, and an uncomfortable thought crossed your mind.  What did willingly keeping on such a dour sadist, one seemingly convinced torture was a reasonable punishment for misbehaving children, say about Dumbledore?  An uncomfortable thought, no doubt.

Across the courtyard, Ginny was holding hands with her newest boyfriend, who laughed abruptly at something she said.  A twinge of jealousy spun in your gut.  Ginny was, in a word, cool.  Funny, talented, witty, and quite genuine, it was difficult not to like her.  There was certainly a reason she was popular.

You looked around for Luna.  She, on the other hand, often gave the impression that she could be perfectly content to never speak to another person ever again.  You’d asked her once, unsure, if your presence was wanted at all.  She’d assured you that she quite enjoyed the company in her typical lilting, ethereal tone.  Finally, you spotted her at the edge of the courtyard on a stone bench, sitting with impeccable posture and clearly thinking deeply about one thing or another. She rose smoothly when you approached, smiling faintly as that faraway look refocused on you.

“Hey Luna,” you began, “Do you mind if I join you for the morning?”  The crowd began to filter out and down the road to Hogsmeade.  

She nodded gently, “I’m headed to Gladrags - all of my socks are infested with wrackspurt eggs.”  She lifted her pant leg to show a sockless foot sitting loosely in a shoe.  “They are an endangered species, after all.”

“Sure, sure.  My mum loves those, I can get her an early Christmas gift.”  Luna’s penchant for rare and less-than-discovered creatures, while unusual, never phased you too much.  After all, if you ever met an umgubular slashkilter you’d know how to keep it from tearing your throat out, thanks to her.

The morning sun was bright and warm and, thankfully, at your backs as you marched down the road with your classmates.  Chimney smoke peeked over the hills in a haze, and before long the village was in sight.  You happily followed Luna into Gladrags Wizardwear, where she found a number of socks you knew she’d never wear as pairs, and you picked out a pair that changed patterns with the weather for your mother.  Afterwards, you still had an hour to kill so you opted for Honeydukes.  Acid pops for Yvette, a cauldron cake for Herbert, and a box of liquorice wands for Donna, and Luna sat with you outside as you split a pumpkin pastie.

It was finally warm, and a little uncomfortably so, most of the students that passed you had their coats off and tied around their waists.  A group of third years were gushing loudly about the shrieking shack, each walking with a varied spring in their step.  Across the cobbled street, the door to the hairdresser’s, Clifford’s Scissors, opened and the bell chimed brightly.  Out came Draco Malfoy.

Oh, come on.  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice you, but Luna did.  

She followed your sour gaze and said, “I hear his father is visiting Hogwarts tomorrow.  It is curious why he should appear now of all times.”

You swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin pastie.  “What do you mean?”

“He works very closely with the Ministry.  No one ever invites him, he just announces his arrival.”

“Ah,” you said.  That certainly made some things clearer.

Luna glanced up at the sun.  “It’s almost noon.  Let’s go.”  You picked up the box of candy for your friends and followed her down the road.  Very far down the road.  Almost to the end of the road.  You would’ve thought it was a mistake if there weren’t so many other students you recognized.

Inside the Hog’s Head was… gross.  You wrinkled your nose reflexively.  You sat next to Luna and glanced around.  Harry Potter stood next to one of Ginny’s older brothers (was it Roland?) at the bar with Hermione Granger.  His expression seemed more and more morose with ever new student that came through the door.  You waved to a few Hufflepuffs as they came in, but the group was mostly Gryffindor.  Which, you supposed, made some amount of sense.  Two of Ginny’s other older brothers, whose names you knew because of how often Filch said them like a curse, went around handing everyone a butterbeer.  You took a mug from one of them, you couldn’t tell which, in exchange for two Sickles.  The group sat quietly, gingerly sipping butterbeer from cloudy mugs, waiting.

Finally, the trio sat down, and Hermione began speaking.  She covered essentially what Ginny had said in the hallway a few days ago, but you watched Harry’s face.  She finished with, “I want to be properly trained in Defense because… because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

A palpable shiver coursed through the room, one girl actually screamed a little, which you found rather dramatic.  Zacharias immediately asked for proof.  You leaned forward.  Although you wouldn’t have put it the way he did, you were still torn over who to believe.  Harry scowled, and his answer was unsatisfying, but he still didn’t seem to be lying.  In fact, he seemed quite humble even as Zacharias continued to prod him.  You understood, though he began to grate on your nerves as well.  In the end, you put your name on the list like everyone else, excited and nervous to actually learn something useful.  Before passing it on you glanced through the names discreetly.  Ron.  That’s his name.

The next day was a long slog in the library, oscillating between Transfiguration and Arithmancy homework, and wondering whether Draco Malfoy’s father had arrived at the school yet.  And what his purpose was.  Could it be solely to dissuade his only son from a career deemed beneath him?  It occurred to you that the Malfoys were a step above simply rich - it wasn’t as if they were working for the Galleons.  You looked out the great stained glass windows flanking the door periodically, earning you some quizzical looks from Yvette.  Evening rolled around, with not a single sign of silver hair, and you found yourself in the common room, enjoying the enchanted breeze and the warm glow of the fire, surrounded by candy wrappers, as you watched Donna crush Yvette in Wizard’s Chess.  The round painting door swung open to allow a racket of overlapping voices to spill in, followed by Ernie and Hannah, Zacharias hot on their heels.  They made a bee line for the notice board and pinned something on it.

“What’s this about?” you asked, walking over.

Zacharias turned sharply, agitated, “The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has disbanded all organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs.”  You shared a look with the three of them, all having been present in the Hog’s Head, and remembered your friends’ presence.  He continued, “That means-”

“Quidditch,” you interrupted.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “Quidditch.  Which we will have to beg her to let us play otherwise we’ll be expelled.” Your mouth ran dry.

Yvette piped up, “What?!  She can’t be serious.”

“Can’t she?” Hannah said sourly.

“I’ll go to her office first thing in the morning,” Zacharias assured Yvette, “hopefully we haven’t done anything to upset her.”

That night, sleep did not come easy.  Learning practical skills was one thing, but being expelled for it was entirely another.  Although, if Voldemort really had returned as Harry and his friends believed, Ernie had been right when he said that this was more important than anything else you could do this year.  

You jumped a little, startled, when Wilbur’s furry mass appeared next to your head.  He settled himself at your feet, stepping heavily on your stomach as he went.  

If Voldemort really had returned, expulsion was a minor issue.  You thought of Donna and Yvette, both muggle born, and your dad.  If Voldemort really had returned someone was going to have to fight.  And it couldn’t just be Harry Potter.

As it turned out, Umbridge was only interested in keeping the Gryffindor team in suspense, as you heard from Yvette that the Hufflepuff Quidditch team had been reinstated rather breezily when Zacharias asked.  The fate of Harry Potter’s ‘study group’ remained uncertain, however, and the week trudged on with no news.  

Herbology passed without incident, though you kept stealing glances at Draco to see how he was doing.  By the end of class, his face was red and his eyebrows drawn, but the fanged geranium sat in a pot littered with small, shiny buttons with its toothy maw hanging open, clearly pleased with the trade.  Your own geranium was resting comfortably as you made up limericks on the spot, its own jaw growing looser with every word.  

By the end of the week though, you noticed a number of students you recognized from the Hog’s Head, whispering amongst themselves at dinner.  You hung back when your friends left for the common room, claiming to still be hungry.  Almost immediately, Harry Potter and Ginny’s brother appeared next to the Hufflepuff table.

Ron began, speaking softly, “We’ve found a spot.”

“Oh, good, I was beginning to wonder,” you trailed off.

Harry glanced around, “Tonight, eight o’clock, seventh floor.  Opposite the tapestry of Barn-”

“Barnabas the Barmy.  Got it.”

They nodded conspiratorially and were on their way.  Great.  Now you’d just have to hope no one asked you where you had been all night, and that no one would ever ask you that again.   It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends, but none of you had exactly made it clear to the others what was believed about the whole thing.  And then you’d gone to the meeting, and then you’d put your name down, like joining a secret society.  Should you have included them?  It was risky, to them and to the rest, the more people that knew of the whole thing.  You’d just have to come up with something decent later.

By the time the meeting was over, it was past curfew.  You’d dueled for over an hour with Ernie Macmillan, who seemed more concerned with performing intimidating wand patterns than actually disarming you, so when the DA split up into small groups to go back to their common rooms you ended up with him.  Both prefects for each house represented were in attendance, so they sent out a small group, then a prefect, then a small group, then the other prefect - so that if any were caught, it would look like they’d simply been sent back to their dormitories by the correct authority.

