#hopefully you find this interesting and maybe it answered you questions?

[stonedficz]

hi this is it. title is a pun. ENJOYYYYY‼️‼️‼️‼️

Most of my publishes will include music. Music is a HUGE part of writing for me, as it helps me set the tone for my work. If able, please listen as you read!

schlatt x streamer!reader

✰ star shaped ✰

ch. 1 ❛ talk about being roux ❜

you were a whore for him. parasocially, of course.

Spending the past 4 years of your life obsessing over someone online was the most entertainment you could find besides trying to pass your college classes.

You had been a fan for years - literally, since 2020. You weren't there for the start of Schlatt's career, but by God, you wish you could've been. He gave you some inspiration to livestream/vlog stream just for fun. You had seen almost every video as soon as it released, every live, everything. Now, you just wanted to be like the big angry guy you watched videos of on your laptop, but better.

Maybe it was your college aspirations, the lack of support from your family, or something else - no matter what it was, you were here. 5 followers on twitch in.

Despite the lack of viewers, you continued streaming happily. You were meal prepping for the next week of work and school to try and save money. It just so happened to be a good content idea as well.

"So, if you look here," you patiently looked and pointed down at your frying pan, showing the camera and 3 viewers your pov. "- the roux is starting to burn. I'm gonna have to take it off the heat and try to add some more milk to fix the flavor. I don't have any more garlic powder so I can't remake it unfortunately." you frowned as you set the pan on a different eye, gently adding more milk. Your eyes flickered down to the chat on your phone.

"whats a roux"

A heavy sigh left your mouth, you had been at this for 2 hours. Streaming, that is. Now you didn't have the patience to answer questions. Then you saw a notification.

BigGuy is live now! Streaming: fixing my minecraft house

"Alright my friends, I think it's time for me to go." you smiled at the camera and waved. "The roux needs my whole attention, so I'll see you 3 later!" God, you were a terrible liar. You hit end stream pretty abruptly, immediately clicking on the notification.

"Hey guys, thanks for joining in," Schlatt breathed as he sat in his chair, turning side to side. He just looked at his screen blankly for a few minutes, occasionally making comments. TTS hadn't started yet but you were anxious to get your message in first. Anything to get his attention.

"Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-" He was cut off by the normal loud TTS voice.

"hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill" you typed in at light speed. Somehow, someway, the past 5 streams you had made it in as the first TTS donation. Pure luck.

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” he yelled and laughed, opening up his mailbox in the game. It didn't matter that he made fun of you - that was his persona, it didn't mean much. All you cared about was being seen. God, you were obsessed.

It went further than this. You GENUINELY were interested in Schlatt - you didn't even know his name. You were the obsessive, love-at-first-sight type. You still thought about a sweet boy from a coffee shop when you were in your junior year. Once you liked something, you had to have it. Unfortunately, millions of other people felt the same. Yuck. So.. now it was this. You sent donos, dm’ed him, everything you could to kindly, gently, and hopefully get him to put you on his channel. That was the boost you needed. Socially, and egotistically.

The dream: meet schlatt. Didn’t matter if it was in New York, at a meet n greet he would never do, or for media.

You knew you wouldn’t make it big enough to quit your job - you didn’t want to, you just wanted to be able to show the internet your life. You wanted others to find community.

—

You continued to watch the stream, he was playing Minecraft, drinking, the usual. Messages were flooding in. Soon enough though, it was 10 pm, and he was about done.

POV: Schlatt. 7:03 pm

“Ahh fuck,” he sighed, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “What’s up fuckers? Welcome to the stream, welcome,” he nodded and chuckled as he watched the people and chats flood in. “Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-“ he was cut off by the first TTS donation. It was the same person from the past few streams. Somehow, they managed ro get first dono more than twice in a row. “Lucky fuck.” He muttered under his breath.

“hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill"

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” He yelled and chuckled - rubbing the thin beard on his chin and his mutton chops for comedic effect. He knew a lot of people wanted him, lusted over him, loved him - but he couldn’t help but smile when people gave him a normal compliment. It felt good to be talked to like normal. Normal normal normal. He knew he wasn’t that, but it didn’t matter, being a star always had it’s perks.

“Alright, guys, lets get in. Fuck all of you shaming my house. FUCK YOU.” He yelled, furrowing his brows in faux anger.

—

3 hours had passed. Schlatt ended up building a new house, opening letters, and getting spammed with donations. God, that felt good. ‘Money, money, money, bitch.’ He thought to himself.

“Alright guys,” he let his tongue swirl in his jaw. “I’m fucking plastered. I’m done for tonight. Hope you enjoyed!” His cheeky smile flooded thousands of screens as he ended the live.

“Motherfucker.. jambo, i’m so fucking tired.” He complained, letting Jambo jump into his lap. His hands grazed over his fur as he headbutted schlatt. He yawned, sipping the last of his glass of whiskey. Jambo jumped down, awaiting their bedtime routine. “Moowwww!” Schlatt looked down at him.

“Alright, alright. I’m not feeding you again though.” Schlatt shut out all the lights in his office, slowly making his way into his bedroom, then his bathroom. He got onto insta when he was done getting ready for bed.

“Shiit, that’s a nice ass car.” He muttered to himself, scrolling. His thumbs grazed the screen hesitantly.

“I wonder..”

Every now and then, he would look at his message requests to see the ridiculous things people sent him. Family photos, death threats, achievements, etc. Every week though, there was the same username. “cookkizkill” managed to catch his eye. She never harassed him. Belittled him. Judged. Spammed. Begged. Nothing. She was overly normal in how she messaged him - and by God, she did it everywhere. Though, no matter what she sent, she said thank you, and wished him the best. Odd. Peculiar. Weird.

“Hmph.” His brows furrowed. He was intrigued. He looked at her messages frequently, never replying. If he replied to one, everyone would expect him to.

He opened the chat request.

cookkizkill

hi handsome! i finally hit 5 twitch followers. yesterday i hit 200 subs on yt. thank you for being a great influence!! i know i wont be huge, but I’m thankful i get a chance to share my life with people. thank you for your stream today! i hope to be on one with you sometime <3

5 minutes ago

accept request?

Click.

[drivebypainter]

Hi! I love your sv peak assignment quiz (I got qian cao) 😁

I'm really curious about what some of the most common answers to the questions were though!!! Is there any way of seeing the responses? Would be willing to share? I've gotta know- was there a six balls sweep?????

Awww thank you <3333

Unfortunately though, the website doesn't let me see what the most common answers are :( However I can infer through that stats I can see and basically what fandom favorites are from popular tags on tumblr- what were most likely the common choices!

This is the stats on which peaks were chosen the most.

And as you can see Qian Cao, Hao Chi, Qiong Ding, and An Ding Peaks are currently the top four popular peaks! (also insane that 1k people took this quiz LMAO).

The reason why these peaks are the highest are likely because they have the most "passive" or "morally good" answers when it comes to the situation questions.

But, lets not get carried away! We are here for Six Balls!!

Q: "Which obscure SVSSS side character do you like the most?"

You get 6 possible choices for an answer:

A(1): "Antelope Demoness (A young demoness who looks after SQQ when he is kidnapped by Tianlang-jun)"

It is unlikely a lot of people picked this because she has no name (thus no real tag for her on tumblr or on any site) and I doubt many people remembered her. (Though picking her did give you a point towards Qiong Ding- the 3rd most popular result)

A(2): "Six Balls (The young demon who gives SQQ Liu Mingyan's sword tassel)"

Six Balls!! While the fandom behind Six Balls is small, he is definitely considered a fan favorite by the more dedicated SVSSS fans! (also if you picked this one you got one point towards An Ding, An Ding being top 4 in the popular results).

A(3): "LBH's Mother (The old washer woman who takes care of a young LBH)"

Now LBH's mother despite being technically nameless would be a relatively popular choice because of how often she shows up in fanfiction, fanart of younger binghe, and popular fanon ideas in the fandom <3 (Also her choice gave you a point towards Hao Chi which is the SECOND highest result!)

A(4): Yang Yixuan (The young man who helps SQQ, LQG, and MQF during the Jin Lan City arc)

Another fan favorite and he shows up for longer then a paragraph in the books! Yang Yixuan also has a pretty dedicated fan base, with lots of fanfiction either directly dedicated to him (via ships or little character studies) or involving him in some way (I.e. background/support character)! So I can imagine a lot of people choosing this option! (Also choosing him gives you a point towards Qian Cao Peak- which is the highest ranked result!)

A(5): The Unnamed Ku Xing Peak Lord (He is mentioned to have a harsh temper!) 

I dont really see a lot of people picking this guy, after all he is both nameless and barely shows up in canon- not only that he seems to be quite harsh! (Also if you chose him your points would go into both Qing Jing and Suan Ming- both relatively low on the popular results)

A(6): Ji Jue (A disciple during LQG's generation who fights SQQ outside of a brothel)

Another character I dont really see people picking, despite the fact he has a name, he doesn't seem that cool... plus picking a fight with a fan favorite like Shen Qingqiu..?? Yikes! (And yet again picking this option would not get you into a super popular peak based on results).

So basically to boil this all down, I think most people either picked Luo Binghe's Adopted Mother, Six Balls, or Yang Yixuan!

Also we could probably just settle this by running a poll.. oops!

[speed-world]

Hello!! If it's not too much to ask, can you write a cookie run kingdom au where y/n is a traveler? I just think that's the most logical way to somehow get them involved into stories and meet different cookies altogether. Maybe a few scenarios in which involve their encounters with the ancients before the main plot of crk?

A cookie stood with his sheep, observing the lands before him in silence as the winds howled and blew beside him. He was making his last few preparations before his journey, but as he turned around, he saw an unfamiliar face that appeared to be in awe of the lands much like he was…

“Oh, pardon me, but I’ve never seen a cookie like you before. You look so incredibly well and unbothered, may I ask if you have a secret to keeping your dough so healthy?”

“Oh, me? Hehe, I don’t think I have any ‘secret’ to my healthy or anything like that. I’m simply a traveler wandering Earthbread.”

“Really? So am I! I’ll be taking a pilgrimage to the Sugar-Free Road, and complete its 12 trials. What about you, where are you headed?”

“Wherever the earth and winds take me, I suppose. I don’t have a destination in mind, per se, but I’m so interested in exploring the marvelous depths across every corner of Earthbread! But, if you don’t mind me asking, what makes you want to venture to the Sugar-Free Road alone? Surely those trials can’t be the only reason.”

“You sound like you’ve been there before, is there something I should be aware of before I go?”

“Yeah, maybe don’t go by yourself. It’s a treacherous path that’ll leave you wishing you never went. I myself turned back when I was there because of how worn out I was. I would want to go back sometime, especially since I feel more accustomed to traveling to do so, but doing so alone is not something I’m doing again.”

“I see…well to answer your question, I strive to find the truth as to why cookies - those crumbling, incomplete, and not-so-sweet - all must suffer so. I wish for all beings of dough to be happy, and that is I will accept those trials. Hopefully I’ll find the answers I’m looking for at the end of the path.”

“That’s…that’s actually really nice! I respect that a lot, and I kinda feel the same way; wanting everyone to not suffer. But you won’t do well by yourself, would you mind if I tag along?”

“Really? Are you sure my goals won’t get in the way of yours?”

“Nah, of course not! You get to complete the trials and, hopefully, find your answers, while I get to see everything of the Sugar-Free Road and document it! Plus, I get to make a new friend too!”

“New friend..? Ahaha, I’m honored to call you friend too! My name is Pure Vanilla Cookie, and you are?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure to meet ya Pure Vanilla Cookie!”

“Likewise, Y/N Cookie. I’m glad we’ll take this journey together!”

————————————————————————

The screeching roar of a dragon fills the air as it gradually got more distant. The dragon’s pursuer was aggravated, but still determined…

“Huff…huff…darn that dragon getting away, again!! I think I’m starting to loose count, is this the 80th time? No, it can’t have been that much…..argghh—! No matter, I’ll keep hunting it down and—!”

The bushes ahead of Hollyberry Cookie rustle as an astonished cookie stepped out, and looked to the sky where the dragon flew off. They were completely in awe and wanted to get a better look at the majestic creature.

“Woah!! Was that a dragon just now? I’ve seen glimpses of them on my travels, but that one was so close!! This could be a chance to really meet a dragon, maybe even feel its scales!! Hahaha, I gotta go now and—“

“Hey, hold it right there!”

“Huh? Oh, hey there! Are you after the dragon too?”

“That’s one way to put it; I’m hunting that dragon. I need to defeat it for the trouble its caused the Hollyberry Kingdom!”

“Oh my, I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s quite alright, that dragon won’t escape me so easily! But, what brings you out here? And why do you want to see that dragon?”

“Ah, well I’m a traveler, you see? I want to explore every neat corner of Earthbread and all the specialties in between!”

“Really now? Interesting, it’s been awhile since I’ve met such an adventurous cookie like myself! I’m Hollyberry Cookie, pleased to meet you friend!”

“Y/N Cookie, the pleasure is all mine Hollyberry Cookie!”

“Well Y/N Cookie, what do you say we go hunting this dragon together? It’s always more fun to travel with a partner, and I’ll promise you to see every bit of the dragon up close!”

“For real?! Awesome!! Ohohoho, this is gonna be fun, I can’t wait to go!”

“Why don’t you tell me about your travels on the way? I’ll, of course, share you many of my own! I’ll even treat you to the finest berry juice my kingdom has to offer when it’s over!”

“Why thank you! I’ve never had berry juice from the Hollyberry Kingdom before, I can’t wait!!”

“It will be the finest you’ve ever had, you wouldn’t want any other! This is already becoming a fine adventure, hahaha!!”

————————————————————————

Black lightning and dark clouds...What's next, a blizzard that freezes your very breath? The scale of the anomalies is growing. The Cookies in the Frozen Snowfield are perishing one by one. While it seems logical for any cookie to avoid venturing out to such an extreme treacherous environment, two cookies were individually hiking up anyways. Although for their own reasons, their ambitions may align with one another’s….

“Hmm? Oh hey there, I wasn’t expecting any company here!”

“Neither was I…are you a cookie from one of villages affected by the blizzards?”

“Me? Oh no, I’m just a traveler passing by to witness something spectacular!! Here, listen closely—“

“Grrrrrr…..”

“Hhrrrrrraaaaaahh…..”

“The growls of not one, but two dragons-in one place!! I wonder what it is here that could’ve brought them here; ooohh I’ve got to see them up close!”

“You’re here for…sightseeing dragons? How strange.”

“You sound disappointed, is everything alright bud?”

“No. I am here to know more of the weather anomalies occurring through this continent. This harsh weather has caused cookies to suffer and crumble, and I refuse to let it endure another minute.”

“Oh my, I had no idea that was happening. I’m so sorry…”

“Pick your head up, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ah, r-right. *ahem*…let me help you.”

“What? No, I’m afraid I can’t. These cookies have suffered for too long, and I can’t risk another getting in the way and—“

“I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll help aid those cookies with you; I have plenty of supplies to offer some kind of help, be it food or water or anything in between.”

“Hmm…very well then. I believe our interests might be more in common than I realize. Let’s not waste any more time and be on our way.”

“Of course! I’m Y/N Cookie, by the way, pleasure to meet you sir.”

“Dark Cacao Cookie, don’t mention it. Let us do our absolute best for the cookies!”

————————————————————————

Under the intense, near-intolerable heat of the desert sun, two cookies traverse the sands bearing wide smiles of determination. Both hold their own greedy ambitions, yet aren’t driven apart by each other’s desires.

“Hah, you know, I’m still amazed as to why you’re traveling with me to the old ruins. I was wandering the desert to find this marvelous treasure, but you just want to look at them, document them, and that’s it! Why go through such risks if all you want to do is go sight seeing?”

“Hehe, well I guess you could say that’s the treasure I’m hunting for. To see all the wonders of Earthbread, its beauties in its dangers, the uniqueness of every continent, I want to capture all of it and learn everything about it! Plus, it’s super fun to meet all kinds of desserts along the way, especially one as dynamic as you!”

“So interesting, you almost make me want to share the treasure I find with you; almost, of course.”

“I don’t blame you, heh. You wandered all this way for it, it’s only fair that it all belongs to you.”

“Right? I would’ve heard if someone on Earthbread had laid their hands on it first. But then again…I want to show my gratitude for your help. This journey would’ve been boring and perhaps fruitless if not for you; what is your name?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure!”

“Y/N Cookie, I am Golden Cheese Cookie. I shall never forget all you’ve done for me! Your greed for the world is something to admire for eons; nearly as great as my greed for my treasure. You and I together shall be legendary!”

————————————————————————

Somewhere, in a secluded area relatively distant from the nearest cookie civilization, a lone cookie was weeping as she was suffering from a nightmare. A passerby cookie heard her cries, and wanted to know what troubled her so…

“E-Excuse me, hello? Are you okay ma’am?”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I… Oh…it was that same dream again. I’m sorry, I didn’t know another cookie was here…”

“No no, it’s alright, you didn’t bother me. I was just traveling by, venturing out to find some incredible things about Earthbread!”

“You were…traveling? Just freely and…eagerly going about across Earthbread alone? …..why?”

“Ehehe, I suppose why not? There’s so many incredible marvels about this world that I wanna see and experience for myself! There’s just so many things and secrets that I want to know about, how could I not be eager to see it all, ahaha!”

“….s-so carefree and curious…they’re just—“

“Hmm, you say something?”

“N-no, I was just muttering to myself…”

“….Hey, you hungry?”

“What? How’d you…—“

“You have crumbs falling from your hands, how long have you been without something to eat?”

“I…I do not know. I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve eaten something. Maybe I’m getting too lost in my thoughts…”

You pulled out a lot of food from your bags and laid it out in front of the cookie.

“T-that’s so much food! Shouldn’t you keep some for yourself if you’re traveling?”

“I got plenty more, don’t you worry. But if you were here resting from traveling, then it looks like you weren’t fully prepared. Is there any reason why you’re traveling out here?”

“Yes…I want to know the truth.”

“….the truth about, what?”

“Why were we, the cookies, created? Why were we brought into this world? Why were we created so small and fragile? If only all cookies were born strong, unbreakable. If only then…I…”

“Shhh, calm down, alright? Take a break for now, eat up. You can tell me more when we’re back out on the road.”

“I-we?! What do you mean, ‘we?’ I’d get in your way with whatever it is you’re after.”

“I’m not after anything in particular, remember? I wanna traverse and see all of Earthbread, and from the sounds of what answers you’re after, it seems like we may be going down similar paths.”

“….Perhaps you’re right. Okay then, I’ll go with you, to find the answers I’m seeking. …Who are you, exactly…?”

“I’m Y/N Cookie!”

“I’m White Lily Cookie. I’m…thankful for you, Y/N Cookie. I never thought I’d have anyone to help me with this, I figured I’d just burden someone else with my struggles…”

“Don’t mention it, I’m perfectly fine with it! No one should really be alone for a long journey; especially for the one you want to take. I’m more than happy to go with you, White Lily Cookie.”

“Thank you, Y/N Cookie…I will never forget your kindness.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could we please get Feyd x reader where they have an arranged marriage with feyd and the House Harkonnen expects her to be replused by him . But instead reader is completely obsessed with him and finds him so hot because he is lol and he can do no wrong. LOVE YOUR FEYD STORIES 💌

Unexpected

Feyd-Rautha x Reader

Notes/Warnings: None, i think. I mean, arranged marriages? That's not really a warning though. Anyway, i fear this kind of sucks. My writing has been messed up lately. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it anyway.

Words: 2100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

They’ve been chattering for what has felt like hours—going on about dresses and parties, servant boys they find particularly interesting—and at some point, your mind could no longer take the dull droning, and so you drifted onto thoughts of him. 

You know everything about him, read everything about his family. You saw his face in an updated textbook about the Great Houses, drawn in what you hope is a perfect likeness, because if it is, then he’s absolutely stunning. You’ve never seen anything like the Harkonnens, but then again, they look like no one else. They’re wholly unique and you want everything to do with them—well, specifically, everything to do with Feyd-Rautha. 

“I can’t believe they’re marrying you off to him,” one of your friends—the daughter of House Wallach—says.

You snap out of your thoughts, wondering when the conversation turned toward you and your soon-to-be husband. You hum in question, needing more time to provide an answer that won’t induce raised brows and dropped jaws. 

“Yes,” the other says—Duke Leto’s daughter, whose bedroom balcony you’re currently sitting on. “How can they do that to you? You’re their only daughter and they are giving you to a murderous House.”

“We’re all murderous Houses,” you quickly say, and from receiving the blank stares you’d hoped to avoid, raise your teacup to your lips to hide your blush. You take a sip, then continue. “What I mean is, history states we’ve all dealt with bloody hands. That’s how our families are where they are.”

“Well, the rest of us don’t kill anymore. Our families are praised, worshipped.”

“So are the Harkonnens.”

“Out of fear,” Wallach reminds you. “The Baron is vile, as if you don’t know, and he trained Feyd-Rautha to be just as insane.”

Insane. That word has been used a lot lately. Your mother shouts it at your father for his willing agreement with the Baron. Your servants whisper it amongst themselves when they think you cannot hear them. That boy is insane, they say. She’s doomed, they say. But you don’t see it that way. You’re not scared of Feyd-Rautha. You’ll admit you don’t so much care for the Baron, but that’s because you’ve heard of his treatment of your future husband.

People claim Feyd-Rautha’s a lapdog—you don’t believe that. From what you’ve learned, you see no puppy in Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You see a lion on the prowl, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from below. You see a man hunting his dinner. You hope upon meeting, he gobbles you up as well. 

“Aren’t you terrified?” Atreides asks. “Don’t you think about your first night with him?”

You certainly do. Another sip of tea hides another blush. “I’m not worried.”

Wallach blows out a huff of breath. “Maybe you’re as insane as he is.”

Yes, you think maybe you are. 

—

Your mother struggles to hand you over. You’re the one who has to pry her gripping fingers from your arm so you can step forward and bow to the Baron. When you rise, you sneak a peek at Feyd-Rautha just to his uncle’s right. He’s as beautiful as his picture depicted. His eyes are just as glazed over with steel as you imagined. He looks at you, and the steel melts ever so slightly. His brow pinches. He swallows hard. 

“I trust my daughter will be well taken care of,” your father says, a puff expanding his chest. It makes him look no more menacing than he is. 

The Baron chuckles. “In the hands of my nephew, you can expect no less.”

You know it’s a lie. One corner of Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirks upward. He has plans for you—good. You like plans. You have plans of your own. 

He steps down the staircase that has held him above you and your family and takes your hand in his. He presses his lips to your knuckles. Your blood zings throughout your veins. If this is all it takes for you to feel this way, you can’t imagine what more will do to you. The thought of his lips in new places, his tongue in new places, makes your eyelids flutter. 

“My Lady,” he says. His voice is intoxicatingly low. 

“My Lord,” you say back to him. 

