#if *that's* what i had to earnestly pretend i was falling in love with i would've done way way worse

[the-sage-libriomancer]

nothing will ever convince me that actors deserve higher pay more than behind the scenes footage of the live-action Beauty and the Beast

i mean

i could n e v e r play this shit with a straight face

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your tension with Joel comes to a head as you make a confession that will change your relationship with him forever.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Langauge, oral (F receiving) , one thigh slap, p in v, Joel being super into boobs

Word Count: 3.5k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

July 2024

Joel stands a mere five feet from you. His chest heaves a bit, like he's dashed out of the bar to catch you. His hands rest on his hips as he leans on one leg.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to leave a man on the dance floor?"

You look down at the grass and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

"Sorry." You say earnestly, "Just needed some air."

Joel shakes his head, "It's alright, sweetheart, Y'just scared me it's all. Thought you might've been getting sick or something."

You shake your head. No, you're not sick. He's considerate to ask though. Ellie had a nasty stomach bug a week and a half ago, you had become her in-home nurse and spoon-fed her thin chicken broth until she could eat solids again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong then?" Joel asks

You curse him. He always seems to know when something is off with you. Even here in the low light of the streetlights in Jackson, he could see you were thinking.

Yeah, thinking about him.

"It's nothing." You brush him off, "I think I'll just go back home and take a shower. You should go back to the party, though, I bet Tommy misses you."

Joel catches you by the elbow as you go to turn away from him again.

"Now, hold on. It's clear I've upset you, tell me what's wrong." He prods, "Lay it on me, I can handle it."

You scoff. Yeah right. He couldn't handle it in 2003, what made him think he'd be able to accept it now.

"Just let me go." You huff, pulling at your arm

"No, Not 'til you tell me what's wrong." Joel's grip tightens, not enough to bruise, but firm enough so you feel his fingers leaving indents in your skin.

You struggle again for a moment before relenting. Fine, if he wanted to know, he was going to know. No sense in hiding it until one of you dies or gets munched on by a Clicker.

"It's you, Joel." You say

"Me?" He asks, dropping your arm, confusion taking over his stupidly handsome face.

"You're the fucking problem." You point your finger into his chest for good measure, "Giving me all these nicknames and letting me sleep in your bed. You're under my fucking skin and I can't get over you."

Joel is looking at you like you've lost it. Good, maybe if he thinks you're crazy, he'll leave you alone, and you can get over him.

"You don't like it when I do those things for you? Want me to stop, cuz I will." Joel says, his anger beginning to rise to meet yours.

You groan, deep down, you really don't know what you want. Maybe you do. God, it was all so fucked up, falling for him again, you were losing it.

"No! I just...I don't..." You huff, wrapping your arms around your body, "I can't keep going like this. Pretending like it's all platonic because it's not."

Here goes nothing, no taking this one back.

"I'm in love with you, Joel. I'm fucking obsessed with you, and your nicknames, teasing, and constant worry over me aren't helping."

Joel is quiet as he takes it all in, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. You squeeze your arms around your body, digging your fingers into your arms til it burns.

"I-I know you dumped me for a reason, I get it, I do." You stammer, "I can get over my feelings again, I'll do it again, I swear..."

Joel finally finds his voice as he gives you a one-word reply, "No."

You ignore him and continue your warpath, "Look, let's just pretend I never said any of this, okay. I'll move back to my house and we can keep being friends."

Your voice practically dies in your throat as you add, "Please, just don't...leave me again."

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Joel sighs deeply and takes a step forward. His natural scent invades your nose as he takes your face in his hands.

"You're crazy, y'know that, girl."

"If you're gonna ridicule me, you can let go and do it further away." You huff in annoyance. You'd just laid your soul bare for this man, and the first thing he does is call you crazy. The audacity he had.

"Now, let me finish." He says sternly

"You can't take your confession back," A small smile plays on his lips. "Because I am just as fucking obsessed with you, baby."

You scoff, yeah, right, he was fucking with you. Joel's thumb runs a soothing path across your cheek,

"I'm not lying, scouts honor." He says

"You weren't even a boy scout." You remind him. thinking back to what you knew about Joel's childhood.

"Hmph, you're right about that one," Joel gives you a coy smile, "Guess I'll just have to show ya then,"

His voice drops a bit and you swear your heart skips a beat,

"Let me show how fucking in love with you I am, baby..."

Before you have a chance to blink, his lips are brushing yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tilt your head a bit to deepen the kiss. Joel lets out a deep groan when your hands come up to brush through the hair at the back of his neck.

Joel pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, "Still think I'm lyin' to ya?"

A giggle escapes your lips as you shake your head, and he steals another kiss from you.

"I was in love with you again the moment I saw ya shoveling horse shit when I first got here." He confesses, "Couldn't believe you were still alive."

You snort and pull back from him to look him in the eye, "Cuz the overalls and rubber boots I wore are so attractive. Besides, if you were so into me again, why'd you say you didn't know me to Ellie?"

Joel's eyes soften as he takes in your determined look, you want the truth, not some half-assed excuse.

"I dunno," Joel mumbles, his eyes dropping down to the neckline of your dress.

You scoff as he looks away, here he is not owning up to anything.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Joel? You're a fuckin-"

"I'm sorry." He blurts out, "For all of it. I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended, I was a real dick, baby. Mailing your shit back like that. I shouldn't have done that."

You hum, in acknowledgment, looking up into his deep brown eyes.

Joel leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, "Shouldn't have said I didn't know ya to Ellie when we got here either, don't know what I was thinking."

"I get it, if ya change your mind. I'll let you go, just say the word and I'll let you go, I swear. You deserve better than I can offer anyway, I had my chance and blew it already."

You shake your head, no you don't want that.

"What part of I'm fucking obsessed with you, don't you get?" You breathily ask, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Joel smiles, basking in your forgiveness. Here you were, finally standing in front of him, your feelings laid bare to each other. It's a small step, just letting your fears of the past go yet you feel infinitely lighter now, wrapped up in him.

Your hands fiddle with the buttons on his shirt and curl into the soft fabric. You suddenly feel unbearably hot but you get it now, why love drove so many people mad. Joel's soft gaze on you had your chest buzzing with and excitement you couldn't quite name.

"You wanna go back to your house?" You ask hopefully

"You mean our house?"

"Right, our house." You softly correct yourself

Joel gives you a nod and a smile, Course I do, darlin' lead the way."

You and Joel nearly faceplant three times as the two of you fumble your way up the steps to your shared bedroom. Joel catches you after you stumble over a pair of his discarded jeans from earlier.

"I'll clean that up," Joel says apologetically, kicking them to the side.

"Later." You breathe as his lips tickle the soft skin on your neck

"Later." He parrots with a smile into your skin

You let yourself fall onto the bed, welcoming it's softness and the way it smells of Joel. Before you can miss him, he's hovering over you, stealing kisses from your lips and letting his hands begin to wander across your form.

"Fuck..." Joel sighs as his hands squeeze at your chest.

"You alright up there?" You tease, he sounds so utterly wrecked and you've barely begun.

Joel gives you a playful glare, "You don't fucking know how long I've been waiting to feel these, baby. Been thinking about it since we went to that Macy's."

"My bra shopping got you going, huh?" You tease

Joel grumbles in annoyance and presses a kiss to the skin of your collarbone,

"You're real mean, y'know that."

"You poor baby," You laugh, throwing his nickname back at him, "You'll be alright."

You want to tease him some more, he's so easy to make fun of like this. Your words die in your throat when Joel presses his knee against your core through your dress.

"Not laughing anymore," Joel notes as he fixes his attention on your neck, his hands pulling your cardigan off your body.

Your hands undo the buttons of the shirt he's been teasing you with all night, and you push it off his broad shoulders. Finally, at long last, his torso is all yours to admire.

"Quit staring." Joel orders, "Nothin' there to admire."

"I beg to differ." You smile

Joel scoffs as he leans down to let his lips capture yours as hands roam up your back, searching for the zipper to your dress. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest, fuck you were really going to do this.

The loud hiss of your still zipped dress as you break the kiss, your eyes begin to swim with fear. That's right, sex with Joel also meant being naked with Joel.

"You want me to stop?" Joel asks, freezing

"No, I don't." You honestly say, "I just..."

"Take your time," Joel says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, and then to your cheek

Your breaths come out shaky as you speak again, "Just scared you won't like what you see. I don't look like I used to."

"Are you fucking with me?" Joel laughs

"No." You groan, thinking of how your scars ruined your skin, and how age had filled your curves out.

"Baby, you could be neon green under this dress, and I wouldn't care." He presses a kiss to your cheek, "l love your scars, I promise."

Your face warms in embarrassment, how did he say stuff like that so easily, "You haven't even seen them yet."

"Don't gotta," Joel promises, "They're a part of you, I know I'll love them."

It isn't much just a simple sentence, but that's all it takes for fear to be banished from your mind as you smile up at him.

"Take my dress off, Joel." You say

"Yes, ma'am." Joel teases as his fingers find the zipper once more.

Joel pulled your dress from you, delighting to see that you'd forgone a bra with said dress. His hands ran over the raised pink lines and gently caressed your hips and soft belly.

"Even prettier than the last time I saw ya." He assures

Your clothes disappeared onto the floor as Joel disappeared from above you, only to reappear between your thighs, kneeling in front of you. One big hand snuck between your legs as he teased you through your panties. His fucking mouth locked onto the skin of your thighs whispering dirty things into the skin there.

Bold as ever, he slipped his hand under your panties and let his thumb brush over your sensitive clit while two fingers slipped lower and teased your hole.

"Fucking soaked." Joel comments as you blush, "Can I take these off?"

You nod, eager to get out of the suffocating underwear.

Without the restriction of clothing, he was able to latch his mouth to your needy clit. His fingers teased your slit as he ran them along the soft flesh there, teasing but never entering.

"Joel..." You gasp, your hand wrapping around his wrist, unsure if you want him to stop or keep going.

"All mine." He whispers as you cry out, your orgasm washing over you quicker than you expected, your hips nearly flying off the bed. It'd been so long since you felt pleasure like this.

Joel straightens up and rejoins you on the bed, lying beside you as he runs a hand across the scars on your belly, murmuring something about them being beautiful.

"Can we keep going?" You ask breathlessly, looking over at his handsome face

"Course we can." He smiles, sitting back up

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. The softness of it all, god you fucking loved him.

Joel shook his head a bit as you pulled his boxers down, letting his cock out, "Greedy."

"Can you blame me?" You giggle

The hiss he let out when you ran your fingertips along the head had you dizzy with lust. Joel repositions so he's above you and his lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance.

"Wait." You say as he pauses above you

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, concerned, his eyes never leave yours

"I just, um," God, this was embarrassing, but he had a right to know, "Dr. Hill did an exam on me a few years back. Said I have a lot of scar tissue inside, so don't be upset if I can't y'know...cum."

"We'll go slow, alright. If it hurts or something is off, you tell me and I stop, okay?" His voice laced with concern

You nod and grip at his forearms, grounding yourself to him.

"Words, baby. Let me hear 'em," Joel says softly, refusing to move without your permission

"I wanna keep going." You say honestly

A gasp escapes your lips when he enters you. He was big, you knew it, you had seen it just seconds ago, yet it still surprised you as he pushed forward, just barely inside

"Fuck..." Joel gasped above you, his hands gripping the pillows beside you

You grimace when he shifts again, pushing more of him into you. Fuck, the doc told you this would hurt, but this bad?

"Need me to stop?" Joel asks worriedly when he sees your face

That's the last fucking thing you want.

"Keep going." You say, determined to see this through.

Joel looks at you, concerned yet he inches forward, letting out ba soft groan under his breath.

Slowly but surely you get there, letting him inside as pain slowly becomes pleasure. His fingers toy with your clit as you squirm under him. What he does next though, it has you nearly passing out from how hot it is. Joel fucking Miller leans down just a bit and actually spits on his cock.

"You're insane." You comment

"You love it," Joel says, stealing your lips in a kiss that's nothing but spit and teeth.

Joel begins to move, soft and slow at first before you demand more from him. You moan as you feel yourself growing even wetter, between his spit and your own arousal, it's actually begun to feel really fucking good.

Joel's hips slam into yours as he finally gives in to your begging for faster and harder.

"This what you want, huh? Is it?" He asks, leaning down to your ear, pressing your thighs up towards your chest a bit.

"Yes!" You yelp when his hand smacks at your inner thigh

"Such a good fucking girl..." Joel mutters as his hips begin to stutter when you tighten around him

"Joel!" You warn, fuck your stomach feels tight, no way is he actually going to get you to cum.

His hips backward, and your jaw drops into a silent moan as he enters again, this time with his thumb teasing your clit.

"C'mon, let go." Joel coerces, "Know you wanna."

You groaned as your orgasm rolled over you, your eyes slammed shut as Joel sucked a hickey onto your chest.

"Fucking hell!" He gasped, freeing himself from you before cumming all over your tummy.

Joel presses a kiss to your damp forehead before dropping himself onto the mattress beside you. Your heart squeezes when he scooches towards you, resting his sweaty head in the valley between your breasts.

"You okay?" You ask softly

"Am I okay?" Joel laughs into your skin, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." You smile, running a hand through his greying curls atop his head.

Joel lets out a soft hum and presses a kiss to one of your nipples,

"Hungry? Thirsty? Sore?" He asks, apparently ready to provide a world of aftercare despite looking exhausted himself

You wiggle your hips a bit, testing the waters. A twinge of pain shoots through your belly, and you grimace. It had felt so good, yet your body was punishing you anyway.

"Sore." You softly admit, kissing his head, "And kinda sticky."

You motion to the cum that is drying on your body

Joel shifts so he can get a better look at you, examining the way your face is pinched together as your thighs shift again before looking down at your dirty skin.

"I'll run us a bath. " He offers, "Get us some food while I'm at it too."

You nod as he disappears, naked as the day he was born, to run you a bath and get food.

You snort when he returns, clad in your bathrobe you had hung up in the bathroom on your hook, he wipes at your stomach with a warm wash cloth.

"I look good, no?" He asks gesturing to his body

"It's up for debate." You laugh

Joel scoops you up, bridal style, and walks towards the bathroom, "Well, I happen to think I look fabulous."

The bath is perfectly warm, even smelling like the lavender bath fizzes you keep for special occasions. Joel lowers you into the tub before turning to sit on the closed toilet, a plate with crackers and cheese balanced in his hands

"Get your ass in here." You say before he has a chance to sit down fully

"You sure?" Joel asks

"You just fucked me for the first time in two decades and now you're asking to take a bath with me?" You say

Joel sets the food on the edge of the rub, unties the robe, and climbs in. He fidgets nervously as you lean back into his chest.

"You nervous, Miller?" You ask, feeling the way his breath stutters a bit.

"We've never done this before." He points out, "Not even back then."

You hum in acknowledgment, "Lucky you, I guess."

Joel laughs a bit as he links his arms securely around your middle, hands brushing the underside of your breasts, "Lucky me, indeed."

"Would you leave them alone?" You laugh as he squeezes the flesh

"Can't. " Joel mumbles, pressing a soft kiss on your neck, "I missed them."

"Pervert." You say softly

You and Joel sit in the bath til it goes tepid, feeding each other crackers and cheese, and basking in each other's company. Then, he coaxes you to your feet and washes both of you under the steam of the shower.

Now, you were wrapped around him in bed, listening to the crickets chirp. Your eyes are beginning to droop when he speaks,

"I'm sorry," Joel says

"I'm not hurting that much, Joel." You say sleepily into his bare chest.

"No not that. Well, yes that. But I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended."

You hum, "Mmm. It's alright, I forgive you, remember?

"I know, I just..."

"I forgive you." You softly say, scooting closer to him

Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, "You're too good to me. I'm an ass, I know that."

Joel yelps when you pinch his side.

"Glad you're self-aware." You laugh

"I got real scared back then. Thought I was fucking your life up by sticking around." He admits

"Right, cuz dating a 35-year-old at 24 was the worst thing to ever happen to me" You joke

"No!" Joel protests, "You know what I mean."

You nod, you do know what he means.

"Don't have to be scared anymore." You say quietly

Joel hums and chuckles a bit, rubbing a soothing circle into your back as you lay here with him under the covers.

"No, I don't. You're all mine." He declares

You shift a bit, shuffling so you can look him in the eyes, and press a kiss to his lips. Your voice comes out confidently, as you say something you've wanted to say for so long now,

"Yours."

Here we are...at the end. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am very busy right now, but I may write more for these two later.