You walked along the dark corridors, enthusing quietly about the whole thing.  Ernie had sustained a small bruise next to his left eye from one of the Creevey’s antics, but he matched your enthusiasm.

Ernie knocked on the great round wooden door, and it swung open quietly, the warm breezes of the common room greeting you.  

Donna looked up from the roll of parchment she stared at hopelessly by the fireplace to watch Ernie bid you a pontifical goodnight.  She waved you over.  “Where have you been?” she asked once you’d sat down.

“Just some studying.”

She gave you a suspicious once-over.  “You’d tell me if you were dating Ernie Macmillan, right?”

You chortled abruptly, the notion absurd and hilarious.  “I would tell you, but I wouldn’t date Ernie Macmillan.  I, uh, ran into him and we got to talking about Transfiguration and we lost track of time.”

“Uh huh,” she said, slowly.  It was unclear whether she fully believed your explanation, but she dropped the subject regardless.  “Well I’ve been sat here since supper working on the Pepperup Potion essay.  So now that you’re back from studying you could help me study.”

“OK, but you have to proofread my essay for Umbridge.”

“Hand it over.”  

There was an unspoken agreement between Draco and yourself to avoid each other indefinitely, broken only after a Herbology lesson on puffapods, during which Draco had forced a spore cloud from the poor thing so large that he and his two friends fainted immediately.  Professor Sprout conscripted you to revive them; a ground mixture of ginger soaked in spirits and petals from the offending puffapod did the trick.  The large boy on the left, you learned his name was Crabbe, startled awake red faced and ready for action.  He looked around sheepishly and shoved your mortar bowl away from his face.  The other one, Goyle, opened his eyes but continued to snore.

You had to shoo away some Slytherin girl who had begun shaking his shoulders, then you held the bowl under Draco’s nose, arm stretched to leave as much room between you as possible.  He looked uncharacteristically peaceful, aside from the green-brown dust that discolored his pale forehead.  His eyes fluttered open, and for a second you thought you could back away before he was truly lucid, but then his cold grey eyes focused on you and narrowed. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, getting to his feet in a hurry.  Crabbe and Goyle immediately began dusting off his robes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Crabbe beat you to it.  “You fainted.  The bloody plant-”

“Get off me.”  He shooed away his lackeys, the rest of the class still staring, the Slytherin girl looking like she’d launch herself at him at her first opportunity.  “I’m fine.”  He did not ask about his friends.

Professor Sprout tried to continue the lesson, but between the constant thrum of quiet gossip and careless handling of the puffapods, it became clear that three people fainting had caused too much excitement.  She sighed and said, “Class dismissed.  I want a foot of parchment on the proper handling of puffapods due next lesson.  Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Malfoy.  If I could have your attention for a moment.  Misters Crabbe and Goyle, you can go.”  She put her hands on her hips and waited for you to approach her.  “Now, am I to understand that you are no longer being tutored, Mr. Malfoy?”  He shook his head, and she turned to you.  “Would you care to tell me why that is?”

Draco interrupted, “I’ve decided I’d rather work with the Ministry.  So I won’t need a Herbology OWL.”

A look of disappointment passed over her face.  “Even so, I can’t imagine you’re happy with such unsatisfactory work.”  Draco’s expression soured.  “Professor Snape has told me what a skilled brewer you are, but let me tell you something.  The best potions can only be brewed, not bought - and that requires the brewer to appraise high quality ingredients.  Which, can you guess, requires a good understanding of what we do in this class.”  Draco deflated a bit, and focused his gaze on his shoes.  “Y/N, that was quick thinking with the ginger - ten points to Hufflepuff.  Why did you have it on hand?”

“Oh, I, uh, I have Potions right after this.”

She gestured to you as if to say there, see what I’m saying?  Her posture softened; her fists uncurled and came to rest at her sides.  “I imagine you are still willing to tutor Mr. Malfoy?”  His gaze snapped to you, his expression unreadable.  

You only hesitated a moment, after all he wasn’t particularly pleasant, but you had improved significantly in Transfiguration all thanks to his brief instruction.  You nodded your head definitively.

Professor Sprout smiled, her cheeks turning rosy again.  “I can’t force you, Mr. Malfoy, but you should consider it.  Now, off you pop!”  She wrote you both notes in case you were late, which you knew you would be, and herded you out of the greenhouse into the cold October sun.

Draco resumed ignoring you, until you stepped into the castle and he said, still not looking at you, “Saturday?”

“Quidditch pitch?”

He nodded.  “I’ll bring the hedgehog.”

“I’ll bring some books,” you finished, and you parted ways in front of the massive fireplace.

Professor Snape was not happy when you arrived at Potions.  “Miss Y/L/N, late again?”

You held out the note.  “I am sorry, Professor.  I do have a note this time.”  He took it unceremoniously, his hooded eyes inspecting Professor Sprout’s signature.  He glanced at you appraisingly, then gestured for you to sit down so he could continue his lesson on Beautification Potion.

Once again, you trudged down the path to the Quidditch pitch far too early on a Saturday.  Draco had already set up the Slytherin themed quilt and his portable fireplace, he was hastily drying some patches of melted frost around the edges of the space.  His back was to you, and hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival, so you set the stack of books you carried down gently and slid the box presumably containing McGonagall’s hedgehog towards you.  He remembered you, apparently, and didn’t protest when you scooped him up and sat him in your lap to wait for Draco to notice you.

“Sicco,” he muttered under his breath.  He checked the watch on his wrist and turned around.  You grinned, and he yelped when he saw you; his eyes narrowed.  “How long have you been sitting there?”

You scratched the hedgehog’s back lightly.  “Only a bit.  We had to get reacquainted.”

His eyebrows knit together.  “I saw you three days ago.”

“I was talking about the hedgehog.”

“Oh, well.  That does make more sense.”  He sat down across from you, apparently satisfied with his handiwork.  “I, uh, just wanted you to know that I-”

“You don’t have to apologize, and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I was going to tell you not to apologize.”

“Me?  Apologize for what?”

“For humiliating me in front of an entire classroom, obviously!”

Your face turned hot.  “You fainted!  What was I supposed to do?”

He crossed his arms, his face equally inflamed.  “Well you didn’t have to come rushing into save me like I was some helpless child.”

“It’s not my fault you ignore Professor Sprout’s instructions.  Would you have preferred to be carried off to the hospital wing?  Your friends fainted too, you know, you could try caring about someone other than yourself.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You gaped at him.  “Everything!  You and your friends fainted.  During class.  And you’re so concerned with appearances you can’t even acknowledge that someone might do something nice for you just for the sake of it.”  You stopped, surprised.  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?  You think I’m going to want something from you.  Right?”  He shrugged.  “Bloody hell.”  You set the hedgehog down and stood up to pace.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Look, I’m… I’m sorry.  Ok?  I keep forgetting I can’t treat you like them.”

You stopped to glare at him, refused to be appeased by what very well may have been the first time he’d apologized for anything in his life.  “Like who?”

“Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Why would you treat your friends like this anyway?”

“Well, they’re not really friends.  Our families go way back, so they’re more like colleagues.”

“That’s ridiculous.”  He shrugged.  You sat back down and pulled the hedgehog back into your lap.  “So, the Ministry, huh?  What would you be doing for them?”  He looked at you suspiciously.  “Fine, don’t tell me.  I just hope it was your idea, and not your dad’s.  We’ve got a lot of work to do.”  You dropped the stack of books you brought into his lap and pointed at the one on top.

[konigsblog]

Capt. MacTavish nsfw headcannons

you know whos a dummy and somehow miss read the prompt and thought 'oh write a little based on the title' me. :) would love to hear what you currently have as wip, but here's what I whipped up before for I re-read the post, and understood what it actually said :))

Unlike the sweet Sargent MacTavish, this man is mean disciplining you for the slightest of mistakes, any thing to see how whiny and glossy eyed you get from a rough punishment.

Very hairy an' musky, he's got a strong aftershave that has you hooked on the scent, while he gives you beard burn nuzzling into you neck and pounding your sweet cunny :))

Im a sucker for wearwolf!Soap and Capt. MacTavish is fuckin feral during a rut, talking claw marks and deep red bite marks all over, I mean how else will everyone else know your his?