When you smile at him, the smirk drops from his face and his head jerks back. Cold, blue eyes scan your features for falsities, as if you wear a mask he can remove to reveal a frown. He watches that frown fall into place only when your mother comes up behind you. 

“Oh, my sweet daughter,” she cries, whipping your body around so she can properly hug you goodbye. “Don’t let them change you,” she whispers in your ear. “You’re too lovely for them.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her. You’ll be more than fine. This is the most excited you’ve been in years. And you knew it would be. That’s what he brings out of you…already. 

—

He likes you. Well, he likes you in a way—he likes the look of you—but it’s hard to say if he likes the rest of you yet. He sneaks glances where he can, but he doesn’t often allow you to be in his presence for long. He removes you from his training sessions when you peek in to watch. He leaves once you join for dinner, which you’re less than a fan of, considering it leaves you to his brother and uncle’s company. He does not come find you to say goodnight. 

Don’t you have better things to do, he’s often snipped at you when he finds you close by. You’ve assumed he means in preparation for the wedding in a week, but you told your new servants and planners to do whatever they want. You don’t care what the damn wedding will look like. You don’t care what you’ll look like. You just want him. You want to be around him. Watch him fight. Watch his muscles tense and shift and strain in the war of death. You want to see his body shine with sweat and his eyes harden with a murderous glare. But he won’t let you.

The closest you’ve been able to get to what you want is by sitting in the stands of the arena, where you have to observe his skills from a decent distance. And while it is wildly exciting to see the man you’re going to marry covered in the blood of enemies, you wish you could be closer. You wish you were close enough so he could grin at you as men’s bodies fall off of his blade. You wish he wanted you close to him because it’s killing you to be so far away. 

After days, you still don’t understand the separation. You figured your smiles at him would be enough to get the message across that if he likes you in any sense of the word, then he should be going for you as much as you would him if he’d permit it, but no. He keeps his space between you. Unfortunately for him, you’re sick of it. 

—

“I’m tired of you avoiding me,” you call as you chase after him down the darkened hallway. You’d been waiting outside his training room for hours, hoping his keen senses couldn't pick up your unsteady breathing as you prepared yourself for this exact confrontation. 

His steps stutter at your words and he pauses. He turns on his heel, and with narrowed eyes, advances on you. His form towers over yours, and in any other situation, you might detest the abuse of power, but here, now, you feel a sharp thrill. You try not to let his lack of shirt affect what more you intend to say, but it’s hard. You’re already swallowing saliva. You’re core is already throbbing. 

“Do you have a moment?” you ask.

Feyd’s muscles tighten and bulge as his arms cross over his chest. He huffs. “I don’t understand you. You’re like a little rodent, you know,” he says. “Following me around as if I drop crumbs for you.”

A lump catches in your throat. He hasn’t spoken much to you since your arrival on Giedi Prime, and you know cruelty runs through the Harkonnen bloodline, but you didn’t know he could cut so deeply with words. “I’m not a rodent.”

“You’re as annoying as one.”

“Because I want to be around you?” you ask. “Because I like you–”

His arms fall away from his chest and your head flinches back from the finger pointed at your nose. “You do not like me,” he snaps.

His voice, though low, bounces off the walls of the hall, an echoey repeating of those words that you almost can’t believe you’re having to hear. You’ve not given any indication that what you’re telling him could possibly be a lie, so you don’t see how he could come to that conclusion. Unless there are whispers in his ear. 

“Yes, I do,” you say. “I’m marrying you. I want to marry you.”

“You are not supposed to want that,” he spits.

“Well, I do!” you spit back. 

“Then you don’t make sense!”

You don’t know what that means, so you just stand there, staring at one another as you wait for him to explain further. He doesn’t, and you tire of the waiting, so instead, you take a risk by stepping closer, and with cautious fingers, you raise your hand to his chest. Your palm plants firmly against his skin, and then you feel it. His heart beating rapidly. For a second you think it’s from the training. But then you look up at him, at how his jaw clenches and how he struggles to meet your eyes. And now you understand.

“I like what you are,” you tell him. “I like that you’re strong. I don’t care that you kill. I don’t care that you crave the feeling it gives you.”

“You should care,” he says, still avoiding your gaze. “You’re meant to be a precious little Lady. That’s what I was promised.”

“And that is what you wanted for a wife?” He doesn’t give you an answer. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed–” he snorts, irritating you further. “I’m sorry if that ruins whatever fun you intended to have with me. I know the Baron has been eager to see what you’ll do to me once we’re married.”

His head swivels back to yours. “He found enjoyment from the idea that you’d be repulsed by me,” he says. “And so did I. So you shouldn’t feel so comfortable.” He latches his fingers to your wrist and jerks your hand away from his body. His hand leaves yours. It falls back to your side and you instantly feel a chill without him. It won’t do. You see a glimpse of your marriage—a loneliness, a cold side of your bed. He begins to turn away from you. 

“You don’t now?”

He stops. “What?”

“You said you did find enjoyment in it,” you repeat. “Do you still?”

You can see his teeth grinding with the shifting of his jaw as he contemplates continuing this conversation. “They said you wouldn’t like me,” he finally tells you. 

“But I do,” you say. “I read about you. I liked you before I met you.”

He groans. His hand runs down his face. He steps back to you, an iciness penetrating your stare. “I had plans for you. Ones you weren’t going to enjoy.”

A smirk curls your lips. “I had plans for you, too. Ones I fully intended to enjoy.”

He sucks in a breath, his chest puffing. His eyes narrow as if searching for your lies. 

Without another thought, you reach up again and, placing your palms on his cheeks, raise onto your toes to press your lips to his. It might be idiotic of you. It might be the stupidest move you could make. He might gut you for the act, marriage alliance be damned. But the only interest you have is in getting your point across. 

His lips are soft—probably one of the few soft spots on him—and they taste of salt from the sweat of his training. He’s frozen for a few agonizing beats, but then nails are digging into the skin of your hips, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to keep the sharp sting at bay. Lips move in tune with yours. You’re pushed backward. You hit the wall, trapped between hard surfaces of stone and body. 

You ache for the man you’ve felt you’ve known for longer than you have. You ache for the heat of him. You knew it would feel like this. 

When the kiss breaks, you smile. “You’ll like me,” you tell him. “I promise.”

He sighs in defeat and says, “I know.”

[edges-of-night]

Hello, hope this message finds you well! I would like to request (if the idea interests you of course) the fellowship responding to the reader asking “would you still love me if I was a worm/toad?”

What an inspired idea, anon haha! This one was fun to think about; hopefully it’s just as much fun to read! Enjoy ♡

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Even though you asked him out of nowhere, Aragorn considers your questions rather seriously. Sitting by a fire with you, it takes him a while to answer: “Why wouldn’t I?” It should’ve been obvious to you that a ranger – and one as kind and gentle-hearted as him! – would naturally see beauty in every creature, no matter its general reputation. To him, it’s not a question.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would shoot you a confused smile when you asked him your question. “What? Why would you turn into a worm…?” You’d blush and explain it to him, which would make him laugh in relief. “Why worry about such nonsense?” – “What, me turning into a worm?” – “No, silly! Me not loving you!” he’d say and pull you close for a kiss ♡ (He’d probably still worry about the sudden question because he cares for you that much haha!)

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

When you ask Frodo your question, it catches him off-guard. He’d look up from his book and ask you to repeat, even though he was already listening carefully. But the question has him double-checking! Your adorable explanation makes him laugh. He’d take your hands and say, “The things you think about! If you ever manage to turn yourself into a worm, you must turn me as well, so that we may live happy lives in our worm-house underground.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf smokes his pipe when you ask him your question and smacks his lips as he contemplates the scenario. “A curious proposition…” For a moment, the furrow of his bushy eyebrows makes it look like he was about to scold you for your nonsense, but then he’d shoot you a playful smirk and assure you that yes, if you were to turn into a worm, he would still love you all the same.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

You ask Gimli your question at a late-night banquet, making him pause and laugh. “I do not know if a worm would want to live in stone though! Wouldn’t you leave for grassier, muddier grounds? What would a worm want with a Dwarf?” Just like that, he has turned your question around! The ensuing nonsense conversation makes it certain: The two of you are inseparable ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is a very playful Elf and enjoys the games and riddles you two tend to play, so your question would not come entirely out of the blue for him. He would tilt his head and pout, pretending to consider it gravely. “A worm? A creature so foul and tiny and all too disagreeable?” – his face splits into a grin – “Why yes, of course!” Additionally, he’d incorporate “little worm” into his endless list of pet names for you.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Your question to Merry would probably come up during one of your philosophical conversations. But instead of stopping Merry dead in his tracks, he’d simply answer, “Yes, next question.” To him, it genuinely is not up for debate if changing your appearance would impact his feelings for you. When you dig deeper, he’d probably say something like, “I’d have to get used to it, but that’s it” and grin at you.

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Let’s be honest: The question would probably come from Pippin in the first place. Maybe he had watched a worm or a toad travelling through a meadow nearby, or even overheard other Hobbits asking their partner about the dreaded scenario. He keeps wondering if he’d still be lovable as a worm but leaves no doubt should that fate befall you: This Hobbit loves you to the moon and back!

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

No contest: Sam Gamgee wins this one by a mile. When you ask him, no matter how unsurely, he’d cross his arms with a thoughtful sigh and start his answer by explaining how important worms are in the circle of nature to keep the ground and gardens alive. “And that’s just that, y’know? I don’t have to find ‘em beautiful, but I’d simply be lost without them. And if it was you, oh, y’know, there’d be no question about it. I’d tinker with a bit of wood to make you an indoor garden, so you have some dirt to crawl in even when we’re inside the house. Something I can carry around. And somethin’ to eat. Unless you don’t want to. I’d bring you the good dirt from Farmer Maggot, and some apples, too. Your favourite flowers must be there too, so that’s – hm? What’re smilin’ at me like that for? You asked the question…”

[rose24207]

Unspoken doubts

Summary: After a misunderstanding fueled by media rumors about Lando’s connection with Magui, you start to doubt their relationship, pulling away from him. But Lando’s commitment to you is unwavering, and he fights to clear the air, proving that his love for you is real and strong.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: miscommunications, magui

A/N: There you go!! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Based of this request

Masterlist

Lando was used to the spotlight—being in the public eye, managing the pressures of the media, and dealing with the rumors that always seemed to swirl around him. But this time, something felt different. The headlines were flashing with something that hit too close to home.

"Magui at the GP with Lando? Is there something more going on?"

You couldn’t help but read the article, your heart sinking as the words danced across the screen. The pictures they had used—Magui standing next to Lando in the paddock, laughing, his arm around her casually—only made your chest tighten. The rumors had always been there, but this? This felt too close to reality. You tried to shake it off, but the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t let go. Was Lando seeing her? Why wasn’t he telling you about this? Why had he kept the entire situation hidden?

You tried reaching out to him, but his responses had been short, distracted, and never truly answering your questions. Your heart began to churn with confusion and doubt. Why hadn’t he mentioned Magui? Why hadn’t he reassured you that everything was fine? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense to you—Lando had been distant lately, his focus shifting, and you were left with the unsettling thought that maybe he was losing interest. Maybe he didn’t want you anymore.

You pulled back, stopped responding to his messages as quickly, started keeping your distance. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him. You just... couldn’t find the words to explain how you felt. You didn’t want to seem weak, but the insecurity gnawed at you. If Lando really cared, why wouldn’t he tell you the truth?

Lando, on the other hand, couldn’t understand what had happened. One minute, you were texting him with your usual affection, and the next, there was nothing. No “good morning,” no “how’s your day going?” You’d started canceling plans, turning down his calls, and keeping everything at arm’s length. It frustrated him, and worst of all, it hurt him to see the distance growing between you.

But when the media storm over Magui continued, Lando began to realize just how serious this was. He hated that his silence had caused the confusion, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it without pushing you further away. The last thing he wanted was to lose you over something that didn’t even involve you.

One night, after an exhausting race weekend, Lando decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He drove to your apartment unannounced, determined to get answers and hopefully clear the air. When you opened the door, your expression was guarded, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of dread.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly, his voice pleading as he stepped inside.

You didn’t respond immediately, just gestured for him to sit. Your silence was deafening, but Lando wasn’t going to give up.

“Look, I know something’s wrong, and I don’t know what happened between us, but I can’t stand this distance anymore. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I need to know,” he said, his voice laced with frustration but also genuine concern.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I saw the pictures. The ones with Magui. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you were hanging out with her?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “I thought we were… I thought we were serious, Lando. But it feels like you’re hiding something.”

Lando’s eyes widened in shock, then softened with understanding. He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Magui? That’s what this is about?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak further.

“I never meant for you to see that. We weren’t together like that, I swear. She’s a friend, nothing more. I was just being polite, trying to keep things professional. But I should have told you, I should’ve communicated better. I’m sorry.” His voice dropped to a more vulnerable tone. “I would never cheat on you. You’re the only one I want.”

You looked away, guilt creeping in now that you could hear the sincerity in his words. But the insecurity still clung to you. “I don’t know, Lando. The media, the way you’ve been acting… it just makes me feel like maybe you don’t take this seriously.”

He stepped closer to you, gently cupping your face, lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “You’re the most important person in my life,” he said firmly, his voice full of emotion. “I don’t care about what anyone else thinks. It’s always been you and me. I know I’ve messed up by not communicating properly. But this, us... I’m all in. You have no idea how much I care about you.”

The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free. You let them fall, feeling the weight of the miscommunication lift as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I should’ve trusted you.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said softly, his hands running through your hair, holding you close to him as if he never wanted to let go. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just please... don’t doubt us.”

The two of you stayed there for a while, just holding each other, letting the hurt fade away with the understanding that no matter the chaos outside, your bond was strong enough to weather it.

And from that moment on, Lando made sure that no more doubts would creep in. His actions spoke louder than any words could, and he promised that from then on, communication would always be his priority.

Thank you for reading!

[joemama-2]

this is not how you imagined your friday night would go.

you thought you’d be watching the stars by now after a nice dinner. maybe some compliments, maybe even a small kiss shared. or some held hands.

but no. because currently you’re seated on the expensive couch, eyes fixated on some random nature documentary because you don’t have the courage to face the six year old boy to your left and demand him to stop staring.

you like kids, but this one oddly makes you nervous, scared almost.

your date is in the bathroom taking way too long and you’re half tempted to up and leave. your posture is stiff, forcing yourself to find the screen interesting.

our of your peripheral, you can see the boy raise his spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, head tilting like you’re one of the animals being observed on the TV.

“are you the one he keeps talking about?”

confusion strikes you as you finally turn your head to face him. your titled head mirroring his own. “um…..i’m not sure.”

a part of you feels flattered by the sudden fact. is satoru really talking about you? but then an unsettling feeling takes place, one of hesitation and jealously. or is he talking about someone else?

“you have the black Cane Corso, right?”

ah, so it’s the former. you smile. “oh, yeah. that’s me.”

“what’s his name?” the little boy asks you, shifting his small body as the talk of dogs gains his attention by the second.

“sunny.”

his brows pinch together. “why sunny?”

“because he was a stray, i found him in a box on a very hot day.”

he hums and nods before asking yet another question. you forget how curious children can be. “is he nice?”

you chuckle. sunny has the stereotype of being aggressive due to his breed and size, but he’s anything but. he’s your gentle giant who gets scared of butterflies and plastic water bottles. “he’s really nice, he loves meeting new people and licking.”

you playfully stick your tongue out with a look of a faux grimace. this gets the small boy to crack a hint of a smile. it warms your heart almost instantly. “you like dogs?” you ask him, voice softening.

he nods automatically. “i really like dogs, i have two dogs. one is white and the other is black.”

“oh wow,” your eyebrows raise. “that’s so cool, are they big too?”

“mhm.” he nods.

you do a small look around. “where are they?”

he simply shrugs and answers, “they only come out sometimes.”

you want to ask what he means by that, but you figure satoru would best know. speaking of, he must be shitting a big one or he’s trying to calm his nerves inside that bathroom down the hall.

the little boy hesitates, like he wants to ask another question but isn’t sure if he should. you give him an encouraging nod and he sighs. “can you bring sunny next time?”

—————————————————————

“when you said you were fostering, i assumed a pet or something. not an actual child.” you tell Satoru as he’s walking you to your apartment door.

the two of you stop in front and he takes this time to grin. “do i not look like a boy dad?”

your eyebrow raises with an unamused expression. “no, first off, you look like a girl dad. and second off, does he consider you his dad?”

“nah, not at all. more like an older brother if anything. or maybe that annoying uncle everyone hates.” he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “did he like you?”

“i hope so.” your lips purse. “i wasn’t exactly ready to pitch myself as a good person tonight to some kid.”

satoru chuckles, thumb lingering on your cheek. “don’t need to pitch yourself, just be you and he’ll like you just as much as i do. well—actually—hopefully not as much. i’d hate to have competition.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “he did mention a next time, though. wants me to bring my dog.”

“you mean that oversized human on all fours?”

your hand collides with his shoulder. he laughs and intertwines your fingers with his. “kidding, kidding. don’t get violent, at least not now.”

leaning down, his lips kiss your forehead smoothly, they linger for a few seconds before he mutters against your skin. “his names megumi, i hope you’ll get along.”

your stomach flutters during this moment, relishing in the easy and comfortable intimacy. you nod and murmur back. “of course.”

he pulls back and smiles down at you. just as he’s about to speak another cheesy line, you beat him to it.

“so….you talk about me a lot?”

[tremendouscreationperson]

Part 2 of this

Next part here

Stan hadn't been able to help it. He had asked for your address to keep in touch.

He was able to now.

Able to send and receive letters. There had been a few instances when he was on the road that he dialed your number and your ma or pa answered, he had pretended to be a wrong number for them.

He was too chicken to talk to Ford why did he think he could talk to you?

But letters were different.

He could do letters.

You'd explained how you moved to California for college and loved the area so much you decided to stay. He had known you wanted to go to college but the three of you had always said you'd stay near New Jersey.

He wished so much that he kept in touch but his life was shit. He made things shit. He was shit.

His dad had been right.

He wasn't even worth turning up to a funeral for.

Stan paused mid sentence. Maybe he shouldn't be exchanging letters with you, maybe he should just stay away.

But a letter couldn't hurt.

He wouldn't have to change his voice or wear gloves or pretend he had smarts.

He could relax.

If something seemed off in the letter he could restart it.

And so the correspondence continued.

~~

It took a year and a half before you suggested coming down to see Mr Mystery himself.

Ford explained that his Uni grant had stopped so he was relying on good ol' fashioned tours of his labs to make money, only the real science didn't interest the resistance so he had to be creative.

You were sure he bored his patrons to death by explaining the rays and dials and tubing he had before coming up with the idea to sell to his clientele.

If only Stan was here. He'd be able to come up with good monsters and ghouls, just like in school.

You were able to find some sketches he gifted you (from a comic he was determined to publish) to send in your letter. Hopefully Ford could use them for ideas. It was a little bittersweet to part with them but ultimately it was for the greater good and you could always ask for them back.

So, now, here you were merely proposing a meet up but it felt... Well it felt wrong? Yeah, Ford and yourself were mates but Stanley was always the glue that kept you together.

Despite the mixed emotions you pushed on and signed your name before shoving it into an envelope and sending it off.

~~

The journey to 'Gravity Falls' - brilliant name - was not awful.

It took a solid 6 hours of driving but you knew it would be worth it. Knew it had to be done.

You would keep your friendship with Ford alive for Stan. You'd be the honorary sibling.

Once you were in Oregon you pulled up the map he had sent and followed the instructions he scratched onto it. 'Don't turn by the Horse Scarecrow go further to the Pig', 'There's a big boulder by the town sign be careful, I swear it moves', 'left by the tree that looks like Dolly'.

They were odd instructions but they were perfect. The town was definitely unique.

It was 9 when you finally made it to the 'Mystery Shack' and you had to admit it was cute. There were homemade arrows pointing in all directions and a copious amount of question marks dotted about.

The sign on the door read "closed" but you could see at the back there were lights on.

Climbing out of your car you twaddled over to the back door, rucksack slung on your shoulder, the soft sounds of a TV wafted through the door as you knocked.

The TV stopped and you could hear wood creaking as Ford approached. The door opened and revealed him wearing a suit with a large question mark tie.

He smiled down at you, gesturing for you to enter. "Hi."

"Hey." Your eyes scanned the room, mostly homemade wooden furniture with the odd trinkets or pop of colour. There were a few sciency looking gadgets but otherwise this was a humble home. "It's really cute in here."

Ford scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks."

The silence was slightly weird but you anticipated that it may be a bit weird at first. Just have to push through it.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

"No but to be honest I'm zonked." You chuckled. "Long journey."

Ford clasped his hands. "Of course, well, you can have my room. I'll take the couch."

"Uhm, I can't kick you out of your room." You didn't realise that he would have to vacate his bed for you to visit. "I'll stay on the couch."

"You take the bed, I won't hear anything else about it." He added the last part as your mouth opened to argue.

~~

Staying with Ford was odd.

He was more casual than you remembered.

Gave fewer lectures.

But otherwise your stay was pleasant.

You helped him in the Shack; printing t-shirts, manning the register, flicking the lights on and off, making spooky noises when needed. It was fun.

You enjoyed your time here because it was silly. You were able to let loose whilst watching some suckers gape at a wax figure or a crudely put together unicorn.

After leaving it really didn't take long to decide on coming back.

Spending every other weekend up in Oregon became your routine. Yeah, the drive was shitty but it was worth it.

Ford loved it. Or well.. if he didn't he didn't say anything.

Eventually you were gifted a cot upstairs and you considered staying for longer.. perhaps even for an indefinite amount of time. It was quite conflicting wanting to stay with Ford.

You still loved Stan. You'd always love him but you saw so much of Stan in Ford it was ludicrous.

The way he'd swindle and trick, his Mr Mystery persona, and whenever a patron was a little handsy, the way he'd threaten them.

Ford never did that. He outwitted people. He was the brains.

But maybe that changed in the time you spent apart. His father had made the two of them box and from Ford's ears he'd kept up the sport.

~~

Through all your time at the shack there was only one thing that truly bothered you. It was a teeny tiny detail but it drove you insane.

Ford never removed his gloves.

He was always wearing them.

Everyday, every night, every meal, everywhere.

You'd seen his hands before.

Everyone back home had.

They were just hands!

Maybe he didn't want the town to think they were real, wanted them to think he was a fraud because being a freak was worse?

It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things but it was agitating you.

~~

"Put teeth on it." You suggest, sitting on the floor with your back leaning against the wall.

Ford made a face but nodded, prying the crows beak apart. He wandered around the shop, opening cupboards and drawers. "I'm sure I had som-"

"The blue cabinet." You pointed.

Ford opened it and voilà he produced a jar of teeth. You didn't bother to ask if they were real, either of the answers would be weird. Yes = weird. No, where did he get such realistic teeth? = Weird.

You observed Ford positioning the teeth, he waited for your approval which you gave and began gluing them.