Thank you all for reading and following this story as it progressed. If you'd like, leave me some comments with feedback!

Back to Main Masterlist

Tags:

@lunaticgurly  @orcasoul  @snowlycanroc  @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst  @concrete-jungleeee

@cherrypieyourface  @kanyewestest @bambisweethearts

@sarahhxx03 @loveisacowboyyy @amyispxnk @lou-la-lou @dancinglotusbud @superblyspeedydragon @heartpatch @anoverwhelmingdin @hiroikegawa @drewharrisonwriter

[moonstruckme]

hmmm how about james potter and shy reader’s first kiss? 💘

Idk how this sat so long in my inbox, thank you for requesting (and for your patience) angel!

James Potter x shy!reader ♡ 998 words

You know James has been holding back on your account. He’s still a thousand times braver than you are, always with a hand cast over your shoulders or resting on your back or clasped around yours and compliments dropping from his lips like they’re nothing. You find it easier to reciprocate when he makes the first move like that. To lean into his side, tighten your fingers around his, smile and tell him he looks lovely, too. 

Tonight he seems to be taking things further, and you suspect you know why. He’s seemed reluctant to let you out of arm’s reach all night. Instead of just holding your hand, he’d played with your fingers while you’d sat in the cinema. He’d pushed your hair out of your face when you turned to talk to him, and a couple of times he’d wiped chocolate from the corner of your mouth that you suspect wasn’t really there. Now, as you’re walking home, he’s rubbing a slow, absentminded back-and-forth across the back of your hand with his thumb. It feels like he’s testing the waters. 

You’ve been dating for a while now. You’d wondered when it would come. 

James walks you up your front steps, every smile he beams your way worsening the bone-thuddering beat of your heart. It’s not necessarily James that scares you. He’s perfect and lovely and kind, and you want him close so badly it’s humiliating. 

He squeezes your hand in his, and your nerves misfire, the toe of your shoe catching on the top step. You gasp as you pitch forward, but James is quick. He grabs you around the middle and you save yourself with your other foot. 

“Whoa,” he laughs. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry, I don’t know how that happened.” 

“They are your own front steps,” James points out. There’s a knowing in his eyes, in the soft curl of his bottom lip, that makes your cheeks warm and your stomach flutter. “I hate to think of what unfamiliar steps do to you if you’re falling right outside your own home.” 

“I know.” You look down, pretending you need to check your shoelaces or brush off your pants or some other ruse he won’t believe, and try not to be so acutely aware of how he hasn’t let you go. “It’s humiliating. The neighbors will talk.” 

“Let me know if they do. I’ll set them straight.” 

You grin up at him. James’ expression is as warm as his voice. His eyes go molten as they meet yours, a look now familiar and yet newly thrilling every time. It makes your spine feel rubbery. 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he says, voice gone a bit softer than usual. “I had a really great time.” 

“I did, too,” you reply earnestly. “Thanks for inviting me.” 

“You’re always invited, sweetheart.” His touch slips from around your middle, taking your hand again. “See you Friday, then?” 

When you’d told James how busy you’d be this week, he’d penciled himself into your schedule for Friday, when the pandemonium will have ceased. He wants to cook you dinner. You think you’ll likely deliquesce into a heart-shaped puddle when he does. 

“See you then.” You smile, and he smiles back, and then intention solidifies in his gaze.

You hold your breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. 

“Please.” The word leaves you on a sigh, and then James is stepping closer to you, your fingers tightening on his. 

The first soft press of his mouth is gentle and chaste. Warm, like the rest of him, like sunlight given form. His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, and you lean into the touch on instinct, slotting your nose alongside his to get him closer. It starts so slow and lovely you’re not sure you can handle anything more, but then James parts his lips and you mirror him reflexively and his sunlight is pouring into you. 

You let go of his hand to wrap both your arms around his neck. James smiles against your lips as you press closer to him, his hand gentle on your face as he slows you both down again with sweet, soft kisses to your bottom lip. 

“Easy,” he says, his own voice slightly hoarse now. It sends shivers down your spine, light as a feather’s touch. “Let’s give the neighbors one headline at a time, yeah? Don’t want to overwhelm the presses.” 

You’re lost for words. You let your forehead rest against his, eyes still closed, savoring the warmth emanating from your lips. 

“Angel, you with me?” James tilts his head up so his nose bumps into yours. You feel your lips curve of their own volition. “Was that okay?” 

You hum. “You’re right,” you say, impressed with how normal you manage to sound. “I think we should go inside so they’re left to wonder.” 

That earns you a hearty laugh, James grasping your shoulders when you’re forced away from him by the raucousness of it. 

“You said you were tired just a few minutes ago,” he reminds you. 

“I feel awake now.” 

He laughs again, delighted, and your face warms at your own brazenness. James lets his touch slip down your arms to your hands again, taking them in his and squeezing reassuringly. 

“As much as I’d like to,” he says, “you’ve got a big week. I should let you get to bed. Plus—” he gives you a roguish grin “—keeping you wanting more is how I get you to let me in here on Friday.”

You grin down at your shoes. “That’s very conniving of you.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m nefarious that way. But one more.” 

James tilts your face up with a hand, pressing one quick, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling out of your reach. You know you look as surprised as you feel, because his eyes dance with amusement as he backs down the stairs, his smile poorly repressed. 

“See you Friday.” 

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Megumi falling in love for the first time?

Attempts at Friendship are Unappreciated

Synopsis: Megumi doesn’t have a need for friends, let alone a lover. But upon getting his first crush, he learns some new things about himself, like maybe he cares more than he thinks.

pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x GN!Reader

content warning: SFW, potential friends to lovers, Megumi sorting out his feelings sort of stuff because cynical, overthinker Megumi is my favorite Megumi.

If you were to ask Megumi, he didn’t have any need for friends. And he has been asked before by people like Gojo and his sister. The answer was always the same. He prefers being alone. People were too complicated. Too selfish. Too good. Too everything, really. And he was, well, himself.

Even after arriving at Jujutsu High, it’s still unnerving to him to have someone talk to him so earnestly, like his eyes weren’t permanently fixed with irritation, like he wasn’t constantly avoiding others, like he didn’t wear indifference like a new fur coat in the height of winter.

Itadori was an unexpected exception. An outburst of emotion intravenously linked him to the other boy, the golden strings of their destinies twined and knotted together on Fate’s spinning wheel.

You, on the other hand, have no reason to befriend him. He’s never had anything to offer others in return for their company, which never bothered him until he met you.

Megumi questioned what it was about you that allows you to get so close. So, he lets you talk, chattering his ear off in the covered walkway hosting the vending machines.

He studies you inch by inch, searching for something in the bright expression on your face and the crinkle of your eyes when you smile; he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for. Your motive – the reason for wanting to talk to someone like him?

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

“I don’t have one.”

It may sound like a rude dismissal of your question but it's the truth, the painfully boring truth. He’s never put much thought into trivial things like that. The fact settles heavily in his stomach and rings hollow in his chest like when his sister said he’d never learn to make friends if he didn’t put himself out there.

Back then, Megumi pretended not to have heard her. In truth, it bothered him when she said it, only for the feeling to quickly fade away before he even left school that day. That strange void he felt back then always seems to resurface at the worst of times.

“Would you say that you like black or silver better? How about blue?”

Megumi looks down and plays with the tab on his orange juice can, avoiding the thing about you that makes him want to hear you talk. Megumi has no need for friends. Attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

“They’re all fine,” he grumbles out. It’s the maximum he allows.

Megumi doesn’t have a type. It’s another one of those trivial things he’s never bothered to think about until his head was literally cracked through the pavement.

He knows all about types though, and he knows as much as he cares about romance from the bad to the good. Sweaty palms, blushing faces, pounding hearts were all reoccuring themes in his books.

Megumi never thought he’d have romantic feelings for anyone, no matter how fleeting. He reckons he isn’t capable of it. He just isn’t wired that way.

It’s comforting in a sense. It means he didn’t have to worry about attachments. Sure, he loves his sister, and Gojo, well, he cares for his benefactor, but he’s never considered the older man someone he felt okay investing all his feelings into. People his own age were complicated enough; adults were worse, his father was worse; the little he remembers anyway.

When he thinks about the way he met Gojo who too conveniently saved him from the Zen’in clan in exchange for becoming his student, it’s hard for him to let his trust flow purely even after all this time; even when Gojo took it upon himself to do Megumi favors like putting Itadori's room right next door (another thing Megumi didn't appreciate).

Megumi blames his long-seated resentment for the reason his heart starts to work overtime the day you present friendship bracelets to everyone. They’re fancy; many steps above the cheap kind that you’d find at some discount convenience store with plastic alphabets and random beads and symbols. He assumes a couple of the pieces might be real.

Kugisaki’s is green, shining on her wrist like emeralds. Megumi thinks it suits someone like Kugisaki, who would undoubtedly love to be covered in jewels. Itadori has a similar one, rotating with a pattern of red and opaque white pieces.

Standing in that hall, drowning out the conversation between Kugisaki and Itadori about who has the prettier bracelet, Megumi realizes he’s next.

It starts when you step in front of him; there’s a cautious tone to your voice when you say his name because you already know: attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

It's with a roll of anxiousness, the one that always comes with the mystery of whether his exchange with someone will be positive or negative and the skeptic thought in his head that reminds him most people always want something in return, that makes him throw up a wall.

“These probably aren’t your thing but I made one for you too,” you preface. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t really sure what to put on it so I made some guesses.”

You’re right. Friendship bracelets aren’t his thing; needing a token like a bracelet to prove your relationship to someone is asinine. It’s against what is supposed to make a friendship special. Strong friendships should need no words, right?

Most importantly, he doesn’t need it, and there’s no reason for you to give him one.

“You keep it,” he starts. However, it’s already too late as you grab his arm and slide the trinket over his hand.

“I don’t—” he starts again; there’s a bit of surprise in the way you look at him, the way everyone stops and looks at him actually. This quickly becomes one of those times where it’d be easier to go with the flow than to fight the current. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Only because you already made it,” he explains more fully, stifling the embarrassment that wants to bubble from his chest with so much attention.

Like before, he finds himself too focused on watching you, the way your eyes soften from surprise and rejection to shining stars. He thinks this must be how the protagonists in those books feel when heat creeps up their neck. Those books also left him sorely unprepared that it would go past neck to his face and ears.

He breaks away from the situation, finding a way to retreat into the background to shield himself from the gooey feeling permeating the air. He drops his gaze to his arm, focusing on the bracelet with his name accompanied by a repetition of blue and silver, connecting the two—four—of you together.

Megumi fixes his sleeve over the bracelet, but he can’t hide how painfully aware he is of the charms rolling against his skin.

It was both a pleasant feeling and completely alien.

It broke.

Megumi was a bit reckless against a low-level curse, and it broke. He didn’t even realize it until after the battle was over and one of the silver charms were rolling under his foot.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was bound to happen eventually considering this line of work. Yet, he still picked up the few pieces he could separate from the gravel, and the entire ride home his wrist feels unreasonably bare.

Thinking about how he messed up makes him annoyed at himself, especially when he wonders what you’d think if you noticed he wasn’t wearing it. You’d probably think he tossed it somewhere; that he didn’t like it. He liked it. The same way he likes to listen to you talk on car rides home after missions or when you ask him to hang out with you and the others or when you read all the books he recommends with the protagonists that are quickly becoming too relatable with every skipped heartbeat and tongue-tied word. He’s frustrated to acknowledge why that’s the case.

It’s only been three months since the start of the school year, he thinks. It took only three months for his thoughts to start drifting to his classmates, with you almost always center stage in them.

When he arrives back at the school, he finds your room and knocks on your door. He shows you what little remains of the gift you gave him, as if he needs to immediately absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” you ask cautiously.

Megumi can guess why you’re hesitant considering he only accepted your gift because of peer pressure. He still believes gifts like this are silly and unnecessary.

But…

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He wants it.

So, he goes into your room where he watches you begin the process of making him another bracelet. You ask him which accessories he would prefer, and like always he doesn’t have much preference other than what you think is best. As long as it isn’t too silly, of course.

He gives his undivided attention to how your fingertips pour over your work kit and the many square boxes filled with different miniature shapes before you carefully pick out one with a little dog face.

“I think this one is good,” you whisper to yourself before continuing your search for another complementing bead.

You smile as you work. It’s nice. Cute even as you bite down on your lip in concentration; and right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information other than note the way it makes his palms feel clammy especially when he notices your eyes lift back up to his.

Megumi notices a lot about you actually. He notices how you always go out your way to get his, well, everyone’s opinion on everything. He notices that whenever you share your snacks with everyone that you always save ginger for him. He notices how your gaze lingers on him when you ask if everyone is in one piece after difficult missions. He also notices how your finger stops over a silver square, one with a little black heart carved in each side. He wonders, perhaps too hopefully, if the charm is just one you think he’d like or if it means more than that.

“Why do you always keep trying to talk to me?” he asks, fighting the urge to beg you to stop getting stuck in his mind so much.

Your head snaps up from what you’re doing.

“What do you mean? We’re teammates,” you answer simply.

“Aren’t missions enough? We don’t need to interact aside from that.”

You pinch your eyebrows at him, and there’s a frown on your face. “Sure we do.”

“There’s no reason.”

It’s not like he ever saved your life, not like Itadori. It’s not like he has a somewhat familial relationship with you, like Gojo. You’re not his sibling or his parent; he’s not the friendlist either so there’s no reason to try to get closer any more than necessary, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so nervous right now.

“How about because I like talking to you? I think you’re pretty funny, and you’re a kind person.” You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t know. I just like being friends with you.”

Megumi doesn’t know what he was expecting. Some deep explanation why you keep trying to get close to him? Some selfish excuse from you that he could use to warrant pushing you away. A reason to justify why he likes you so much? A reason to hope you like him just as much?

Maybe.

There doesn’t need to be some special reason for you wanting to be his friend, which means he doesn’t really need a reason either.

“I see.”

“Finished,” you say, holding out his newly made bracelet to him. “I poured some of my cursed energy into it, so it won’t break so easily next time.”

Megumi feels calm once again when he feels the weight and roll of the beads on his skin again; the aura of your curse energy humming through it makes the connection back to you much more noticeable.

“What about me?” you ask, drawing his attention. “Do you like being friends with me?”

Megumi can’t answer that, not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he feels like his tongue weighs more than lead as you lean closer into him.

His eyes find your lips, soft and parted. This is the first time he’s gotten the urge to kiss someone. It makes his stomach whirlwind, and he quickly finds a way to answer you without having to look at you as he picks at one of the charms.

“Can I make you one?”

The next morning, Megumi decides to go out with you and the others for breakfast, which in hindsight was a mistake as Itadori points out the new accesory you’re wearing on your wrist.

“Hey, you got one too now.”

You smile, holding it up proudly. “Megumi made it for me!”

“Megumi?!” Itadori blurts out.

“Made it for you?” Nobara asks with raised eyebrows and a hand on her hip.

“He did a really good job.”

It’s like the time before when you first gave them their gifts, and everyone is looking at him again. “I didn’t do anything special; a monkey could do it,” he mumbles out.

Itadori is the first to crack a laugh followed by Kugisaki. Then, the two of them start muttering and teasing him in unison.

“He’s so modest,” Itadori points out.

“Loverboy,” Kugisaki whispers.

“Can we call you Megumi too?” Itadori asks.

Megumi doesn’t have the patience to consider whether the other boy is being genuine or not as he grits his teeth and growls out a quick “shut up” before konking Itadori on the head to prove his point. It’s enough to make them leave him alone for now as Itadori accidentally trips into Kugisaki from the force.

“That was completely unnecessary, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki grumbles as she pushes Itadori off and stands back to her feet.

Megumi sighs.

This is why he doesn’t want friends.

“Did you just sigh at me!”

“If that’s what you heard,” he tells her.

“You better sleep with both eyes open!”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Yet if it’s those two then he guesses having friends isn’t completely unbareable.

Suddenly, Megumi loses focus at the timbre of your laugh.

“You guys are starting early today.”

You’re still laughing at them, harder now actually, and it’s precious. He throws his gaze to the wall as if he’s ignoring Kugisaki and not trying to hide the heat blooming on his cheeks when you glance at him, making him aware that he’s the reason for your laughter.

Megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his thumb over the bracelet and the heart you left behind there.

Friendship is something he’s coming around to. Having a crush for the first time, well, he still needs work on figuring that out. 