Branching off wearwolf habits, he's very into marking, everyone knows not to look at the captains possession for to long, not after the last soldier got reamed for trying to start a friendly conversation, they soon switched bases.

Big in to you calling out his rank when he's fucking you "yeah, you like that, whorin' your self for ya' captain ya' slag?" And "Such a good soldier for your captain"

He mocks the way you moan, so whiny "hm uh ah, hear yourself Bonnie? Such a mess, all for me"

He'll complain but he loves the cat scratches you give his back, all marked up, he'll make sure to show em' off in training, taking of his shirt unnecessarily :) (at least the view is great)

Rough choke holds during sex and manhandling all the way>>>>

Somehow helping trim his hair and beard always ended up with steamy shower sex as a reward for you help, no other reason ;)) (he just wanted an excuse to fuck your brains out, and the help was nice)

Have you seen this man make a molotov, very good with his fingers, stuffing them in till you squirt relentlessly all over his fingerless gloves, and bullying you for how easy your being right then, just a pretty hole for him to stuff :((

Speaking of stuffed you can not convince me that this man isn't in to anal putting a pretty plug into your unused hole while he makes a slick mess of you swollen cunny

Capt. MacTavish likes his sex messy, and he makes not effort to hide that, drooling over your hole, and leaving sloppy kisses everywhere

Loves receiving head, a hand tangled at your scalp shoving your head into the sweet curly hairs at the base of his cock, reveling in your chokes and gags while you drool all over his dick

At least a solid 6 inches, and thick like needs at least 2 orgasms worth of prep so fit into your tight cunny, and he'll bully you for it,

"c'mon lass, you can fit a little more" coaxing your little hole into taking him all the way to base, ignoring your little mewls and whines, it'll fit :))

To end of these little blurbs '09 Soap likes having you sob over how overwhelming his pretty cock is, licking the salty tears off your face while he fucks your cunt so sweetly :))

Hope this was a good read (even though I very much didn't understand the assignment) and thank you for tagging me, I always enjoy your works so hope you like this :))

-Much love (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

i love these sosososo much :((( he's so mean grhrhgrrgrgrgegs, here's some ideas ive been thinking about;

09!soap with pup!reader; teasing, he loves to mock and tease you. listening to your howls, forcing a muzzle around your face, pulling on your tail harshly while he fucks your tight ass, asshole stretching to allow his girth. and you're drooling soso much, his full balls slapping against your ass while he degrades you, rubbing your clit with his thumb causing you to squirt all over the couch :(( “quiet, pup. so fuckin' needy, aren't ye'? yer' such a daft slag, so needy for my cock, hm?”

dadbod!soap; he's so hairy and chubby, loves when you grope at his flesh, rubbing your slick along his pubes and body hair with your nose buried in his armpits, inhaling the scent from his armpit :(( loves 69 with you because he knows you can't take him fully; he slams his hips skywards into your mouth, the tip slamming against the back of your throat, gags filling the rooms silence, his tongue grazing at your cunt.

and i also think he's around 6 inches, very girthy and thick. probably a few veins along your shaft and base, he's uncircumcised as well.

has so much snark and attitude, loves seeing your hurt expression, placing you in a headlock when you talk back, forcing you to call him captain while he chokes you out. “f-fuc-k..! please - soa-p, let me go -!!” you wail in desperation, gasping and scratching at his arms. “that's captain tae you, bonnie, c'mon, you're barely tryin'..”

[saintsenara]

scylla and charybdis - a snippet

severus snape/lord voldemort explicit graphic depictions of violence | major character death

i'm having the time of my life writing regulus being a complete flop... so much so that the next chapter of scylla and charybdis - which if i manage to display basic executive function [...] will be posted tomorrow - features him really getting into the swing of his "i hate you" / "i don't know you exist" arc with barty crouch jr.

The two of them were in the library. Severus was trying to decipher the emerald-inked opinions which covered the latest edition of Advances in Potioneering, which the Dark Lord had sent that morning. Regulus - despite the fact that he was ostensibly there to revise for his OWLs - was picking morosely at his quill, sighing - theatrically and insufferably - at ever narrower intervals.

Severus couldn’t take it any longer.

‘Don’t you have work to be doing? Your exams start next week.’

Regulus looked at him with a hangdog expression. ‘I think the Dark Lord has written to Crouch.’

‘Well, yeah. Obviously. He’s the head of the Department of Magical Law -’

[He stopped dead in the doorway, the vial of Veritaserum almost slipping from his shaking fingers, the Mark continuing to sear and throb on his left arm, the elf Dumbledore had ordered him to collect sniffling and muttering to herself as she peered around his legs.]

‘I don’t see what’s so bloody special about him. He’s a weirdo! We have Herbology with them and he just sits there muttering to himself like a freak. He’s not important. He’s not popular. And I know everyone acts like he’s a genius, but he’s not that clever… I just don’t understand why the Dark Lord would be interested in him…’

[There was a hollow-eyed man - his flaxen hair dishevelled, his fingers stained with nicotine and ink - sprawled in the chair, where Moody had been only minutes before.]

Oh, right. Of fucking course. Severus - gold-plated moron that he was - had allowed himself to think that Regulus was occasionally capable of not being as thick as mince, but - nope - it was too much to ask that he would be having a conniption over a matter of actual political importance. He was worrying about Crouch Junior - someone he inexplicably saw as his mortal enemy, but whom Severus (and, he’d have put money on it, pretty much everyone else in the castle) couldn’t have picked out of a line-up of one.

[‘Crouch! Barty Crouch!’]

‘I mean…’ Severus paused, determined to find a way of phrasing his next point which didn’t involve calling Regulus a daft cunt (although he couldn’t deny he was tempted…). ‘It’s because of his dad. You get that, right? His dad’s the person responsible for the Ministry’s entire campaign against the Dark Lord. He’s basically the second most important person in the government… And there have been rumours that he’s next in line for the top job for years. The Dark Lord’s obviously going to want to keep an eye on him. He probably just wants Crouch to pass information about what his dad’s doing. It’s not that he thinks Crouch is brilliant, or whatever. It’s just that he can offer him something useful. And you - well - it’s not that you can’t - obviously - but…’

He trailed off as - for the first time that evening - Regulus opened a book. Although it wouldn’t have hurt him - Severus thought - to do it without an expression of smacked arse disdain which made him look exactly like his fucking brother.

[He looked exactly like his brother.]

[As he sulked his days away in the dank little cave which passed as Grimmauld Place’s kitchen, making Molly Weasley trot around him like a house elf and acting like cleaning was beneath him; as he stayed up until sunrise and got out of bed at dinnertime; as he stopped shaving or showering or making any effort to hide the haunted look in his eyes; as he regressed to a teenager, with a mardy slope to his shoulders and a petulant twist to the mouth which Azkaban had filled with rotting teeth… He looked exactly like his brother. He shouldn’t have - Reg had never been anything other than soft and delicate, pink-and-white like a blancmange; Sirius had become a calcified wreck after twelve years of agony - but he looked so much like his brother.]

‘I don’t care.’

Severus jabbed his quill into his ink-pot, to make a note about a modification to the Draught of Living Death the Dark Lord had described as audacious. ‘It seems like you do.’

‘Well I don’t.’

‘Fine.’

They sat in stony silence, Regulus turning pages with ostentatious stroppiness, Severus debating whether to take advantage of this sulk to finish his reading or tell him to stop sitting there with a face like a -

‘I just think,’ he said, setting his quill down, ‘that if Crouch didn’t bother you, you wouldn’t -’

‘He doesn’t bother me! I just don’t see why he gets to have everything for no good reason and I -’

‘- have convinced yourself that he’s important. Nobody else thinks he is. I mean -  Look… I wasn’t going to tell you this, because it’s none of your business -’

‘Tell me what?’

‘And so if I tell you - if I do you the favour of telling you - can you keep your trap shut?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Can you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was at a meeting. Of the - you know - over Easter.’

‘What, really?’

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Their positions reversed. Regulus down from his toffee-nosed tower, him atop some magnificent pillar. Regulus looking up at him with glittering eyes - as he always did when Severus spoke of the Dark Lord - like a peasant gazing upon some holy man, capable of speaking directly to God.

‘Yep,’ he said, with a primping quirk of his lip. ‘The Dark Lord personally asked for me to be there. And he didn’t mention Crouch at all. He’s not a priority, or a favourite, or anything like that. He’s only reaching out to him so he can use him for his own ends. You should be flattered he thinks more of you than to do the same.’