It was late in the evening and he had promised the town and its tourists something big. So crow with teeth and a skunks tail it was.

He was precise with the glue gun but still stopped to talk with you, ever the gentleman. How had their father made them?

You hated their dad with a passion.

He was an absolute asshole.

You'd tell him that, too.

He didn't even come to the funeral. You'd assumed he had passed but Ford told you he didn't want to come. His parents were starting afresh with Shermie.

No, you wouldn't include Caryn on that. She was lovely but Filbrick...

Filbrick was something else entirely. In fact, you remember first meeting him, he glanced up at you over his newspaper before returning to the words. Stan had reassured you that that type of behaviour meant he liked you but you knew differently. You knew, even at age 10, Stan was covering for his father.

Ford hadn't experienced that. He never knew what it was to disappoint his father and you felt for Stanley. You were even present once when Ford tried to explain that Stan seemed to take short cuts and maybe that was why Filbrick was disappointed. It was later in the week when Stan confessed that he had to take short cuts, of course he did, because how else could he possibly keep up?

"Ah shit!"

Your eyes shot back to Ford who was shaking his left hand. Quickly standing to assist. "What happened?"

"Just a burn, it'll be fine." Ford brushed you off, resuming the task at hand.

You scoffed. "Ford, take the glove off, you idiot."

"It's fine." He insisted.

"You're sticking to things!"

Ford grumbled but didn't reply.

"I've seen your hands before. There's no one else around. Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not weird." He huffed turning away from you. "Don't look."

You rolled your eyes before turning away. "Fucking hell, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were Stan pretending to be Fo-"

It hit you.

All the stupid chats, all the late night beers, all the jokes, the lame costumes, the zero science talk, the scams, the lies, everything.

Your body had turned without your brain catching up and you were face to face with a Stan. Not 100% sure which one.

Stan's eyes were wide, gloved hand clutching his ungloved one. You took three steps to him, invading his personal space, to place your own hand on top of his. Slowly you tugged on it and revealed the five digits.

Wh-what did this mean?

This was Stan?

Stanley?!

Where was Ford?

Why?

Why did Stan need- what was he doi- where wa-

His palm gripped yours. "I can explain."

.

.

.

Part 3

@breadandbiscuits @aratheegreat @sp00kyfr0gs @doggosnoodles12 @50shadesofwinchesters @living-in-a-veil

[pinkberrytea]

If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins.

O, Fitcher’s bird, how com’st thou here? And what may the young bride be doing?

Vanitas—Life is vain. As the true nature of their bond is revealed, the Vampire Ascendant’s Dark Consort is reminded of the futility of swimming against the currents of fate, and must decide whether she shall drown in its river of blood, or let herself be gently carried to the shore.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 12.8k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! i decided to attempt something a little more plot heavy this time, hopefully it is an interesting read! again i would like to dedicate this work to @locallegume and hismostbelovedspawn. thank y’all for being always so kind and supportive!

( part 1 here ) ( part 3 here )

tags: blood drinking; non-con blood drinking; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; creampie; hurt & comfort; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior; intercrural sex; frottage; mind control; aftercare; choking; piv sex

He will notice. He will know.

The metal surface of the key on your hand feels cool against your skin; lifeless and cold, not unlike yourself. As you look down at it, the world dissolves into darkness, a sickening surge of dread welling up from your stomach and running down your spine. Its serrated edge is stained with red—your red. Even if you wipe it, wash it with soap and water, rub it vigorously until all traces of blood are gone, remnants of your scent will linger on it still. Maybe not to the untrained nose, no; but to a vampire, it would most definitely be noticeable, of that you are certain. Your darling is, however, no mere vampire, but the Ascendant, whose consort’s distinctive bouquet he would undoubtedly be able to recognize anywhere, even more so while it is still fresh. There is no escaping your fate, and as that merciless truth dawns on you, you curse yourself for your own foolishness, for your vain stubbornness. Was it worth it? Whatever did you gain from this? Knowledge? For what purpose? To what end? You find answers to none of these questions, and yet another plagues your mind—once the truth is uncovered, what will happen then?

“My lady. The master is home.”

If your inert heart was capable of skipping a beat, it would have done so just now. You turn around in a swift movement, only to be met with a pair of ruby red eyes staring back into your own, their gaze ever so apathetic, unemotional, yet you see a spark of something in them that worries you greatly: cognizance. She knows; the one your darling calls your “lady-in-waiting”, who you are nonetheless very well aware is loyal not to you, but to him, and him alone. She is the only one who remained from the very first batch of spawn he sired, other than you. Shortly after you both moved into what would come to be known as the crimson palace, now his by right following his triumph over his old master, he decided that all the mortal servants who survived were to be turned, for he aspired to make an army of spawn, and where better to start than by turning those who would willingly surrender themselves to him? 

She was one such servant, of course; a human, whose short lifespan would be made inconsequential by the gift of immortality. And yet, as he would soon come to learn, not even the Vampire Ascendant is immune to the dangers of siring those who have yet to prove themselves worthy. One fateful evening, upon walking into one of your fellow spawn trying to force himself on you, he would kill them all in a fit of rage, taking back the gift he had so generously offered only to be repaid with such vile betrayal—all except your lady-in-waiting, whom he had grown to trust, for she was hauntingly fascinated with his eternal adoration of you. As it were, she was the one who warned him of what had been about to happen that night; not out of fondness for you, naturally, but rather as a desperate measure to protect from corruption what she worshiped as the purest form of love, one so raw and so relentless that not even the gods themselves would dare quell its vicious, unforgiving flames. She would not allow anyone to rob you from him, nor anything to stand between you—not even yourself.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be there in a moment,” you say, trying to sound as collected as you possibly can, yet failing miserably at it. The situation you’ve been caught in looks incredibly suspicious as there would otherwise be no reason for you to be in your lover’s study, crouching behind his desk, and both you and your lady-in-waiting are fully aware of this. She can probably smell the scent of your blood, too, as the papercut on your thumb leaks still, a thin red trail running down your hand, smudged on the spot where it came into contact with the object that is now evidence of your misdeed. Neither of you acknowledge this, yet the oppressive silence lingers, perhaps even more unnerving than it would have been if she said something, anything about it. But she doesn’t—in fact, she remains completely still, standing in the doorway and watching you quietly, knowingly, her sharp eyes boring into your jittery self. She doesn’t intend to leave, not without you at least. 

You look at the documents scattered over the desk, and then back at her, almost as if to ask for permission; she doesn’t react to this, which is as good an answer as any. With trembling fingers, you awkwardly gather the papers and put them back inside the open drawer as discreetly as you can, praying that she hasn’t noticed which drawer it is, yet knowing full well she likely has. One paper remains—the one whose rugged edge cut into your flesh, and that which you’d been reading before it spilled your blood and stained the drawer’s key. It is the sole reason why you are even here, stuck in this predicament. 

Earlier in the day, one of the maids had brought a letter that had arrived that morning to your darling while you were both sitting at the breakfast table—a letter addressed to you. You questioned him about it, asked him if you could read it, yet as he’d done with the many others that had arrived before it, he’d lay it aside and tell you, “Dearest, let me spare you the trouble of worrying your pretty little head about such trifling matters.” And as always you’d comply, because you trusted him. Still and all, when hours later he’d inform you he had some urgent business to attend to in the upper city and that he wouldn’t be back for supper, your mind would sneakily wander to thoughts of stealing into his study while he was gone. Could those letters have been sent by your old companions? Those who had once traveled alongside you—those who you had once called friends? It would be easy, so easy to just grab the key to the drawer where he’d toss your correspondence, for you knew he kept it in the pocket of his overcoat, yet you trusted him, did you not? You’d tell yourself you did, and then let the matter rest; for a few minutes at least, before your wandering thoughts would inevitably circle back to the tantalizing prospect of seizing that golden opportunity. You managed to suppress the ever growing temptation for the rest of the day, but when the clock struck nine, that fading last chance became too hard to resist, and curiosity emerged victorious in the fierce battle raging within you.

Your prize now lies before you, for better or for worse, although as you’ve come to find out, and to your utter disappointment, the sender is in fact not any of your old companions. As for the contents—too much information, too little time to process, and you’ve yet to make sense of it all. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, you take one last look before tucking the letter back inside the envelope, eyes lingering on the sender’s initials: 

To the bride of the Vampire Ascendant,

I hope this letter finds you well. As with my others, I don’t expect a response, yet ever so often I feel compelled to write to you on the off chance that the information I share may somehow be of use. I suppose I may have something of a soft spot for you, for I have once been in a position I consider very similar to yours. I would even go so far as to call you kin. Yet as I have done in the past, I would remind you that there will always be a way out. You are not trapped, regardless of what your sire would have you believe. 

Observations I’ve made over the past few years have all but confirmed my thesis that you are indeed no spawn—not of the common variety, anyway—and while I empathize with your unwillingness to put that theory to the test, the evidence leaves little room for interpretation. I understand my… surveillance of you may be unsettling, but I cannot ignore what is to me now clear as day: you do bear three bite marks, do you not? One on your neck, the other on your shoulder, and the last one on your wrist. 

I implore that you think back to your turning: was there pain? Was it agonizing? Terrifying? A spawn’s turning is a terrible, terrible thing. Do you remember the gruesome feeling of all life being drained from your body? Because if not—well, that would be most unusual. Did you partake of your sire’s blood? Not that you’d be able to remember that, of course. The usual turning rite is nothing like what you probably experienced. Three bites, delirious pleasure, drinking from your sire: all hallmarks of a vampiric bride’s creation. The dark kiss, they call it. Has your sire ever compelled you? Surely not. You retain your free will, after all, unlike common spawn. And that is my point: the connection needs not be severed for you to leave. 

If you ever reconsider my offer, our small settlement in Gillian’s Hill would welcome you with open arms. Some of us are also runaway brides, although none are sunwalkers like yourself, of course. Our community would benefit greatly from your presence. Should you decide to join us, just say the word—I will come to you. 

Your friend,

L.I.

The hour of reckoning is upon you.

There he stands, near the entranceway, surrounded by the servants who have come to greet him. He is giving instructions to one of them—you will be hosting another of his infamous soirees soon it seems. Some patriar’s niece has apparently taken a liking to him, puppy love no doubt, an excellent opportunity to make yet another powerful ally. You watch him silently from your position a few feet away, your lady-in-waiting close beside you, and the pit of your stomach tightens every time it seems he is about to turn in your direction. It takes but a few minutes for him to finally acknowledge your presence—his stern gaze immediately softens once he lays eyes on you, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips, and for a moment you almost lose yourself in the gentleness of his expression.

“...Astarion,” you softly say his name, your voice quiet, uncertain. His smile widens as he turns away from the servant and approaches you; the closer he is, the better you can see him, and you can’t help but think of how very handsome he looks in his black waistcoat, embroidered with red spinel gemstones. The overflowing love you feel impossibly warms your chest and causes tears to well up in your eyes at the mere sight of him, yet the creeping guilt haunts you still, impossible to ignore.

“My love,” he coos, bringing his hand to your face and lovingly brushing his fingers against your cheek. You lean into his touch, yet the tenderness is short-lived; with that same hand, he then grabs your neck—his grip firm, but not tight—and leans down to press his mouth to yours while holding you in place. His lips are soft, warm—you close your eyes and try to revel in the comforting feeling of your skin against his, but that too doesn’t last long. He lets you go, smiling still, and tucks a few strands of stray hair that have come undone from your hairdo behind your ear. You look up at him from under thick lashes, trying your best not to lose your composure, yet something in your gaze apparently gives you away. As his eyes meet yours, his smile slowly fades and he raises a brow ever so slightly, puzzled countenance inconspicuous to all but you. 

“My lord, would you have the maids prepare the—oof,” you hear your lady-in-waiting start to say, only to be abruptly cut off as she trips over her own feet and bumps into you. Your body sways with the impact, not enough for you to fall, but with just about the force required for your torso to slightly bend over.

Clang.

All those present turn to the source of the metallic sound in the otherwise quiet room, you included, and upon seeing the object that now lays on the floor, so close it almost comes into contact with the tip of your shoe, the already cold blood in your veins congeals into ice—the key. You had hurriedly cleaned it and stuffed it under your petticoat before leaving the study with your lady-in-waiting in tow so you could later get rid of it while no one was watching, yet it seems that plan is now no longer an option. You press your lips together and slowly turn your head to the side, tentatively glancing at your lover, and what you see causes any remnants of color to drain from your already pale face. Any semblance of joy in his expression has completely vanished as his now darkened eyes glare fixedly at the unassuming piece of metal by your feet. Without uttering a word, he leans down and picks it up. The atmosphere is so thick you could cut it with a knife; no one dares break the foreboding silence, and all you can hear is the now painfully loud ticking of the grandfather clock adorning the grand foyer.

“How… curious,” he finally says, voice low, seemingly calm, yet your trained ear can discern the underlying anger. You gulp uncomfortably and wipe your sweaty hands on the skirt of your house dress, eyes never leaving his face, studying every twitch of his muscles. “Has the key to my drawer created a life of its own, I wonder? There can surely be no other explanation. How else would it have made its way here? Unless of course…” he raises his head to meet your stare, and you instinctively recoil at the seething ire building up underneath his otherwise impassive visage, “it had some help.”

“I…” you stutter, your throat completely dry, causing your voice to crack and come out raspy, so hushed it is barely above a whisper. You turn to your lady-in-waiting, brows knitting together in your desperation, but she doesn’t look back at you, coldly avoiding your gaze. All the other servants watch you silently, apprehensively, exchanging knowing glances. “The—the laundry basket. It could have been thrown in there. Transferred from one pocket to the other…” You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, and as a surge of blind panic rises within you, wild and unruly, you start feeling nauseous and light-headed, your trembling knees threatening to give out. “If not that, then—I don’t know… I can’t think of any other reason why I’d have it…”

“Oh?” His fury becoming increasingly more difficult to subdue, the flames of anger now lick through Astarion’s eyes; you can see yourself reflected in them, one of the boons he so lovingly extended to you, and despite knowing how lucky you are for having never been required to let go of your own image, staring back at your pathetic, quivering frame makes you wish for a moment you were like the other spawn, with whom he would refuse to share his ascended blessings—yet as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you shun your own petty egotism, for you know how much he has sacrificed—how much you have both sacrificed—to ensure neither you nor him would have to hide in the shadows ever again. “Is that right? I suppose that could be possible. Except,” he scowls, and you feel all hairs on your body stand on end in anticipation for what you predict will come next, “that doesn’t explain why it smells of your blood, of all things. Does it, darling?”

This is it. You always knew it was pointless to come up with excuses, yet you tried to deceive him anyway, foolishly both underestimating and defying the person whom you were supposed to trust the most. Your eyes ashamedly leave his face and you lower your gaze, not bothering to answer—at this point, there is nothing you could say that would avert or deescalate the situation. You’ve made your bed, and now must lie in it. After all this time, after all you’ve been through, to think you’d still betray him, lie to him; it is despicable, indefensible. 

“To the boudoir. Now.” Each word he articulates drips with contempt, the hostility in his voice now undeniable. Your eyes sting as the tears start to form and bead your lashes, blurring your vision. Shame, guilt, fear, regret—the unsightly commingling of emotions comes to a head, making you feel unworthy of even being in his presence.

“I—”

“I was not asking, darling.” He grabs your wrist as he says this, his grasp so strong you’re afraid he may dislocate it. You let out a yelp, and he turns your hand around, exposing the bright red papercut at the base of your thumb, maculating the thin, sensitive skin between it and your palm. It no longer bleeds, but even your enhanced vampiric healing talents have not been enough to allow the still fresh wound to close in the short time that has transpired since it was inflicted upon your flesh. As you anxiously raise your eyes to meet his gaze, your heart sinks at the realization that he is not only furious—he is hurt. He is scared. He is heartbroken. 

“Astarion, please—” you try to say, but he doesn’t let you finish, closing his fingers around your upper arm and forcefully dragging you across the foyer. The servants know well not to follow; they say nothing as you both make your way down the main hall, Astarion’s feet heavily striking the ground with every step, and you treading close behind, stumbling and trying to keep pace with him. You’re unsure what to think, unsure what to feel. While he was always prone to outbursts of anger, you have never before seen him react so viscerally to anything—not like this, not even in his most vulnerable moments. You know him better than you know yourself, maybe even better than he knows himself; in the many years you’ve spent in each other’s arms, you have always been able to read his every expression, decipher his every thought—but this, this you don’t understand. It’s novel, foreign, terrifying. 

“Astarion…” As the two of you turn a corner, finally no longer within the servants’ line of sight, you try to speak once more, fighting back the tears. “Please…” you whimper, your forlorn supplications going unanswered, unheeded, as if never uttered at all. “Please… you’re hurting me…”

As soon as the words leave your lips, he abruptly stops, and you feel his grip on your arm tighten. When he turns around to face you, you cower at the wrath you had never before seen manifest with such intensity in his eyes, and mixed with it, although less discernible, fear—raw, violent and hellacious. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and the loud thumping of his heart sounds like an accusation, a condemnation of your wretched selfishness. It now only beats once more because of you; because of your complacence, your foolishness, your blithering, pitiful neediness. You wanted him to love you, feared that he’d leave you, and while telling yourself it was because you wanted him to be happy, you sentenced him to eternal guilt. All the sacrifice, all the hurt… and now you’d turn your back on him? You’d make light of the bond of trust you had so earnestly forged and nourished throughout the years—the only reason why you both live still?

“I am hurting you?” Astarion hisses through his teeth, letting go of your arm only to use that same hand to fiercely grab your throat and shove you onto the sill of a nearby window, forcing you to lean against it in a half-seated position, yet at the same time cradling the back of your head with his other hand to cushion the impact. “You come uninvited into my study, rummage through my things, lie to me about it—yet I’m the one hurting you? Do you even hear yourself?” He straddles you and brings his face close to yours, his nails digging into your neck, squeezing it to the point of slightly choking you. 

“...You—you’re the one who’s lying…” you manage to say between pants and squeaks, for despite having no need to breathe, it is difficult for you to talk or emit any sounds at all with your windpipes crushed under his grasp. “You’ve been lying to me… all this time…” He buries his fingers deeper into your skin, but that doesn’t stop you from finishing, it doesn’t prevent the impending disaster about to strike. “I’m not your spawn… I never was.”

You don’t know what has come over you, but the words are spoken before you can swallow them. Astarion seems as taken aback as you are at your defiance—he looks stunned for a few seconds, yet as soon as he recovers, his eyes narrow and glow with sanguineous intent, a darkness so ghoulish and vile festering deep within them that for a moment, you become genuinely frightened. His hand lets go of your neck to then aggressively pull at the hair on top of your scalp, forcibly tilting your head upwards, and he slams the other on the wall next to the window, entrapping you against it.

“No, darling, you are my spawn. My spawn. Mine. Your body, your mind, your soul, they all belong to me. I’ve made you. You are mine to use however I please,” he growls, spitting each word with viperous malice.

Before you can react to this, or even begin to process what is happening, shock waves are sent through your body in the wake of the lancinating pain that suddenly shoots up your throat as he violently sinks his fangs into the hollow at its base. You let out a soundless gasp and your eyes widen in shock, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally streaming down your cheeks. Him feeding on you is a daily occurrence, something you were supposed to already be entirely used to, but never before had he been so forceful, never before had it hurt this much. He sucks with such vigor and so sloppily that the blood spills from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the white fabric of your clothes, speckling them red. His fingers remain tangled in your hair, keeping your head in place as he drinks, and your hairdo partly unravels. You are unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think, even, but not unable to feel: you feel shame, you feel guilt, you feel remorse, for betraying him when trust was the only thing you could ever offer, the only thing that was even left.

“I’m sorry…” you lament, your voice so quiet you are unsure if he is even able to hear you, so you say it one more time. And then another. And you keep repeating it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much effort it takes to voice each word, you apologize again and again hoping your feelings will somehow reach him, hoping he will somehow understand how ashamed you are of yourself, how regretful you feel, how deeply you love him—and you do, you love him, so profoundly that life to you has no meaning without him by your side. If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins. He is your sire, your darling, your master—he is your everything. In hurting him, you hurt yourself, and in breaking his trust, you destroy the very foundation of your existence. 

I’m sorry. Forgive me. I love you.

As your crimson runs down his throat, Astarion can feel it. Your anguish. Your sorrow. All of it. He can feel them so intensely, that it’s as if your feelings are his own—and they are, for he too feels scared, he too feels ashamed, he too loves you, just as desperately, just as ardently. He is scared of losing you, ashamed of hurting you, and the love you share has ascended to such heights that it needs not be voiced, it needs not be reaffirmed. Nothing terrifies him as much as the idea of being apart from you, and he’d do anything to keep you close; if that implies lying to you, inflicting pain on you, then he’ll gladly embrace the shame, for he never thought himself worthy of your love to begin with. And despite it all, you’d still have him—you’d still join him in immortality, trust him beyond reason, bow down and accept your position below him, for power is all he has ever known, all that has ever mattered, and wielding power over you is his only way of ensuring you will never be taken from him. 

I want you. I need you. Don’t leave me.

The tears you shed fall from your eyes and drip onto Astarion’s face as if wept by him; the sensation brings him back to reality, and as the fog clears, he is relentlessly assailed by the regret welling up within his heart. Finally unlatching his mouth from your neck, he slowly lifts his head up to look into your eyes, releasing his grip on your hair and using the newly freed hand to wipe his lips and chin, which are now smeared with blood—with that same hand, he then cups your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your skin, and in doing so, painting a red streak across it.

“Forgive me… please forgive me…” you plead between soft sobs, the teardrops uncontrollably pouring and mixing with your crimson. Cupping your cheek still, he uses his other hand to dry the now ruby-colored beads, his caresses ever so tender, ever so gentle. Although the darkness has not entirely faded from his eyes, it is eclipsed by the genuine warmth blooming on their dewy surface. He rests his forehead against yours, sliding his fingers which are now wet from the bloody droplets down your shoulders, gliding them across your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip. His touches are so incredibly delicate, tentative almost, that it’s as if you were made out of porcelain and applying the slightest amount of pressure would cause you to break into a thousand pieces.

“Shh. It’s over, my love. It’s over.” He is so close to you that his breath tickles your face and his lips graze yours as he speaks, the soothing tone of his voice lulling your frenzied mind. After hesitating for a split second, his wandering digits venture further down, toying with the hemline of your dress, hiking the bloodstained fabric up just enough to expose the waxen skin of your thigh, only to then slip under it. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, and still unsure what to make of his advances, you let your eyes fall shut, savoring the moment as if waiting for the spell to break, as if the illusion is about to shatter, yet it doesn’t—instead, he finally closes the distance between you, covering your mouth with his and spreading your crimson that still trickles down his jaw all over you both. As you kiss, some of it makes its way onto your tongue, the coppery flavor so very familiar, for your blood is one and the same, and tasting yourself is as if tasting him.

“That's what you want, isn't it? To be mine? Forever?”