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — until we're old and wrinkly

prev: remember to be patient! | masterlist | next: my blue spring

he picks her up from her place, something she isn't accustomed to just yet. the sunlight barely peeks out from behind his figure. it's a warm sight.

kageyama planned the entire day out — she caught a glimpse of it on his notes app, typed out neatly and with little details for him to remember — and she finds it foreign to have someone else handle everything for her. when they stand before the museum, she thanks him quietly by slipping her hand into his and pretends to not notice the perspiration on his palms or the flush of his cheeks. the cues of spring happen to be on full display today, given the vibrant blossoms and the light breeze in the air, despite it already being june.

june, she ponders. spring is no longer with her, gone with the wind. she reminisces over late march, in which she had taken it upon herself to tutor her calculus seatmate, despite the inconvenience it created for her routine. she recalls early may and all of its disruptions, from her stepfather to the exhibit that tore apart pieces of her well-being. her gaze falls to the much rougher hand encapsulating hers, and she hopes that june brings about something better.

they walk around each floor together, their fingers loosely intertwined and their footsteps following the same tempo. he finds himself excited to listen to her ramble about each work that interests her. while he doesn't quite understand her observations about color theorems and medium combinations, he does understand the ardor that drips from each whispered syllable. he understands the complexity of her love for the intricacies that she describes. he understands why he likes her so, so, so much.

"i requested to host an exhibit here before," she mutters while they pause to sit and rest. there's a small bench placed in the center of one of the exhibition rooms beneath a dim light. in truth, kageyama feels like it's just them in the room. "mainly because it was convenient, but also because i dreamed of it when i was a kid." he watches as she scans each work with childlike wonder. the thump, thump, thump of his heart only drums heavier against his chest with every passing second.

his thumb grazes over her skin absentmindedly, as if to soothe himself. "what happened after?" he whispers. he's scared that if he speaks too loud, the delicacy they've constructed around themselves will shatter.

she takes a breath before she responds, and he braces himself for whatever explanation she has. "they didn't accept my work because i was too young, by their standards. something about how they wanted seasoned talent." her thumb copies his, albeit with a little more force. "it was odd. it feels weird to be here now, seeing what they would've wanted up on their walls. but i don't really mind it now."

he can't take his eyes off of her. her words spill from her lips with ease and he soaks it all in, as if it's a healing prayer. the effect she has on him is devastating, he realizes, but he doesn't want it to wither away for a second.

they sit in silence for a while. a handful of old couples shuffle by, their hands interlinked, and he wonders if he'd find himself in that position with her. tourists filter in and out and speak in quiet dialects he can't comprehend, but he enjoys the noise. she does too. it's comfortable, despite how odd it feels on her skin, and she can't find herself fighting it anymore. when he asks if she's ready to leave, she questions the last time she was able to relax. she scavenges through her memories, searching relentlessly for a moment of rest that felt as easy as this, and she finds nothing. so, earnestly, she declines. she asks him to sit with her for a little bit longer. he doesn't complain.

he wants to ask if she'd be content with continuing their routine, where he comes over on thursdays and listens to her explain complicated topics until the sun sets behind the horizon. he wants to ask if he can keep buying her iced coffees with hints of cinnamon and lavender until she grows sick of them. he wants to ask if she's ever envisioned them together, old and wrinkly, walking hand in hand. instead, he asks her if she's truly, genuinely happy.

"of course i am. you're here, after all."

that's more than enough for him, he decides.

--

kageyama doesn’t want to drop her off yet, but with the moon hanging high in the sky and the building lights slowly diminishing, he knows he can’t ask her to stay with him any longer. so, with heavy footsteps and a heavy heart, he walks with her up the stairs and down the hall of her apartment building, and his chest aches more and more with every inch closer to the doorway.

his hand departs from hers, and he feels foolish for being so clingy. she swivels around to face him. his jacket rests on her figure, the result of his overwhelming concern from moments prior. it’s the same one he left at her house weeks and weeks ago. the memory is still fresh in his head.

“i had a lot of fun today,” she muses while fidgeting with the zipper. she doesn’t want to take it off yet, and she reasons with herself that it’s only because the breeze is heavy and the night is cold, but she knows there’s more to it than that. “thank you, tobio.”

at her call of his name, he finds himself hopeless. he can’t stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, and he can’t stop the confession that he spills out shortly after.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he whispers against her skin. their noses are barely touching. there’s a minty essence to his breath, a glimmer in his eyes, and in his words, there’s a bountiful amount of raw, unfiltered emotion. she can tell it isn’t a new realization, given by the way he utters it so readily. “so much so that i’d let you tutor me until we’re old and wrinkly.”

“really?” she laughs, the sound light against his ears. “that’s a long, long time.”

“i don’t mind. as long as it’s with you.”

she doesn’t tell him that she shares the sentiment, but she isn’t sure if she really needs to tell him. the small smile she gives him and the soft peck she places on his cheek says everything he needs to know.

𝜗𝜚 next chapter is the last one !! thank u for reading blue spring :)

𝜗𝜚 i hope that this chapter really encapsulated the shift in yn's life from something much more solemn and bitter to something colorful and light since that's really where the title comes from

𝜗𝜚 blue spring was initially just a random title i came up with, but when i searched it up i found out that it means "youth" or a "fresh start." i felt that this fit super well with the general plot as not only did yn lose a lot of her youth to her workaholism, but she also got to experience a fresh start in her life by meeting kageyama

𝜗𝜚 this chapter is super duper cheesy but i feel like kags is a very cheesy guy anyways

𝜗𝜚 also does this count as them being official in ur guys' eyes ? i was very conflicted on whether or not this chapter would be the last one because i felt that i wasn't very sure on how to show the transition from "more than friends less than lovers" to being in a relationship where you can confess your love, so i was about to make this a "time-skip" sort of chapter where it's already out there that they're in love. in a sense this makes this chapter a filler ,, but it felt wrong to not talk about their date </3

𝜗𝜚 also the dog reaction pic is an inside joke that no one else will understand bc none of my irls follow this account (and i hope they never find it </3)

𝜗𝜚 also also i watched wifty while finishing this up bc i miss it sm :( zhangrai my otp

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307 @fiannee @minimarkive @aboutkiyoomi

[gottencents]

010: nobody knows mental illness like a chanel bias

synopsis. SM Entertainment would’ve loved for FALLEN ANGELS and aespa to never share a stage — especially with Chanel possibly "corrupting" their prized “it girl,” Karina.

____________ ____________ ________ ____________

Chanel arrived early again, parked a little ways down from Karina’s place to avoid looking overeager. As she waited, she scrolled through her phone, trying to calm her nerves. Her playlist was blasting, but even the comforting beats of her favorite songs couldn’t drown out the excitement buzzing through her veins.

When Karina walked out of her building, Chanel’s heart practically stopped. She looked effortless, wearing a soft lilac midi dress with sneakers, her hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. Chanel scrambled to get out of the car, nearly dropping her keys in the process.

“You clean up nice,” Karina said, smiling as she approached.

Chanel gestured vaguely at Karina. “I was just about to say the same thing, but you’re making me look underdressed.”

Karina laughed. “I like your style. It’s very ‘cool girl trying not to care but actually caring a lot.’”

“Wow, called out on the spot,” Chanel said, grinning.

They arrived at the cozy Italian restaurant Chanel had picked, and as soon as they sat down, the banter began.

“So, what’s your go-to pasta dish?” Karina asked, her elbow resting lightly on the table.

“Spaghetti,” Chanel said immediately. “But like, with meatballs the size of my fist. What about you?”

“Penne vodka,” Karina replied, glancing at the menu. “But I judge places by their garlic bread.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Chanel said, nodding seriously. “If the garlic bread doesn’t hit, it’s over.”

“Exactly.”

As the waiter brought out their drinks, Karina tilted her head. “So, when did you first realize you wanted to be an idol?”

Chanel took a sip of her water, thinking. “Honestly? When I was like, nine. I saw this performance on TV—it was ridiculous, like all the lights, the outfits, the energy. I thought, ‘I want to make people feel like this.’”

Karina smiled softly. “And now you do.”

Chanel blinked, caught off guard. “Well, yeah, I guess. But what about you? You’re like, the blueprint for idols at this point.”

Karina laughed. “Hardly. But I think I knew around the same age. I always liked performing, but it wasn’t until I got into dance competitions that I thought, ‘Oh, this could be something more.’”

“You’re so good at it,” Chanel said earnestly. “Like, stupidly good. Watching you rehearse last week? Insane.”

“Don’t hype me up too much,” Karina teased, though her cheeks tinted pink.

After dinner, they decided to take a walk along a nearby park trail. The lights from the city reflected off the lake, casting shimmering patterns across the water.

“Okay, real question,” Chanel said, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets. “Do you ever get nervous before performing?”

Karina glanced at her. “All the time. You don’t?”

Chanel snorted. “Girl, I feel like throwing up every time. But it’s like, once I’m out there, it just…fades.”

“Same,” Karina said. “It’s the adrenaline, I think. It takes over.”

“Yeah, and then you’re just vibing,” Chanel said with a laugh. “Unless you trip on stage, which I have. Twice.”

“Twice?” Karina echoed, laughing. “How?”

“The first time, it was my shoelaces. The second time…honestly, I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Karina said, shaking her head.

Chanel grinned. “You think I’m cute?”

“Did I stutter?” Karina replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Wow, okay,” Chanel said, pretending to fan herself. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

As they continued walking, the conversation turned more personal.

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet?” Karina asked.

Chanel thought for a moment. “Travel more. Like, really travel. Not just for work.”

“Where to?”

“Everywhere,” Chanel said, spreading her arms dramatically. “Europe, South America, maybe even Antarctica. You?”

“Honestly? I want to try surfing,” Karina admitted.

“Surfing?” Chanel repeated, laughing. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Why? You don’t think I could do it?”

“Oh, I think you’d crush it. I just didn’t expect it.”

When they returned to Karina’s building, Chanel hesitated outside the door.

“So, this was fun,” Chanel said, scratching the back of her neck.

“It was,” Karina agreed, her voice soft.

“I, uh…I was thinking…” Chanel trailed off, suddenly nervous.

Karina tilted her head. “Thinking what?”

“That I really want to do this again,” Chanel said quickly, her words tumbling out.

Karina stepped closer, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“I try,” Chanel said, grinning despite herself.

Before she could overthink it, Karina leaned in and kissed her. It was gentle, sweet, and completely disarming. When they pulled apart, Chanel blinked rapidly.

“Did that…just happen?” she asked.

Karina laughed. “Yes, it did.”

“Cool, cool,” Chanel said, her voice higher than usual. “No big deal or anything.”

Karina smiled. “Goodnight, dork.”

“Goodnight, pretty,” Chanel replied, her cheeks hurting from how much she was smiling.

As she walked back to her car, Chanel couldn’t stop replaying the kiss in her mind, already counting down the days until their next date.

____________ ____________ ________ ____________

A/N: texts made to all be incoming on purpose for u to know who talking better <333

Taglist ( closed ) : @saysirhc @awkwardtoafault @yjiminswallet @gtfoiydlyj @1luvkarina @womanl0ver @hazel-tanthamore22 @deuxae @arihiu

[derekhighwaytf]

InstaCub

I loved the Cha Cha Room.  It was as exclusive as it was expensive, but hey that’s the price you pay when you’re a social media sensation.  Being Trey, the sexy instagram model wasn’t without its downsides, however.  The worst thing was when guys who should’ve known that someone of my caliber wouldn’t be interested in them tried to hit on me.  Sure, I fucked my fans regularly, but only the ones that shared my dedication to beauty.  I couldn’t help that I was born gorgeous.

My entourage, an aesthetically curated group of other models (all only slightly less attractive than myself) walked into the Cha Cha Room, ready to be gawked at, each of us oozing beauty and charisma. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, their eyes filled with awe, desire, and, my favorite, envy.

But amongst that sea, there was one guy that forced me to do a double take.  Doug, rounder and balder than anyone else, didn't fit the usual demographic that came to Cha Cha. It was a mystery how he must’ve slipped his way in when security wasn’t looking, because there was no chance they’d ever willingly allow someone who looked like that to enter such exclusive premises.  And, to make matters worse, when he caught me staring at his odd appearance, he began to make his way toward me, a small, devious smile playing on his lips.

"Can I buy you a drink?," he asked.  I raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a smirk.  Sure, he was far beneath my standards, but I loved teasing my inferiors, especially when it comes with a free drink.  "Well, aren't you a sweetheart," I replied, trying to hide my disdain for his smelly, musky demeanor.

As we talked and I pretended to listen, he must’ve farted at least three times, but I wanted to be nice, so I held my breath and counted the seconds till I could rejoin my way cooler group of friends.  However, when Doug began flirting, I couldn’t help it.  A chuckle bubbled up from my chest and I shook my head, saying "Doug, was it?  No amount of drinks in this club could make me think you're anything but fat, smelly, and bald."

“And what’s wrong with that?” he said earnestly.  “This is a bar for fat, smelly, bald guys after all.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.  Just as the words escaped my lips, I noticed something strange. As my eyes scanned the crowd, I realized that everyone, even my formerly flawless friends, looked just like Doug. They’d grown beards, their hair on their head was gone, and they all had guts the size of bowling balls.  I felt a chill run down my spine as I started to walk away.

“I must be in the wrong place.  I don’t belong here,” I said, just barely missing the door.  But before I could free myself from this hellhole, Doug stopped me and said, “Yes you do.  I think you fit in perfectly.”

Suddenly, my Gucci shirt felt tight around my midsection, and my once firm arms now felt doughy. As I turned to leave, a full-length mirror on the wall revealed a shocking transformation.   I reached up and where once were lush and thick chestnut locks, was now greeted the cold, bare skin of a rapidly receding hairline, retreating with alarming speed, creating an expanding dome of skin I’d never seen before.

Clumps of my hair began to detach themselves from my scalp, falling gently to the club floor. Each strand felt like a piece of my identity, a piece of Trey, falling away to reveal the bald truth underneath. I watched in frozen terror, feeling each follicle detach until all that remained was nothing but a smooth, shiny surface. I was as bald as an egg.

And then I farted.

Pffffffft.

I was disgusted with myself for only a moment, until I started to let a hearty chuckle much deeper than my old voice.

I looked in the mirror again, my face so much more different than it was ten minutes ago—familiar, but not the one I had painstakingly maintained for the world to admire. Suddenly, the world seemed to shift as a flood of memories washed over me. I wasn't Trey, the Instagram sensation. I was Tom, a twenty-something, bald, overweight man who didn’t shower, farted every five minutes, and fucked anyone who’d have me.  This was my bar and I was gonna make sure all my fellow cubs had a good time

As the rock music blared and the crowd at Tommy’s Den started to become increasingly alluring to me, I was suddenly hit with a wave of unfulfilled desire, a need for cock.  So I pulled Doug aside to the bathroom and…well you can guess what happened next.

I was Tom now, and, honestly, my life was so much better…

Pffffffffft.

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part eight]

Summary: A normal morning in Azriel's life.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: fluff, slight sexual insinuations (when are Nesta and Cassian not banging tho), anxious mannerisms, beginning of emotional turmoil (not yet angst)

Minors, do not interact.

a/n: yeah yeah its another short one but i guess i can only write 2k words at a time unless its cassian's pov? anyway, hope yall are riding with me still! i just finished an outline im feeling more satisfied with so fear not my friends! there will be more plot coming soon. besides we gotta let them fall in love, right? here's some luna lovegood-esque content. also if you haven't seen dinner in america, you should give it a try. it's so cute i havent had a crush in so long

part seven

Masterlist

"Creature of my desire, takes us higher

To not hold your face or feel your embrace, is why I waste

But she's just a phase, just a phase

Boy yeah, she's easy to replace"

Puma Blue, (She's) Just a Phase

It was yet another day of training with the priestesses and nothing was truly different than any other day. 

Every morning he would wake up alone at his townhouse in the city and quickly down his plain but nutritious breakfast before winnowing directly to the House of Wind, and if he heard disconcerting sounds coming from inside the house, he pretended he didn’t and that he didn’t notice the bright red bite marks on his brother’s neck when he appeared a few minutes later, eyes hazed and a smug satisfied smile in place.

Except that when he winnowed to the training ring that morning he found he wasn’t alone. 

The sun was only barely waking up and yet she had already made the day her own.

Eowyn panted from her spot on the floor (at a reasonable distance from the now faint creaking sound coming from the house), the only visible skin around her eyes bright with perspiration yet she didn’t seem to be doing anything to explain her clearly strained behavior.