[No.]

[He should have run.]

[salvador-daley]

Clone | Part 1

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan | 🍆🍑👀

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this forever and it just seems like a waste to have it languishing in my WIPs folder, so I’m gonna split it into three (increasingly sexy) parts and give y’all one a week. It’s not strictly RPF - more like original characters based on you-know-who. If you like this chapter, please lemme know coz it’ll motivate me to write the *ahem*… climax.

CW: Smutty but very tame by my standards. Includes numerous health & safety violations at work culminating in a blow-job related accident.

Words: 2.5k

Gif by @circumstellars

THE LAB is quiet. Everyone else went home hours ago. As you raise your head from your microscope, you’re not expecting to feel two soft hands enveloping your eyes. The sensation startles you, but then a gentle Irish voice whispers in your ear, “Guess who?”

“Graham Norton,” you say with confidence.

He lifts his hands from your eyes and pops his head over your shoulder.

“Do I really sound like Graham Norton,” he says, pretending to be offended.

You reach up to your boyfriend’s face with a smile and bring his familiar lips to yours.

“Only sometimes,” you say once your mouths part. “How did you get in here? Didn’t you get stopped by security?”

“What, old man Joe on the door?” he asks, perching on the lab stool next to yours. “Nah, we’re old friends, me and him.”

You give him a questioning look.

“I signed some stuff for his granddaughter,” he says by way of explanation.

You roll your eyes; Joe is such a pushover. Considering the kind of work you’re involved in, one would think your employers would be keen to enforce stricter security protocols.

“It should not be that easy to get in here. This is highly sensitive work,” you say, shaking your head as you carefully pack away your slides.

“What’re you working on, anyway?” he asks, squinting to look down your microscope.

You slip your hand over it, obscuring his view.

“Listen, Irish,” you say, using his preferred nickname, “this is top secret shit, okay? You can’t just come in here and start messing around.”

“C’mon,” he says, flashing you his trademark smile. “I’m just trying to take an interest in my girlfriend’s work.” His hands loop around your waist and he draws you closer. You feel his hot breath on your face as his lips find yours again, kissing away your protestations.

His face comes away and you look into his deep green eyes. Much like old Joe succumbs to his charms with frightening regularity, Irish has on more than one occasion convinced you to bend the rules for him with his formidable powers of persuasion.

This is different though, this could get you into a lot of trouble. The lab might be deserted, but still you look around to check if the coast is clear.

“Okay, if I show you this one thing you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone,” you say.

He raises three fingers to his forehead and smiles.

“Scout’s honour,” he replies.

“This is Pedro,” you say, lifting the small white rabbit from its cage and holding it tightly to your body.

“Aw, hey, Pedro!” Irish says, reaching out to pet the shivering creature’s ears. “Is this what you wanted to show me? Because I’ve seen a bunny rabbit before, you know.” He pulls his hand away and lets out an exaggerated gasp, reaching up to his cheeks in simulated shock. “You’re not going to dissect Pedro, are you? You monster!”

You bat him lightly on the arm. “No, don’t be daft, I’m not going to hurt him,” you say, carrying the small animal to the other side of the lab. “We’re just going to do a little experiment, aren’t we, Pedro?” you add, murmuring into the rabbit’s soft fur.

You lead Irish and the rabbit to the end of the lab, where two large Perspex cylindrical booths reach from the floor to the ceiling. A short series of satisfying pips accompanies your fingers on the keypad belonging to the left booth, the curved wall of which rolls open, allowing you to carefully place Pedro on the floor inside. A few seconds, the door slides closed automatically and you move to the large dual computer monitors at a nearby desk, tapping away at the keyboard.

“If you’re going to make him disappear, wouldn’t it be easier to use a big top hat?” Irish quips.

“Shush, I’m concentrating,” you admonish him. Finally, and with a flourish, you hit the Enter key.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says a computerised voice, followed by a flurry of electronic whirring sounds that echo around the empty lab.

Irish’s eyes search for the source of the noise before settling eventually at the end of the lab. Slowly, both cylinders begin to fill with neon green smoke until the rabbit has disappeared completely beneath the heavy fog.

“Pedro!” he cries. “You fucking gassed him!”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” you assure him.

He steps forward and presses his hands against the Perspex tube, his face illuminated by the bright green mist.

“This is mental,” he whispers, watching as the coloured gas swirls inside the cylinder, before finally being sucked into a vent at the top.

“Subject discharged,” says the computerised voice and the door of the left cylinder rolls open again, a puff of the remaining gas escaping into the lab. Unmoved, Pedro hops out and you scoop him up, placing him on the desk.

“See?” you say, indicating to the rabbit. “He’s totally fine.”

Irish reaches out to pet him and Pedro’s tiny nose twitches with excitement.

“Hey buddy,” Irish whispers.

Now the gas begins to clear from the right cylinder. You both turn to watch as the cloud of green smoke shoots up into the vent.

“Cloning sequence complete,” says the computerised voice.

The door to the right cylinder rolls open and you crouch down to reach inside, pulling out another small, white rabbit.

Irish’s jaw falls open as you stand, bringing the animal over to the desk.

“This,” you say, allowing the two rabbits to make their introductions, “is Petra.”

“What the fu-” Irish says under his breath.

“She’s identical to Pedro in every way. Well, every way but one, obviously. All of the clones have come out female so far. We’re still working out some of the design kinks.”

“You invented a fucking cloning machine?” he says, the magnitude of what he’s just witnessed finally dawning on him.

You shrug: “Well, I helped.”

He crouches down until his head is level with the desk, watching with fascination as the two rabbits sniff each other with curiosity.

Pedro hops around the desk, then approaches Petra from behind, mounting her without hesitation and beginning to rut with a certain level of determination.

Irish gives out a high-pitched laugh: “Ha! They seem to like each other.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, “yeah, they do that sometimes.” You lift Pedro off his female counterpart and place him back down on the desk. “Horny little buggers.”

“Gives me an idea,” he says, rising and turning to you with a familiar look in his eyes.

“Here?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping his hands around your ass and drawing you closer. “All this clever clogs stuff really turns me on,” he growls, biting his bottom lip.

You put up a weak protest as his mouth begins to travel around your neck. “Someone might come in…”

“No one’s gonna come in, there’s no one here,” he says, his lips dotting the space behind your ear with persuasive little kisses.

You let out a gentle sigh, signalling your assent. You know it’s risky to fool around in the lab, but you have to admit it’s been a long-time fantasy of yours. Besides, you always let him have his own way in the end - he’s just too damn hard to resist.

“Mmmn… you smell so good,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice melting any lasting trace of resistance on your part.

You run your hands underneath his tank top and press his body to yours, feeling his warmth envelop you.

His lips are on yours now, his tongue teasing your mouth open as his hands move under your clothes.

You start to remove your long white lab coat, but he stops you, tugging it back over your shoulders.

“No, no, leave the lab coat on,” he whispers with a smile, “it’s sexy.”

Now he’s pressing his hands into your flesh over your clothes, drawing you closer as his lips move to your ear.

“Your big fucking brain turns me on so much,” he says, nibbling the side of your neck. “I just want to bend you over one of these lab benches and fuck you senseless.”

As fun as that sounds, you have other ideas. Pulling away from him, you lift his tank top over his head and his fluffy curls bounce around his ears as you drop the garment to the floor. He grins that irresistible grin at you - the one that sparks something raw and animalistic inside you. Feeling bold, you press your palms into his chest, pushing him up against one of the cylinders.

“There’ll be time for that,” you say, allowing him to feel your breath on his face before your lips seek him out again.

He moans into your kiss, his breaths becoming short and staggered as your hands find his belt buckle. You tug on his fly and reach inside for his cock, feeling him already straining against the thin material of his underwear.

His eyes close and he presses his head against the curved Perspex as you palm him, rolling him between your lightly tented fingers.

He exhales one long, jagged breath: “Oh, you’re teasing me,” he complains with clenched eyes, his voice straining under your feathery touch.

You love to watch him like this, each stroke of your hand releasing more whispered pleas from his lips.

Now you’re tracing tiny kisses down the length of his body, dragging his clothes off as you go. You pull his trousers down to his ankles and he shakes his feet out of them, kicking his flip flops off at the same time.

Kneeling in front of him, you grab his naked ass and pull him towards your face, rolling circles around him with your tongue.

“Ah, please, please,” he begs under his breath.

He whimpers as you finally take him into your mouth, pushing his hips against the curved plastic wall behind him.