His lips never leaving yours, Astarion moves his hand on your cheek to the side of your head so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face, now damp from your blood only as the tears slowly dry. The hand under your dress finds its way to your backside, splaying across its soft curve and slightly lifting you up from the windowsill, supporting your weight as he leans his body into yours to pin you against the glass. You hold onto his shoulders with both of your hands and wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself from slipping, bringing him closer and pushing his crotch flush against your stomach; doing so allows you to feel the obvious erection under his pants, which you hadn’t yet noticed was there. While this would be a common effect of feeding under other circumstances, it startles you at first, flusters you almost, yet the reason for his sudden wantonness notwithstanding, even if you can’t fully understand it, what you do know is that the two of you may need this just as urgently—to lose yourselves in lust and hunger, feel each other, be reassured that you are both still here, that you are both still real. 

Letting out a low groan, he starts leisurely rolling his hips, burying the fully hardened bulge between your thighs. No less eager to touch him, you rock your own in rhythm with his movements, to which your body responds more willingly than what either of you would have anticipated, heat pooling in your abdomen and wetness collecting between your folds, some of which soaks through your underpants—the sweet scent of your budding arousal encourages him to keep going, and the fingers of his hand propping up your behind reach for their waistband, slipping under the lacy fabric and pulling at it. With some effort he is able to get them to slide down a little, but not enough to expose your aching sex; deciding to try a different approach instead, he untangles his other hand from your hair and uses it to pull his own pants down, freeing his already leaking cock. Were this any other day, he would have taken his time teasing you, building you both up to the edge only to pull away at the last minute and start all over again, but not this time. Never before had Astarion’s urgency to take you been this great; never before had he felt like he must make you his as quickly as possible, lest you are forever lost to him.

Lifting up your petticoat to gain access to your still clothed core, he slides his cock under it, your underpants now the only layer separating your flesh from his. You moan against his lips at the sensation, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his warm tongue inside your partially open mouth. As the petticoat falls back down, he has his freed hand join the other, using both to cradle your ass, his long digits groping and fondling the soft skin. While rolling his tongue over yours, he resumes his hip movements, massaging your dripping slit with his length and squeezing even more slick out of you, drenching the fabric that envelops it in your juices; due to the friction and the wetness, the flimsy piece of cloth starts wrinkling and sliding to the side, revealing more of your swollen folds with each thrust. Noticing this, he tilts his pelvis, angling himself to help push it out of the way, and it doesn’t take long before your skin finally comes into contact with his—once it does, you jerk your hands away from his shoulders to then wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and he avidly sucks on your bottom lip, fighting off the urge to sink his fangs into it, drawing even more of your blood.

Wet as you are, he glides effortlessly along your now partially naked mound, gently nudging your twitching entrance with the velvety tip of his cock, only to then back away slowly, spreading your folds apart and massaging the engorged bud atop them as he moves. Although his pace is languid, you can tell by his small grunts that he is growing more desperate, more impatient; once your mouths unweave, a thin string of saliva forming between your bruised, reddened lips, you are unwittingly sucked into the endless vortex of passion and yearning lurking within his crimson irises, his feelings flooding into your own heart as you lock eyes with him. Without you, there is nothing—without you, he is nothing. He offered you eternal life, and in return, you promised him eternal love; you cannot, you will not back away now. Only by feeling you, tasting you, ruining you can he convince himself that you remain within his reach, that you belong to him still. The intensity of his gaze overwhelms you, yet as you turn your head to the side to avoid it, he brings one of his hands up from under your dress and grasps your chin, forcing it back into its previous position.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Astarion says, his voice soft, but his tone firm, commanding; as if under a spell, you obey unquestioningly, staring back at him as intently as you can manage while he grinds against the raw, sensitive skin of your center, sliding along the wetness between your puffed folds and coating his cock in your sticky essence, the lewd squelching noises that ensue echoing in the empty hallway. Now increasing the tempo of his thrusts, he presses his throbbing cockhead harder and harder against your cunt with every jerk of his hips, threatening to stretch its tight borders open only to then pull back, the agonizing anticipation of it setting your nerves on fire. The coiling tension in your abdomen grows tauter by the minute, begging for release, and you can no longer feel the searing pain of the gaping wound on your neck, your mind shamelessly burdened with naught but thoughts of him—of how much you love him, how much you want him, how desperately you need him inside you, buried soul-deep, filling you to the brim. 

His appetites mirror your own, for he too craves nothing more than to have you wrapped around him, ready and primed for him to use however he wishes, for you are his, and that is his prerogative—but first, he would have you come undone, watch as you crumble into nothing at his behest. Without ever breaking eye contact, not wanting to miss a second of your unraveling, he pounds into the outer edges of your entrance with ever increasing furor, dipping his cockhead deeper within it each time, while simultaneously holding back the overwhelming urge to stuff you full in a single thrust. He can tell you are close, so close; as you have not fed since morning, the color of your flushed cheeks is not nearly as bright as it would have otherwise been, but he can still hear it—what little remains of your cold blood rushing through your veins, frantically flowing to your face and cunt, puffing up your skin and painting it a pale pink. 

You’re a vision like this, parted lips reddened with dried blood, half-lidded eyes curtained by long wet lashes, nipples pebbling under the thin chiffon of your bodice; his pretty consort, his sweet spawn, his good girl, so foolishly trusting, so naively kind. When did he lose sight of you? When did your blind devotion turn into treacherous cynicism? When did the desire to bring you to heel consume him, when did the darkness within start to take hold? As these thoughts sweep through his mind, Astarion forfeits all self-control—he needs to feel you, deeper, closer; conquer your soul, dominate your body, devour you whole. He plunges into you without warning, reveling in the feeling of your tight cunt fluttering and contracting around his cock, creaming and coating him in your sweet come, as having him finally buried deep inside you pushes you over the edge of your release. You shut your eyes close and let your head fall back, only for him to firmly grab your jaw and force it up again, intent on having you face him as you dissolve into pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he purrs, the look in his eyes expressing adoration and subjugation in equal measure. “My sweet girl. My good girl.” Holding your jaw still, he slides in and out of your spasming slit without giving you time to recover from your orgasm, and the pain from the overstimulation overlaps with the high of the afterglow—rather than shun the sensation, you welcome it, for its paradoxical nature at once grounds and comforts you; the greater the pain, the more intensely you can feel him, the more entangled your souls become. The fingers of the hand still holding your ass tighten their grip, pushing your hips against his, tilting them to allow his cock to sink as deeply within you as possible. Although he refuses to avert his gaze, looking upon you with bone-chilling fierceness, the sweat beading his forehead and the growing fervor of his lust-ridden expression give away his ascent to his own rapture. To him, there is no greater bliss than feeling you clench around him as he massages your slickened walls, his velvety tip ever so slightly brushing against the spongy skin of your cervix with every thrust. He belongs inside you, and you belong to him; your body is more his than yours, your heart less yours than his.

“All mine,” he grunts between ragged breaths, the thought of you completely submitting to him, letting yourself be ravaged and debauched for his pleasure alone racing through Astarion’s mind as he reaches his climax, spilling himself all over your walls and flooding you with his warm seed. His hand that had been keeping your jaw in place lets go of it to then splay across the side of your face, affectionately caressing your cheek, and he finally lets his eyes wander away from yours, lowering his head to nuzzle into the crook of your neck while basking in his release; yet the moment is short-lived, for once he catches sight of the still bleeding mess right below his nose, two crimson gashes carved on the pale skin of your throat, his mind suddenly freezes and his gorge rises. All his—but at what cost? Was this what you wished for? Was this what he wished for? You agreed to eternity, accepted your share of the burden, became his of your own volition; but doesn’t a toy become useless once it’s broken? Doesn’t love turn into hate once it’s ruined? He knew the time would come when you’d finally see him for who he truly is, when the pathetic, repulsive rot festering under the husk of shallow charm would be laid bare before you, but why now, when he had gathered enough power to offer you the world and everything in it? Was not even that enough to keep you by his side? Feeling you squirm under him, hearing your pained whimpers and tearful pleas—he was not supposed to take joy in any of it, yet his body would betray his mind as he drained you dry. The more you pull away, the more his obsession grows; the more you try to escape, the less you are likely to get away. So why would you reject a fate you had once embraced? Were you his obedient girl no longer? Would you doom yourself, doom your love, let the dam in his living heart burst and the murky waters within consume you, him, and all in their wake?

“I already have everything. Except you by my side.”

You wince as Astarion pulls out of you, the sensitive flesh of your core now red and tender, slathered with his thick come, which runs down your entrance and onto your thighs. Raising his head back up, he brings his face close to yours, tenderly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hand on your cheek lingering for a moment before making its way downwards, sliding under your petticoat and reaching for the space between your legs. Once his fingers come into contact with your still exposed wetness, you instinctively roll your hips into the long digits, eliciting a faint smile from him; however, rather than indulging you, he grasps the wrinkled fabric of your underpants, so drenched they have stayed put on your groin ever since being pushed there, and smoothens it as best as he can to cover your dripping sex. Planting another kiss on your bloodstained skin and lovingly rubbing his forehead and nose against yours, he uses that same hand to tuck his softening cock back inside his pants; with one last peck on your temple, he then moves his other hand away from its place on your rear to wrap both of his arms around your waist, hoisting you up. No longer pinned against the glass, legs still around his midriff and arms around his neck, you tighten your grip on him to keep yourself from falling, leaning your upper body forward and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he coos, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your head and affectionately run his fingers through your hair. Backing away from the window, he then turns around and sets off towards the living quarters, all the while carrying you as if you were unable to walk on your own. Not bothering to question his reasons, you close your eyes, intent on enjoying his uncharacteristic gentleness while it lasts and surrendering to the overwhelming allure of his warmth, his scent, his soothing touch and the soft thumping of his heart, which you can feel with your chest flush against his, as if it beats for the two of you. The familiar aegis of his embrace offers solace and protection in equal measure, and for however long he holds you, you feel safe, you feel loved, and nothing else matters—not the guilt, not his darkness, not your selfishness.

“Astarion…” 

You whisper his name as if chanting a mantra, not really for any other purpose than to comfort yourself. The throbbing pain on your neck, the unpleasant sensation of your fluids and his drying on your thighs, the blood all over your face, hair and clothes; somehow, you care about none of it while in his arms, feeling your body rock gently as he moves, the world an endless void behind your shut eyelids. Before the moment ends, it’s just you and him, him and you—no souls weighing down on either of you other than your own, no phantoms from the past lingering in your memory, no outside voices joining in the chorus and challenging your undying love. The voices within remain, however, loud as ever, questioning if you’ve been forgiven, pondering if you’d even deserve it; while he has yet to let go, they have no power over you, but you’re no stranger to the ephemeral nature of his tenderness. Be that as it may, what scares you more than anything are not the loud accusations echoing on the surface, but rather the quiet murmurs rousing in the depths of your heart—those suggesting that time will erode his essence, stripping him off everything but the desire to consume you.

“I’m willing to share all of this with you. What’s that, if not love?”

“Bring me clean towels and lukewarm water. Make it quick.” His voice sounds muffled as you drift in and out of consciousness, and for the first time you notice you can’t feel the tips of your fingers, the blood loss clearly too great a challenge for even your undead body to overcome. The servant whom he is addressing answers something you can’t quite make out, and with a reverent nod, turns away and takes her leave. You slightly open your eyes to get your bearings, and the first thing you see once they adjust to the sudden brightness is the ornately hand-carved frame surrounding the door to your private chambers, its gilded accents glinting in the light of the candelabra, left behind you as Astarion makes his way further inside the room. Upon reaching the grand canopy bed, draped with opulent velvet curtains, he gently lays you down onto the soft mattress, using the hand still tangled in your hair to support your head. The instant you part with his warm touch, the ever constant coldness of death seeps through your skin, its icy tendrils grazing the fringes of your soul; the sudden loss is, however, somewhat subdued when he then circles the bed and sits down by your side, bringing his fingers to your face to glide their soft pads across your brow, studying your features in reflective silence.

“My lord.” No sooner has she left than the servant is back with a pile of plush cotton towels in her arms, one of your handmaidens following close behind, carrying a wooden wash tub that looks far too heavy for her scrawny frame. You prick up your ears at the sound of the familiar voice, and upon discreetly raising your eyes to take a better look at her, you recognize said servant as none other than your lady-in-waiting; it strikes you as no mere coincidence that she’d been waiting for your arrival with the necessary provisions ready, but you decide not to dwell on it. Likewise, there is no effort on her part to acknowledge you as she sets the towels on the eiderdown duvet, gesturing to the handmaiden to put the wash tub down near the bed.

“Leave us,” Astarion says, addressing them both yet not for a moment letting his eyes drift away from yours. Each gives a brief curtsy before doing as told, carefully closing the door behind them on their way out. Once they’re gone, he reaches out for the towel on top of the pile and dips one of its edges in the clear water inside the tub, letting it soak for a few seconds before pulling it back out. Remaining silent and with his gaze fixed upon you, he then brings the now drenched cloth to his own face and rubs it against his mouth and chin, removing the crimson still spattered over his skin with relative ease. You timidly meet his stare from under thick lashes, feeling a bit faint, your limbs heavy and numb from the lack of blood within your veins.

“...Astarion,” you tentatively call for him, your voice so low you wonder for a moment if he is even able to hear you at all; rather than answering you, he places a finger on your lips, hushing you gently. His jaw now rid of stains, he lays the bloodied towel aside and grabs another, soaking it as he did the first, only this time, he presses it to your cheek instead. The damp fabric feels soft and warm against your gelid complexion, and he dabs at it so delicately, so soothingly, that you find yourself leaning into his touch. Your eyelids start threatening to fall shut again, your mind bereft of all thought, but just as you are about to nod off, he starts speaking, snapping you out of your torpor.  

“I never lied to you. Not really.” As the words leave his lips, Astarion’s eyes darken with an intensity you can’t quite make sense of. Deeming your face to be satisfactorily clean, he lowers the towel to massage the pale skin of your throat, letting his gaze wander away from yours to rest upon the grisly puncture marks left by his own fangs. “You are my spawn. My creation. Born from my blood,” he says, the softness in his voice contrasting with the sobriety of his words and the somberness of his expression. After pausing for a moment, not so much out of hesitation as to stall the inevitable, he continues, finally unearthing that which had been hidden for so long with confounding casualness, the revelation likely to have gone by unnoticed if meant for slightly less attentive ears. “My consort—my bride.”

Neither of you utter another word in the minutes that follow. He remains focused on your neck, undoing the top buttons of your bodice to gain better access to it, thus baring your shoulders and collarbone, carefully patting the towel around the ruptured flesh and wiping the encrusted blood off its swollen borders. You, on the other hand, can do anything but focus, unable to process what has just been exposed or the significance of it. Your body is like a doll’s under his; you do not blink, muscles stiffened and chest unmoving, an inanimate object with no will of its own—but you do have a will of your own, do you not? If the letter is to be given any credence to, then wouldn’t the implication be that he let you believe that he could control you when he in fact could not? And if so—what were you to call it then, if not a lie? Did he not trust you to stay? (Had he no trust in your bond?) Was that the source of his fear? (Were you the source of his fear?)

“Is it true, then?” you hear yourself ask, your mouth moving on its own as you let the surge of emotion guide your actions in the absence of coherent thought. “Can you really not compel me? Am I free to do as I please?” Despite the quiet pitch of your voice, and although it trembles ever so faintly, there is a hint of what Astarion can only discern as resentment laced with it. He suddenly stops moving, the now red towel in his hands still pressed against your skin, remaining motionless for a moment before slowly raising his head to lock eyes with you—and there it is again, that raw, visceral dread, only this time masked with a thin veil of arrogance.  

“Oh, sweet thing. Shouldn’t you know it by now?” His lips slightly curl into a humorless smile, voice smooth as silk, yet the words are spoken with deliberate inflection, eerily measured and dangerously sharp. He discards the towel, having it join the other, and casts a predatory gaze upon you, leaning down until the tip of his nose is only inches apart from yours. Bringing both of his hands to your face, he then gently cups your cheeks, fondly caressing them with his thumbs. “I’m the Vampire Ascendant, bound by no such petty rules. That some meddling busybody would underestimate me is not surprising, but I expected more from my good girl.” To your disconcert, although he says this, glimmers of affection peek through the shadows lurking within his eyes. “I’ve spoiled you.” 

You look up at him in confusion, brows lowered and drawn together, trying and yet failing to read his expression. The smile stays on his lips for a moment, but before long, any warmth in his countenance suddenly vanishes. Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach in anticipation, your body’s primal response signaling the imminent threat, but like a mouse caught in a trap, you are helpless, pinned under him in more ways than one. As you lose yourself in the ruby red pools of his irises, the subtle scent of his cologne, that intoxicating brew of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, grows stronger and more concentrated, filling your nose and wafting down your throat. And then, you feel it—a tingling sensation in your fingers, climbing up your arms, spreading to your ribs and chest. It builds up, intensifies, until it is no longer tingling, but shooting pain, radiating outwards in searing waves. Your every muscle screams in protest, throbbing and burning and aching, but when you try to move your limbs, you find them unresponsive; neither can you open your mouth when you try to scream, not even close your eyes once you feel them brim with tears, which then roll down your temples.

“Ah—ah…!”

“Shh. Don’t fight it, my love. It’ll be over soon.” Astarion says as he softly dries the falling droplets with his thumbs, the words slipping from his pretty lips in dulcet whispers. Once you heed his advice and stop struggling, the pain subsides—you remain, however, a passenger in your own body, unable to do anything but stare into his eyes. Within them, the fear still lingers, but it no longer muddies its bloody waters, suppressed by the confidence now sprouting in their depths; and that’s when you notice that this is to him as much of a novelty as it is to you. Despite his haughtiness, he couldn’t have been sure that it would work, for he had never attempted such a feat before. But alas, any concerns prove now unfounded—you are, and were always his thrall. His puppet bride, subject to his every whim.

“My dark consort. My right hand. My most beloved spawn.”

The compulsion persists for no more than a few minutes, but once he finally loosens his hold on you, it feels as if it’s been hours since last your body was yours to command. With a loud gasp, sucking in the air desperately as if your undead lungs would have any use for it, you are back in control, for what that’s even worth now. Pressing his forehead to yours, he hushes you tenderly, breathing words of comfort as if soothing your unrest after a bad dream. Tears continue pouring from your eyes even as they fall shut, yet the source of your grief is unclear; your mind is, however, in too great a turmoil to allow you to sort out your feelings, so you try to focus on his touch instead, yielding to it as he moves one of his hands from its place on your cheek to lovingly brush your hair away from your face. Regardless, the moment lasts only for so long—once you are no longer as agitated, he pulls away, his expression undecipherable, an uncanny blend of darkness and placidity, dolefulness and sobriety.

“Pay attention, my dear, for this is an offer I will make but once,” he says, the danger in his voice underlying its velvety slickness, reflecting the ambiguous glint in his eyes. As you open your own, you see him take and soak another towel from the pile, which he then brings to your neck to continue removing the dried blood, by now almost completely gone from your skin, yet staining your clothes still. “Freedom. That’s what you wish for, isn’t it?” Smiling bitterly, he undoes the remaining buttons of your bodice, exposing the narrow valley between your breasts, yet his gaze remains drawn to the fresh set of bite marks on your throat; he seems distracted for a moment, but soon enough, his lips continue moving, the tone with which he speaks taking on a deceptively poised quality. “Say the word and I shall unmake our bond. Refuse, and resign to your fate as my eternal spawn.”

Astarion doesn’t look your way even as he tells you this, focusing on the wound still—a manifestation of his inner demons, the sigil of a man who chose to fully embrace the shadows, and whose only remaining light he now tries to dim. Oh, how he wishes the illusion would have lasted forever; you in his arms, eternally his, a bird singing beautifully in its gilded cage. Not clipping your wings was his biggest mistake, for he had always feared that sooner or later, you’d give into the desire to soar high, leave him to waste away, consumed by power and shame. So now he opens the cage himself, before you lose your voice, before the song is silenced. He wants to see it, he needs to see it—hear your denial, feel your rejection, taste your betrayal. Whether he means what he says is inconsequential, for he himself knows not the answer to that; his wish is but to have you confirm what he already understands to be true, so that he may finally snuff out that trembling flame and surrender to lonesome oblivion.

Your answer to him is, however, nothing but silence; having by now wiped most of the stains off your neck area, he straightens his torso, and his eyes finally make their way back to yours—which, to his astonishment, are not only misty and glistening with the tears still pooling in their corners and flowing down your cheeks, but wide and unblinking, unrelenting terror etched across your face. Terror? Why terror? No, no, this makes no sense. Is he to believe you’re crying tears of happiness? Could these be complicated feelings surfacing now that you’ve finally been given that which you’d always wished for? Freedom—that is what you wish for, surely? He never doubted your love, for he could feel it just as you could feel his, but he did question whether just love would be enough to keep you by his side, whether even a love as real as yours would stand the test of time. Never had he been able to understand your love for him, but he knew it to be true, and he would protect it in whatever way he could; as the Ascendant, there was very little he could not do, thus taking away your freedom was the obvious course of action. And yet, now that he offers it back, you react not with relief or gratitude, but terror?

“I would sooner die again,” you finally say, voice quiet and strained, raw emotion pouring from your every word. Astarion stares at you in complete shock, frozen in place, and time seems to come to a standstill while each of you wait for the other to break the silence. As he disconcertedly studies your face, trying to make sense of your unexpected fretfulness, a realization dawns on him—are you perhaps afraid of spending eternity by yourself? Is it not his promise of making you into a full vampire, independent of its creator, but rather the prospect of total separation that upsets you so? That must be it, that has to be it—why else would the offer of freedom, that which has always driven him, the ultimate goal, sound so appalling to your ears? Although it is no less surprising that you wouldn’t use your newfound autonomy to turn your back on him at the first opportunity, as far as his proposal is concerned, this is but a misunderstanding; he should clarify, then.

“You—”

Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.

Your words ring in Astarion’s ears as if spoken by you, yet your quivering lips remain sealed. Hah! How quaint, that such an ability would manifest now. As your thoughts flow from you to him, he notices you don’t seem to be aware that you are speaking into his mind. Of course not, why would you? He had kept the nature of your bond a secret, and thus, your mental connection was too concealed. Oftentime you’d unwittingly let your inner voice seep into his head, but never had you noticed, and never had he brought it to your attention. It feels invasive, peeking into your heart when you haven’t let him in, but he can’t help himself, for he needs to know; he needs to be certain that this is what you want, that this is the fate you’ve chosen, no matter how grim, no matter how hopeless.  

I promise I’ll be good. I need you. Please.

Raising your upper body into a seated position, you reach for his arm, and your fingers tentatively grasp at the sleeve of his shirt. You can’t bring yourself to voice your feelings, yet you hope that the earnestness in your tear-filled eyes somehow is enough to convince him of your sincerity, for the thought alone of having your souls ripped asunder horrifies you. You had accepted your circumstances once, and you’d do so again—bearing the guilt and remaining his spawn for the rest of your days is too low a price to pay for his freedom, for his life, for him. All for him. It always was, it always will be. You failed him once; not again. Never again. For however long he’ll have you, you’ll remain by his side, pay your penance, atone for your sins, love him with all of you, body, mind and soul, until there’s nothing left but dust and blood. 