Clearly sensing his approach, the young priestess snapped her eyes open and evened out her breaths. “Oh, hey Master of the Shadows” she breathed casually, using one of her usual obnoxious titles she thought were hilarious, having heard them spoken earnestly from a brown nosing vendor in Velaris. The first time she’d called him ‘lord of shadows,’ he’d been so gobsmacked by the ridiculousness of the title and had let the surprise slip on his face, which had caused her to latch on to the titles. Since then, he refused to correct her, knowing that doing so would only be fuel for her to do it more. 

He frowned at her, “what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a priestess admire a sunrise around here?”

His frown smoothed into something more neutral. While not letting it show, he found himself curiously amused, but mostly profoundly intrigued. As if she was a puzzle he couldn’t help but try to solve. “You looked like you were convulsing.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him and despite the thrill he felt shooting down his spine and the smile he felt threatening to rise on his lips, he quickly composed himself, masking any rising emotion with a stoic look on his face. His clear dismissive disinterest seemed to irritate her further. “I was warming up,” she shrugged, looking away and he needn’t see her eyes to know it was a lie, despite how casually she tried to make it sound, “thought I’d take a moment to rest.”

He couldn’t help himself, “right…unless you’re here to listen to Cassian and Nesta…?”

She tilted head slightly to the side in confusion, her dark eyes seeking and he watched in amusement the second it clicked, the top bridge of her nose, barely covered by her veil, scrunching cutely as she grimaced at him. He half-mindedly wondered if part of her clear aversion to the sun was due to the possibility of freckles on such lovely skin but quickly rid the notion, knowing somehow intrinsically that her aversion to the sun ran deeper than vanity. A shame she didn’t spend more time in it, he considered. She’d look lovely with freckles.

“Please,” she snorted, “I’ve enough with Nesta’s detailed descriptions to last a lifetime, I don’t need to hear her make Cassian cry out her name and beg her to ‘let him cum’ right now, I’m getting the full story later.” And while the casual talk of sex surprised him, somehow foolishly expecting pious shyness from her, it was the next sentence that intrigued him. “I’ve been hearing too many things in the wind all morning to focus on something so banal.”

Perhaps there was yet another exception to his otherwise normal and routine morning— his immediate and decided rejection of Rhysand’s attempt at a mental connection, his rhetorical daily debriefing where his boss presented him with his case file and mission for the day, except Azriel had no intention to go on any missions today. He’d told Rhys he’d be busy three days of the week every week, and any missions he assigned would either have to wait a day or he could deal with the problem himself. Today, as he knew very well, was a Juneday and today he trained with Eowyn after their daily group training, and he had no intention of canceling his meeting with her.

“Are you okay?” She asked him, and when his eyes came back to focus he saw that she was now back to her feet, no longer looking as out of place as she inspected him with a hint of concern in her eye. “You just…left.”

“I was talking to Rhys,” he explained, a half lie. He figured that Rhysand’s lack of insistence meant the conversation could likely wait.

She only hummed in response, nodding understandingly and asked nothing further. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.

“What was your question?”

Irked, his eyebrows narrowed at her, “what were you doing?”

“You don’t let anything go, do you?” She rolled her eyes, exasperated, but he saw a glint of absolute glee light her eyes. “My Venus dionaea has officially held onto the will to live for a month and even sprouted a companion, so of course I had to stay and offer moral support to a postpartum mother.”

He stared at her, “this is…a cannibalistic plant?”

“Close, it’s carnivorous, but I’m glad to know you’ve been paying attention to my ramblings the past couple days. Do you want to see it?”

And he did. Pay attention to her, that is. Eowyn was an enigma to him. He couldn’t say he’d ever met any fae, male or female for that matter, that intrigued him as much as she did, for the interest he had in her was not the allconsuming yearning for belonging he’d wanted from Mor nor the passionate protective desire he felt for Elain. What started with simple curiosity and intrigue in the young priestess turned into a challenge for him, to uncover layer after layer to her person and know— he just wanted to know her secrets, had no intention of using them against her or doing anything with them, really— he just had to understand her.

And every day, Eowyn revealed only enough for him to obsess over all over again. She barely opened the curtains to the window of a locked chamber, allowing him just enough to know there was something there but never know what it was. Not all of her revelations were shown through conversations– in fact, the majority was based on her altering moods, as indetectable as they were to others.

He continued to stare, mind truly blank for something more to say. “Sure.”

He couldn’t help the deep breath he inhaled inside the warm greenhouse, that smelled mostly of varied flora but contained something else, her own scent somehow intertwined in the greenhouse from all the time she spent in there. His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at the thought of what her office in the library must smell like, of what her bedroom smelled like.

“Now before we approach her, there are some rules,” she spoke so quickly and lowly, he had to strain his neck down to catch everything. Surprisingly, he found that he didn’t need to pull his wings tighter into himself to fit, the small space somehow big enough to fit both of them comfortably through the rows of plants. “You do not, under any circumstances, point at her,” she instructed, “it makes her feel insecure and anxious and it will kill her. You’re not allowed to speak to her unless you’re praising her in some way, and please, for the love of the Mother, do not approach her if you’re in a sour mood. She can detect that and it makes her so upset, she’ll refuse to eat for days”

“And why am I speaking to a plant?”

“Because here, life is precious,” she said grandly yet the way her gaze held his told him she did not speak lightly. As boisterous, even performative, as Eowyn was when she was feeling particularly tired— a rather common occurrence he’d noticed in the few months they’d trained together— there was an edge to her voice, only barely noticeable enough for him to know that she truly meant her words, believed in them. “A greenhouse oversees the line between mortality and immortality. Here, plants may sometimes die, but I’m here to make sure that their kind doesn’t die with them— thus they will live on, as long as the earth, its nutrients, and the sun allow it to. I quite enjoy the perspective it offers.”

He’d noticed this of Eowyn, as well. As sharp and cunning, if perhaps somewhat timid and shy at first glance, as she was, there was something peculiar about her that one could never pinpoint. It was no secret that she was bright, that she held an infinite wisdom in her sharp dark eyes, but they also held something some may find… jarring. An almost imperceptible but always present sort of manic way about her. 

Her eyes, the only indicator he had to perceive any type of true emotion, were always flittering around, always inspecting her surroundings, as if looking or expecting something to occur at any moment. He noticed, sometimes, how she seemed to tremble in place in a way that went beyond exertion or even cold from the brisk mornings, like there was something rattling inside her that needed to get out.

It was particularly present now. He inspected her and noticed the dark circles under her already dark eyes framed by long soft lashes. He’d known for a while that Eowyn often had trouble sleeping, and he was beginning to recognize the signs when she was going through a particularly tough episode. 

She had told him that since their training had begun and she became more exposed to the outside world, she’d found solace in nature beyond what was contained within a mountain. This helped, she told him, but it clearly wasn’t enough.

Despite her clear sleepless frenzy and anxious energy, Azriel thought, objectively, of course, that she looked rather beautiful. 

He immediately chastened himself at the thought.

He’d made a vow, if only to himself, to focus on himself for once rather than to yearn for or ‘pant’ after females, as Rhys had so gently put it. Had decided that unrequited affections only brought hurt and pain, and going after a priestess that sought haven in a library precisely because she’d been so hurt by a male that she would want to live in a micro-society where they couldn’t invade, was like a slap in the face. As if he only went after unavailable females and what did that say about him as a male?

As always, he stopped the thought and filed it away for later.

Instead, he spent the rest of the morning listening to Eowyn coo and awe and the truly puny and ugly plant barely sprouting two leafs that looked like flat lips, but he kept the comment to himself, promising not to look at the plant that she’d ever-so-lovingly called Thelxi, in tribute to the Siren Thelxiepeia from the human tales that cunningly seduced her prey before consuming them like a true predator. She cooed at the plant, telling it how smart and cunning it was in between her truly fascinating bits of information that she often shared with him. Information he cherished, despite its lack of practical use.

It wasn’t until his shadows pulled him away from the bubble he hadn’t realized he was in, whispering of his brother’s annoyance mixed with concern about his lack of appearance in the sparring ring.

Even as he rushed Eowyn out of the greenhouse and into their group session, feeling Cassian’s red hot glare upon him when he showed his face, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the slight alterations to what was otherwise a perfectly normal day.

part nine

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel, @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland

[starlazergazer]

Pinky Promise

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request/Summary: One bed trope! / The reader follows Anakin into a dangerous warzone making him upset that she would put herself in harms way like that

Warnings: Some swearing

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I know the request was just for a simple one bed trope but for some reason I made this super angsty so I hope y’all still like it! As always let me know what you think and I greatly appreciate everyone reading these! I love you!!

 You sat across from Anakin in the cafeteria, fork, along with your appetite, long since abandoned on your too full plate before you.

“You’re really being sent to Orto Plutonia?” You asked the same question for what had to have been at least the fifth time since he had told you of the mission, still unable to fully wrap your head around it, still unable to fully accept it.

Anakin, however, barely spared you a glance as he took another bite of his food, shrugging slightly as he spoke “yeah It’ll be pretty cold but I think I can handle it”

And a part of you wanted to hate him for how nonchalant he was being about it. How he seemed to look the danger, the imminent threat to his life in the face and shrug. Another part of you, however, knew it was a façade erected fully for your benefit. Distracting your worry with a joke, an all too Anakin Skywalker think to do. “You know that’s not why I’m worried”

His eyes met yours briefly as his fork froze midair, a brief second passing as he took in your features before dropping the utensil and pushing the plate of food to the side, a soft chuckle as he shook his head “I’ve been in active warzones before Y/N, it’ll be fine”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to brush you off, a small sigh escaping you as you crossed your arms defensively over you “I know but the Talz are known for their brutality, back home they’re the myth you tell stories about to scare children-“ and you paused as you watch him listen to you, watched the concern sink in but not for his upcoming mission, rather for you “Just be careful okay?”

A soft smirk grew over his lips as he chuckled “hey I’m always careful”

And you couldn’t help it but laugh back, Anakin’s laugh never failing to pull a similar one out of you “Every story Obi-wan has ever told me speaks contrary to that fact”

He scoffed dramatically at that, a hand coming up to his chest in mock hurt as he leaned back slightly “and you would believe Obi-wan over me?”

“Any day Skywalker” you smirked back at him, picking a piece of food off his plate and tossing it into your mouth.

He pretended to object at your theft of his food, but the way his eyes cut down to your own full plate showed the façade for what it was. He was just glad you were eating, even if it was his food. “yeah that’s probably fair”

And with that you let the comfortable silence fall between the two of you, eyes dancing back and forth between his for a moment before you couldn’t help yourself, hands coming forward to rest on his, pulling all his remaining attention (not that any of it was really straying) back to you “I’m serious Ani, please be careful”

His smile never slipped from his lips as he nodded, his voice dropping to a quieter tone as he said earnestly “I’ll be careful, I promise”

Finally deciding to believe him you raised your hands from his, raising one pinky and offering it to him with a raised brow.

Anakin laughed softly but nonetheless obliged, taking his own pinky and wrapping it around yours, whispering softly over the top of your hands “pinky promise”

-

You weren’t surprised that Anakin was the first one to greet you when you landed, no doubt he had identified your ship the moment it broke into the atmosphere. You weren’t even surprised at the confusion on his face as the dock slowly lowered, the slight panic that took over his features, something you had told yourself was bound to come as he recognized you, as you descended onto the planet’s surface.

“Y/N what are you doing here?” His voice was strained slightly, eyes flitting around to each of your companions as if they could explain what he was seeing.

“My job” you answered simply, keeping your head held high as you marched past him, Anakin’s shock freezing him place for mere moments before he jogged ahead, coming to a stop before you, effectively blocking your path.

“Y/N this is an active war zone” he stated it as if you simply hadn’t known where you had landed, as if you hadn’t been the one to give him those same words of warning just days ago.

“I know” you answered calmly “I’m here to negotiate” and again you tried to push past him.

This time, however, a hand at your elbow halted your movement, holding you in place in front of him “no you’re not” his tone here this time did surprise you, the finality in it, the slight edge of a threat he pushed into it. For the first time in your life you truly felt like you were talking to the jedi Anakin Skywalker and not your friend.

“Yes I am” you insisted, trying to pull his grip off you but he held on, squeezing not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make extracting yourself from him difficult.

“Go home Y/N” the condescension in his tone had you gritting your teeth, as if you were a child he was punishing, as if he had any authority to tell you what to do.

Looking up at him through your lashes you clenched your jaw, seeing that he was already doing the same, standing firm in his position “I’m here as the senator of Pantora now take your hand off me General Skywalker and let me do my job”

“Your job is back on Coruscant-“ Anakin took a step closer as he spoke, his voice dropping slightly lower, though you stopped listening after just a few words, your eyes flitting to the horizon more than happy to recognize a familiar face just a few yards off.

“General Kenobi it’s good to see you” you called loudly over Anakin’s shoulder, relishing the way he froze slightly at the sound of his master’s name, the soft curse the left his lips as you felt his fingers slip from your elbow allowing you to push past him, careful not to look up at him as you did so, keeping your eyes on Obi-wan as you extended a hand out to greet him.

“Senator Y/L/N it’s good to see you as well” Obi-wan greeted you with a confused smile “I wasn’t aware you would be joining us”

“I was sent here to negotiate peace with the Talz” you explained in what you hoped wasn’t a too insincere smile, something that became harder to force as you heard the thinly vailed anger in Anakin’s voice from over your shoulder.

“Pantora has no jurisdiction over this planet”

You grit your teeth as you tried to keep calm, not even bothering to look in his direction as you answered “As the only other inhabited planet in this sector the senate decided I could serve as negotiator on this matter”

“Well we’re glad to have you” Obi-wan broke in before Anakin could get off a word, sending a small glare over to his former padawan as he addressed you “the sooner we can resolve this peacefully the better, I’ve already lost enough men”

“I completely agree general” you nodded at him before casting your eyes off into the distance “I here chairman Cho is here I would like to speak with him-“

Anakin cut you off before you could finish, his voice sounding closer than before “Senator could I speak with you for a moment?”

And for the first time you spun around to meet Anakin’s gaze, not missing the malcontent fire that raged beneath the surface ‘I’m afraid I really must speak to chairman Cho” you offered with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“It will be quick” he insisted firmly.

Leaving you with no more to really say you nodded reluctantly, giving Obi-wan a small smile as you followed him off to the side, Anakin waiting until he was out of earshot before turning on you. “really? There was no one else who could’ve come?”

“Did you miss the part about Pantora being the only other planet inhabited in this sector?” You countered, matching the barely held rage he had in his voice.

“You were the one that was just warning me about how dangerous it was to be here” he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely to the sounds of blaster fire over the horizon.

“And you came anyways because it was your job, and now my job has brought me here too same as you” you crossed your arms defensively over your chest.

“So you pretend to be sick, or you give any sort of excuse to get you out of this trip because anyone could’ve come here to negotiate. Chairman cho is even already here as a negotiator” he countered in exasperation only making you shake your head.

“And you see how well that’s been going, how many of your own clone troopers have you lost already to this fight?”

You could practically see the rage boil up inside of him, hands coming to his hips as his intense gaze broke from yours, a loud exhale sounding from him as he took a step back, shaking his head before he looped back around to stand in front of you, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose “you can’t be here Y/N it’s not-“

“I am here general Skywalker” you broke him off sharply “I’m here to do my job and I’m not leaving till it’s done, now if you excuse me I’m going to speak to the chairman”

Anakin caught your arm before you could move, holding you in place once again as his gaze bore down into your own, a soft plea edging into his must softer tone as he spoke “Please Y/N”

And admittedly you felt the fire within you die at the sound, your chest hollowing as you looked up at Anakin, never finding it easy to say no to him. “The sooner I do my job the sooner we can all get out of here”

Again there was a flicker in the muscle of his jaw as he clenched it, his eyes hardening slightly as he recognized your resolve in the matter, giving you a loud, long exhale before releasing your arm with a small nod. Clearly not agreeing with your decision to stay, but at least finally recognizing he could do nothing about it.

Without saying anything more you returned the nod before turning around and heading towards the main encampment, Anakin never more than two steps behind you.

-

By the end of the day you were practically dragging your feet towards the inn the squadron had rented a few rooms in to stay for the night.

Your day had been spent in meetings entirely with the republics side so far and Anakin had been right at your side for each and every one of them, offering one hell of a glare to anyone who so much as mentioned meeting with the Talz.

He made it beyond difficult to focus as with every step he was always just a bit too close, looming over you at every corner, anger radiating off of him in massive waves, making it abundantly clear to not only you but everyone you met with that he didn’t think you should be there thereby undercutting your authority at every opportunity.