Slowly, indulgently, your mouth moves over him, pulling him towards you with two firm hands clasped around his ass.

As your lips reach the light scattering of hair at the base, he releases a heavy exhale, the air leaving his lungs in one, long relieved chuckle. You cast your eyes up to meet his and he reaches down to stroke your hair, a delighted smile on his face.

“You look so good like that,” he says, moving his hips in a tentative rhythm.

You start to pick up speed, swirling your tongue around his length with each bob of your head until his back is pressed against the booth, his breathing coming now in short, anguished gasps.

Before long, you’re diving on him, aided by your hand, sucking and slurping, drooling and gagging. He begins to thrust his hips into your face and you sense he’s getting close.

Approaching the edge, his legs begin to buckle and he reaches behind him to steady himself, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on whatever they can find.

As his moans of encouragement ring around the lab, you hear a short series of satisfying pips.

His cock pops from your mouth and you look up at him. “What was that noise, was that the keypad?” you ask.

“Huh? What?” he says, looking down at you over his heaving chest, unable to hide his displeasure that you’ve suddenly stopped sucking his dick at the crucial juncture.

At that moment, the cylinder door rolls open and he topples asslong inside the tube, smacking his curly head hard against the inside wall and landing in a naked heap on the floor.

“Irish!” you call out, scrambling to your feet.

Before you can react, the cylinder door has closed around his unconscious body, trapping him inside.

“Irish!” you call again, hammering on the cylinder to wake him up, but he’s out cold.

Your fingers are frantic, hammering on the keypad, but in your panic you hit the wrong buttons and the machine beeps at you in stubborn refusal.

You race around to the desk, but you’re a split second too late. You watch as Pedro does a slow-motion bounce across the keyboard, giving the Enter key a firm smack with his furry foot as he leaps out of your way.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says the computerised voice.

“No!” you cry. “No, no, no, no!”

Your shaking fingers bash uselessly at the keys, trying to find a way to stop the sequence, but you know it’s futile - there’s nothing you can do at this point.

“Shit. Shitshitshit.”

You watch as the cloud of neon green gas begins to curl around Irish’s body and you run back to the cylinder, crouching down as he disappears beneath the lurid fog.

“Irish! Irish, wake up! Irish!” you shout, still banging on the Perspex as his bodily form sinks beneath the gas.

“Oh God, ohgodohgod,” you say in quiet panic, pressing your palms and forehead to the tube as it fills until you can no longer make out his form beneath the fog. After what feels like an age, you hear the familiar sound of the vent springing to life, sucking the neon mist off his body.

“Subject discharged,” says the computer as the door swings open.

You crawl inside, choking on the remaining gas as you lean over his crumpled, lifeless form.

“Irish, Irish, baby, wake up,” you plead, cradling his head and slapping him on the cheeks.

His pretty green eyes blink open and he grimaces as he comes to, a hand seeking out the back of his skull.

“Ow. Fuck, my head!” he manages, wincing.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead.”

“No, I’m fine,” he says, struggling to sit up. “Just a bump on the head is all, I’ll live.”

You reach around his head to feel for lumps inside his soft curly hair. He’s not bleeding, but he’s clearly dazed.

“Maybe we should take you to the emergency room, just in case. You could have a concussion,” you say, fussing over him.

“No, seriously, I’m fine, I’m fi-”

“Cloning sequence complete,” interrupts the computer, the synthetic voice bouncing around the lab.

He freezes and looks at you, his eyes wide.

“It only works on rabbits, right?” he asks.

You shake your head, terror visible in your face. “We’ve only ever tested it on rabbits,” you squeak, unable to hide the panic in your voice.

You lift him to his feet and emerge from the cylinder just as the door to the other tube rolls open, releasing a light gasp of green gas into the lab.

You both stand there, your mouths open, as one long leg emerges from the vestibule, then another, followed by a slender figure. Your eyes take in the tall torso, the narrow hips, the slim waist, the small, perfectly formed breasts, the head of long, chocolate-coloured ringlets and then, finally, those unmistakable green eyes.

“Oh, fuck. Irish, what did we fucking do?”

Check back in this time next week for Part 2. And if you enjoyed this, please give it a little reblog. Go on, the button is right there… 😘😘

If you’ve been tagged it’s probably because you asked to be a long time ago. If you don’t wanna be tagged in future updates, just send me a DM: @iamsexytrash @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @sheehaniphilia @rob-private @rina-cydonia @icarusklaus @nostalgiawings @orangepear18 @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @the-freckled-luba @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @jender123 @juicyj28 @badsext @bunybordelaux @vomkimmeren @shaneen828 @klausmikaelsonswolf @kittenqueen04 @itsophiebby @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mypsychoticlove @jizzmans-world @thislovelylife

[toomuchracket]

Omg hi it’s the sweetheart!george anon. I’m obsessed with all the school cutie vibes onfgggg, walking home from school, meeting the parents, house parties, day trips, festivals omgggggGGGG. Omg first kiss on NYE? im gagged

oh god walking home from school has me thinking like. adam is driving the rest of the boys to his after school for band stuff, and they're like driving through his housing estate when matty elbows g in the ribs to be like "oi. it's your girlfriend" - george elbows him right back and says "she's NOT my girlfriend we're just friends that's all i just think she's nice. and funny. and i think her glasses are cute" (everyone else is like yeah sure ok g whatever), and then he's like "actually wait hann let me out i want to talk to her. maybe i could carry that extra bag for her as well too. looks heavy". adam just rolls his eyes and says "don't be daft, i'll give her a lift. she stays in the street behind mine anyway. like the house directly behind mine", to which george is like "WHAT WHY HAVE YOU NEVER SAID THAT BEFORE", so then ross replies "oh, yeah, because he's going to just give out her address unprompted, idiot. next you'll be asking if he can see into her bedroom, christ". george had not in fact been planning on asking that, but his mind starts wandering to related thoughts truly not appropriate for half 3 in the afternoon in the car home from school, until matty elbows him again and says "stop compiling your wank bank - she's right there. ask her if she wants a lift"; with a smack to the back of his friend's head, george does just that. it takes you a second to hear him over the paramore blasting through your earphones, but your face lights up when you see george, and you eagerly slide into the car next to him with a "thanks for the lift, adam. hi guys lol". matty leans around george to wave, while george lifts your tote onto his knee like "christ what is in this?" - you're like "vodka. my cousin dropped it off for me", and literally all of them look at you in shock lol. you're like "what? i do party sometimes", and george is lowkey jealous like "oh, you're going to a party? whose?", and you're like "well, it's not really a party. i'm just having the girls over. would've asked you lot, actually, but no boys allowed because jodie just got dumped and she's in an "i hate men" mood and i don't want any of you getting battered. next time, though!". the boys all laugh, and you all just kinda chat until adam pulls up outside your house; george helps you to the front door with your vodka bag (lol) and says "well, have fun. can't wait to hear all about it on monday", and you smile and shyly say "will you be at adam's the whole night? his garden backs onto mine. maybe you could come out for a chat". he's like "yeah, i'd like that. text me?", and you're like "i will. see you later, g" and kiss his cheek before going inside. he stands on your doorstep in shock at the kiss for a second, before beaming and reluctantly walking back to his friends. he's down BAD lol bless him <3

[bemycoffeepot]

You don't have anything written for Veridis Quo, but could you tell me more about it? 👀

AHHH LOVE THIS YEEEES 💕💕💕💕

For context, when I first heard that song by Daft Punk, I just knew that this was gonna be the song that'd be played on my wedding day (only need the proposal now). So I played it for my boyfriendo and told him so and he was like hell yeah, let's do this (been a year? two? since then, yet, still waiting tho 😒)

whatever.

So, as I'm not getting my own wedding anytime soon, I'm generous enough to allow Hinata to use that song for her's.

BUT the guy in her dream wedding is some rich tycoon her father wants to marry her off to (spoiler, it's Naruto lol) and initially she's freaking scared and doesn't want anything to do with the terrifying big guy who stands at the altar.

Yet Naruto has been secretly keeping an eye on her and he's got no plans whatsoever of cancelling his big day. You only getting married once in a lifetime (for him at least)

He tells himself that she's gonna adapt soon enough 😒🤭

Anyway, the wedding takes place and, as expected, she falls in love. Fast and hard and uncontrollably (all he has to do is smile lol).