As the confusion in his eyes gives way to gentle warmth, Astarion brings one of his hands to your face, tenderly cradling it and brushing his long fingers against the damp skin. After letting go of the towel which he had been holding still, he leans forward, pausing for a moment to meet your weepy gaze before pressing his pillowy lips to yours, and relief washes over you like a balm. You relax your muscles which you hadn’t noticed were tensed until now, and although you have yet to stop crying, the salty droplets are no longer an expression of fear and regret, but of succor and deliverance. Timidly starting with a sequence of soft, chaste pecks, the kiss gradually becomes more sensual, more passionate, and soon you feel his tongue flick at your bottom lip, asking for passage. Once you comply, he begins eagerly exploring the inside of your mouth, the digits of his other hand running through your hair as he tastes you, unweaving what still remains of your hairdo and letting the tresses fall over your shoulders. Longing to be as close to him as physically possible, you tighten your grip on his sleeve, lovingly nuzzling your nose and cheeks against his, and in doing so, making them wet with your tears. 

Kissing you still, he untangles his fingers from your now freed locks and splays his hand across the small of your back, using his body weight to gently pin you down until you are both lying on the mattress, him on top of you. The hand on your cheek leaves it to reach for the last towel in the pile, which he then blindly soaks in the water remaining within the wash tub; your skin now completely rid of bloodstains, he sticks it under your petticoat instead, bringing it to your groin and tugging at your underpants with one of his digits. This time successfully managing to get them to slide down enough to gain access to your wetness, he delicately presses the soaked cloth to it, eliciting a soft mewl from you. All the while massaging your mouth with his, he rubs the towel up and down the still tender flesh of your sex, thus removing the remnants of earlier activities, yet at the same time nudging your slowly swelling clit with every stroke. Feeling the familiar tautness building up low in your belly, you roll your hips into his hand, squeezing your thighs together and clenching them around his arm, any pretenses of playing coy completely discarded as you helplessly plead for his touch.

Rather than mess around with you like he would on any other occasion, Astarion yields, and as two of his fingers feel up and circle the now twitching bundle of nerves through the wet fabric, another slides further down and rims your slickened entrance. You wantonly whimper against his lips, wrapping both of your arms around his neck, and his hand on your back makes its way to the front of your torso to unfasten the lacing keeping your unbuttoned bodice in place, thus revealing your breasts and stomach. As soon as they come into view, his skilled digits quickly find one of your hardened nipples, pinching and playing with the swollen nub as his tongue continues hungrily swirling around yours and his hand between your legs fondles your aching arousal, coaxing pants and all sorts of cute noises out of you.

“Sing for me, little bird,” he breaks the kiss to purr the words in your ear, fangs gently grazing your earlobe. You readily do as told, moaning and whining with your drying eyes closed, teardrops no longer escaping through your long lashes, and his face creases into a smuggish smile as he watches you writhe and squirm. Once he withdraws both of his hands, you let out a displeased sigh, in response to which his smile widens; finally tossing aside the towel, he then leans back to finish undressing you, and as you help him peel off both your dress and undergarments, you suddenly notice neither of you are wearing shoes, though you can’t recall at which point they were lost. Tucking a hand inside his own pants, he pulls out his cock, still partially soft but rapidly hardening again, yet there seems to be no intention on his part of removing the rest of his clothes, a fact which neither of you seem to mind—if he would rather have you naked and exposed before him, then so be it; if he finds strength in your vulnerability, then you won’t deny it to him, for his comfort is your atonement, even if it costs you your dignity.

“You wouldn't just be some spawn—you’re far more than that to me.”

“Come, pretty vampling,” Astarion beckons, intertwining his fingers with yours and helping you rise to his level. Once you are both sitting up and facing each other, he tenderly kisses the back of your hand, letting go of it to then wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull your chest flush against his, squishing your soft breasts between your bodies. After planting a loving peck on your brow and affectionately rubbing your noses together, he then slightly cocks his head to the side, exposing the smooth skin of his neck, marked only by two shallow indentations, so similar, yet so different from your own. It takes you no more than that to realize what he means, and you gingerly press your mouth to a blue artery pulsating right under his jawline, looking up at him demurely with lamblike eyes, as if waiting for his approval. With an affable simper, he brings one of his hands up to cradle the back of your scalp, which you understand as an assent; parting your rosy lips, you thus brush your fangs against the throbbing vein, only to then sink them into the sensitive flesh, as gently and carefully as possible. He groans at the sensation, not from pain, but pleasure, and you feel him lightly tug at your hair.

His blood tastes rich and angular on your tongue, and your hazy mind slowly clears as the thick crimson starts spreading to your extremities. You suck so delicately that he can barely feel your fangs piercing his neck—instead, he feels the plushness of your lips, the softness of your curves, the heat irradiating from your cold pale skin as it turns warm and flushed. He hugs you tighter, yearning to have you pressed even closer against him, letting out low grunts and quiet moans as you drink, his cock now fully hardened into an angry, painful erection. Bringing both of his hands down to your ass, he firmly squeezes your buttocks and slightly lifts up your body to sit you on his lap; following his lead, you position yourself while feeding still, bending your knees to support your weight on them and lining up your entrance with his leaking tip. However, instead of immediately lowering your hips, you start languidly rocking them back and forth, burying the engorged cockhead between your folds and coating it in your juices.

“Oh, you cheeky brat…” he says, yet the playful tone of his voice encourages you to keep going, even if from your position you can’t see the matching expression on his face, eyes closed and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Gods, you feel good…” His fingers press down harder on the supple skin of your behind, and his crimson takes on a sweeter flavor the more aroused he becomes; as it flows to your center, your rouged clit too grows tumescent with desire, slick dripping from your needy cunt. Setting an agonizingly sensual pace to your rhythmic movements, you bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders, a trail of red escaping from your lips and running down your chin. You can feel his cockhead twitching madly as you engulf it in your wet heat, hungering for the tightness of your walls, but the blood high emboldens you, and you continue stubbornly refusing to give in, even if you want nothing more than to have him stuff you full.

Astarion has, however, only so much patience, and being on the receiving end of teasing doesn’t sit well with him; once he feels the tip of his cock nudge the borders of your slit, he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks your body down, stretching your entrance open and sinking you to about half of his length. You unlatch your mouth from his neck and yelp in surprise, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, but before you can say anything, he crashes his lips into yours, lapping at the blood staining them red. While you kiss, he gives you time to adjust, and his hands move up to your waist, his touch at once firm and gentle. Despite the pain of the sudden intrusion, being filled with him is pure bliss, and as your walls accommodate his size, you start almost imperceptibly undulating your hips, although the slight friction serves only to fan the flames of your desire. Upon taking notice of your shy grinding, he eggs you on, pulling you downwards with only about enough force to encourage you to follow suit. Not willing to hold back any longer, you eagerly comply, lowering your rear until you are fully seated on him, buttocks pressed against his thighs. Stifling a groan, he nips at your bottom lip and sucks on the ruby droplets seeping from the small lesion, your taste indistinguishable from his own. If you’d give yourself to him, then he shall unapologetically take that which he is owed; from the marrow in your bones to the crimson flowing through your veins, you are wholly his to consume.

“You're the one that I want—the one that I love.”

“Hnng—Astarion…” you moan his name as your mouths come apart, so sweetly that it stirs up in him the urge to again sink his fangs into your flesh. Yet he doesn’t; instead, he bucks his hips upwards, prodding your cervix with his cockhead, and an amused glint appears in his eyes as you react with a high-pitched squeal. Trying to hide the blush spreading across your face, you lean forward, resting your chin on the curve between his neck and shoulder, warm cheek pressed to his, and biting back a whimper, you timidly start sliding yourself up and down his cock. With your ear so close to his mouth, you can hear the soft grunts and shallow pants slipping from his lips whenever he disappears into you, the lewdness of it setting ablaze the waves of fire seething under your skin. Your leisure gait doesn’t last long, and you ride him more energetically with each bob of your body, which he reciprocates by burying his fingers deeper into your waist and pulling you down harder, feeling the pert nubs of your plump breasts brush against his chest as they bounce.

“You’re doing so well, little love,” Astarion says while peppering kisses across the delicate skin of your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You can feel him pulsing inside you, bulging veins vibrating against your gummy walls as they are distended to their limit the stiffer he becomes. “Such a good pup for me, taking me so nicely,” he coos, bringing one of his hands to your navel, gliding the pads of his digits along the soft curve of your stomach and towards the ache throbbing in your crotch, where he then grasps your flushed clit between two deft fingers, massaging the tender knot with seasoned adroitness. The sound of smacking flesh grows louder as he pushes against your hips with his own, and you sink down his cock with greater abandon the more you approach the peak of ecstasy, your body glistening with sweat and burning red with his crimson. 

“Ah! I’m—close…” you stutter, your voice trembling as you work your thigh muscles with even greater ardor, letting go of his shoulders to lean back on your outstretched palms. With the fingers of his hand wedged between your legs, he continues stroking the rose-pink bud crowning your mound, moving the other from its place on your waist to gently squeeze one of your breasts, teasing the puckered nipple with his thumb. While watching you lose yourself in the rising crescendo of your release, he accidentally lets his gaze wander to the wound on your throat; promptly averting it, he chooses to focus instead on the luscious expression etched on your pretty face, his lifeblood blooming under your cheeks and nose—the moment you lock eyes with him, the tension finally snaps, and you buckle your elbows as your arms go limp, walls spasming around him and creamy pearls of come leaking from your stretched entrance.  

Spellbound by your cock-drunk image, Astarion pushes you down on the bed without warning, and cradling your face with both of his hands, pulls you into a lustful kiss, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. Still high off your climax, you don’t resist, obediently parting your lips, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. Shoving his thighs against the back of yours, he bends them into a mating press, and wasting no time, starts ferociously thrusting deep into you, setting a brutal pace; your walls contract and twitch around his enlarged girth, the ripples of your orgasm yet to peter out, making vulgar sucking noises as you swallow him whole. He moans into the kiss with every roll of his hips, blood buzzing in his ears and heart pounding violently inside his chest, fucking you greedily, indulgently, minding his own pleasure and naught else. Your body sways weightlessly like a ragdoll’s each time the base of his cock strikes your groin, but you care not about his rough treatment of you, for nothing brings you greater elation than knowing you can make him feel this way.

“So tight…” he growls with his mouth still pressed against yours, his voice muffled and breathy. Propping his torso up with one of his arms, he brings the hand of the other to your throat, squeezing it firmly, and pulls away to admire his handiwork, a dark intensity blazing within his eyes. “Oh, darling, you look so precious with my fingers around your neck.” His silvery curls fall over his brow as he says this, tousled and dripping with sweat, his appearance at once statuesque and animalistic. He ruts into you in a disorderly fray, his movements messy and sloppy as they usually are in the short moments preceding the culmination of his desire, and with one last powerful thrust, he empties himself inside your fucked out cunt, feeling your fluttering walls clench around him, milking him to the last drop.

“Sweet gods…” Slumping down on top of you, he embraces your sore body and buries his face in your hair, taking in your scent as his cock continues convulsing inside your raw, tender slit, hardened still. Filled with him and his seed, nestled in his arms, you feel comfortably full, warm, safe. Your eyes fall shut, tiredness suddenly overtaking your weary mind, and although erratic thoughts run through it, you hold onto none of them, deciding to just for today, just for this night, turn a blind eye to all implications, all the ill omens, and let yourself be; be by his side, be his spawn, be his bride forever more. 

As you drift off into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the gentle sound of his heartbeat, oblivion tenderly cradles you against its merciful bosom, and the clarity of the precipice of unconsciousness rips your burdens from your soul and makes your every worry seem so futile, so meaningless. Your fate is inevitable, as certain as death itself, and following the precepts of life is a vain undertaking, for they are not the same as those ruling over undeath. Astarion knows this; so should you. Existence is transient, but his dark love is everlasting.

There is a light in every living thing.  It’s crawling t’wards the surface to survive. And in its wake, it tramples everything. We’ll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆/𝑩.𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒅

Autistic!reader. I tried my best to make this as realistic as possible. Hopefully it came out okay.

It was supposed to be a good day. A nice, relaxed afternoon with Beth and her friends; Leah, Kyra, Alessia, and Katie. Beth had convinced you it would be fun, saying they all liked you and wanted to get to know you better. You had been hesitant at first, the idea of socializing with a group of people you weren’t entirely comfortable with making your stomach twist in unease. But Beth’s insistence, paired with her reassuring smile, had eventually won you over.

It had started off well enough. You had sat next to Beth on the couch, her hand resting lightly on your thigh as the others chatted animatedly around you. Occasionally, they’d turn their attention to you, asking questions about your interests. At first, you answered earnestly, your voice soft but steady. Alessia asked about your favorite book, and you’d immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation about the most recent book you’d read that had become your favourite.

After that, the questions kept coming, and you kept answering. And it was okay, at first. Until you started noticing a pattern. A pattern that made your stomach twist further. Every time you finished talking, both Leah and Katie, laughed.

At first, you thought they were laughing because they found your answers amusing or endearing. Beth always said your enthusiasm was one of her favorite things about you. But as the conversation continued, the laughter didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt pointed. Katie and Leah especially seemed to find every answer you gave funny, even when you weren’t trying to be.

Your confusion began to morph into something heavier; something cold and sharp that settled in your chest. You were used to people misunderstanding you or finding your honesty a little jarring. It wasn’t new. But this felt different. You weren’t sure why at first, but then it hit you: they weren’t laughing with you. They were laughing at you.

You felt the humiliation rise in your throat like bile. You weren’t stupid. Naïve, maybe. Socially awkward, definitely. But you weren’t stupid. And yet, the way they looked at you, the way they giggled and shared glances after every response you gave, made you feel small.

Beth hadn’t noticed. She was too busy chatting with Kyra about something else. You glanced at her, silently willing her to look your way and see the discomfort etched across your face. But she didn’t.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” you murmured, standing abruptly.

No one seemed to notice except Beth, who glanced at you with a small smile. “You okay, love?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice, and hurried down the hallway. Once you reached the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and leaned heavily against it for a second before beginning to pace.

The humiliation was suffocating now, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands flapped slightly at your sides as you tried to calm the storm brewing inside you. Your chest ached with frustration and hurt, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Beth had said they liked you. She’d promised they liked you. But clearly, that wasn’t true.

There was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later, and you froze.

“Love? It’s me.” Beth’s voice was gentle, but you didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to speak.

The door creaked open slowly, and Beth stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on you. Her expression shifted to one of concern as she took you in.

“Oh, babe,” she said softly, stepping closer.

You wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave you alone. You were mad at her. She’d lied to you. But when she wrapped her arms around you, the familiar pressure was grounding, and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into her.

Beth leaned back against the sink, letting your weight rest against her as she held you tightly. One of her hands stroked your back in slow, soothing circles, while the other rested on the back of your head, cradling you gently.

“What happened?” she asked after a while, her voice low and careful. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything, focusing instead on grazing your fingers over the soft skin of her back. The repetitive motion calmed you, anchoring you as you tried to sort through your thoughts.

“They laughed at me,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Beth’s hand stilled against your back. “What?”

“Your friends.” You pulled back just enough to look at her, though your gaze didn’t meet hers. It hovered somewhere over her shoulder instead. “They were laughing at me. They think I’m stupid.”

Beth frowned, her eyes searching your face. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s true,” you said bluntly. “They laughed after every answer I gave. Even when I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Beth’s arms tightened around you, her expression shifting to one of anger; not at you, but at the situation. “They don’t think you’re stupid,” she said firmly. “I promise you that.”

You shook your head, your hands still grazing over her skin. “You lied to me. You said they liked me.”

“They do like you,” Beth insisted.

“They don’t,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. “If they did, they wouldn’t have laughed at me.”

Beth sighed, her forehead resting against yours as she tried to figure out what to say. “They’re just…they don’t know you like I do,” she said after a moment. “Sometimes people laugh because they don’t know how else to react. It doesn’t mean they think you’re stupid.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration of her back.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Beth whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I should’ve noticed. I should’ve said something.”

You shrugged slightly, still not meeting her gaze. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she said, her voice firm but still gentle. “You shouldn’t have to feel like that. Not ever.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet. Beth’s hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your head up slightly so you had no choice but to look at her.

“I love you,” she said, her blue eyes earnest. “And I think you’re brilliant. If they can’t see that, that’s their problem, not yours.”

Her words made your chest ache in a different way, and you felt your lip wobble slightly as you fought back tears. “I’m mad at you,” you said, your voice small.

Beth nodded. “I know.

“You lied to me.”

“I know,” she repeated. “And I’m sorry.”

You studied her for a moment, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But there was nothing there.

“I just…I wanted you to feel comfortable,” Beth continued. “I didn’t think…I didn’t think they’d act like that.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers trailing up to her shoulder. “It’s okay. But I don’t think I want to hang out with them again.”

“Okay,” Beth said without hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

The weight in your chest eased slightly at her words, and you let out a small sigh as your lips quirked up into a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Beth smiled softly, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Anything for you, love.” Even though you were still a little mad at her, you couldn’t help but lean in and brush your lips against her own. Beth’s smile widened just slightly as she cupped your jaw to lightly coax you forward into a proper kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, your fingers toying with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck.

After a few quiet moments, you leaned back into her embrace, letting her warmth and steady presence soothe the lingering hurt. You pressed a kiss to her neck, feeling the way she squeezed you tightly in response.

After a while, she pulled back, pressing a playful kiss to your nose. You couldn’t help but smile in response, and Beth retuned it as she lead you back through to the bedroom with the promise she’d be back in just a few minutes, and you nod, curling up on her side of the bed with your book, just as you always did.

You trusted Beth to handle it. If there was one thing you knew about her, it was that she never let anyone disrespect you. But even that thought wasn’t enough to soothe the turmoil in your mind completely. But I would ease. It always did.

In the living room, Beth stood in front of her friends, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into a tight line. Alessia and Kyra sat quietly on the couch, their expressions uneasy, while Katie and Leah leaned back in their seats, clearly not expecting what was coming.

“I hope you’re happy with yourselves,” Beth began, her accent more pronounced in her frustration. “Do you have any idea how upset you made her?”

Leah tilted her head, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Come on, Beth. We were just joking around. It’s not that deep.”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Not that deep? Leah, she left the room practically in tears because of the way you two were laughing at her. How is that not deep?”

Katie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We weren’t being mean. She’s just-well, she’s a bit literal, isn’t she? It’s not like we said anythin’ bad.”

“That’s not the point!” Beth snapped, her voice rising. “She’s literal because she’s autistic. Did either of you even stop to think about that? Or did you just decide to laugh at her for being different?”

The room went silent. Leah blinked, the words hitting her like a sudden gust of wind. Katie opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, for once unsure of what to say.

Kyra shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking between Beth and the others. “Beth, we didn’t mean to upset her. Alessia and I didn’t even say anything…”

“But you didn’t stop them, did you?” Beth shot back, her glare moving to Kyra and Alessia. “You sat there and let it happen. You know what those two are like. You could have said something, but you didn’t.”

Alessia’s cheeks flushed with guilt, and Kyra nodded solemnly, their silence a quiet admission of responsibility.

Beth turned her focus back to Katie and Leah, her voice colder now. “Because of the two of you, she doesn’t want to see any of you again. Do you realize how much that hurts her? How much that hurts me?”

Katie frowned, her arms crossing defensively. “She’s being a bit dramatic, don’t you think? It was just banter, Beth. She’ll get over it.”

Beth’s hand slammed against the back of a chair, startling all of them. “Don’t you dare call her dramatic,” she seethed. “Do you even hear yourselves? She’s not dramatic. She processes things differently. She doesn’t understand your so-called banter the way you think she does. And instead of making her feel included, you made her feel like a joke.”

Leah leaned forward, her voice softer now. “We didn’t know…about her being autistic. You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“I shouldn’t have to mention it!” Beth exclaimed, her voice breaking slightly. “You should treat her with respect regardless. But now that you do know, you better think long and hard about how you’re going to make this right.”

The weight of Beth’s words settled heavily in the room. Leah ran a hand through her hair, looking genuinely remorseful, while Katie’s defensive posture began to soften.

Beth took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I love you guys, but I also love her,” she said quietly but firmly. “And I will not tolerate anyone making her feel less than. If you can’t understand that, then you’re not welcome in our lives.”

The room remained silent as Beth turned on her heel and left, not sparing them another glance.

*

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[beenbaanbuun]

the ghost - opposites attract universe

in front of the fire stands a broad shouldered man dressed in furs, staring down at your rug as if it means just as much to him as it does you. you don’t recognise him as a friend of your lovers, although it’s possible that you just haven’t met this one yet. you wrack your brain for names they might have mentioned, but each one that pops up in your mind is someone you’ve met before. that means that this man is a stranger.

you want to call out to him, ask him what the fuck he was doing in your home. perhaps you’d grab yeosang’s attention at the same time; the werewolf may be just a few steps behind you, but he is surprisingly unaware of his surroundings. maybe he’d leap into action, chase the intruder out of the house. but then you blink and the man is gone, completely vanished like he’s some sort of…

ghost…

“did you just see that?” you ask yeosang, the werewolf slowly coming to a stop behind you with a strip of jerky hanging lazily between his lips. he really hasn’t been paying attention to much other than the way your hair shines prettily under the dim candles that light the home, so it’s safe to say that he has no idea what it is you’re talking about. he gives you a questioning hum as he rips the jerky with his teeth.

“see what?” his voice is muffled by the meat that he insists on chewing as he speaks. the sound of his lips smacking sends an unsatisfying shiver down your spine, and your mouth tugs into a frown.

“so i guess the answers no?” you scoff, crossing your arms in irritation, “some guard dog you are; i don’t think you’d be able to spot an intruder if he came up to you and gave you a handshake!”

yeosang doesn’t respond to your insult, merely rolling his eyes before tugging you over to jongho, the rug, to cuddle. always so dramatic, he thinks to himself as he flops onto the floor and gestures for you to join him. you do, lying straight on his chest in a way that seems to force all the air out of his lungs. normally, he’d pin you for that, holding you to the floor until you’re promising him to be more gentle through your honestly insulting giggles. though, he finds that with the lack of air in his lungs, it’s rather difficult to flip the two of you over. next time, he concludes before wrapping his tail protectively around your thigh.

a few hours later, you find yourself in the greenhouse with seonghwa, watching the graceful man tend to his plants as he hums out a pretty tune. yeosang is long gone, deciding to take some alone time after listening to you ramble about your most recent interest, book binding, for as long as he could stand to. he gave you some fake excuse of needing to ask hongjoong about something, but you aren’t quite dumb enough to believe that. especially when you watched him walk in the opposite direction of the office you knew your daddy was in.

still, you don’t really mind having your time away from your friend. it gives you the opportunity to spend time with your lovers without the grumpy mutt offering his snarky comments every few sentences.