You had at least thought you could get some sort of break from him for the night but upon reaching the inn you learned that you were to share a room with two beds, meaning not a single moment since you landed on this planet could be spent outside of Anakin Skywalker’s disappointed glare.

Nevertheless, you sucked it up as he followed you up the stairs to your room, knowing that any argument from your side could set him off again, could have him yelling at you to go back to Coruscant, and right now you’ll take stoic anger over animated yelling any day,

Without so much as a word in his direction you stuck the key into the door of your room, pushing it open with your hip and coming to a dead stop as you looked inside, your eyes landing on the one massive bed taking up the majority of the space in the room instead of the two it was supposed to house.

You spun around on the spot before Anakin could come in any farther, planting one hand on the doorframe physically baring entry “you’re finding another room”

He gave you a brief confused look before casting his eyes above your head, surveying the furniture with a small, annoying smirk “nice try”

“absolutely not” you tried to stop his train of thought before it could get any farther “go bunk with obi-wan or something”

And in response you saw his jaw clench just as it had countless times today, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, telling you he was ready to put up a fight “I’m not leaving you alone”

“It’s for 8 hours while everyone sleeps” you argued back, feeling the anger flicker like hot fire in your chest.

“and what would the council think if I left the one senator on Orto Plutonia completely defenseless for 8 hours?”

You could have laughed in his face at the question, your response coming back without any real thought necessary “and since when have you ever cared about what the council thought?”

“Since it came to your safety” his answer came back just as quick, just as reflexive, making your own anger die in your throat.

“Do you realize what you being here does to your safety” he seemed to demand an answer more than ask, though instead carried on without waiting for one “both sides want a war, you have to see that”

“That’s why I’m here” you cut in angrily, crossing your arms over your chest “to negotiate peace and stop that”

“You’re here as the perfect target” he shook his head, breaking down his thought process as if he were talking to a child “if either side can get the other to take you out they can mark that as an unmotivated attack and declare war, blaming the other for starting it. You being here paints a massive target on your back.”

“So-“ you started to shoot back but he cut you off, stepping forward just enough to tower over you.

“So that’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m always two steps behind you, and that’s why we will be sharing a room tonight even if I have to sleep on the floor” and he pushed past you as if you hadn’t been standing in his way, grabbing one of the pillows from the bed and throwing it onto the ground at the foot of it.

“So I should’ve just stayed on Coruscant?” you asked him as you shut the door behind you “just let them go on bombing each other until one eventually surrenders”

“Yes” he answered simply, not even bothering to look at you as he took off his cloak and laid it on the floor next to his pillow.

“You don’t really believe that” you scoffed “those are your men out there suffering the consequences of this ongoing violence, someone needed to come out here and put an end to it”

“And did that someone need to be you?” His head snapped up to meet your gaze as he raised his eyebrows slightly, silently daring you to say otherwise.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the same question he had asked earlier, shaking your head slightly as you started to make your way to the bed, ready to let him brood on the floor for the night if that was what he wanted.

“No look at me” His serious tone froze you in place, not missing the way his voice had softened, even if his posture remained as rigid as ever. “I’m serious tell me the truth, did you need to be the one to come out here to negotiate or did the republic just want to send a senator”

And all you could do was clench your jaw in response, bite down the words that sprang forth. The lies and the truths because at this point you weren’t sure any more which would be worse.

Anakin, however, read your silence like a book.

He deflated slightly on the spot, his eyes closing as he shook his head, his hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose “damnit Y/N”

“You were here!” you objected quickly “what was I supposed to do just abandon you out here?”

“Yes!” He broke in quickly, matching your volume as both of your voices raised “I can handle myself. You were the one warning me about being here why the fuck would you think it would be a good idea to come here yourself?”

“You were the one that brushed off my warning” you pointed out “you acted like my fears were unfounded that being here was no big deal”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry”

And you let that statement hang in the air for a moment, let its ridiculous nature ruminate a little as you watched Anakin’s chest rise and fall rapidly with his pent-up anger.

“You really think that would be all it takes to make me not worry about you?”

He rolled his eyes at your response with an exasperated sigh, turning away from you deliberately and sitting down on his makeshift bed on the floor, trying to physically shut down the conversation.

“No you’re angry right now because I’m putting myself in danger, because you’re worried about me, how do you think I feel every time you leave?”

“Just drop it Y/N” he tried to shrug you off, laying down on his pillow on the hard ground.

But still you pressed on “Every time you run off on a new mission, putting yourself on the front lines of some battle you think I don’t worry just like this? You think I’m a stranger to exactly how you’re feeling right now?” You scoffed “I’m so sorry that for once it has to be you worrying about me”

Anakin sat up suddenly, turning to face you, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle through his skin “the difference is it’s my job. I’m a general, I’ve been trained to be on the front lines, to protect myself, to fight battles. You’re a senator, your job-“

“-is to negotiate peace and advocate for those who can’t speak for themselves” you broke in before he could answer, eyebrows raised silently daring him to say otherwise “which is exactly what I’m doing here”

With a bitter chuckle he shook his head, twisting back around to lay down “fine then you do your job, let me do mine”

“fine”

And with that you turned back towards the bed, getting ready to climb into it when you looked down at Anakin, laying without a blanket on the hard floor, arms wrapped pathetically around himself as he faced the wall.

And even though you were still reeling from your fight a bit of guilt started to creep into you. Because even though you still thought he was going overboard and being ridiculous you had been telling the truth when you said you knew firsthand how he felt.

You’d spent too many nights staying up waiting for any info regarding his safety, waiting for him to finally land on Coruscant, waiting for him to be okay. You knew his anger was coming from a good place, even if it still didn’t give him the right to be a jerk about it, and even more you knew exactly what sleeping on the hard floor all night would do to him.

Stalking over to where he lay on the floor you gave his feet a soft kick “come on there’s enough room on the bed for the both of us”

“I’m fine” he shrugged you off, not even bothering to look in your direction.

With a roll of your eyes and a frustrated groan you stalked over to the bed and grabbed a pillow off of it, throwing it to the ground making sure it made a loud thump before sitting down next to it.

Your display had the desired effect. Shortly after Anakin was pushing himself up to a sitting position and spinning around to look at you, a very unamused expression gracing his features. “what’re you doing?”

“You don’t take the bed I don’t take the bed” you answered simply, making a show of fluffing your pillow.

“You’re being ridiculous” he groaned, rubbing a tired hand over his face in exasperation.

“Oh so you are aware of the concept” you goaded him with a raised brow, fighting the smirk off your face as he glared back at you.

“You’re gonna wake up tomorrow with a sore back, just take the bed”

“And you know some magical way of sleeping that won’t make yours sore tomorrow?”

“Y/N-“

“You think it’s your job to protect me then why would you risk a sore back on something as stupid as sleeping on the floor” you cut him off before he could continue, crossing your arms over your chest, knowing you had trapped him.

And to your delight you watched him clench his jaw in response, watched a deep breath rack through him before he stood, marching across the room towards you, fierce gaze never straying from your eyes as he did so. You fought the urge to shrink from it.

Wordlessly he took your pillow from the ground and threw it onto one side of the bed, pausing for one moment to look down at you still sitting on the floor before making his way back across the room to grab his own pillow and bring it to the other side of the bed before silently sliding onto the mattress, back pointedly facing you.

And though a million passive aggressive comments flowed to your tongue you bit back each, knowing when to accept your victory. You pushed yourself to your feet and crawled into bed next to him, careful to make as little movement as possible as you did so lest you set him off more.

A heavy silence filled the room as you stared out at the wall, unable to even think about going to sleep after what had just happened. Luckily, it would seem Anakin had the same predicament.

“I don’t just think it’s my job to protect you”

His voice didn’t hold any of the anger, the malice you would have expected. Rather it was soft, sad even. A voice that was begging to by listened to.

“You don’t have orders to be my bodyguard” you responded back, careful to keep your tone even and your voice low “Obi-wan out ranks you here and I know he’s given no such order so if anything he would be”

“I don’t care about orders” his response came quickly, desperately “I just want you to be safe”

You took a beat to let his words sink in, to mull them over, to formulate your own response, before you turned onto your back, not fully facing him but a half truce.

“My job isn’t any less important than yours”

Your words were met with silence, clearly a response Anakin hadn’t been expecting.

“Other senators could’ve been sent but these are my people, or if not my people than my neighbors. I’m the only one with skin in the game. I’m the one with the best chance to end things before too many people end up dead.”

“And if you end up dead?”

You were surprised to see how quickly and naturally your answer came to you “then at least they can say I died trying”

Another silence blanketed the room, not quite as tense as the last but nonetheless uncomfortable, before you heard Anakin shift positions from his side of the bed. A look out of the corner of your eye telling you he was lying on his back too, the both of you staring up at the ceiling above you. It wasn’t much but it felt like a start, and for now that could be enough.

-

You woke slowly the next morning, too much light filtering into the room drawing you back to consciousness but stubbornness kept your eyes closed, refusing to let go of the last remaining bit of sleep.

The bed beneath you was soft and warm, pulling a content groan from your lips as you shifted your position slightly, pulling the blanket up to your chin and digging your shoulder a bit deeper into the mattress, deciding to give yourself another few minutes before getting out of bed.

That was until you heard another soft groan echo yours. Your eyes shot open as you finally registered the unnatural extra weight draped around your middle, the hard body radiating heat pressed firmly against your back, the long legs intertwined with your own.

The arm draped around your waist tightened its hold, drawing you deeper into Anakin’s sleeping form, a content hum slipping past the jedi’s lips as you felt his breath tickle to top of your ear. “5 more minutes”

The low grumble of his morning voice had your cheeks heating up as you hid your face further into the blanket, taking the opportunity to tuck yourself even further into him, relishing the way his warmth fully encapsulated you. “5 more”

The hair around your ear stirred softly as the sharp exhale of a chuckle left his lips making you smile as well.

“I’m sorry Y/N”

Those words crashed you back to reality, pulling you out of the comfort of the present moment, of the security of Anakin’s tight hold on you, out of the strange familiarity of the present moment, and forced you back to the fight last night, to his reaction when you had landed, to the idea of being the subject of Anakin’s ire.

You rolled over onto your stomach, feeling Anakin’s arm reluctantly slide off you as you did so but pointedly not holding you in place, propping yourself up on your elbow to better look at him only to see his alert gaze already trained on you, one elbow propping himself up slightly.

You said nothing in response, waiting for him to expand, to prove that he knew what he did wrong, to prove that he truly meant the apology. And for a second he said nothing, blue eyes bouncing slowly back and forth between your own before he took a slow deep breath.

“I didn’t meant to imply that your job was less important than mine, or that you weren’t allowed to make your own decisions” he sighed softly, one hand coming out to you, soft fingertips just barely skimming over the skin of your cheek as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, hand sliding down to rest in the base of your neck for just a moment before retreating “I just liked it better when you were back on Coruscant and I knew you were safe”

You opened your mouth to reply but he shook his head softly.

“you showing up here with no warning, with no extra protection, with no apparent regard for your own safety…it scared me”

And looking up at him you could see the sincerity in his statement, it was in the soft draw of his brow, the slight pout of his lips, the desperate look in his eye. Reaching forward slightly you grabbed his hand and pulled it into yours, giving it a soft squeeze “I know but I needed to be here”

And a heartbeat passed, then two, a small silence starting to settle in a way that you knew meant he had brushed you off again, before he spoke. “I know”

A part of you was embarrassed by how much relief came from just those two words, a simple acknowledgement, but a bigger part of you knew better, knew the weight those words held, the unspoken understanding that had just settled between the two of you, and rejoiced in it.

You gave him a soft smile, bringing the knuckles of his hand up to your lips and pressing a soft kiss into the skin “thank you Ani”

He chuckled back down at you, the hand you held in yours coming up to give your cheek a soft pinch before he withdrew it, pulling you along with it, pulling your head to rest comfortably on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“Is this really how you feel every time I go?”

And you wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question, at how that could have never occurred to him. Instead you tried putting yourself in his shoes.

“I know you trained your whole life for this, and I know you can handle yourself, I fully trust that you can handle any situation you put yourself in” A soft sigh, a slight hiccup in Anakin’s breath as he waited for the inevitable ‘but’ “but of course I worry, of course I don’t want you to go. It kills me every time to watch you fly away to the next warzone”

“I’m sorry Y/N”

“Don’t be” you shrug him off without a second thought “it’s your job and you’re doing important work. I just need you to give me that same attitude when I have to do something dangerous for mine. You don’t get a monopoly on stupid, dangerous decisions”

You could hear his heart beating through his ribs, could feel his hand come up from your back to play softly with the ends of your hair, a low rumble reverberating up through his chest before he spoke again “If I promise to stop making stupid, dangerous decisions when I don’t have to will you do the same?”

You snorted at his question, craning your neck up to meet his gaze as you raised a brow “I’d like to see you try Skywalker”

He scoffed in mock offense “I could make smart, safe decisions”

“Sure” you chuckled, your gaze coming back down to rest your head in a comfortable position on his chest “do you even know how to properly use a ship’s landing gear?”

“I’ll have you know in many situations it was actually the safer decision to crash land the plane” he challenged back but you could hear the smile in his voice.

Shutting your eyes and burrowing your head further into him you hummed softly “sure name one”

His chest shook slightly as his laugh ruminated through his body but he offered no defense, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before you saw his hand beside him move slightly towards your head, the pinky alone extended in your direction.

With a soft chuckle you shook your head softly, pulling your own pinky up to wrap around his, whispering the promise into his chest.

[hedgehog-troops]

The Football Game:

pairing: jegulus. additional tags: sad james :(, soft regulus. for: @gardenofrunar

“Love?”

Regulus looks up from where he's snuggled into James' chest to look up at him.

“I– I have a football game tomorrow so, would– could you–” Regulus pulls away slightly to cup James' cheek, slowly moving his thumbs in a comforting gesture.

“shh.. love, take a deep breath, I'm here, take your time.” he whispers in a low soothing tone.

James closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before beginning to speak again, “would you please come to my game tomorrow, you don't even have to come for the whole game you– you can just come at the end.”

“Love–” Regulus tries but James just continues on.

“And– I'd really like for you to come but– but if you can't, that's okay too. You don't have to, you probably don't even want to and I'm just being stupid again, I'm sor–”

Regulus covers James' mouth with his hand to cut him rambling off.

“I will, I'd love to actually” he says before lifting his hand off of James' mouth.

“You will?” James asks with a slight tremble in his voice, eyes wide with disbelief. “you actually will? Please don't say you will and not come”

“I will, mon cheri, i will” Regulus reassures him while trying not to let his anger show on his face.

All he knows of James' previous partner is that they hadn't been particularly kind to him, and Regulus has wanted to kill people many times in his life, but what he wants to do with this person will make killing someone look like a fucking dessert.

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes wide and glossy.

"Yeah." Regulus replies.

"Oh. I love you so much" James whispers, tears forming in his eyes as he snuggles into Regulus' chest.

"Don't cry, love, don't cry" Regulus whispers.

James looks up at Regulus, “Happy tears, very happy tears”

Regulus runs the pads of his thumbs beneath James' eyes to wipe the tears.

"I love you so much, you'll never understand"

°~°~°~°

As James walks onto the pitch he can't help but allow his eyes to sweep over the stands, trying to find the grey eyes he has grown to know and love.

Regulus isn't there.

When he was no older than 12, his mom told him, "hope for everything, expect nothing" but over the past few years he's realized just how much pain even hoping can bring.

People tend to say that you learn from your mistakes, James does. He really honestly does.

It's just that Regulus had promised so earnestly

"I'd love to," he had said.

He shakes himself out of it.

His gaze moves over to Sirius cheering for him.

That's his support.

-

He throws himself fully into the game, not letting himself look at the stands.

It's not until he scores his first goal that he looks back at the stands with a grin, doing his dance with Sirius.

Or that's what he supposed he'd do, his gaze however, catches on someone beside Sirius, just a couple inches shorter.

There stands Regulus.

As he catches James' eyes he lets a small smile slip.

James' grin impossibly widens before actually doing his dance with Sirius.

He wants to cry.

Regulus came.

Regulus came.

-

They win the game.

Sirius runs down from the stands and onto the pitch(?), towards James who also runs to him in equal excitement.

As soon as they are near each other, James holds Sirius' face and presses a quick but sturdy kiss on his lips.

It's tradition after all.

It's a short kiss before they wrap their arms around each other and Sirius shoves James onto the ground.