He's older and sweet and HAWT, introducing her to the world of sensuality and love. He's protective with his princess, gives her awesome orgasms, bestows her with the most beautiful of gifts and brings her to places all over the world so that she can live the life of the pampered bride he wants her to be.

He literally gives her the world. Would make the whole planet burn for her and all she has to do is ask.

Hinata is like: he's God to me and I love him for everything he is and nothing could ever change the way I see him (cause he's her lovely and sweet hubby)

Problem though because Naruto only reserves his soft side for his bride and for no else. He's ruthless and got no pity for anyone. He's a killer and does shady things to maintain power. Really shady things.

Everyone knows what monster he is but Hinata doesn't care, even though she hears the rumors. She's naive and doesn't believe them or doesn't want to. She loves him with everything she has and truly believes that deep down, he's a good person who just needs a bit of refining.

Naruto listening to his angel protecting his reputation (she's feral when it's about him):

AND NOW I'VE GOT TO BUILD A STORY AROUND THEIR LOVE OR JUST DO A ONE-SHOT BUT I JUST KNOW I AM NOT CAPABLE OF THAT

Thank you for asking Bunny because that finally materialized this story 💕💕💕

but before I can start a new story I need to finish 'again'.... I already started a new one recently and got 'soaked' still on hold.

me, right now:

[thistuesdaynight]

Stress on the Beach

Jegulily fluff

Autistic James is feeling overwhelmed at the beach.

tw: overstimulation, negative self-talk/internalized ableism

James loved a beach day.

The sun glared ferociously upon the shore, broiling the sand, and all of the ocean revelers along with it. He liked tilting his face back to feel the warmth on his skin.

He liked swimming in the ocean, splashing with his friends until his curls hung into his eyes. It was a gorgeous day on the coast: sea gulls swooped and shrieked on the air currents, and the salty breeze dripped with laughter.

The sun's rays sent glittering shards of light sparking across the water as people danced through the surf. He couldn't help but stare at Lily in her bikini, all lush curves and dimpled thighs. And he liked seeing Regulus without a shirt, so he could trace constellations in his freckles.

It was good being with all of his friends. They'd been here for an hour already, so after wading in the water together, everyone split off for a bit: Sirius and Remus were sorely losing a game of beach volleyball against Barty and Evan, while Lily and Dorcas refereed, and Regulus was on the shore with Peter and Pandora making sand castles.

James was having fun.

So much fun. Really.

He just needed a moment to himself, was all. He didn’t like being sun-drunk and delirious. The temperature was turning from wonderfully warm to obnoxiously overbearing rather quickly.

He flopped down amidst the pile of his friends' stuff, taking deep breaths. The heat was a physical hand pressing down on him, crushing his ribcage, constricting his lungs. He felt slow and confused, like he was moving through honey in some strange trippy dream.

Where were his sunglasses? Someone had turned the world brighter, and the sun shining on the water was no longer beautiful, but blinding. He rummaged through his bag, but he could barely see because he was squinting so hard, and why did he feel like he was burning? It was so hot and couldn’t the bloody sun turn off for one bloody second so he could find his bloody glasses?

Had he even remembered to bring them from home? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course he would be such a daft little git that he hadn’t brought his sunglasses and he was going to go blind, and he would perish right there on the sand from melting.

He growled, shaking out the entire contents of the bag onto his towel. His phone landed in the sand, and it took all of his strength not to scream because it was so hard to get sand out of your phone, and his sunglasses were nowhere to be found, and fuck wasn't it just so hot, and who allowed the sun to be this bright anyway?

It should be illegal. The sun should be illegal. 

James let out a frustrated groan, yanked his towel out from under his things, draped it over his head, and put his forehead to his knees, trying desperately not to cry.

"Jamie?" Lily said, placing a steady hand on his back. "Are you alright?"

James squinted up at her, his vision hazy, his movements still slow.  Lily was in front of him, her red hair fanned out around her face, eclipsing the sun, an angel of light.

He wanted to tell her no, he wasn't okay. He was the lazy sod who’d forgotten to bring sunglasses to the bloody beach. But he couldn't make his mouth translate his thoughts into words, so he just huffed a pitiful groan.

"Oh, sweetheart, were you looking for these?"

She plucked his sunglasses from the mess he'd made of his things. James pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Of course they were right in front of him the whole time.

"Thanks," he mumbled, unable to speak louder.

Lily tutted, smiling at him as she slid the glasses behind his ears. "Do you need to go home, baby?"

James desperately wanted to be someplace else, somewhere cool and dim, so he could actually think and speak properly. But he didn't want to ruin everyone's fun. 

And besides the fact that his mind was slowing down, the sun was roasting him alive, the world was so bright he could barely see, and he wanted take a nap right there in the sand and never speak again, he was enjoying himself.

Wasn’t he? Yes, he was.

James shook his head.

"Don't lie, mon soleil," Regulus said sternly, appearing out of nowhere and sitting down next to him. He was fresh out of the ocean, salt water dripping off of him, hair slicked back. The water made his skin cool to the touch, so James leaned into him. "If you're feeling overwhelmed, we can leave."

James shook his head again.

Regulus gave him a dubious look, and James cowered under his disapproval. 

"Fine. How about I stay here with you, and when you're ready to go, you tell me?"

James nodded.

"Okay, I'll leave you guys to it. I have to get back to refereeing the volleyball game." Lily rolled her eyes with a fond sigh. "Sirius is a bit of a sore loser."

She kissed James and then Regulus, before returning to the game.

"Here," Regulus tugged James’ towel up and over the both of them, so they were tented together, a shady spot just for the two of them.

James felt the world come slightly more into focus.

"Better?"

James nodded.

They sat huddled under the towel, Regulus dripping beads of water onto James' skin to cool him down and pressing kisses into his neck. Regulus talked since James couldn't, and told him all about the insanely intricate castles that he and Pete and Pandora had created that afternoon. 

James could think better now that he had his sunglasses and the towel over his head. He'd cooled down a bit, too, but he was still so tired, he could fall asleep sitting up.

"Do you need to go home, love?" Regulus asked, tracing a line of water over James' collarbone. "I promise we won't be upset if you do."

His eyes stung. James always felt so guilty being the one who got overwhelmed, the one who needed to cut the day short. He really wanted to be with his friends and enjoy their company. But perhaps somewhere dimmer and cooler.

"Yeah," he whispered, biting his lip.

"Alright.” Regulus brushed the hair back from James’ face, and a gentle smile pulled at his lips. “That's okay. I'll tell Lily, and we'll go. I'm proud of you for telling me what you needed, mon coeur."

James’ face heated under his praise, and he tipped forward for a kiss. Regulus kissed him back, one hand firmly on his throat, sending his heart fluttering.

"Alright. Let's go home."

[mushroom-trafficking]

bing bong ask meme tell me about them please

Benji 1, 18, 39

Max 2, 12, 23

Archie 13, 17, 28

Putting this one under a cut!

Benji:

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

“Rarely is there truly ever nothing to do. There is always something I can busy myself with. The only thing I dislike more than boredom is wasted time. Any time not utilised is time wasted. I can barely withstand five minutes without engaging in something.”

18. What embarrasses them?

“Oh. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It actually takes quite a lot to embarrass him. Usually he’s the one embarrassing others because of this. It took him long enough to get over embarrassment to just wear the clothes he enjoys so he tried to not let anything get in the way of what he enjoys. The worst thing you can do however is be direct with him, he’s very flowery and indirect about things if you get what I mean. Calling him out on his bullshit works wonders too.

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

“Name me someone who isn’t flawed! We’re all just trying to get by and do what we can, hard to be perfect when around every corner is someone trying to ruin your day.”

The answer is INCREDIBLY easily. He’s no saint himself. He’ll readily ignore quite glaring issues if you help him with whatever it is he wants done. Besides openly flawed people have no right to judge when they’re also working with a flawed idiot.

Max:

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh?

“Eh, not a lot of people are actually that funny.”

Max tends to steer towards dark humour as a coping thing, but not a lot of people find that shit funny. He rarely lets down his guard enough to enjoy the humour of those around him. It’s usually something really daft will get him going. Ya’know like when you send your Dad a funny animal video and he’s crying with laughter when it’s not really that funny? That kinda thing. Once you find that niche you’re in.

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

“Sometimes if I’m lucky the mutt can sort it out, but not always. I gotta be careful on account o’ the whole, ya’know, claw situation. I shredded a shirt once trying to get to a spot on my back. Not my… Proudest moment.”