“hey, seonghwa?” you say, voice lilting with curiosity as you push yourself up to sit on his work bench. there’s a grimace on his face as he watches your thighs press down against the dirt covered wood, the compost and debris no doubt rubbing into the material of your denim shorts. its fine, he tells himself; it’ll come out with a little manpower… hopefully.

“what is it, lamb?” seonghwa hums as he tugs his cotton gardening gloves from his hands and lays them perfectly straight on the table. his fingertips are painted with a deep shake of purple today, done by hongjoong’s fair hands just the night before. as he lays a hand on your exposed thigh, you can’t help but think that the colour looks pretty against your skin.

“do you think ghosts are real?”

the question takes seonghwa by surprise, you can see by the way his eyes go wide and his blinks slow for just a moment or two. he lets out an inquisitive hum, lips pursing slightly as he tries to think of an answer.

“well, i know they’re real,” seonghwa purrs as he gently spreads your thighs, stepping between them so he can look you in the eyes. he’s pretty from this close up—not that he isn’t always pretty—with his wide eyes twinkling and pink lips so beautifully plush. you so badly want to steal a kiss from him, but you also want to know the answer to your question. you hold back for now; there’ll be plenty of time for kissing later. “why are you asking?”

you almost tell him, but just before the words fall from your lips, you hold back. perhaps telling one of your lovers that you saw a man in their living room would be cause for concern. whilst you’re almost entirely convinced that he was a ghost, the only proof you have is that one moment he was there and the next he wasn’t. it’s very plausible that he was just really good at hiding, or maybe he was just a figment of your imagination. if either of those turn out to be the case, seonghwa will worry. you don’t want that, so you keep your theory to yourself.

“i’m just curious, hwa,” you offer him a smile, but you can tell he sees through it. he gives you a low hum, a single eyebrow cocking an question. the fake smile remains on your face, so he lets it go, understanding that he’s not going to get the truth out of you so easily.

“well, what do you want to know, my darling lamb?” he asks, using a long finger to hook some hair behind your ear, “you never know, i might just have the answers, hm?” the same hand settles on your cheek, palm cupping your face like you’re the most precious thing on earth.

you pause for a moment. what do you want to know about ghosts? you’d come to seonghwa with just the one question in mind; did they exist? he’d answered that one with ease and now you’re stuck on where to go next. realistically, you should probably focus on trying to find out whether the man in the living room was one or not; how on earth are you supposed to do that without revealing the truth?

seonghwa chuckles as he watches your expression contort onto one of concentration. it’s adorable, the way that your worry lines look between your brows. the way you tug on your bottom lip with your teeth, the white enamel now lined with the pretty pink gloss you reapplied not too long ago. if he didn’t think you looked entirely too cute like that, perhaps he’d tell you about it so you could wipe it away. for now, though, he’s happy to sit and bask in your sweetness.

“what’s so difficult about thinking up a question?” seonghwa leans forward to place a kiss to the tip of your nose when he finds that he can no longer hold himself back. the grin on his face as he pulls away is wide. “i can think of a million off the top of my head.”

you me face relaxes as he teases you. a deadpan glare is thrown in his direction, but it does nothing to faze him. he’s still watching you like you hold the world in your hands.

“like what?” you retaliate, mock annoyance laced through your tone.

“like,” he pauses for a second, pouting as he sorts through the wide array of cryptid knowledge that’s stored itself in his brain. you can practically see the lightbulb pop up above his head a few seconds later as he lands on something. “how do ghosts come into existence?”

“someone dies?” you shrug, and seonghwa lets out a chuckle.

“yes, but it’s so much more than that, lamb,” he smiles. there’s a hint of amusement in his face with the way the corners of his lips tilt up, but you ignore it in favour of looking into his adoring eyes. they’re mostly pupil, and the way the light bounces off of them causes them to shine like a hunk of whitby jet. you suck in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart. it almost aches with how much you love him. “if you died right now, there would have to be some sort of physical remains tying you to the real world; a lock of hair, or a splatter of blood.”

or the skin of an onikuma…

oh…

“jongho,” you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling your chest grow tight at the realisation.

“your rug?” seonghwa tilts his head, “what about it?”

you gulp down the lump in your throat, letting it sit in your stomach as an uneasy ball of emotions instead. you don’t have the time nor energy to sift through them or unpack each of them individually. you’re so close to reaching the bottom of the mystery you’d stumbled upon; you won’t let feelings fuck it up now.

“he’s a demon,” you say, looking into seonghwa’s eyes for confirmation. he nods, “and hongjoong said demons have human forms too?”

“sometimes,” seonghwa concludes, “the onikuma… it’s probable that he disguised himself as a villager from time to time. it would’ve helped him scope his hunting ground better.”

jongho probably had a human form. that ball of emotions—is that excitement?—grows bigger.

“and if you were to kill a onikuma and, i don’t know, keep its hide as a trophy, would he come back as a ghost? do demons even have souls? do you even need a soul to be a ghost? what exactly is a soul?”

a hand slips over your racing mouth, effectively cutting your rambles short, shutting you up. seonghwa relaxedly sighs at the moment of peace.

“not even i understand the ins and outs of everything, my silly little lamb,” he snickers, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, “but i do think i understand what you’re trying to ask in your odd, roundabout way.” he pauses to slowly pull his hand away from your lips. his actions say that he trusts you to remain silent, the pace he’s going at tells you that he’s prepared to put his hand right back where it was if you start rambling again. it pleases him to see your lips sealed in a thin, annoyed line. he hums in amusement, “you know, your precious onikuma will probably come back if you call for him; ghosts like to know that the living still have a need for them.”

“you think?” you ask. seonghwa presses another short kiss to your lips, barely giving you time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away again.

“i know,” he murmurs, “now, go and talk to your bear; leave me to work in peace!”

——————————————

that’s how you end up back in the living room, cross legged on jongho’s back like you have been so many times before. the fire crackles behind you, filling the otherwise silent room with the comforting sound of burning wood. you take a deep breath through your nose, pushing it out through your mouth as you try and expel the anxiety that’s muddled itself with the excitement in your stomach.

“jongho?” you say, speaking the name given to him by you; his real name remained a mystery to you. there’s a cold blast of air behind you, and your neck twists at a whiplash pace, eyes landing on the fireplace. there’s nothing there but the white-hot logs and the flames dancing back and forth across them. it must’ve been a gust of wind down the chimney or something. nothing to frighten you at all.

you huff out a breath of relief before letting your head twist slowly back around…

“is that me?” a voice says as your eyes make contact with a pair of pupils that sit a little too close to be comfortable. you scramble back, a little squeak coming from your lips as you move away from the figure that has appeared in front of you. you come to a step just a foot or two away, chest heaving at the sudden fright the man had given you. if it weren’t for the mop of fuzzy brown hair that resembled the fur on your favourite rug a little too closely to be coincidence perhaps you’d have screamed for help. “jongho, i mean… is that my name?”

he tilts his head like a confused animal, tugging at the brown fur hide that rests upon his shoulders as if the action brings him some sort of comfort. and as you look into his eyes, you realise that he probably needs it. they’re wet, glittering with unshed tears of confusion and stress. he keeps blinking them away, but they come back almost instantly. it’s no surprise to you when the first one rolls down his cheek. he wastes no time in wiping it away.

“does that upset you?” you ask, cautiously, “that i’ve given you a name?”

he shakes his head vigorously.

“i’ve never had a name before,” he clarifies; the thought makes your chest ache. to be given a name is to be loved and this poor creature has none. no names, and therefore no love. you think for a moment about how long he’s lived with no love, but it only makes it hurt more. he was slain hundreds of years ago, and he was probably alive for hundreds more. your eyes begin to burn so you push that thought deep down inside of you. “jongho is a nice one to have as my first.”

your heart breaks for the creature. you’d have to have a talk with hongjoong later; how cruel of him to let his resident ghost go uncared for for so long.

“it is,” you try not to take notice of how strained your voice sounds, “and its yours; you’re jongho, if you’d like be.

the man nods, although the tension in his body doesn’t seem to seep away just yet. his shoulders are still hunched up by his ears, and his fingers still twirl the fur he’s wearing mindlessly. you find yourself grateful that it’s just you and him; you can’t bear to think how nervous he’d be if there was a werewolf looming over your shoulder.

“and… who are you?” he asks shyly, and you take a moment to think. within a few seconds, you settle on an answer and smile to yourself.

“a friend,” you reply.

[romanticintheory]

Can you do something fluffy and domestic with Price. Like maybe him trying to ask civilian reader out on a date, and everything is just going against him. (He eventually does get to ask her whether or not it was how he planned it.)

john wants to ask his favorite waiter/waitress out on a date, but the universe seems to have other plans for him.

john price x gn!reader

part 2

fluff, john trying his best, domesticity

a/n: ty for the request!! you’re my first one so i hope you like it <3 also, let’s just pretend like the timeline of this fic makes sense :)

-

Oh, this poor man was hopeless from the start. He had been interested in you for a while and was finding the courage within himself to finally ask you out. He felt silly about the ache in his chest whenever he thought about what your response might be. He just wanted to do right by you was all. So, when he was finally out of his latest mission and allowed to take a break, he was determined to pop the question to you.

The plan was to stop by the flower shop and buy a simple bouquet for you, but when he found himself in front of the store it had been closed. “Family Emergency. Will be back next week.” He didn’t have a week.

Okay, so, no flowers. It was disappointing, to say the least, but he could make do. 

You were nearing the end of your shift when your coworker, Missy, tapped you on the shoulder. As you turned away from the table you were cleaning, she leaned down and whispered in your ear, “There’s that hot man here, again. He’s asking for you, dear.”

She ended her news with a knowing wink. Looking past her shoulder, you could clearly see John sitting at a table with a menu in his hands. Your cheeks flushed at Missy’s insinuation.

“Thanks,” you managed to choke out, hoping she didn’t notice how flustered you were.

“Of course. That’s the second time, just so you know,” she reminded teasingly, nudging you with her elbow encouragingly before leaving to go attend to her own tables.

Out of the three times John had been to your restaurant (including this one), he spent the last two specifically requesting your presence. Though you tried not to think much of it, you couldn’t ignore the way it made your heart flutter.

Straightening your uniform, you made your way to his table with a genuine smile—a stark contrast to the fake one you give to other customers just for the sake of work. John pretended like he wasn’t secretly watching you in the periphery of his vision and looked up at you once you found your way to him.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you beamed.

“‘S nice to see you too,” he replied, unable to keep that lovestruck smile off his face. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, “I’ve been alright. You know, just the same old. How about you, John?”

“I’m afraid it’s been the same for me. Just got off a mission.” Not once did his eyes leave yours. It was almost intimidating, the way he was so dedicated to giving you his full attention.

“Really? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” you said hopefully.

It was the perfect opportunity for him. All he had to say was, ”Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime,” and he almost pulled it off.

“Actually, I—”

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

Internally cursing himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw the contact Laswell flashing on his screen. Usually, when she called, it was something worth hearing. He looked up at you apologetically, but you just smiled and waved your hand at him to let him know it was okay.

Standing up, he answered Kate’s call and pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder. You couldn’t hear much of what the other person was saying. It was mostly just John nodding his head, saying a quick “yes” or “no,” or mentioning what you assumed were his colleagues' names.

Gathering his things, he turned to you and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, right now. I apologize for wasting your time like this.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry! It’s nice to have seen you anyway, and I’m glad you’re doing well. I don’t mind, honestly,” you reassured him, secretly disappointed at the fact that his visit was so short-lived.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “If it's not too out of line, may I ask when you get off work?”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you quickly answered, “At about ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty, all right,” he said (more so to himself than you). “Have a good rest of your shift, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, I hope all is well at work,” you nodded, watching as his eyes lingered on your for a moment before he left for the door.

The entire time he was back at work the thought of you sat in the back of his mind. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why he was there. Something about an important lead? Or maybe a new contact? Honestly, his head was in the clouds.

Even though you didn’t know he was going to ask you out, he still felt guilty for not being able to pop the question to you. As soon as he left the meeting, he was out the door. It was already ten, and it took about twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant. He silently cursed himself for the second time that day, still determined to get in his car and see if, by some miracle, he could catch you.

He had imagined himself in the exact opposite situation he was currently in. He had wanted to be out of uniform in something more presentable and approachable, being able to spend his time with you without any interruptions. Now, he was having to rush his pace with his uniform on as he attempted to make up for his first failed attempt at asking you out. He didn’t want to be the captain with you, just John Price. 

Peeking into the front door of the now-closed restaurant, he scanned the few workers left inside to see if any of them were you only to be met with disappointment. His frustrated grew ten-fold as he turned away from the door, making his way back to his car.

Just as he was about to hop in, you were exiting the side door with your uniform in hand.

“John?” you called out, stopping just a few feet away from him. You almost didn’t recognize him with the way he was dressed (not that you were complaining).

He whirled around instantly at the sound of your voice. “(Y/n),” he started. “I almost thought I missed you.” You smiled. “No, one of my coworkers needed help with something so I stayed behind just a little bit.” “How kind of you. Most would leave as soon as they were able,” he praised, shutting his car door behind him.

“She’s always been kind to me. I figured the least I could do is repay her.” You paused. “So, uh, what brings you back here so late?”

You.

“Well, I was just…” Why was he nervous? He had asked out plenty of people before (though none quite like you). For Christ’s sake, he was a disciplined soldier capable of incredible feats without breaking a single sweat. He’s faced dangerous criminals with a calm face and a stable mind, but with you, oh, it was like everything he ever learned went out the window.

You waited expectantly with bated breath.

“Well, I was actually wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime. Anywhere you like,” he finally managed. “‘Course, feel free to say no. I promise I won’t be hurt.”

He’s lying, of course, but you didn’t need to know that.

Your face lit up at his question, answering with an immediate, “Yes, I’d love to!”

Finally, finally, he could release the breath he was holding. His shoulders visibly relaxed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at your response.

“How do you feel about movie and a dinner?”

Maybe it didn't go exactly as he'd planned, but at least you said yes, right?

[azen13]

Hello

might I request the grass ring for purchase?

A Promise To Keep

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Grass Ring: A small, shoddily-woven ring made from dead grass, containing echoes of childhood promises uttered in a land of frost. Maybe the ring’s maker, after disappearing from the world for three months before returning, acted on those vows.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Kidnapping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Implied Murder, Blood

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Snezhnayan summers are always brief and fleeting. For only a few weeks a year, gray skies part like curtains to let the smiling sun gaze over every mile of the land of frost. Withered fields of grass sway with new vigor, trees awaken from their winter slumber, and flowers bloom in all sorts of stunning shades and hues. It’s also one of the few respites you have from aiding your father and siblings in tending to the house. With the icy waters bordering Morepesok rapidly thawing, the ship your mother sails has finally docked; with her return comes both the occasional small sack of Mora sneakily smuggled from her pocket to yours, as well as a gentle push to go and enjoy the fair weather while it lasts.

With windmilling limbs, you scramble out the front door into the bustling streets of town, and head off to your favorite place. It’s a little past where the dirt path ends: over a fallen tree, down a ravine, back up the other side, and just to the right of the raspberry bushes. Making your way through the last few trees, you find yourself in a quaint clearing. For a moment, you think the world is frozen in amber–both from the tranquility you feel, and how everything from the tallest tree to the smallest fern is bathed in a gilded glow.

“Hi there!”

A squeaky voice shatters the illusion of permanence and manages to make you stumble backwards until you slam into a sturdy spruce tree trunk. Looking into the tall grass, you manage to spot a single sapphire blue eye, then another. With a rustle, a flame of ginger hair and a grin that could span the whole of Teyvat pops out from the brush, framed by a speckling of freckles. “Who are you? What are you doing here? My name’s Ajax, what’s yours?” The boy practically pelts you with a myriad of questions, eyes sparkling with interest.

You mumble your name in response, eyes falling down in fear and disappointment. You had hoped to enjoy some time soaking in the solitude of this little slice of paradise, but the journey seems to have been all for naught. 

You quickly learn the entire life story of Ajax, who follows you home after you tell him you had gotten lost in the woods. He lives in Morepesok with his large family, he likes adventuring, and he likes fishing with his father. Also, he likes you, evidenced by the fact that he won’t leave you alone.

Tailing from behind, still rambling incoherently about all sorts of things, Ajax doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints that you want to be left alone. “...and the fish we caught was THIS big! A-and me and my dad brought it home, and my little sis–I told you about Tonia, right? She’s my younger sister, she’s about this tall and she really likes…” His mouth is a never-ending river of words that only ceases when you slam the door to your home shut.

Hopefully you can go tomorrow and enjoy the warm summer sun before the chill of winter returns once more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He’s there when you come tomorrow again. And the next day. And the day after that, until eventually, summer’s brief stint has faded away, only to return in a year. At least, you think, you won’t have to ever see Ajax until.

How wrong you are.

It seems the boy is practically camped outside of your house, watching your every move. If you’re carrying groceries, he’s quick to sidle next to you and take them into his own hands. He must think he’s being chivalrous, but you disagree. You try to fight the constant barrage, but find yourself crumbling under it after a while. You start answering his questions, asking some of your own, even. He’s not horrible, just a little overeager.

Soon, you’re happy to call Ajax a friend.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The promise is made on a brisk fall evening, snow and leaves blanketing the ground like a patchwork quilt of white and orange. The two of you sit in a small clearing surrounded by tall grass; you’re reading a book while Ajax breaks blades of grass and fiddles with them in his hands.

“We should get married.”

You frown and close your book. “Why?

“Why not?”

“Because we’re thirteen, your dad doesn’t like me, and my parents think you’re a weirdo,” you say.

Ajax huffs and crosses his arms. He’s pouting, but you can tell it’s just to cover his amusement. You’d both gotten good at that–reading each other like books, able to point out your favorite chapters and lines. “Well we could do it in secret. Or even do it when we’re older,” he says. An epiphanic look flashes on his face, and he snatches a few more blades of grass. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, you watch as he weaves and contorts the grass until they form a small ring. 

With eyes full of starlight, he presents the ring to you. “C’mon, please? Just promise me.”

You sigh and hold your hand out. “Okay, okay, fine. If you’ll stop being so annoying, sure.” Immediately, he slides the ring on your finger, boyish glee dancing in ocean-blue eyes. “Pinky promise?” He demands, holding his pinky finger out expectantly.

Of course Ajax would ask to pinky swear on it. The boy always kept his promises.

“Fine.” You loop your pinky around his for a moment, before letting go. “Now let me get back to reading.”

Ajax only laughs, though his eyes stay glued on you.

You didn’t realize that this was both the last time you would ever see Ajax again, and the moment your fate in life was sealed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Days later, you receive the news. Ajax is missing. Supposedly he had gotten lost in the woods. You spent the next few days in a perpetual state of distress, constantly tearing through branches and brambles, desperate to find your friend.

It didn’t take long until he’s found, though not by you. The moment you hear, you race over to his house and knock on the door. Ajax’s dad, however, is the one to greet you. He’s a tall, lanky man with scars that cut through his face and a permanent scowl marring his cracked lips. At the sight of you standing outside his door, his ire only deepens. “Ajax isn’t here. He’s with the Fatui.” 

With that, he swings the door shut and lets it slam only inches from your face.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time moves on,  and you let your life take its course. You take up a job planning shipping routes for merchants, and find yourself falling in half-hearted love with a sailor. 

He’s a good man. But he is not the man you love.

Soon enough, encouraged by family and friends, a ring is slid on your finger. It’s a simple band of silver, yet it feels like a chain around your heart.

You accept your life for what it is. That is, until one morning, you wake up to still air beside you instead of a warm body. Unknowing of what has actually happened, you get up quietly and begin getting ready for the day. 

After putting on some clothes, you go to the small foyer of your little home, ready to go down to the docks and start working. But when you swing open the door, dull blue eyes as deep as the sea meet yours, a monstrous grin splitting a stranger’s face open. “Aw, it’s been so long! It’s so good to see you.” The man walks past you into your home as though he’s lived there his whole life. As he walks, you notice he’s trailing something in behind you.

Blood. It’s blood. When he turns back to face you, you notice droplets of blood speckled on his cheeks like freckles. He’s still smiling.

“Get out of my house,” you say.

“Or what?”

You hesitate. It’s not like Morepesok has an official police, or even anything close to a militia. “Or I’ll scream.”

The stranger’s smile melts away like snow under the sun, and he steps closer to you. “Don’t you remember who I am?” He asks. 

At the sight of you shaking your head, and you taking another step away from him, the stranger tsks and stalks forwards. A hand moves forward, so fast all you can see is a blur of motion before it captures your jaw, claims it. Its fingers force your face forwards, straight into those storming eyes. “What a shame,” the man sighs, his other hand slinking behind your back. “We made a promise, darling.”

His words shoot like icicles into your heart, rendering you speechless for a moment. “A-Ajax?” You murmur, body beginning to fall limp. The only thing holding you upright are his hands, firm against your skin.

Ajax smiles, but it isn’t a sweet smile of summer innocence. His smile is jagged and icy, full of frost. “It’s me,” he confirms. You can vaguely see mirth swimming in his eyes, as though he thinks you’re so shocked to see him, so elated to know he’s still here. But in truth, you’re terrified. After all, it’s not exactly a challenge to make the connection between the blood on Ajax’s cheek and your missing husband.

“Did…did you?”

“Come on, darling,” Ajax responds, sweeping you off your feet into a bridal carry. “We made a promise, didn’t we? And you know how the saying goes.” The man chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We made a promise. And you broke it.” For a moment, you feel fear unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “But don’t worry. I know that you didn’t want to marry him. You were waiting all those years for me, weren’t you?” He presses another kiss to your head, holding you closer.

You try to speak, but Ajax shushes you. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you what real love looks like.” With a steady gait, he begins walking outside, looping around your home to where a carriage is waiting. Gently, he brings you inside and deposits you on a bench. His eyes are full of hunger.

“That’s a promise.”

[thewulf]

Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it.  He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What're your thought on Skully/Skelly so far? Personally, I like the kid, he seems fun and cute (might even adopt him too lol)

I’ll make an update post later once the full event is out; this post will be my first impressions of the guy! Thought it might be interesting to document my feelings now and see how those change over time.

First thing I’ll say is while I like his design, his personality didn’t match my expectations. I expected him to be polite yet also eccentric and a little sinister, not… going around kissing the hands of everyone he meets. Skully also comes off as much more harmless than he appears. It’s an odd mix of demure but also really excitable when his special interest (Halloween, lol) comes up in conversation. A fun-loving guy! He definitely looks a lot more imposing and mysterious than he actually is.

I think a lot of his intimidation factor comes from the shades. If you take them away, he looks more like a dejected fuzzy animal or a Halloween-flavored Idia/Saeran (Mystic Messenger boi). LIKE SORRY BUT WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE A SAD PUPPY LEFT OUT IN THE RAIN… His spiral eyes are cool though ^^ It’s just slightly hard to see sometimes because of the shadow his hair casts and the shading around that area.