-

Regulus refuses to touch him until he has had a shower and thoroughly washed his lips.

-

When James walks out of the shower, Regulus is sitting on the bench in the locker room, staring quite shamelessly at James' naked body.

James pretends not to notice the way Regulus nearly falls over himself trying to turn his head to look at James when he moves to his locker.

Once dressed, James walks over to Regulus and sits on the floor.

Sitting in places that are meant to be sat on never seemed fun to James.

He takes Regulus' hand and before he can protest, James pulls him towards himself, onto his lap.

"He–" Any protests Regulus has are silenced by James' lips on his.

It's a short kiss, far too short if you ask Regulus.

James pulls back and once again the urge to cry envelopes him, but this time he doesn't really fight it.

As soon as he notices tears in James' eyes he moves his hands from his hips to both of his cheeks to cradle James' face delicately.

"What's wrong, love?'' he asks, worry etched in every furrow between his eyebrows.

James shakes his head. "I can't believe you actually came, I'm still convinced that you're just a figment of my imagination"

"James. Love, listen to me" Regulus says sternly but not unkindly. "I came to this game, i will come to the next, and all the others until the day i die. I would, and will walk through a tornado just to be at your game."

James doesn't know when, but somewhere during that speech he began to cry.

"Eyeliner looks good on you"

Face still in Regulus' hands, he brings up one of his hands to cover Regulus' whilst the other remains at his waist. James presses his lips onto Regulus' and they lose themselves in the kiss.

That is until James uses the hand around Regulus' waist to start to tickle him.

At first, he just squirms around a bit –trying not to break the kiss– but soon, as the tickles get more intense Regulus begins to thrash around and laugh, though with quite a murderous look on his face.

Once Regulus' face is all red and he seems to be out of breath, James decides to display his every-growing mercy and let Regulus go.

They both are lying down, merely a foot between them. James holds Regulus' hand between his and threads their fingers together.

"I hate you with every subatomic part in my body" Regulus says, with a look which seemed so murderous though if you were as obsessed with Regulus' eyes as James was (which is highly unlikely) you'd see just the overwhelming amount of love and adoration in them.

"I'm going to marry you one day." James replies with a simple grin on his face as he brings their hands upwards and presses a kiss on the backside of Regulus'.

°~°~°

Why Regulus was late:

Regulus is on his last nerve.

He has been waiting outside the bathroom door for ages, and if he waits any longer he'll be late for James' game.

Using his lock opening skills from years of breaking Sirius out of closets to give him food, he shoves open the bathroom door.

"Oh for fuck's sake"

There, in front of him stands Evan with his dick inside Barty.

With speed he wasn't aware he possessed, he closes the door.

It seems that he'll need to go somewhere else to shower.

He closes the door and runs to the Gryffindor dorms to use James' shower.

[julietasgf]

okay so I was in the mood for writing a bit, so here's a very tiny scene for vesta and strabo pre-war, and since it was so tiny I didn't feel like posting it on my ao3:

"Hm. Your hair's a bit messy. Come here, let me fix it for you."

It wasn’t the first time Vesta was going to a party with her husband. But it was, in fact, the first time she was setting foot in the Capitol. At a party. A party in the Capitol.

She was never the kind of person to get nervous. Her hands didn’t sweat or shake. Vesta was confident, and confidence might very well have been her greatest quality, maybe even her greatest power. All it took was a smile, a laugh, a toss of her hair, and that was it: who wouldn’t fall for Vesta Plinth? It made no sense that her hands were sweating and trembling now. She’d be fine. It was just a fancy Capitol ball. So what if she’d never been there before? What was the real difference between Capitol people and District 2 people, and why wouldn’t they instantly be charmed by her?

Her worries should’ve been elsewhere. Her hair was perfect, her makeup more than perfect, and her high heels had been bought just yesterday. Why would Vesta Plinth worry about herself in that regard? Of course she’d make a good impression.

Her husband, on the other hand, was a more urgent matter.

"Try to smile tonight," she had said, running her fingers through his black hair, noticing how the gray strands were starting to multiply. "It’s not that hard. And your smile is so handsome."

"You’re the only person who thinks that," Strabo muttered, not looking into her eyes as she fixed his hair.

"This isn’t a meeting, love, it’s a party. Try to have fun! And where are your hearing aids?"

"I’m not wearing them."

"You are," Vesta didn’t even wait for his reaction before walking to the drawer where she knew the case was kept. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous is how I’m going to look wearing that."

"That’s nonsense," Vesta adjusted the aids in his ears, and despite his displeased expression, Strabo didn’t argue, just grumbled softly to himself. "Besides, you’ll need to hear what people are saying."

"Trust me, the last thing I’ll want is to hear anything Crassus Snow has to say."

"You at least need to pretend to be nice," she cupped his face and gently pulled on his scar-covered cheeks to force a smile. "See? Smile! Remember what I used to tell you? Quality alone doesn’t sell. People buy charisma!"

"Something I don’t have."

"You’ll learn with time," she gave his shoulder a pat. "Come on, we still need to drop Sejanus off at Veritas’s place before we catch the train, and I still have to…"

"Vesta."

He grabbed her wrist, making her turn to him, and Vesta recognized the look on his face. It was the same look he had the first time he let his guard down, the same look when he asked if she truly wanted to marry him, and the same look when he held their baby for the first time. That was fear. Genuine fear. And few things were scarier than Strabo Plinth afraid.

"I don’t know why we were invited," he said earnestly, and with her, at least, Strabo had never been anything but honest in nearly two decades of marriage. "I really don’t. These people buy my weapons, buy my ammunition, but they don’t like me. They put on a show, and sometimes they don’t even bother pretending. I know how to deal with that, Vesta, but I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want them to hurt you. So just promise me you’ll stay close. Promise you won’t stay far from me."

Her husband worried about everything, and about too much, and thought more than he should. He had always been like that, ever since she met him, even before he’d let his guard down and allowed her to see his inner self, his worn-out soul. And that was why Vesta did what she always did: she smiled and held his face. Vesta could feel how he leaned into her palm as she gently ran her thumb along his sun-kissed skin.

"I’m not made of glass, love."

If anything, she had taught him how to play that game.

[nick-knackwrites]

💜 Levi Week Day 4 💜

Hello again, Lovelies! This is my submission for Levi Week Day 4: Fairytale and Marking @levievent

I apparently do not know how to write anything short and this beast absolutely got away from me - whoops 🙈 This story is loosely based on the Norwegian fairytale, Prince Lindworm, which you can find here:

Pairing: Levi x f!reader

Wc: 6.8k

Notes: Whipping - but not the fun sexy kind 💀, Marking - also not the fun sexy kind 💀, A little suggestive at the end but SFW

Tucked neatly behind the rolling Western Hills and far removed from the sprawling cities of the north, your small village was a quiet haven. Folks helped each other and lived their lives free from interference from the great noble families in the capitol. It was a simple life but it was peaceful. 

Until it wasn't. 

When the royal messenger arrived, even before he made his announcement, you knew that the peace of your nameless little village would be forever shattered. His announcement fell like a death sentence. For all intents and purposes, it was one. And on the receiving end? You. 

According to the messenger, you were to ride with him back to the palace where you would be introduced as the bride of the King's first son. 

In any other kingdom, at any other time, this would be considered an honor, especially for a simple shepherd's daughter such as yourself. In this kingdom, however, there was no worse fate that could befall a maiden. The reasons for this were not wholly clear but rather shadowed in rumor and mystery. 

Through all of the guesses and speculation, there were only three facts that could be discerned as absolute truth:

1 - On his 17th birthday, The First Son had some horrible curse placed on him that gave him a “monstrous appearance”. 

Rumors about what that means range from the practical: a horrible disfigurement of the face, to the ridiculous: red skin, horns, and a forked tail. 

2 - The Second Son had found his true love (otherwise known as a maiden whose father had deep pockets and lots of land) and wished to marry but, in accordance with the curse, would not be able to do so until the First Son was married. 

3 - Naturally, the King scoured the land for a willing bride, always keeping the details of his son's appearance secret. So far, two princesses, three noblewomen, and a wealthy merchant's daughter have all been offered as brides. None of them have been seen again. 

The rumors about what happens to them range in method but not in theme. Whether they're buried alive, drowned, or cannibalized, all theories end with the women dead. 

You were sure you would be no different. Refusing a royal order would result in your execution anyway, though, so you gave your father a hug, kissed your mother goodbye, and clumsily climbed into the small carriage, ready to face your fate.

The royal family, apparently, had a differing opinion on your readiness. Which is why you are currently sitting in a huge copper tub while a rather skittish lady's maid fills it with steaming water. 

Her hands shake as she fills a cup and pours it over your head, causing water to spill into your eyes. You both pretend that's the reason you're crying. She combs shampoo through your hair with a gilded brush that is probably worth more than all of your father's property. The cost of the rose soap she uses to scrub every inch of your body could likely feed your village for a week. 

It is only once she begins the process of rinsing the suds from your soft, warmed skin that you find the courage to speak. 

“What is he like?”

The cup splashes into the sudsy water, dropped by your startled maid. “Oh. My Lady, I am sorry but I cannot speak of him.” 

Her eyes are wide and the poor thing is trembling. You take pity on her. “Okay, I shan't ask then.” You pause and then let out a short snort, “And I am no Lady. Surely you scrubbed enough dirt from under my nails to know that.” 

“Well you be!” She insists earnestly. “You're to marry a prince after all.” 

“Am I?” 

Her face falls and she turns to grab a towel.

“Answer me that at least.” You call after her, “Do you truly believe I will live long enough to have a wedding?” 

She thrusts the towel towards you, holding it stretched between two worn hands and hides her expression behind it. “I do not know, My Lady.” 

You step into the towel and turn to face her, tilting her chin up so you may look into her eyes. “You do not know but you do think I will.” It is not a question. You can see in her eyes that this is a fact. You let out a long breath. “Because no one ever has. Why should I be different?” 

“But you are different!” The hope in her eyes is painful to look at when there is so little of it left in your own heart so you move to the large vanity on the opposite side of the room and take a seat. “That's why they chose you- all of the other women were royalty, nobility, or very wealthy and they were all . . . rejected. But you're not any of those things so maybe you stand a chance!” 

You snort again as she pats your hair dry with the softest towel that has ever graced your tresses with its touch. It is a pity that you only get to enjoy such luxuries for so brief a period. “I do not believe there is any great quality I possess that could not be found in such fine women as have already been introduced to the First Son. I appreciate your well-wishes for me, truly I do, but I fear they must be in vain. Now come, let us talk of more cheerful things. Tell me about your life here in the palace.” 

So the girl - who's name you later learn to be Mina - relates all of the latest castle gossip to you, which makes no sense to you at all, and shares all of the woes of being a member of the working class, which makes all the sense in the world. All the while, she paints your face and braids your hair into an elaborate updo that requires an alarming amount of bejeweled hairpins to fix in place. 

You think the worst of it over when she pulls out a corset. As she brutally tugs on the laces, you find yourself experiencing a change of heart and are suddenly very glad that this finery will last only through today. After the corset comes a chemise, a hoop, four petticoats, and a velvet long-sleeved ballgown in a rich purple color with a low square neckline that reveals nearly all of your decolletage.

Once all is said and done, you look nearly unrecognizable. It makes you more than a little uncomfortable but you suppose that is the point, after all. To make you as beautiful, charming, tempting as possible in the hopes that this man (if he is even still a man) will not burn you? Crush you? Dismember and torture you? Whatever it is he does with his victims. You find yourself hoping it will work in spite of yourself. 

Mina leads you through winding passages and down several staircases. The further you go, the less servants you see. The halls are empty and your footsteps echo when you reach your destination. This part of the castle is old and is not decorated with the gilded frames and fine paintings of the wings you already passed through. The stones are cold and damp and the musk of disuse hangs heavy in the air. Before you stands an enormous oak door that you cannot remove your gaze from. 

A soft touch on your shoulder and Mina's voice shake you from your stupor, “This is the South Wing - the rooms of the First Son. You are on your own now, miss. No one enters here except the First Son himself.” 

You frown, “No maids or servants?” 

Mina shakes her head. 

“That doesn't make sense though, how is his laundry done? Or - or how does he get food?” 

The only response you get is a constipated look from Mina and your heart drops somewhere below your stomach. You guess you know which of the rumors are true now. 

“Mina please don't tell me-” 

“I'm sorry, miss!” It comes out in a squeak and Mina scurries off, back the way you came. You briefly consider making a run for it but there's no way you'd be able to find your way back through the labyrinthine hallways before someone caught you and had you publicly executed. Whatever waits for you beyond the door will at the very least give you the dignity of a private death. You take a deep breath and pull the door open. It swings shut behind you with a resounding thud and you take a moment to assess the sitting room you have stepped into. A sturdy marble table takes up most of the space in the center of the room but there is a large fireplace in the back and chairs and loungers are scattered around the walls. The feeling of neglect sit heavy here too and there is a fine layer of dust covering everything except for the path from the door you entered from to an identical one on the right. 

Maybe it's the force of habit or maybe you're just delaying the inevitable but you move to the fireplace and slowly begin to load logs from the small pile in the crate to the left side. You find a matchbox on the mantle and light and stoke the fire. You rip a decorative cover off a pillow on a lounger nearby and set about ridding the room of dust. You're not sure what pushes you to do it. A drive to survive a little longer or maybe a desire to control one thing when everything else is spiraling around you. Either way you push yourself to clean the area until your face is flushed from more than just the rouge that Mina had applied and your panting breaths threaten to split the seams of your corset. 

You inspect the few bookshelves for a single crooked spine and realize that there is nothing left for you to do here. You smooth out the folds of your dress, now spotted with dust, and march to the door. 

You knock once, firmly and loudly, then stride into the room. Night fell nearly an hour ago and there are no candles lit in the sconces that you can barely make out on the walls. You step in and are proud of yourself for only jumping slightly when the heavy door slams behind you. Once your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out a large four poster bed directly in front of you. There is a door and a wardrobe to your right and bookshelves and a large chest to your left. A nightstand rests on either side of the bed and moonlight trickles in small streams through the gaps in the heavy emerald colored curtains obscuring two large windows on the left wall. 

There's a lump under the far window closest to the bed, big and black and dishearteningly non-human shaped. You stare at it for several moments, trying to discern what it is when it moves. A gasp escapes your lips and you take a slow step back. You still don't know what it is but quickly determine that it must be the First Son when it begins to speak in a low rumbling voice, “What do you want?”

Perhaps the cleaning had made you grumpy or perhaps you had truly lost your mind but the tone he used absolutely rubbed you the wrong way and you found yourself snapping back, “Your hospitality could use some work, Sir.” 

A sound rumbles from the thing that could have been a laugh or a scoff, “My lack of social graces hardly matters here, do you not agree?” 

You feel a frown tug the corners of your mouth down, “In fact, I do not agree. Being kind always matters.” 

“My apologies then. Allow me to try again. Welcome to my hovel, little mouse. Would you like to scream in terror or try to run first?” 

“You've given me no reason to do either thing.” You stubbornly argue. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognize that arguing with a being accused of the torture and murder of half a dozen women is a bad idea but you find it's easy to silence that part of you with your indignation.

“Oh?” There's a slithering sound before the lump unfurls and moves faster than your eyes can track. The curtain pulls back with a sharp swish, flooding the room with pale moonlight and the First Son circles around you coming to a stop directly in front of your face. 

More rumors are instantly cleared up for you. The First Son is not a man. Coiled around you is a wall of muscle covered in sleek black scales that shimmer like oil. One end tapers into a rounded tail and the other rises off of the floor to stare at you with surprisingly human eyes. They're gray in color and are not slotted the way an actual serpent's would be. He's bigger than any snake you've seen but not as big as the basilisks from the folktales your mother used to tell you while you milked the goats. 

His body is powerful and imposing but you find yourself more paralyzed by his piercing gaze. You feel your heartbeat thrum in your throat and with the way his nostrils flare, you're convinced he can smell your fear. 

“And now?” He taunts. “What will it be, little mouse: screaming or running?” 

The goading instantly brings back your anger and you unfreeze, scowling at him. “I have a name, you know.” You give it to him and try not to shudder when it repeats it in his low, smooth voice. 

He repeats it again, adding, “What a stupid girl to yell at a monster in his own abode.”

“I'm not stupid, I'm just frustrated.” You stubbornly insist. “I also don't appreciate being threatened, Sir.” 

“I have not uttered a single threat against you, little mouse.” 

You huff and cross your arms, “Being intimidated then.” 

“Are you intimidated?” He sounds almost amused. 