Max’s death is able to touch him at times, not constantly, but enough. Sometimes he gets lucky and it can sort it out for him! Personal back scratcher! Though if that won’t work he sometimes just fucking rolls around like a damn dog if no one else is around. Catch him rubbing himself on a tree like a bear and watch him run faster than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

“I’ve started tryin’ to just go after the shit I want. I’ve spent long enough not getting what I want from life I think I’m deservin’ of shit finally going my way for a change.”

Envy itself isn’t something Max struggles with often. He’s a former rich kid so he knows how the other half have lived and he’s pretty much over it at this point. Though he is incredibly resentful overall, he’s got a lot of unlearn and get over.

Archie:

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

“Oh, uh. Hmmmm. BEST? Oh man, that’s hard. I like most colours pretty equally… It’s so hard to pick a favourite… My Ma always said I look good in white… But I think everyone looks good in white! It’s WHITE! Hm. I think. I think it’s gotta be between turquoise or burgundy! But I don’t have much of either at the moment sadly…”

Archie hasn’t really been allowed to explore his options much fashion wise. But now he’s loose on the town there’s nothing stopping him from trying out new styles! He does struggle with picking a favourite colour though, his ideal thing to wear would be one of those colour block jumpers where each part is a different, bright colour.

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

“N…No… (10 second pause) Okay. Yes. I never used to get this flustered back home but out here in the dust it’s… A bit more. Intimidating. I know the wings are a lot but c’mon!! Quit staring!!”

The youngest of three Archie actually had a pretty thick skin back home. Especially being of demonic descent, people get pretty judgy. But that quickly faded getting out into the real world. With any luck he’ll build it back up over time once he’s a bit more used to it out in Red West.

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

“The truth is ALWAYS the best option!!”

Dealing with the ramifications of certain withheld truths, Archie wants nothing but the honest truth. Even if it hurts. Though it’s quickly becoming apparent that the truth is not something post people enjoy sharing around here. Archie only believes in lying for the bit.

[nellyofthevalley]

truths, ch.8

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst, hurt/comfort, extended sickfic?

summary: this fic started as an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who never learned how to love. tav is kind of emotionally repressed and a bad communicator too, and he has to learn how to deal with this. with her, and her … affliction.

He can’t even remember the last time someone asked him what he wanted. In centuries of service, even the warmest victims were there for nothing more than midnight fun, unknowingly biting off far more than they could chew. It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut I totally posted this on ao3 forever ago and forgot to post it here

His mind swims while his fingers mend her clothes, re-stitching torn seams and mending rips he’d been staring at for weeks wanting to fix but refusing to be caught doing it. Astarion ponders over everything he said and did yesterday and how he could’ve done it all better; he thinks if he had another chance, he could’ve said something better than ‘I don’t know’, but it’s a foolish thought—even as he actively tries to convince himself, no other words bubble up and he knows damn well that’s the best he has.

He’s floundering thinking of what he’d say to her, but his mind just keeps fucking swimming and he’s so, so sure that if he’d had one more moment with her, he’d somehow manage to finish sentences cut short or have difficult conversations with her he hadn’t yet learned how to have with himself.

As he watches her body rise and fall with her breaths, it’s all he can think about.

Maybe he should’ve said the truth, he thinks: that he had it beaten into him to never care for another, that he’s bitter with her for saving everyone except him when the Gods never answered any of his prayers, and that he doesn’t know how to dig out of this grave of resentment he’s buried himself in despite how hopelessly charmed by her he is.

Every conversation they ever had starts to feel like it wasn’t enough, going all the way back to the night in the Underdark when he’d given her his coat. Though the truth of it is that he had plenty of time every time, and he chose to squander it.

It hurts to see her like this, with her body battered and bruised and too exhausted to wake…

It’s his own fault, he’s decided. He accepted an offer from Raphael and now she pays the price for it. Oddly, that’s all he ever thought he wanted: for someone to suffer in his stead, but he didn’t mean it like this! Not her. 

Even worse, he pushed her into this—he questioned her when she tried to talk their way out of the fight (if only he’d ever learned how to have trust or faith in anyone) and he felt so off-balance during the fight he picked, allowing his mind to be clouded by a daft eagerness to get the shit over with and reap his reward.

Merregons got the better of her, crowding her and beating her bloody. He shouted when he noticed, calling for Karlach, Lae’zel, Gale, anyone—but they were all surrounded and by the time anyone made it to her, she was already down and out. None of them came out the other side entirely unscathed, but she was the only one who couldn’t carry themselves back to camp.

They remained settled at the Last Light Inn, trapped with nowhere else to go, and he fucking hates it here. Despite their efforts to clean up, every direction held some reminder of what used to be: blood stains they couldn’t get out, strewn about possessions, and an eerie emptiness that forced you to picture how it’d been when it was bustling and happy. Astarion doesn’t grieve for their lives, but he can’t push out the image of how distraught she was that night it all happened; how she wept and begged him to give her purpose will be burned into his brain for eternity.

Already, two full days have passed with her in this bed and Shadowheart and Halsin taking turns caring for her and breathing life back into her body little by little, while Astarion sits in his chair and simply waits.

Raphael came and went, fulfilling his end of the deal promptly. He paid Astarion a visit the same evening the orthon appeared in his humble abode and told him everything he’d asked for: details of Cazador’s deal with Mephistopheles and the tale of how poems carved into their backs bound them to a vile ritual that would sacrifice their souls for a higher power never seen by his kind before.

Ascension. 

Astarion received his reward, but he couldn’t find any satisfaction in it. Not like this—not standing outside the inn alone, and even though only a thin wall sat between him and the room Tav lay unconscious in, he felt halfway across the world from her. Raphael left him there and it all felt like a cruel mockery: the price to be paid for his deal wasn’t even paid by him. He dragged Tav along for this and forced her hand and he never thought twice about it.

Until she couldn’t walk anymore. 

He remembers it so clearly, hauntingly vivid—how he tore apart his foe and ran to her bloodied body, how he held her and shook her and she didn't wake, how he was nothing more than a useless bystander, watching hopelessly while Karlach carried her and Halsin tended to her…

He needs to be by her side, he needs to be in that chair when she wakes, and he hasn’t moved since Raphael left him here. 

He’s deep in trance when she wakes, startled into consciousness by her tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt; he jumps in his chair and looks over to her, pausing for a moment as he fully comes back to the present and processes it.

“Gods, you’re awake,” he says, relief washing over him as he sits up and starts to stand. “Let me get—”

“No!” she protests in a low mumble, slowly sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Tell me what happened first.”

Astarion stops in his seat and starts to speak, “You—you were surrounded…”

“Not that,” she scoffs. “The deal!”

“Oh, don’t talk to me in that voice of yours,” he retorts. “You should be mad at me, you should chastise me! I took the devil’s deal all on my own, without even giving you a choice in the matter.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Just tell me what Raphael said.”

Astarion hesitates, taken by surprise; even after being bloodied and bruised and bedridden, she insists on hearing about his deal, first thing…

But he tells her everything, powerless to resist her demands.

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“I think it’s time for you to get Shadowheart,” she says with a cheeky smile.

He’s obviously miffed by her dodge but he does it regardless, returning Tav’s grin with an annoyed sigh as he gets up from his seat and fetches Shadowheart.

When he walks out, Tav eyes her clothes by his chair, neatly folded and washed clean.

The door creaks as Shadowheart enters, carrying a tray of food; stew and bread, the standard fare lately. The shadowlands have so little to offer for fresh food, but Tav feels her mouth watering the moment she lays eyes on it, stomach growling, and lights up as Shadowheart takes Astarion’s chair.

“How are you faring?”

“Sore, but well enough for poking the fire,” Tav answers.

“You know,” Shadowheart starts once Tav’s stuffed her mouth, “outside of talking with Raphael, he hasn’t left this room for a moment.”

Tav swallows hard. 

Shadowheart picks up the mended shirt by the chair and turns it in her hands, looking it over. “Skilled with his hands,” she notes with a hearty laugh. 

“Gods, stop it,” Tav chokes out, quickly swallowing the last of her food and laughing, too, and it aches her body but hells, a real laugh is what she needs right now. “I don’t know what’s happening with us.”

“You’re softening his cold heart, and dare I say he needs it.”

“No,” she replies. “His heart’s already soft… in some places, anyway. He just doesn’t know it. Or maybe he doesn’t want to believe it.”