His overall expressiveness is great! He looks cute when he smiles and blushes (from his idol complimenting him, haha). It feels very pure and innocent, which contrasts with his more… deranged expressions.

The way he speaks surprised me too… He talks about coming from a rural place, but he speaks so formally! Sometimes even more formally than Jade. I wonder if that implies being of high class/social status or if he just taught himself to speak this way for personal reasons. My worst nightmare (hah) is that Skully devolves into a heavy Kansai accent later in the event (if only because I’m not sure how to transcribe the Kansai accent into English when I write his dialogue 💦).

I mentioned in an earlier post that Skully’s outfit is a Nightmare Suit provided by the book. We don’t know what he actually dresses like irl which is a shame. Knowing that would really help with getting a read on his character, even if he were just in a school uniform (because different people can wear their uniforms very differently, as we can see in the NRC School Uniform line of cards). Stuffing Skully into a Nightmare Suit by default doesn’t tell me much about how he presents himself outside of the book, in reality.

There’s definitely a lot of interesting (and vague) lore around him 🤔 like how he doesn’t know what magical pens are and how his hometown is the only place that knows who Jack Skellington is… Hopefully those questions get answered by the end of the event. I also have to wonder why he’s such an intense Halloween otaku??? There could be no deep reason behind it, but I’m a little suspicious since this is a Halloween event. It feels like Skully’s hiding something and/or he’s not confident in himself since his dialogue implies he’s a loner irl. Maybe he’s attracted to the idea of Halloween because even the dead and creatures of the night can fit in (so he, the outcast, can also have a place among them)?

That being said, I do find Skully’s personality charming, especially when he’s opening the event with his little dramatic monologue about Halloween. It’s a nice way to interpret Jack Skellington’s whimsy and child-like wonder into a Twst character. However, I don’t exactly find myself completely endeared to his character yet. He feels a little too… safe? Too… sweet. Unless this was all intentionally and he's actually a RSA student or something/j I’d like to see more of his villainous traits and weaknesses on display to get a full scope of his character. *rubs hands together* I want to see what he’s like when he snaps… We already saw some glimpses of his nastier side when he calls his classmates worthless for not understanding him. I want to see that unleashed on the NRC students! As is, I’m not sure if I enjoy him talking down to others (he calls his classmates worthless) for not being on the same wavelength as him when it comes to his interests. It feels like something elitist otaku do (Idia has definitely done this), and that’s a big yikes for me.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — James has a huge crush on his labmate, the only question is how long will it take him to ask her out? (Answer: it's longer than you think)

WARNINGS — cancer mentions, patient death from cancer, drugs, alcohol (don't be mistaken this fic is tooth-rotting fluff)

NOTE — Okay this fic has come up from my compulsory need to elaborate on anything Canadian so if you ever wanted to see James at McGill, this fic is most definitely for you! Also I guess it's indirectly mentioned that reader was raised in Quebec, but obviously doesn't have to be "Quebecois" for this to work

Pronounciation — Jian = Chyehn

James chewed on the inside of his cheek as he walked up to the Stewart Biological Sciences Building on McGill campus. For some reason, it was so much more intimidating now that he was actually a student. During the tour he had his mother’s reassuring hand on his back, his father’s words of comfort that he would most definitely be accepted when he applied. 

Now that he had made it, he had to prove he belonged, but it could have been worse. His friends at Harvard and the University of Toronto had told him so. He was getting the best of both worlds, a prestigious school and, hopefully, not as much pressure as the rest of them. 

Without loitering any longer, he made his way inside and looked around to find the right lecture hall. It couldn’t possibly be that hard, could it?

After his first semester James had realized he’d made a few mistakes. One was living in a French speaking part of town without knowing a lick of the language, but that one was the easiest to deal with. The others were more in the realm of the amount of sleep he was getting and underestimating how much content the professors could shove down their throats in 14 weeks. 

He was more than happy to return to New Jersey for the holiday break to rest and recuperate before going back to the winter wonderland hell that was Montreal, but this time he was confident he would be more prepared. 

And for the most part, he was. He got enough sleep, partied responsibly (except Fridays, he partied hard then), always submitted his work on time and maintained his good GPA, making up for his poor fall semester. What he didn’t expect, however, was a distraction. 

When you walked into the room James watched you curiously, he thought maybe he’d seen you somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it. Besides, you were much more interesting than watching his sample boil for another five minutes. 

You came and took a seat next to him, taking out your safety goggles and lab notebook from your bag before shoving it under the table. 

“You’re sample’s boiling over,” you said, but James didn’t register you were talking to him at first, still looking at you in a slightly dazed manner before you physically pointed to the beaker, making his eyes go wide as he frantically turned down the heat and removed it. 

“It’s a wonder you passed the lab safely quiz,” you teased and James blushed. 

“Good thing I don’t want to be a chemist.” 

“Oh, and what do you want to be then?” you asked, preparing your own sample for boiling. 

“A doctor,” he shared with a little more confidence. 

“Any specialty in mind or just a doctor,” you said, doing air quotes over the word. 

“I’ve been shadowing some of the researchers in the Life Sciences Research Complex and I think oncology might be a good fit for me.” 

“Yeah, as long as you don’t have to boil cancer cells you should be fine,” you assured him. 

“What about you?” he rolled on the balls of his feet as he continued his experiment. “Or are you all talk?” 

“Pfft, you think I’d be here if I was all talk?” you asked. “No, I want to be a medical researcher.” 

“Maybe you should do some shadowing in the LSRC then.” 

“No thanks, I think I’ll stick to my job there.” 

“Your job?” James looked at your wish surprise. “Aren’t you like 18?” 

“Almost,” you smiled. 

“How did you manage to get a job there? They barely let undergraduates in the labs, let alone be responsible for anything.” 

“It’s nothing fancy,” you assured him. “I just do cataloguing for now, but it's a good experience.” 

“Still,” he raised his brows, “you must be like a prodigy or something.” 

“Again, no,” you shook your head. “Just someone who goes after what she wants.” 

There was a comfortable pause where you both took down your distillation set ups and began working on the filtration portion of the experiment. 

“So what’s your name, anyways?” you asked, looking over at him. “Hey, look, clamp it this way,” you demonstrated and he followed your lead, seeing how much more stable the glassware was afterwards. 

“Thanks,” he smiled. “I’m James.” 

You told him your name and continued your work again in silence.

Chemistry labs quickly became the favourite part of James’ week. 

Ever since that lab, James began to see you in all his classes. On more than a few occasions, he’d had to steal notes from his friends on account of forgetting to pay attention. It became an easy thing to tease him about, so his friends began calling him heart-eyes, because who was he kidding, he had a crush. 

“Get your head out of your ass, heart-eyes, I am not giving you my notes again,” his friend, Carlo, shoved his arm and whispered harshly as he could see him getting distracted. 

“Sorry,” James shook his head and began scribbling down what he had missed, his eyes darting back and forth from the board and back to you. 

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Pierre asked him after class. “Don’t you talk all the time in the lab?” 

“More like I stare at her and she says stuff to make it not awkward,” he cringed at his own actions. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Every time I’m with her I can’t string together a sentence, and– Jesus Christ you should have seen my face last week! Full on red, like I can’t even be subtle about it!” 

“Yikes,” Jian grimaced. 

“It’s bad, I know,” James assured. 

“And this is why we call you heart-eyes,” Carlo patted James on the back. 

“Yeah, say it a little louder, maybe she’ll hear you,” James said sarcastically. 

“Who’ll hear you?” the group of boys heard a voice behind them and all their eyes went wide as they spun around and saw you. 

“No one!” Jian was quick to answer in the least nonchalant way possible, making the rest of the group, especially James, stare daggers at him. 

“It’s not no one,” Carlo attempted to save face. “Just… this girl back in uh New Jersey that James’ got the hots for,” he gained confidence with every word of the sentence before adorning a smug smile on his face and patting James yet again on the back. 

“You’re afraid a girl in New Jersey will hear you?” you looked curiously at James but he just stared blankly at you. “So you call him heart-eyes?” you instead turned your attention to his friends and they nodded. “That’s cute, maybe I’ll call you that too.” 

“Sure,” was all a red faced James could get out before you excused yourself to head over to work. 

Pierre was trying very hard to keep a straight face while you walked away and James slapped both Carlo and Jian upside the head. 

“What the hell was that! Could you not have been more obvious, Jian? And Carlo, a girl back in New Jersey? Now she thinks I’m pining for someone else!” 

“On the plus side, maybe she’ll think all your blushing around her is a circulation issue,” Pierre shrugged. 

“You guys are the worst,” James shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, continuing to walk along the path to one of the libraries. 

“No, we just saved your ass,” Carlo caught up with him. “However terribly, but if we didn’t say anything you would have stared at her with your mouth open like a trout.” 

“Carlo does have a point,” Jian agreed, “At least we bought you a little time to get your act together.” 

James sighed, “You guys have too much faith in me.”

“You said that when I started to teach you French and you’ve come a long way with that,” Pierre said. 

“Yeah, sure I went from saying nothing to being able to say Je m'appelle James et je ne parle pas français.” 

“And what a handy sentence that is when you don’t speak French!” Pierre grinned and James couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. 

“Okay, I’ll try and get my act together and ask her out…and learn more French.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Carlo patted his back. “Now let’s go get a drink and relax.” 

“Maybe after we study for our physics midterm?” James nudged his friend and Jian nodded his head in agreement. 

“Fine, I guess if we have to,” Carlo sighed. 

“Not everyone is naturally good at kinematics, Carlo. Take pity on us mere mortals who have to study,” Pierre responded, eliciting a chuckle from his buddies. 

James was quiet as he thought to himself. If he could get a B on this physics test, maybe there was hope for him getting his act together after all.

—

Summer break rolled around faster than James had expected. While Jian went back to Richmond, Pierre over to Quebec City, and Carlo to Chicago, James was left alone in Montreal, working to help pay his tuition for the next year. Being an international student was no joke. 

He would have gone back to New Jersey, but the positions he applied to in Montreal paid more so it wasn’t a hard decision to make. 

His parents would come visit him for some time in July, but for the most part he was alone. 

On late nights, he’d make his way to the McDonald’s in the neighbourhood, not knowing enough French to go anywhere else nearby. At least there, most of them spoke enough English to take his order, and if not it was really easy to point to the menu. 

“It’s already done?” he asked. 

“Give us some credit, hein. We knew you were coming, we had it ready.” 

James chuckled and handed him the money for the order, exchanging it for the bag which he took to a table and sat down. 

As he was pulling out his fries from his bag he heard the chime of the door and looked up curiously to see who was coming at this time of night. 

He stopped what he was doing when he recognized you, watching as you dug through your purse and spoke to the cashier in French. You both laughed about something James couldn’t quite catch and a little while later, after you had paid they handed you a bag and an ice cream cone when James heard you say something about ‘deux cuillères’ taking the utensils they gave you and turing straight towards James’ table, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. 

“I thought you lived in New Jersey,” you said. 

James was still stunned that you had noticed him and couldn’t find the words to speak. 

“Hey, heart-eyes?” you waved your hand in front of his face. “You okay?” 

“Y-Yeah,” he nodded, distracting himself by pulling out his burger from his bag. 

“So why aren’t you in Jersey?” you asked. 

“Work. I got a job here, it paid better.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully while eating some of your fries. “And all your friends?” 

“Back with their families, unfortunately for me,” he nodded. “W-What about you?” 

“Oh, I live here,” you shrugged. “In this neighbourhood actually.” 

“You live here?” he asked. 

“That’s what I said,” you nodded. 

“And so that’s how you know French?” 

“Every kid in Quebec learns French, it’s kind of a non-negotiable,” you shared. “I gather that’s why you’re eating here.” 

“Yeah, Pierre didn’t manage to teach me enough before he left,” he sighed and started to eat his meal. 

“I could teach you if you want. I’m taking a little break this summer so I have some spare time,” you offered. 

“Oh, I don’t want to-,” 

“James, you’re gonna have a shitty summer if you don’t say yes.”

He couldn’t argue with that, it would be nice to communicate more with the people who lived around him. 

“Okay, sure, but I’m warning you, I’m a terrible student.” 

“I used to tutor one of my siblings, trust me it can’t be worse than that,” you laughed. 

You chatted a little more, finishing your meals but not before you handed James a spoon. 

“So this is cuillère then?” he asked. “I-I overheard you talking to Jean.” 

“Yeah, your pronunciation isn’t bad either,” you nodded. “Here.” 

You pushed the ice cream cone between you and began to eat it with the spoon. James had a bit of a sweet tooth and wouldn’t be one to refuse dessert so he began to share the ice cream cone with you. 

“So, are you missing your girl in New Jersey?” you asked and James cursed internally, trying to come up with a lie to tell you. 

“Um, no not really,” he shook his head. “I don’t think we would have worked out anyways.” 

“Oh, so are your friends still calling you heart-eyes?” 

He nodded his head, thinking it was better not to say anything in case he gave himself away. 

“It’s good that you recognized you wouldn’t work out before you asked her out,” you said, “Couple guys wanted to go on dates with me this year, but just didn’t seem like the right fit. Plus, I don’t really think I’m looking for anything like that right now.”

James nodded his head again, silently eating the ice cream. 

“Ever been in love, James?” you asked. 

“That’s a really loaded question to ask someone you cornered in a McDonald’s at 11 P.M.” 

You ignored his response and continued, 

“I haven’t, it seems like such a big thing, how would you even know if it was love?” 

James looked up at the ceiling, silently asking God to not let him say something stupid, 

“I think most of the time it comes on gradually, maybe you won’t even know it at first.” 

“So you have been in love,” you confirmed and he shrugged his shoulders. 

“I…I don’t know. Maybe I have.” 

“That’s not a very straightforward answer.” 

“Then maybe I haven’t. I feel like if it was love, you’d figure it out, eventually.” 

You pursed your lips and nodded your head. 

“I hope I get to fall in love,” you smiled softly to yourself. “Seems nice.” 

“Yeah,” James agreed. “It does.” 

—

A few years later… 

“So how did it go?” Jian asked, as they sat around James’ small living room. 

“It…could have been better,” James sucked in some air through his teeth, recalling a recent memory from earlier that afternoon. 

“What the fuck James! You scared the shit out of me! I could have broken the hemocytometer, do you know how much that shit costs?!” 

“Sorry!” James quickly apologized and dropped his books down on the nearest surface to help you clean up, making you look up again at him with disdain. 

“In the BSC? Really? Now we have to resterilize and all the specimens I have in there are as good as compromised.” 

“Shit,” James muttered under his breath, he was usually so much better in the lab, but the second he was with you he became a bumbling mess. “I-I’ll take care of the BSC, I’m so sorry.” 

You sighed and removed your gloves, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“It’s not just boiling water we’re dealing with anymore, James,” you said a little more calmly than before. “You’ve gotta be more careful, okay? I’m not losing my job over this.” 

James nodded his head and went to grab the things to sterilize the biological safety cabinet and grab the new specimen from the fridge. So much for trying to get a job at LSRC to impress you. 

“I was not built to be a researcher,” James shook his head. 

“I mean, it’s not that big of a screw up, you fixed it eventually, didn’t you?” Pierre asked.

“Yeah, but not until after a thorough amount of embarrassment.” 

“I thought girls found clumsy guys endearing,” Carlo commented. 

“Not when the girl is determined to become the leading medical researcher on the continent,” James sighed. “Maybe taking this job was a bad idea. From what I can see she hasn’t even changed her opinion on dating, she hasn’t been with anyone these past three years.” 

“Do you hear that?” Carlo removed his feet from the coffee table and placed them on the ground. “You’ve been in love with her for three years and haven’t done anything about it.” 

“Who said I was in love with her? And sure, maybe I haven’t made a move, but I learnt French!” James tried to defend himself, pointing to Pierre. 

“That’s not as good of a comeback as you think it is,” Pierre shook his head. 

“I know,” James hung his head low and sat on the couch between Pierre and Jian. “We’re gonna graduate in a year and she’s not gonna know I’m in love with her.” 

“So you are in love with her?” Jian looked over at his friend sympathetically. 

James leaned back and used the heels of his palms to cover his eyes. 

“He’s gonna have a meltdown, don’t ask him that,” Pierre shook his head. 

“God, I do love her!” he exclaimed like he was just finding it out for the first time himself. 

“What did I say,” Pierre sighed. 

“Can I make it stop?” James looked over at his friends who all shrugged. “I am so screwed.” 

“This time, I think we agree with you,” Carlo took a sip of his drink. “Good luck, man.” 

James squeezed his eyes shut, he would definitely need it. 

—

The year passed to graduation and James was still sitting on his feelings. It was much too late now to say anything. You’d already been accepted to a graduate program through your work with the LSRC and James had passed his MCAT with flying colours and was on his way to medical school at Columbia. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was going to miss Montreal, the city had grown on him during his time there and a part of him wished he could stay. 

His friends were also ready for the next stages in their studies, all going to different places across the continent to get their other degrees, with, of course, the promise to stay in touch. 

James didn’t know what the next little bit of his life had in store for him, but he hoped regardless of where he ended up, maybe he’d be able to make up for his missed opportunities. 

The years of medical school, once started, passed faster than James expected them to, and by the end of it, much to his own surprise, he’d also gotten married. 

You were almost all but forgotten in the back of his mind, but time continued to play its games. 

Medical school turned into a specialization in oncology, and a divorce. Then residency and a marriage. Then a second divorce. Then another marriage and more recently a position at a hospital in his hometown, on the board and a well respected oncologist and a few new friends…and a third divorce. 

“House, I’m not asking you to let them all sleep in your apartment, it’s just a dinner for one night, we’ll be out and about for the rest of the time that they’re here,” James sighed. 

“Can’t you just cancel?” House asked. “Divorce seems like a pretty good reason to get out of a reunion.” 

“See, the thing is, I’d rather not be miserable and see my friends instead, and they bought their tickets months ago. Please, House, I’ll do the dishes for a week.” 

“A month,” House said. 

“Two weeks,” James negotiated and House nodded, so they shook on it. 

“Good, now that I’ve done you a favour, you can do me one,” House smiled, but the kind of smile that was conniving, like he had something up his sleeve all along. 

“I paid you in chores for my favour, who says I owe you anything?” 

“Unless you want me to call your friends and cancel for you, you’ll do it,” House continued to walk the hospital’s hallways hobbling with his cane. 

“What is it?” James sighed, catching up with him. 

“We have a patient and he doesn’t speak very good English, but he does speak French. You went to McGill didn’t you? Must have picked up some of the love language.” 

“Unfortunately for me in this case, I did,” he nodded. 

“Perfect, come with me now,” House motioned with his head to the patient’s room and James trailed behind him. 

When he entered the room, House motioned for him to begin speaking. James hadn’t spoken a lot of French since his undergrad so he was definitely rusty, but he supposed it was better than nothing and began to explain that he would be helping with the translation.

“Erm, Bonjour, je suis Dr. Wilson, je vais aider Dr. House avec la traduction.” 

The man looked at James strangely before saying. 

“You’re an anglophone, but you speak French like you’re Quebecois.” 

“I um did my undergraduate in Montreal, I learnt how to speak there,” James responded back in French. 

“Hmm.” 

James could tell this wasn’t going to be fun. Some of the French held quite a bit of hate towards Quebec, who knew why, but his accent definitely wasn’t going to help him in this situation. 

House got James to ask some routine medical history questions and a few things about his symptoms all the while James had to filter out all the insults that were coming his way with regards to his “poor use of language” and “unintelligible accent”. 

When he could finally leave the room, James let out a string of French curses under his breath, still thinking in the other language. 

“House, why can’t you just get a proper translator?” he asked. “I’m terrible at this.” 

“Cuddy said something about making a big purchase recently and being currently unable to do so, especially since you put that you speak French in your resume. Bet you’re regretting that one now.” 

“Yeah,” James nodded his head. “Big time.” 

They began to walk towards the elevator to go to the cafeteria for lunch, when James decided to inquire more about Cuddy’s big purchase. 

“Oh, she said something about money this, medical research that,” House shook his head, “You know I stopped listening the second she wouldn’t give me what I wanted.” 

“She hired a medical researcher,” James said aloud, chewing on the words, “I wonder who she-,” 

His train of thought was cut off when he saw, near the elevator, a face he hadn’t seen since graduation day at McGill. 

Quickly, unable to think of anything else to do, he ran into the administrative area and hid crouched down behind a photocopier. 

House watched his friend curiously before walking over towards him and leaning against the copier asked him if he’d gone insane. 

“No, I just, um, remembered I needed to copy some patient files,” he lied. 

“You don’t have any with you,” House said. 

“I faxed them from my office,” he lied again. 

“I think I need to go get Foreman, clearly you’re having a neurological breakdown,” House said. 

“Can you just stop making it obvious I’m here?!” James exclaimed in a whisper. 

Unfortunately for him, as you were walking past, his harsh whisper made his location obvious, causing you to look down and see his familiar face. 

“Oh my God, heart-eyes, is that you?” you asked with a smile and James pressed his lips in a thin line and nodded. “What are you doing down there?” 

James became speechless and suddenly he was an eighteen-year-old back in his chemistry lab. 

“He’s checking to see if we need more toner,” House said, lying for his friend, but James knew that was all he would get out of him. “Well, that’s my cue to leave, you guys have fun.” 

You reached down and offered James a hand, helping him back into a standing position. 

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” you commented. “Like since we were-,” 

“22,” James filled in and you nodded. 

“Yeah,” you bit your lip before asking him how he had been. 

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I-I’m assuming you’re the medical researcher Cuddy hired?” 

“That would be correct,” you smiled. 

“Why did you choose to work here? I thought you were some big hotshot in Canada?” 

“I am a big hotshot, which is why I wanted to come to a teaching hospital. I thought maybe it would give more opportunities to teach other people what I know. It’s a win-win. I get to do what I want to and the hospital gets grant money from my research,” you explained. “It looks like you got where you wanted to be too, Mr. Oncologist.” 

“Actually it’s Dr. Oncologist,” he joked and you laughed, making his cheeks go red after hearing the sound.

“I missed having you around, James. We should catch up sometime,” you suggested. 

“Yeah sure,” he nodded. “I-I’d love that.” 

You excused yourself, needing to go introduce yourself to a class of medical students, waving goodbye to James, leaving him stuck in his tracks for a few moments before he could gather his senses again and head downstairs for lunch. 

—

“We could have rescheduled if this was too much, man,” Carlo watched James as he brought a large roast to the table for them to eat. 

“See? What did I tell you,” House rolled his eyes and James gave him a disapproving stare. 

“No, I wanted you guys to come, we’ve been planning this for months. I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of it,” he assured his friends. “Plus, we know how hard it is to nail down Pierre, I swear you are always travelling. Every time we talk you’re in a different country.” 

“That’s the life of a parasitologist,” he shrugged and helped James by beginning to cut the roast. 