Completely, you think. “No,” you state. 

The First Son huffs and then breaks his gaze. He speaks as he glides to the opposite window and gestures to the ornate rug in front of it with his tail. “There's a hatch that leads to a tunnel under this rug. It lets out into the Darkling Woods to the north. Follow the trail there to a small village, the other girls will take you in.”

You look between him and the rug several times, putting pieces together. “The other girls. You - you didn't eat the other girls?” 

He growls, “No.” 

“And,” you look up at him hopefully, “You're not going to eat me?” 

“No.” 

“You're letting me go.” 

“Yes.” 

“You're helping me.” 

He sighs and rolls his eyes, “I'm trying to. Look right now is the best time to go - it's dark and it's in between rounds for the guards but the next shift will be here soon so you need to go qui-” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“I'm not going. I don’t want a new life. I want to go back to my family.”

You can't go back.” He sounds regretful, “You'll be put to death if they know you left here without marrying me.” 

“Well that won't do.” You cross your arms and turn back towards the door to the sitting room. “Come on, let's have it all out then. I've got a fire going next door.” 

His eyes are wide with shock. “You have what?” 

It is your turn to sigh. You look back over your shoulder as you exit the room. “A fire. Now let's go. I have questions and I believe I am entitled to your answers.” 

With that, you stalk over to one of the big armchairs placed to the side of the fire and plop down rather inelegantly. The boning in your corset digs into your hips and belly, forcing back upright just as quickly. Annoyed and frustrated with a great many things, you stand to remove your dress and then rip the damned thing off. The ridiculous layers of fabric underneath follow until you are left in the chemise. You dump the clothing next to the fireplace and call back to the bedchamber, “I haven't got all night! Well I suppose I do but I don't like to be kept waiting and shall be very cross with you if you continue to make me do so!” 

The First Son slowly enters the room and folds himself into a pretzel of sorts on the rug in front of you, next to the roaring hearth. He gives your discarded clothing a rather pointed glance but you ignore it in favor of studying him. In the light, you can see that scales on his belly and underside are not black but a dull gray color, reminiscent of his stormy eyes. He turns those eyes to you and they look completely lost. “What have you done with this place?” 

“Well someone had to take care of it and it obviously wasn't going to be you.” 

He shoots you a glare, “My bedchambers are immaculately clean. I just don't ever come in here.” 

“Well you should. Perhaps if you spent more time cultivating manners and less time brooding in your bedroom, you would have found a wife by now and neither of us would be in this mess.” 

“Little Mouse, no amount of charm could save my wretched appearance. No one would be mad enough to marry me no matter how gentle my manners.” 

“Well we need to find a woman mad enough and quickly.” 

“What?” 

“Keep up!” You snap. “We need to get you married so I can go home without being killed and you can stop pretending to devour helpless maidens. We both get want and we never have to see each other again. Let's get cracking on a plan.” 

“Little Mouse, you are more stupid than I thought. Do you honestly believe anyone will marry me when I look like this?”

“How did you get to be like this, anyway?” It's a blunt question and is probably too bold but you're too tired to try to find a more diplomatic method of asking. 

“Story is that my father tricked a witch into giving him some of her magic flowers. When she learned she'd been deceived, she tried to curse him but he used the flower's protection so the spell ricocheted and hit me instead.” 

There's silence for a while and then your mouth opens seemingly without your consent. “That's shit.” 

The First Son reels back, “I'm sorry?” 

Never one to back out, you double down, “That's shit. Your father messes up and you pay the price? Complete horseshit.” 

Amusement laces the First Son's tone when he asks, “They didn't find you in some nobleman's house like those other girls, did they?” 

You flush, remembering too late that a real lady would never curse in front of royalty. “Well, no. They dressed me in those fancy clothes but I am no real lady. I'm the daughter of a shepherd. I'm sorry if my language offended you but I don't take back what I said and I'm not sorry for who I am.” 

His lips curl up in what might have been a smile on a human face but, frankly, it just looks like a horrifying grimace on his. “I'm not offended by your language and I would never ask you to change who you are, Little Mouse. Besides, you're right. It is shit.” 

You smile at him, “So how do we undo this?” 

His grimace/grin falls, “What?” 

“If we wanna get you married, which we do so I can go home and you can stop being miserable and pathetic, we've got to make you human again. To do that, we need to break the curse. So how do we break the curse?” 

“We don't. We can't.” 

“Sure we can! There's always a way to undo spells. We had this old crone that passed through our village each spring and one year, she turned my neighbor into a newt! It took a couple of weeks and we had to find a lot of peculiar ingredients, but eventually we made a concoction that turned him back. So, how do we undo this one?” 

“If we can, no one knows how.” His tone is positively glum.

“That's shit too.” 

“What is?” 

“Your attitude! We'll think of something, Mr. Gloomy Gills.” 

“Gloomy Gills?” 

“If you get to call me ‘Little Mouse’, I can call you something silly too.” 

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘stupid girl’. “You know snakes don't have gills right?” 

You didn't. “Well I can't keep calling you ‘The First Son’ in my head. It's pretentious and time-consuming.” 

“You could call me by my name, then.” 

“Well maybe I would if I knew it.” 

“Levi.” 

“Levi. Hmm, seems fitting enough. Will you call me by name now, please?” 

He pretends to consider it, “No. I like Little Mouse much better.” 

“Levi!” You scold but he is already slithering back to his corner of the bedchamber. 

“Goodnight Little Mouse.” 

And so begins your unlikely friendship with Levi, the Cursed First Son. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don't get along very well at first. Levi is surly and you're quick to anger and there are lots of spats between the two of you. There's nowhere else for either of you to go though so you learn to work through your differences rather quickly. The gaudy dress and god-awful corset are vehemently disposed of before dawn fully breaks the first day. Levi informs you that there are some old pants and shirts of his that you may wear in the wardrobe and while the sensation is strange at first, you are delighted in the freedom britches give you and are prepared to swear off dresses forever.  

By the end of the second day, you have each discovered all of the things that most vex the other and have spitefully used them as much as possible. You also realized that Levi calls you ‘stupid’ nearly as much as ‘Little Mouse’ and that neither nickname will be going away anytime soon. 

By the end of the third, you have learned how to apologize to each other. You are grateful for this as it seems likely to be a skill that will be used often. 

The end of day four sees you swapping stories from your past and sharing hopes for the future. This one surprises the both of you but it also feels good to establish a camaraderie of sorts. 

Day five is where you learn that Levi despises dancing and filth but adores his mother and teas of all kinds. His mother passed away when he was little and according to his stories she was an absolute Saint. You wonder if it balanced out his father being the world's biggest dickhead but don't voice it. 

Day six is when you stub your toe on the table and Levi learns exactly how unladylike your vocabulary truly is. You suspect that this knowledge endears you to him. 

By the end of the first week, your friendship has solidified and you have agreed to rope Mina into your plans to free Levi from his ill-earned fate. Though hesitant, Mina agrees to help and is soon galavanting across the kingdom in search of witches and answers. 

By the end of the second week, she's found them for you. 

You had spent the week exploring the Darkling Woods with Levi, learning to make tea using a fireplace instead of a stove, and learning more about this fascinating creature that had become your housemate. You had settled into a comfortable routine with him which is why the knock at the door startles you so fiercely. Levi had been lounging in front of the fireplace, warming his scales. You found yourself in a position that had rather quickly become familiar, sitting with your knees to your chest, leaning back against Levi's muscular body as you read one of the many books on his shelves. You weren't a very strong reader, having not received any sort of formal education, so Levi had been teaching you in the mornings. You peel yourself away from the smooth scales to admit Mina. She doesn't come near the fireplace, still too frightened by Levi's appearance. You can't exactly blame her for feeling afraid but you do inwardly roll your eyes at the dramatics. She knows he's not going to eat her so it seems silly to insist on maintaining distance. Your mood brightens at the news she has brought, though. 

“I found a woman who claims to know the cure.” 

“What did she say?” 

“She said,” Mina glances nervously at Levi, “She said that the monster has to be beaten out of him.”

“Beaten out of him?” You repeat. 

“Yes.” 

“So, what, am I supposed to start punching him until he's normal?” 

“She-,” Mina's voice breaks and she clears her throat to try again, “She recommended a whip.” 

“A whip?” You hate that your disbelief is making you sound like a broken record but you can't help it. 

“That's what she said.” 

“No.” Your voice is firm and final, “Absolutely not. We're not going to-” 

“What else did she say Mina?” Levi speaks for the first time since her arrival. 

Mina turns to him and swallows heavily. “She said that you need to beat the monster but nurture the man. At the end of each week, you'll need to beat him until his scales crack. Then bathe him in warm water and let him soak until he -,” another swallow, “until he sheds his skin. Once you get through all of the monstrous layers and he sheds for the last time, he'll be human again.” 

“No.” Your voice is thin. “No, that's - thats terrible. There has to be another way. Mina can you-” 

Levi cuts you off again, “Mina please fetch a whip from the stables.”

You turn to him desperately, “No, Levi, please -” 

He interrupts again, this time with your name - your real name. “This is my choice.” He explains gently. “It is my curse and my body so it is my choice.” 

Tears run unbidden down your face, “I can't possibly-” 

“You can. And I'm sorry but I have to ask you to. Please.” 

Your eyes do not stray from his for a second when you say, “Mina, get the whip.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first crack echoes off of the walls of the washroom and you are convinced that it will ring in your ears forever. Levi doesn't make a sound but you whimper like a kicked puppy. His scales bear no mark from the hit. 

He grits his teeth. “Little Mouse, you're going to have to do better than that.” 

“I don't want to hurt you.” Your voice is almost a wail. 

Levi sighs heavily, “I know, love, but you must. It's okay, I can take it.” 

You jolt a little at the pet name, one you've never heard him use before, but you're too stressed to dwell on it further. You steady your hand and snap the whip forward once more. This time, the crack is accompanied by a sickening crunching sound and you see a crevice in the shimmering scales where the whip landed. You press on. 

Levi hardly flinches through the lashing but by the end he is grunting in pain and there is blood running between the wounds threaded throughout his scales. You're sobbing and apologizing over and over like it's a mantra as you fill the tub with water warmed by the fire and help Levi crawl into it. 

Beat the beast, nurture the man. Nurture. You gaze hopelessly at his pitiful form curled up in the bottom of the copper basin. You have no idea how to nurture that which you have already harmed. You think of your mother, combing her hands through your hair when a girl from the village had hurt your feelings. You remember the hug given from the same child when you twisted your ankle in a race. You think of Levi, wrapping you up in his tail to make you more comfortable as you read. 

With a final sob, you sink to your knees and plunge your hands into the water. Gently, you rub the scales you had split open, removing loose shards and cleaning the blood. When moving up above the injured area causes Levi to let loose a soft contented hum, you become bolder, allowing your fingers to glide up and down the expanse of his muscular body. He is almost purring and you stifle a giggle as your hands move to the white scales on the underside of his body as well. 

You're beginning to think that you've got the hang of this nurturing thing and are feeling quite pleased with yourself. That illusion is almost immediately shattered when you feel Levi's entire body go tense under your fingertips. 

“Levi?” You question softly. 

Levi lets out a small pained sound and turns his face away from you so that he is speaking to the wall when he says, “Little Mouse, I think you should go now.” 

“Have I hurt you again?” Guilt floods your mind. 

“No,” he denies, though his voice is strained. “You just - you should go. I am - it's -” he huffs, “It will take some time for the skin to shed. You should get some rest.” 

You've never seen him this flustered and you worry about leaving him on his own after all he has endured. “Are you certain?”

“Yes!” The word is out almost before your question ends and it is much too loud for the small room the both of you occupy. He clears his throat and in a much more appropriate volume level bids, “Goodnight, Little Mouse.” 

You go to bed feeling more confused than you did on your first day here and dream of a man with hair the color of shimmering oil who wraps you in his strong arms and calls you ‘love’. You remember none of it in the morning. 

The rest of the weeks pass by much the same. You read and converse with Levi and take walks through the Darkling Woods. Though those are less frequent now as they make Levi weary. You make tea and talk about your dreams for the future. And each Saturday night, you whip Levi until he is bloody and raw and then run soothing circles into his shedding scales. You think it should get easier each time but find that it becomes more and more difficult instead. 

Talking about returning to your family also becomes more difficult. You can't figure out why until Levi slips up and calls you ‘love’ instead of ‘Little Mouse’ again after his fourth lashing. You feel like you've been struck by lightning and it suddenly all makes sense. You're elated and terrified all at once and you know you have to tell Levi what you've discovered right away. You keep yourself up all night determining how to. 

Once the first few weak rays of sunlight grace your windows, you slide to the floor and place a gentle hand on his snout. “Levi, Levi. wake up please. It's important.” 

He cracks a single eye open at you and heaves a sigh that shakes his entire coiled body. “Little Mouse, what could be so important that it could not wait for the sun to make a complete appearance.” 

“I think I found a way that we can both get what we want without having to keep hurting you.” 

He groans and twitches the curtains open with the end of his tail. “Little Mouse, we have already discussed this. There is no way for you to go home unless I am married and there is no way I can find a bride in this form. I know you don't like it but we have to keep going.” 

“That's just it,” you're blinking rapidly, a nervous habit, “that's not what I want anymore.” 

If he had eyebrows, you're sure one of them would be cocked in disbelief. The emotion comes through strongly enough in his tone anyway, “You don't want to go home?” 

“No.” There is not a single hint of doubt in your answer. You've thought it through and you're certain. 

“And why not?” 

“Because,” you can feel the blood rushing to your face and you fight to maintain eye contact, “I found something that I love more.” 

His eyes narrow, “You found some-” then widen as he realizes what you've just confessed. “Little Mouse,” it sounds as though the words are being punched from his throat, “you cannot mean that.” 

“I do.” There is no doubt here either. Levi hears it and sees it in your eyes and rushes toward you. You laugh at the sensation of being squeezed on all sides and just barely catch Levi muttering, “You foolish, insane, wonderful, stupid girl.” 

You wrap your arms around him, just below his head and smile giddily to yourself. You frown when Levi releases you and pulls away. “This doesn't solve our problem though. We still have to carry on the beatings for me to be human.” 

“Well, we were trying to break the curse so someone would marry you and I could go free but I don't want to go free and I'll marry you regardless of what you look like so it doesn't really matter any more does it?” 

You panic when he just stares at you blankly. “I mean, only - only if you'll have me, of course. I would never want to force you into marrying me and I'm sorry if I-” 

You've never been so grateful for someone cutting you off. “You'd marry me? Right now? Like this?” 

You shrug helplessly, “Well, yeah. I love you.” 

You frown as you realize that he never said it back. “But if that's not how you feel or what you want-” 

He laughs, a big belly laugh that you've never heard from him before, “Little Mouse, I'd have to be stupid to not return your feelings after all we've shared these past few months. Of course I love you.” Your heart skips a beat at the words but he's not finished, “Which is why we have to continue. You deserve a normal human partner and a normal life. I want to give that to you.” 

“All due respect, but you are the heir to the throne.” You laugh, “You could never give me a ‘normal’ life, Levi.” 

“Does that bother you?” He asks. 

“No.” You run a hand down his snout causing his eyes to slip closed, “And neither does this.” 

“Hmmm. Well it does bother me. I want to be human again. Besides,” he opens his eyes and there is a hunger in them that you have not seen before, “there are a great many things that I should like to do to you that I cannot while in this form.” 

Heat rushes somewhere below your navel and you swallow heavily before replying, “I'm sure we could manage.” 

His eyes close again and he groans, nudging your shoulder with his head. “You'll be the death of me,” he whispers into your collarbone. His forked tongue flicks to lick at your throat - once, twice - and you are ready to put your words to the test but he pulls away and insists, “Which is fine as long as we restore my humanity first.” 

So that is exactly what you set out to do. You half expect everything to change after your confession but nothing really does. You still make tea and read and talk and explore. 

However, there is now a thick undercurrent of desire to everything that you do and your mind is cloudy with lust more often than not. You pray fervently that each lashing will be the last. 

Your prayers are answered after only two excruciating weeks. 

You wake to find the spot on the floor where Levi sleeps vacant. You tiptoe to the drawing room but he isn't there either. You pad to the bathroom next and are about to turn to leave when you don't see him only to realize that he is there and you did see him. You just didn't recognize him. 