When Shadowheart opens the door and leaves, it’s made very clear to both of them that Astarion was standing right outside, arms crossed and waiting to trade places. He picks her shirt back up when he sits, feeling a bit antsy and in dire need of something to occupy his hands, but he’s already mended every hole; now, he’s started carefully stitching her name in curved script into it, much like he did for his own shirts on long days and nights spent in the Szarr palace.

“So—”

“I think walking in the sun is very important to you.”

“And the power!” Astarion’s face livens instantly as he talks, giddy at the prospect of seizing the Ascension for himself. “I’d never have to fear anyone… and I could walk in the sun without fear of turning into a mind flayer.”

She can relate to that more than he knows. She chased power once too, and it cost her a sibling. The worst part of it all is that she’d do it all over again given the choice. Her patron bestowed her with great, elder powers after living as a street urchin, spit on and ignored by society for so long—and even with an illithid tadpole shoved into her brain, even after being surrounded and taken down in battle, even after questioning it that night in the cemetery, she remembers what it was like before and she wouldn’t give it up for nearly anything. 

Besides, if she hadn’t chased the deal, it would’ve been something else. He would’ve left either way, whether it be the stealing or the pact or the souls she slaughtered in the name of revenge. He’d always been too gentle-hearted, and every time Astarion spits on her for being ‘too generous’, she thinks of how much she always hated her brother for the very same.

But even Raphael called the ritual diabolical, and he’d have to kill his brothers and sisters to do it… the brothers and sisters who endured the same punishments and torture as he had. Astarion pretends to care only for himself, but when he told her he pitied them with him gone, it was beyond evident how much he cares—he just wishes he doesn’t.

Astarion seems to be well-trained in confidently presenting himself as how he wishes he feels. 

Tav would support him in completing the ritual himself in a heartbeat if she wasn’t so certain he does care and that he would regret it later. It would change him, she thinks, and not for the better. 

But now’s not the time to dwell on that. They don’t even know what the ritual entails. Not yet. 

She shifts over to the very edge of the bed and rests her palm on his forearm, prompting him to drop the needle and thread and set her shirt back aside. As he does, she spots the start of her name on it, in lovely gold thread on navy fabric.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks, hopeful to drag him away from dwelling on the ritual now. “It’ll make me feel better.”

“Oh, will it now?” Astarion gives her a half-smile and holds her face in one palm with a gentle—thoughtful—touch. “Then who am I to deny you?”

Tav lightly grasps at his upper arm as he closes his eyes and captures her mouth in his; this time, his kiss is sweet and tender and deliberate, not wary, not heated, not anything but what feels like a true labor of…

…love?

“The other night when you asked me what’s between us,” Astarion starts as they part, eyes fixated on her mouth as he speaks, “What would you like it to be?” 

“What do you want it to be, Astarion?”

“I-I don’t know,” he says, taken aback. “It’s never mattered what I want. No one ’s ever asked.”

He can’t even remember the last time someone asked him what he wanted. In centuries of service, even the warmest victims were there for nothing more than midnight fun, unknowingly biting off far more than they could chew.

It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

“I’m asking you now,” she replies.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, it appears I have plenty of time to sit and listen. So please, go on.”

Astarion brushes off her hand as he folds his arms, turning his gaze away from her and towards the ceiling, and they sit in silence for a moment as he considers what to say. Part of him hopes she’ll say something else and move on, but the rest of him knows that it’s finally time to have this conversation that he’s been neglecting.

Especially after spending the days and nights in this same fucking chair thinking about how he should’ve said it all months ago.

“I wasn’t just a slave to Cazador,” he says with a notable lack of confidence. He shuffles nervously and takes a long pause, inhaling deeply before continuing. “For two centuries, my purpose”—he practically hisses as he begins to recount it—“was to bring back pretty things for the master. Seduce them, lure them to the palace and leave them for Cazador to dine on… It never mattered what I wanted. if I didn’t obey, he’d have me beaten, impaled, or worse.”

His eyes pace around the room, gnawing for anywhere else he can look and digging for what to say. He doesn’t feel like himself, he almost feels sick. It’s too much, but he has to say it all now or he’ll never say it and it’ll loom over his head and the next time she takes so much as a single scrape in battle he’ll be distracted by it all over again.

“It was instinctual for me… to fall back into old habits and charm you, gain your trust, manipulate your feelings and ensure your loyalty. I needed you on my side to fight him, and I did that the only way I—”

“I am on your side. No matter what.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll be as ridiculous as I like.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn. Look,” he continues, “I must’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more, and none of them meant anything at all; most didn’t even grant me a temporary bliss. But you…

“It was different with you. I’ll never forget the time I spent with you. I want—fuck, what I want is for this to be something real.”

Manipulating someone, getting them in bed, using them for his own benefit—all things he can do, things he is very well-versed in doing, at that. Losing himself in her was a complication. He is not so well-versed in complications. 

“I do, too,” she says quietly.

“Truth is, you make me feel alive again,” he admits, anxiously wiping his brow. “But I don’t know what real looks like, and I can’t give you what you deserve,” Astarion says, turning to face her; and whatever she may have expected to see, it wasn’t this—this awful, gloomy look he wears, like he’s in pain just thinking about this and admitting to it all. “Even though I know things between us are different, it still brings up all these feelings of hatred and self-loathing…”

“We don’t have to sleep together, for as long as you need. For forever, if thats what you’d prefer,” she says. “You’re important to me—however you are, whatever you’re dealing with.”

A small relief, but Astarion hopes for it to somehow come and fix it all like magic, and it never happens. Relief doesn’t make it any easier to get through this this. Relief doesn’t organize his thoughts or teach him how make someone happy. Without sex, what does he have left to offer? He never did figure that one out.

“I never learned how to care for anyone but myself. Cazador always made sure I knew that,” Astarion rebuts, as if he’s searching for any reason to send her away—get her to set her sights elsewhere, maybe back on Gale…

He can’t help but do it; much as he’d like this to be something real with her, he’s certain it’ll end in nothing but disappointment and he knows that’ll hurt worse than not having her at all.

“Oh, fuck Cazador! It’s not true, you know,” Tav protests. “If it were, you wouldn’t be in this room right now. Gods know I don’t know what the fuck real looks like, either, but it doesn’t matter. We—we can figure it out together, can’t we?”

Astarion’s brows lower and he looks at her in disbelief for a moment; ‘figure it out together’ is… beyond what he could’ve anticipated coming from her mouth.

Oh, she is stubborn, but perhaps that’s what he needs in a partner. Maybe he’s not even ready for this, he doesn’t know, but he does know that he’s in it too deep to back out. Not having her at all is a path impossible to take now, no matter how hard he could keep trying to shove her out.

“We—we can try?” he questions with an indecisive tone, though it’s really more of a surprised agreement. “If that’s truly what you want.”

The freedom to choose your own path is a foreign concept—fuck, is that really what he’s doing? Choosing his own path? He always thought it would feel different from this, that it would be more controlled and comprehensible; like he’d have a plan, some sort of routine to reference for his life, as with how he’d memorized and carried out the plans for his conquests, just… a little different.

“It’s what I want. More than anything,” she says, sniffling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“What’s…” Astarion’s voice trails off as he considers what to say next. Navigating this is beyond any of his expertise, and he almost feels like he did in the early days of Cazador sending him out to find victims when he was still learning how to just—just be fucking normal. It was decades before the master let him out, and after so many years stuck inside and subjected to punishment after punishment, he’d nearly forgotten how to speak. “What’s troubling you?”

“I’m fine. Gods, I’m more than fine,” she says, giggling as she wipes the tears from her cheek. “Will you lay with me? I understand if—”

“Move over,” he orders with a shooing hand gesture. 

His heart would beat out of his chest if it could; there’s something about lying together in a bed in an inn, however decrepit and dreadful to reside in, that’s far more intimate than the nights she slept in his tent. Trepidation pumps through his body like blood.

And then, after he lifts the covers and settles in beside her, it simply dries up. 

Tav starts to reach out for his hand, but stops short of it. “Can I touch you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he answers, though truthfully, he loves that she does. It’s sweet. It’s unusual. 

“I want to,” she says, prying apart his fingers with hers and interlocking them.

He could live in this moment forever. When she looks at him, there’s a special, heavenly look in her eyes that he never wants to lose. A pity for the lives lived without ever experiencing it. No one would ever look at someone like Cazador the way she’s looking at him now.

It’s hypnotizing and makes him want to give her the fucking world—and ascend, for more than himself, because this is so, so much bigger than him.