“And Jian, how’s the wife and kids?” 

“They’re good,” Jian smiled. “Mei started first grade in September. Becky and I are both up for promotions at the hospital, so I can’t really complain. Although I think Carlo can.” 

“Seriously it’s not that big of a deal,” Carlo groaned, “Sure yeah, pharmaceuticals are more flashy than biophysics, but that doesn’t mean that my research wasn’t better.” 

“Well if it was better why did William get the award?” James asked and Carlo just flipped him the bird. 

“Didn’t we go to school with him?” Pierre asked. 

“We did?” James raised a brow. 

“Yeah, for a year, from Toronto, huge stoner. Hated being there and did literally no work, but still managed to get honours,” Jian explained. 

“Sounds like my kinda guy,” House commented and James rolled his eyes. 

Just as they continued to dish out dinner, House’s pager went off and he sighed, excusing himself from the table while practically threatening James to leave him some food. 

When House left, James’ friends saw their opening and began their personal line of questioning. 

“Hey, James, are you really okay?” Jian asked. 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” James asked in return. 

“You’re getting a divorce,” Pierre said. “Seems like a pretty good reason to not be okay.” 

James shook his head, 

“Yeah sure, it’s a shitty situation,” he admitted. “Did I imagine myself at this point in my life with three failed marriages? No, definitely not. Can I do anything to change it? Also no, and right now I really wouldn’t want to change it.” 

“Can we ask what happened?” Carlo queried. 

“She cheated on me, then left me,” James said simply. 

“Forgive me,” Pierre said. “But you seemed a lot more upset when we talked over the phone last week. What changed?” 

James looked down at his plate and cut into his roast, thinking about what Pierre had said. It was true, even earlier today he was sulking about, that was until he ran into you. 

“I swear,” James started, “if you guys make a big deal about this I will murder you all,” he used his knife to point at all of them and they nodded, swearing their silence. “I’ve got heart-eyes again.” 

“You met someone new?” Jian asked and Carlo shook his head. 

“No, he re-met someone old. Tell me, did your hospital recently hire a medical researcher?” 

James nodded his head and the table was about to erupt into a loud chorus of comments when James gave them a look and they all restrained themselves. 

“James, I’m being dead serious when I say this, but you should have married her,” Pierre insisted. “I never saw you look at anyone else the way you looked at her.” 

“Probably explains the three divorces then, doesn’t it? I was still in love with her the whole time,” James sighed. “It’s going to come up eventually, seems like a pretty big indicator that I’m not good at relationships.” 

“Who knows, maybe she won’t care,” Jian offered. 

“What was it like when you saw her again?” Carlo asked, looking for any opportunity to tease his friend. 

“How do you think it was? I could barely talk, I was a nervous wreck, and blushing like crazy,” he shook his head at the thought of it. “I could literally feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I feel like a middle school girl every time I’m near her.”

“Who knows, maybe she still thinks you have circulation issues,” Jian shrugged and the table laughed. 

“What I would give to stay here and watch this play out,” Carlo sighed and leaned back in his seat. 

“Knowing James, you’d have to be here for ten years before he made a move on her,” Pierre raised a brow and James threw a piece of potato at him. 

“If you ever do get the guts to ask her out, call us. We’ve made bets on this,” Carlo added. 

“Real comforting, guys,” James ate a bite of the roast. “I thought this was supposed to be my pity party.” 

“Not anymore,” Jian shook his head. “You’ve got heart-eyes.” 

This time around, James thought maybe he didn’t mind the nickname as much as he used to. 

—

“I would think they’d get you your own office at this point,” James commented as he entered his office, seeing you sitting at his desk, eating a pre-packed lunch. 

“Beats me,” you shrugged and continued to eat. 

“So you’ve decided that invading my office is your next best bet?” 

“Oh hush,” you waved him off with your fork. 

“Well, excuse me for wanting to come to a safe place after being verbally assaulted by House’s patient,” he sat on the opposite side of the desk and leaned back in the chair. 

“Verbally assaulted?” you asked. “By a patient who isn’t even your own?” 

“He doesn’t like the way I speak French,” James rolled his eyes. “I’m translating while they’re treating him since the department used all its money hiring you.” 

“What can I say, hotshots cost a lot of money.” 

“You know, you could do the translation, probably much better than I can,” he noted. 

“I could, but you probably need the practice more than I do, chèri,” you scrunched your nose in a cute mocking way and James could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks yet again. “You still keeping up with that posse of yours?” you asked, changing the subject. 

“Yeah, they all flew in to visit a few days ago, we’re gonna go out tonight,” he said. “Do you…maybe want to join us?” he suggested. 

“I don’t have plans, as long as they’re okay with it I’d love to come,” you smiled. 

“Oh trust me, they will definitely be okay with it.” 

—

Later that night, James was drinking deeply from his glass while he watched his friends stare blankly ahead at you. If he looked anything like they did all those times his words were caught in his throat, then he hoped to spontaneously combust right then and there. 

“Heart-eyes, I thought you said they were okay with me coming?” you leaned over and whispered to him. 

James put down his glass and nodded his head. 

“They are okay with it, right?” 

Snapping out of their daze, the three men nodded their heads and finally began professing assurances that everything was fine. 

“It’s just… you said James invited you?” Jian asked with furrowed bows. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He mentioned you guys were in town and getting together tonight and asked me if I wanted to join.” 

James bit down on his tongue trying not to say anything, but also gave his friends a look to shut up before they gave anything away. He knew what was running through their minds, they were wondering how the hell he’d gotten the guts to ask you to come, but there was one fundamental difference between tonight and any other time he could have possibly asked you. This wasn’t a date, therefore, there was no pressure. 

“Maybe you could tell them what you’ve been up to since they last saw you?” James suggested. 

“Oh, um, well, I got my master’s degree and doctorate at McGill, both for research in cancer biology-,” 

“Cancer biology?” Pierre interrupted. “I don’t remember you mentioning you were interested in that.” 

“I-I wasn’t initially,” you admitted. “Just after spending more time in the LSRC and a few other irrelevant things I decided it was the best fit for me to focus on.” 

“You and heart-eyes make a pretty good pair then,” Carlo raised his eyebrows suggestively and took a sip of his drink. 

“I guess we do,” you chuckled. “As long as he leaves the research to me. We all know what he’s like in the lab.” 

“I resent that,” James protested only before saying, “but I do deserve it.” 

“It’s a miracle he hasn’t had a medical malpractice suit,” Pierre added. 

You asked the boys about where their various careers had taken them and how they were each doing. The conversation stayed pretty normal until the topic changed to relationships, starting with Jian’s wife and family back in Vancouver and Pierre’s husband who was currently in Australia doing research on some massive insect. 

“What about you Carlo?” you asked. “Anyone special in your life?” 

“Nah,” he waved his hand. 

“What about the mom of the kid who pet sits for you?” Jian asked. 

“That kid charges me per animal, per size. If I were to date his mom he’d probably charge me for dating her too, and I don’t think I can afford his price,” he shook his head and the table laughed. 

“James, you’ve been quiet,” you said. “Nothing to share?” 

James nervously took a sip of his drink and looked over at his friends for help. 

“James hasn’t had the best luck in love,” Pierre settled on. 

“Oh, haven’t found anybody, that’s not a big deal,” you assured him. “I haven’t either.” 

“Well,” Carlo said in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not exactly that he hasn’t found anybody.” 

“So there’s someone-?” 

“I’m divorced,” James blurted. “Three times. Or soon to be three anyway.” 

“Oh,” you paused and tried to think of the right thing to say, but for the moment settled on nothing while Pierre changed the subject. 

After the visit was over, James offered to walk you to your car and you accepted. The walk started off in silence, but you decided to break it. 

“You know, I hope you find the right person eventually,” you said. “It’s unfortunate things didn’t work out three times.” 

“Yeah,” James nodded in agreement. “I-um, do you ever think about that conversation we had, in the McDonald’s by my apartment?” 

“Sometimes I do,” you admitted. 

“Looking back on that, I wonder if we ever really loved each other. If we did this probably wouldn’t have happened. We would have fixed things, worked on ourselves instead of just…giving up.” 

“So I guess you still haven’t fallen in love yet?” you asked, but he stayed silent. “Whoever it is, I’m sure things will find a way to work out for you.”

“The moment may have passed on that,” he said with his hands shoved in his pockets and looking down at the ground. 

“You never know, James. Sometimes life has a funny way of surprising you.” 

—

James watched as his colleagues and a few of the students from the university left the lecture hall while he continued to sit in his seat, watching you walk up towards him. 

“Don’t you have patients or something?” you asked. “You’re at all of my lectures.” 

“Doesn’t it seem appropriate for an oncologist to attend a cancer biology lecture?” he asked as you sat down next to him. 

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “Doesn’t explain why you weren’t taking notes though.” 

James looked down at his empty hands and cursed a little internally. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I don’t mind the staring, it reminds me of school.” 

“You noticed?” he asked. 

“You weren’t very subtle,” you chuckled. 

“Yeah, not one of my strong suits,” he blushed, embarrassed. 

“Do you wanna go grab lunch before your break is over?” you asked and James nodded, standing up and offering you a hand to get out of your seat. 

You went to the cafeteria, running into his friend House who managed to get his food paid for by James, yet again, before leaving to go back up to his office and work on another differential diagnosis with his employees. 

“Did all the guys get back home safe after their trip?” you asked, digging into your food. 

“Carlo and Jian are back home, Pierre went to go be with Ollie in Australia.”

“It must be hard not living near them.” 

James sighed and nodded his head. “It’s a balance. When they’re being annoying, it’s great that they don’t live here and when they’re not, it sucks.” 

“Spoken like a true friend,” you chuckled. 

“What about you? Do you still keep in touch with people from school? During any of your degrees?” 

“Not really,” you shook your head. “After my undergrad I became so laser focused on my school I didn’t pay attention to relationships that much outside of my family. Starting to regret it a bit now.” 

“Kind of hard to have a good conversation with cancer cells,” James said sarcastically and you shook your head. “Do you like it in New Jersey so far?” 

“Not as much as back home,” you admitted, “but it is nice to have a friend here.”

“Yeah, Jersey is…an acquired taste,” he settled on, making you laugh, but your laughter was cut off by the sound of his pager, and he looked down to see what the message was before quickly standing up. “Sorry, I have to-,” 

“Don’t worry,” you assured him. “I’ll pack up your food and bring it to your office.” 

“Thanks,” he nodded and you waved goodbye as he ran off out of the cafeteria and to the oncology floor to go help one of his patients. 

—

James didn’t find himself walking around the campus often, but when he did it was usually because he had to clear his head. With everything that was going on in his life, in addition to the circumstances of this case, he was taking it harder than normal. 

He had left his coat in his office as the hot New Jersey sun was already beating down, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes following his feet as he took his steps forward. 

He didn’t notice you sitting on a bench as he was passing by. Curious as to his state, you stood up and went to meet up with him. 

“Hey James, are you okay?” 

Your voice pulled him out of his thoughts almost instantly. He stopped to look up at you, seeing the concern reflecting in your eyes. 

He took his hands out of his pockets and motioned for you to walk with him. 

“I lost a patient today,” he explained. “He was 11.” 

“Oh, James, I’m so sorry,” you said softly. 

“In med school you learn pretty quickly if you don’t find a way to deal with what you face every day the result is never good,” he said and you noticed him chewing on the inside of his cheek, “but it was just too sunny outside. How could it be sunny on a day like this?” 

You didn’t say anything initially, only intertwining your hand with his and giving it a light squeeze which he returned. 

“You know, I think it’s probably okay, every once in a while, to let yourself mourn your patients. Just like everyone else. You have a uniquely difficult job, James, and no one would hold it against you if you need a minute to adjust.” 

James stopped walking and you followed his lead, only to have him let go of your hand and pull you into a tight hug. You easily wrapped your arms around his neck while his arms were around your waist. 

“You’re a good doctor, James,” you mumbled. “I know, even if you don’t quite believe it right now, you did everything you could to help that young boy and make him more comfortable.” 

You could feel him nod his head, clearly not trusting himself to say anything at the moment. 

Neither of you wanted to let go, but you knew that you both had work to get back to. James had other patients he was responsible for and you had some work to do in one of the hospital labs. 

So silently, hand in hand, you accompanied each other back to the hospital, grateful for each other’s company. 

—

“I swear, if I stay there any longer I’m going to go mad,” James whispered to you under his breath as you walked along the halls of the hospital with him to help him run some tests for a few patients. 

“What was it this time?” you asked, huddling in closer, waiting for him to spill the beans on why living with his best friend was becoming unbearable. 

“He keeps pranking me,” he began to explain and you could see how frustrated he was just by his hand movements. “Last night he thought of the genius idea to put my hand in warm water while I was sleeping and-,” James stopped himself, realizing he’d divulged too much, just as your eyes went wide. 

“Oh my God you didn’t wet the bed did you?” you asked in a chuckle and James quickly covered your mouth saying, 

“Shh! The whole hospital doesn’t need to hear you!” 

You couldn’t hold in your laugh, muffled by James’ hand over your mouth and his cheeks were a bright cherry red. 

Eventually you pulled his hand away and said, 

“You definitely need to get out of there. That’s criminal.” 

“Exactly what I’m saying,” James agreed. 

“Hey, why don’t you come over to my place tonight?” you suggested. “We can watch a movie or something together.” 

“That sounds like exactly what I need right now,” he nodded his head. “What time?” 

“Come over at eight, it’ll give me some time to get snacks and get ready.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he held out his hand and you took it shaking it firmly. 

Later that evening while James was getting ready, House watched him curiously. 

“I still don’t believe that you blowdry your hair,” he said loudly over the sound of the appliance. 

“Believe it or not, I do,” James responded. 

“It just seems so pointless, your hair is messy anyways,” he crossed his arms and James gave him a look. 

“My hair looks fine, yours on the other hand could use a trim and about a billion other things,” James retorted.

“So, is this a date?” House asked, changing the topic. 

“No, it’s not a date,” James shook his head. “It’s an opportunity for me to get away from your insanity.” 

“Are you sure it’s not a date?” he asked. 

“What makes you think it's a date?” he finally gave in and turned around to face his friend, turning off the blow dryer. 

“Well if you asked her if you could come over, probably not a date, but if she offered…” he shrugged his shoulders. 

James shook his head, he didn’t want to allow himself to believe it was true, because if it was, he’d probably overthink things and make a fool of himself. 

“It’s not a date,” he reiterated and House stopped pressing, seeing as his friend would not be reasoned with. 

James finished fixing his hair and grabbed his keys and a coat before stepping out of the door. 

It didn’t take him long to drive to your house and when he knocked at the door he heard shuffling inside before the lock clicked and you opened it. 

“Hey! You got the dress code memo,” you joked, pointing to his McGill sweater and then back at yours. 

“I thought you might like a blast from the past,” he smiled and you invited him inside. 

As he entered he noticed the array of pillows on the couch, blankets draped over arm chairs, and books piled on every surface possible. To top it off, the house was currently only lit by lamps allowing a warm orange hue to fall over the space. It made James’ shoulders relax and he could even feel his nervous heart rate slow. 

“Do you like it?” you asked. “I am by no means an interior decorator, but I tried to make it feel cozy so it’s nice to come back to after long days at work.” 

“I do like it,” James nodded. “A lot. It feels like a home.” 

“Perfect, that’s exactly what I was going for,” you smiled. “You’re the first guest I’ve had here, you know?” 

“Really? No fancy dinner parties with the hospital board?” 

“No, not yet,” you chuckled. “Unfortunately, this guy in the oncology department keeps taking up all my time.”

You grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the couch. 

“But don’t worry, I don’t mind.” 

After he took off his coat, you both sat down next to each other, James extending his hand along the back of the couch and you naturally sat right up next to him, leaning forward to grab the remote and turn on the movie. 

“What did you pick?” James asked. 

“Just some random horror movie,” you said. “I heard it’s really cheesy.” 

“We’ll see about that,” James raised his brows and grabbed the popcorn from the table, putting it in between you both. 

You pressed play once you were both settled and tossed the remote to the side of the couch, curling your legs up and waiting in anticipation for the movie to begin.

It didn’t take long for the horror plot to begin, jumping right into the satanic murders and supernatural deaths. Just as you had predicted, it was cheesy, but that didn’t stop you from being startled whenever something popped up unexpectedly on the screen. 

Both of you were lulled into a false sense of security during what seemed like a quiet part of the movie, then, all of a sudden, the killer jumped into the frame with a loud change in the soundtrack, causing you to shriek and move towards James, also feeling him jump slightly from being startled. 

You both looked up at each other and laughed at the ridiculousness of your collective fright. 

“You’re supposed to be the calm one,” you elbowed him. 

“I know it just-Jesus!” James found himself inadvertently closing his eyes and wrapping his arm around you as if it would give him some protection from what was on the screen. 

You laughed again and leaned closer into his side, patting his leg to assure him it was safe to open his eyes again. 

“You must enjoy torturing me, that’s the only explanation for this,” James looked over at you and you shook your head. 

“Come on, heart-eyes, you think that lowly of me?” 

James couldn’t stop the smile that creeped past his lips, “No, of course not.” 

“Good, that means I still have the upper hand,” you moved your head to look back at the TV, but not before James tickled you in retaliation for your words. 

It took a moment, but you eventually surrendered and moved your focus back to the movie, still feeling a little warm from your laughter. 

You grabbed some of the other candies and snacks from the table, holding a gummy bear up for James to try and he did without so much as a second thought. 

“Still have a sweet tooth I see,” you offered him a different candy which he ate again and nodded. 

“You don’t want to know how many cavities I’ve had.” 

“Here,” you handed him a wrapped treat. “This one’s special from home.” 

“Maple candies,” he smiled. “They don’t make ‘em like they do in Montreal.” 

“They were your favourite, right?” you asked. 

James looked over at you again curiously, “You remembered that?” 

“Of course I did,” you shrugged. “Oh wait, look,” you pointed to the TV before grimacing and covering your eyes, but still peeking through your fingers. “Ew!” 

James just smiled at you, finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to kiss you, the thought bringing a warm sensation to his stomach. 

He settled instead on doing what he’d been doing forever: staring at you with heart-eyes. 

—

James tried to fight a yawn as he grabbed one of the many books on the shelves in his office, taking it to his couch and sitting down next to you. 

“You don’t have to do this, James,” you told him. “You probably have to be back tomorrow morning, you should go home and rest.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he insisted. “You look in here for that article I was telling you about and I’ll start proofreading.” 

There were many papers and files strewn around the couch, you couldn’t remember when you first came in, but James never seemed to mind when you worked in his office instead of your own. 

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I feel like I brought a tornado in here.” 

James looked up from your paper and nodded his head. 

“Now hush and let me read.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” you chuckled, opening the medical journal he had handed you, flipping through the contents until you found the article title he had mentioned. 

James had a pen in his hand, scribbling down annotations on the side, correcting a few typos and grammatical errors. 

For the most part, he was able to follow along, but at one point, the words became so incoherent he tapped you to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. 

“What does this say here?” he asked. “I-I don’t know if my eyes just stopped working, but what does stirring in sugar and eggs have to do with this trial treatment?” 

“Oh my God,” you grabbed the paper and looked at it closer. “I must have accidentally copied some of my mom’s cookie recipe on here before changing documents. What in the world is going on with me?” 

Maybe it was the exhaustion settling in or some other things James couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he felt himself letting out a chuckle that grew a little longer, and longer until it was a full blown laugh. 

It was an honest mistake, and arguably not that funny, but you’d be hard pressed to convince him of that in that moment, and instead, seeing the silliness of the situation, you joined in.

Eventually, when the laughter died down, you and James both leaning far back against the couch, he turned to you and apologized. 

“I’m sorry, I should probably read this when I have a bit more sanity.” 

“Don’t be,” you patted his leg. “I can always use a good laugh.” 

With your heads still turned to face each other, you suggested to pause the work and resume it another time, to which James agreed. 

You both continued to sit there in silence, looking over at each other and James caught a glimmer of something in your eyes and had to blink a few times to make sure it was still there. It was a soft look, a little dazed, like you were happily daydreaming about something far off. It took him a moment to realize it, since he had been the one giving that look, he’d never really had a chance to see it for himself. 

You had heart-eyes. 

And more importantly, you had them while you were looking at James. 

With a sudden boost of courage, fuelled by lowered inhibitions, he started by asking, 

“Have I ever told you why my friends call me heart-eyes?” 

You tilted your head a little, following his lead and sitting up straight. 

“Wasn’t it because of that girl you had a crush on that was from here?” 

James opened his mouth and then shut it, shaking his head. 

“There was never a girl from Jersey,” he admitted. 

“Why would they say it was a girl from Jersey if there was…” as you said the sentence you slowed down, the realization dawning on you. 

“All the staring makes a bit more sense now?” he asked. 

You blinked a few times, “I just thought you were really awkward,” you said. 

“I was, but if the staring didn’t give it away the blushing really should have done it,” he chuckled. 

“I thought you had a circulation issue!” you exclaimed and James burst out laughing, of course you did. “God, James, why didn’t you say anything?” 

James shook his head, “I could barely string out a coherent sentence when I was around you. Makes it a little hard to say anything.” 

“Makes me wish I had said something,” you said, feeling your own cheeks heat up at the admission. 

“Y-You would’ve said something?” 

Now it was James’ turn to be surprised. 

“I think most of the time it comes on gradually, maybe you won’t even know it at first. That’s what you said to me, but that eventually, if it was love, I’d know it.” 

You reached out and held James’ hands in your own. 

“I should have said something. I could have said something. We could have had so much more-,” 

“James,” you whispered, interrupting him and he stopped. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

James wasn’t going to waste another second, removing his hands from your to instead gently hold your face, bringing you closer to him so he could finally do what he had been dreaming about since he was 18 years old. 

The dim light of his desk lamp, the papers crumpled beneath and around you, the way you moved closer and slid into his lap, his hands now on your hips and your fingers snaking through his hair, it all melted into one and if you let yourselves imagine, just a bit, the lamp became a light in the library; the papers became unfinished homework assignments and lab write-ups, and you hadn’t missed a second of the time you could have spent together. 

Your kisses soon turned slow and repetitive and neither of you wanted to pull away, living in the moment like it was your last. 

“When…did you realize…you loved me?” you asked between kisses, moving away from his mouth, instead letting your lips find their way across his jaw and up to his temple. 

“Our last year of school,” he paused your kisses so he could kiss you properly again. “Carlo said something and-,” he shook his head and sighed. “I realized I was going to leave without you ever knowing how I felt and even though eventually I thought maybe I’d stopped loving you and started to love other people…I just kept trying to fill that space that only you fit in.” 

“First year of my master’s for me,” you rested your forehead against his. “Suddenly you weren’t there anymore and I really wished that wasn’t the case.” 

He tilted his head up to meet you in another kiss that was far too easy to melt into. Neither of you had any complaints and you knew you’d never get tired looking into his heart-eyes.

@cuntyvicodin