He's standing - on two human legs - in front of the large looking glass fixed over the sink, staring at his reflection. You find yourself staring at it as well. His hair is the same inky black as his scales but it looks much softer and is undercut with a longer top layer parted down the middle. His skin is pale and his heart-shaped face is angular with features that somehow look both delicate and sharp. He's dressed himself only in a pair of loose fitting linen britches and an expanse of solid muscle is presented to you in the lower portion of the mirror. He is beautiful. You're ogling, and you know it's rude but you can't stop. Levi catches your gaze in the corner of the mirror and one side of his mouth pulls up into a very attractive smirk, “Hello, Little Mouse.” 

The voice is the same as is the warm look in his striking silver eyes and before you know what you're doing, your feet are leaving the ground at such a speed you feel like you're flying. You launch yourself across the last few inches and he catches you effortlessly, squeezing you in his arms and twirling you around the bathroom floor. 

You think this is the happiest you have ever been, will ever be, but then he is kissing you and it feels like joy is exploding out of your chest. He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your neck, and then moves back to your lips. He is everywhere and you are on fire and you never want to stop but you have to part for air eventually. When you do, your hands release his face and slide down to his back where they are met with raised ridges. You frown and push away, forcing him to turn around as he does. 

“Oh, Levi.” You place one hand over your mouth as the other runs over trails of raised skin and patterns of older scars. The lines stretch and intersect in a horrifying pattern that covers every inch of his back and you instantly know what caused them: You. His back is a map of every single blow you landed on him while he was still in snake form. “I'm so sorry, Levi, I'm so so sorry.” 

You feel like you're going to be sick and stagger backwards, trying to put space between the two of you. 

Levi gives his back a single cursory glance in the mirror and shrugs, stepping forward and closing the distance again. “I'm not.” He wraps his arms around you and smiles. “Stupid girl,” his voice is so overwhelmingly fond, “I don't care about the scars, Mouse.” 

“But I-” 

“Left your mark on me. In every possible way. Now I have a physical mark as well.” He shrugs again. “To be honest I kind of like the idea of being marked as yours.” 

You bury your face in his collar bone. “You know that's not what I was trying to do, though, right?” 

He laughs and it thrums through your skull. “I know. Doesn't stop it from being true though.” He lifts your face and kisses you soundly. “I love you and I don't care about the scars. I spent ten years of my life as a giant snake. I can handle being a little ugly now.” 

He begins kissing a line down your jaw as you protest, “It's not ugly! You're not ugly - you're so beautiful and they're beautiful, I just,” you gasp as he finds a spot below your ear that has your knees turning to jelly. “I just feel bad for putting them there.” 

“Hmmm.” Levi begins to suck on the spot in earnest and your legs actually give out on you. You feel him smile against your skin as he catches you and holds you against him, never stopping his work on your neck. The feeling of his lips, tongue, and teeth is nearly all-consuming but you are distantly aware that he's walking you both back toward the bedroom. “Well then, I suppose I need to even the score and give you some marks of my own.” 

You're too turned on to give any kind of intelligent response to that and find that you remain in that state for the rest of the morning. Every morning after is spent in much the same state as well. 

You never thought you could feel this good about being so utterly, blissfully, stupid.

[bibittybopittybadbxtch]

Colors

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Word Count: ~ 1.1K

Warnings: None…I think

A/N: I’m on a SVT kick. So….here’s another Wonwoo fic. Love him so much. The sweetest. I hope y’all enjoy! This was so much fun to write. I also kinda wanna turn this into a series….let me know your thoughts. I love hearing from y’all. The first part is inspired by Colors by Halsey. There’s also a couple of disney quotes sprinkled in.

NOT MY GIF‼️‼️‼️‼️

P.S.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app.

XOXO, Bibi🩷

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your last relationship had come into your life like a hurricane. He settled over you for a while, but in the end you were just another casualty. You were red and he was blue, a combination that created a beautiful lilac. Until he decided that purple just wasn't for him. He left destruction in his wake. You were left to pick up your own broken pieces, and learned how to live with the scars on your heart. For a while you were just a shell of the person you were before him. But after a year, you were stronger. You held your head higher, shoulders back, all the things your therapist taught you. You were learning how to enjoy your life on your own until you met someone new, Wonwoo.

“One date. If you still hate the idea of dating me after that, I promise I’ll leave you alone.” Wonwoo looked two seconds away from getting on his knees and begging. He had sworn he did not believe in “love at first sight” until he saw you. As cliche as it sounds the sight of you was like looking into the sun. He’d told you so himself. To which you rolled your eyes in a very ladylike fashion and walked away. Back to the moment at hand, he had been asking you out for months. You were friends and he always presented date ideas in a respectful, light hearted manner but you knew he was serious. His eyes never told a lie. Looking up into those big brown orbs it broke your heart to say no to him once again. “Wonwoo, no. I told you. I don’t wanna jeopardize our friendship.” He hadn’t seen you before. He only knew the new and improved you. You feared that opening up to him would agitate old wounds. You had lost enough people over the years and weren’t willing to lose Wonwoo too. “Come on Sunshine, you know that wouldn’t happen. We won’t let it.” Despite what you thought to be your better judgment, you said yes.

First dates were awkward. Common knowledge, basic fact, first dates felt like having chicken pox. Except this was Wonwoo, and of course it wasn’t awkward. He was still your dorky best friend. He knew you, better than you knew yourself. He took you to a drive in movie. You sat in the car and cracked jokes and threw popcorn at each other. The night ended with ice cream and Wonwoo walked you to your door. “So..am I gonna get another date?” He asked hopefully. You saw his ears tinge pink under the porch light. You pretend to think about it. Just to watch him squirm before you smile at him, “Yes, I´d actually really like that”. The smile that stretches across Wonwoo’s face is forever burned in your memory. He sweeps you into a hug, before bidding you goodnight. That night you call your best friend, you recount every moment in detail. She knows before you do that you’re falling in love.

Wonwoo picks you up the following Friday, a beautiful bouquet of daisies in his hand.”You ready Sunshine?” He asks as he takes your hand. “Well, I’d say yes but I don’t know where we are going.” He chuckles and leads you to the car before opening the door, “Do you trust me?”. “With my life,” you reply earnestly as you get in the passenger seat. Trusting him was the easiest thing you had ever done. From the moment you met him Wonwoo had been nothing but reliable. It didn’t matter if it was 2am or snowing, he found a way to be there for you. Never one to disappoint, that was Wonwoo through and through.

When the car finally comes to a stop after an hour's drive to the outskirts of the city, the sight in front of you almost makes you cry. You were at a sky lantern festival. At the beginning of your friendship, you had mentioned how you wanted to go to him. He remembered. “Wonwoo..” you begin, you don't know what you had to say. Wonwoo just looks at you and smiles warmly before getting out of the car. You're unbelievably touched. Wonwoo was by all means not an outdoors person, but the fact he held on to your words and went out of his way, brings tears to your eyes. After retrieving your lanterns the two of you find a space on the large expanse of grass. You both sit down and start decorating your respective lanterns when an idea hits you. You grab your notebook from your bag and rip out a page. Wonwoo looks over at you puzzled, “What are you doing?” “Let’s make a wish. Write your wish on the paper, when the wish comes true we tell each other.” Wonwoo agrees because how could he ever say no to you. You finish your lanterns and release them at the end of the festival, wishes tucked safely in your respective pockets. That night when Wonwoo walks you to your door, he asks you to be his girlfriend.

Two years later Wonwoo takes you back to the same field that held the lantern festival, and proposes. In the ring box, there is a small piece of paper that you recognize from a notebook that has been long forgotten. You recognize Wonwoo’s chicken scratch. “Y/N” with a small heart. “Sunshine, you were always my wish. Will you marry me?” You launch yourself at him sobbing. “So, is that a yes?” he asks cheekily. “In every language. Oui, Si, Ja, Yes.”

On the car ride home, Wonwoo sees you digging around your bag for something. “What are you looking for?” “Hold on. I know it's in here somewhere.” You bring out your wallet before unzipping it. You shuffle around for a second before pulling out a small piece of paper. “What’s that?” Wonwoo asks as he glances over before returning his attention back to the road. “My wish” you state proudly. “Oh yeah? What was your wish?” You flash him your brightest smile before unfolding it and showing him. There is your delicate handwriting. He sees his name “Wonwoo” with a smiley face. Wonwoo swears his heart is gonna explode. “You made me believe in love again. You restored my faith in humanity. You made me whole.” You tell him through your tears. Wonwoo pulls the car over and cradles your face, wiping your tears. “No, Sunshine. You did that all by yourself. I’m just here to appreciate your hard work.” He kisses you.

[raspberry-astarion]

The Take Over, The Break's Over - 1

Ascended Astarion x Marin (Tav/OC, cis woman)

Overview: I was inspired by an old favorite song - The Take Over, The Break's Over by Fall Out Boy. I really wanted to make a story about a protective A!Astarion reuniting with his ex-lover who has a shit husband and it became a WAY longer story than I intended. Super smutty and quite heavy throughout. Astarion's PTSD and Marin's emotionally ab*sive husband are triggers later on!

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Words: 3.7k (chapter 1 of 17)

Setting: Baldur's Gate, post-plot of BG3

Content: Marin's POV, ex-lovers reunited, forbidden relationship, semi-public make-out, dirty talk, hook-up, fingering, quickie, standing/wall sex, romantic confession, soft Ascended Astarion is lonely

This is not the place for anti-A!A discourse. I love both versions of Astarion, and it's okay to have issues with the Ascendant route, but I will block you if you clown on these posts~

Next chapter

Don't pretend you ever forgot about me

Marin arrived at the bar in the early evening, the fourth place she'd checked for Astarion. The servant at his front door said he went out for drinks and wasn't expected back for several hours, but she couldn't afford to wait in his sitting room for him to come home. Instead, she went searching for Astarion at the fancy establishments near his home, despite the sprinkling rain. As she stepped past the entranceway of the tavern, she spotted him from behind.

There he was, perched on a small chair like a peacock, gesturing as he spoke. A nobleman sat across from him, drunkenly laughing at his story, a courtesan giggling between the two. She was leaning against the other man, but clearly enraptured by Astarion. Marin could hardly blame her - the other man was likely a well-paying client, but nowhere near as charming.

Time seemed to stand still. The drunken man must have noticed her standing across the room, staring at the group of them, and smiled in her direction. Trying to figure out what he was looking at, the woman ended up spotting her as well. She smiled and gave a little wave to Marin.

Astarion glanced over his shoulder, his characteristic smirk still plastered on his face. It quickly dropped when he saw Marin. He didn't look upset, to her relief. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. He furrowed his brow and squinted a little, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

“... Marin?”

Her heart raced hearing her name from his mouth again.

“Astarion.”

He'd completely lost interest in the others at his table, rising slowly from his chair. He strode elegantly across the bar, despite his surprise.

“Bleeding hells. It's actually you,” Astarion said, his mouth breaking into a genuine smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we could have a drink,” she responded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “The two of us. Catch up.”

Astarion's brows knitted together in disbelief, but he played along regardless. “All right, then. Let's have a drink.”

He extended an arm, offering it to her like a gentleman. She took it, tighter than she intended. Without missing a beat, he led her across the floor, walking all the way to the back of the establishment. He presented her with a pair of comfortable armchairs, waiting for her to sit before sinking into one himself, signalling for a waiter.

“Wine for you, darling?”

Marin’s stomach jumped at the pet name.

“Liquor,” she replied, trying to sound composed. He perked an eyebrow with curiosity, but didn't challenge her. He turned to the waiter who had appeared.

“Brandy, for both of us. Thank you,” he requested, before turning back to Marin.

“Sooo, you know I must ask. What brings a married woman into a bar for a drink with her old lover?” he drawled. “I hadn’t the faintest clue you were in town.”

“I wanted to see you,” she replied, earnestly.

“After all these years?” he asked with surprise, watching her carefully. “Obviously, darling, I'm flattered. But I thought you were finished with me.”

“I don't hate you. I never did,” she countered. “It was just too hard to be… close to you, after everything that happened. And then I met Del.”

“Yes, Wyll told me you were leaving town to get married. I assumed that was the end of it. Of us.” His tone was still calm and measured, despite the subject.

The drinks arrived, and Marin immediately took hers from the table. She took a big drink, hoping to steel her nerves, and coughed a little. Damn, it's been a long time since I had something this strong, she thought. How embarrassing. She looked up to see Astarion smiling at her.

“You're cute, you know that?” Astarion mused, admiringly. “I have missed you, dear. Despite myself.”

“Did you really?” she asked, being cheeky despite her nerves. “I thought a lordship would have plenty of distractions. Especially one as handsome as you.”

Astarion tipped his head back with genuine laughter.

“Distractions, certainly. You wouldn't believe the parties,” he purred. “That doesn't mean I haven't missed our… little talks.”

He looked as beautiful as he always had. No, even better. Years of luxury and rest seemed to have helped his skin. The dark circles and fine lines had eased slightly since their adventuring days. She blushed at the realization, hoping she hadn't aged too noticeably in his eyes.

“So, darling, how long are you in town?” Astarion asked, snapping her out of her own thoughts.

“Well, I need to be home tomorrow to prepare the house. My husband will be home from his trip tomorrow night, and I need to get it fixed up for him.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why do you have to fix up the house for your husband?”

“Not all of us have servants to clean up and cook dinner,” she scoffed, teasing him. “I have to do that stuff myself. He expects it to be perfect when he’s around.”

Astarion stared at her suspiciously, looking like he wanted to press it further, but he dropped the subject. “Well, then. Dinner?”

She shook her head. “I thought maybe I could see your home,” she chirped. “I went there first. It looks great. I haven't been there since…” Marin trailed off, realizing what she was saying. Since I helped you kill Cazador.

“Yes, it's changed a lot,” Astarion responded, steering the conversation. “Obviously, with the city in such a state, it was hard to get repairs done. Things have quieted down, though.”

The two stared at each other for a moment.

“Well then, shall we take a little walk?” Astarion said, rising from his chair and extending a hand to her. “I believe the rain has slowed since I arrived, so it should be rather pleasant.”

Marin accepted his hand and stood as well, swaying a tiny bit. Hells, that drink went to my head more than I expected, she thought. Astarion was gracious, offering his elbow for her to grip and walk with him. He led her across the bar, collecting their cloaks at the door.  His was a fine garment meant to protect his expensive suit from the elements. Her simple traveling cloak looked very plain by comparison.

Outside, the soft pattering of rain set a very different tone from the warm, crowded tavern. The streets were fairly empty, aside from a few carriages passing by. Most people were indoors after sunset on a rainy evening.

“I have a confession to make,” Marin admitted.

“I knew it,” came Astarion’s smug voice from beside her. “There's more to this, isn't there?”

“I didn't come here to ask you for money, if that's what you're implying,” she hissed. “I did come to see you.”

“Why would you want to see me, darling? Not only for a free brandy and idle chatter, I hope,” he sneered. “Perhaps to see the look of shock on my face in a crowded bar? To taunt me for my loneliness, despite my hedonistic life? To remind me of what I'm missing?”

Marin stopped and turned to look at him. “I didn't come here to taunt you. I'm not that kind of person.”

“I know that, dear,” he said, a bit exasperated. “I'm just trying to understand why a good girl with a loving husband would track down an old flame.”

“He's not that loving,” Marin snapped, starting to walk again. “Can you stop being a prick?”

Astarion snorted. “Not really, no,” he responded playfully. “What-”

She surprised him into silence, pulling him down a secluded alleyway with a jerk. She pulled him to face her and clumsily kissed him on the cheek, too close to his mouth for a friendly greeting.

“What in the- Marin, are you feeling alright?”

Instead of answering, she grabbed the lapels of his suit and kissed him again, this time on the mouth. He didn't protest.

“There. Is that clear enough for you?” she huffed. Astarion watched her face carefully, thinking before he spoke.

“You're not drunk,” he started, slowly. I forgot he can smell my blood. “You're not joking, either. You came all the way to Baldur's Gate, just to see me? To… be with me?”

“You used to say you were always up for ‘a sordid little affair’ after we broke up,” Marin sniped, mimicking his accent. “What’s the problem?”

“Well, naturally, I am,” he drawled. “But I didn't think you were the type to take me up on it.”

“Maybe I've changed!” she snapped. “It's been a long time since you knew me. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes, it is, dear.”

“This was a mistake,” Marin huffed with frustration. She turned to leave, but he kept a gentle grip on her forearm.

“Please, don't go,” he said, his voice softening. “I was only trying to help. I don't want you to run off just yet.”

She stopped, still turned away from him. She didn’t really want to leave, but her face burned with embarrassment.

“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to make a mistake and… regret me,” he admitted. “I’m sure you already do.”

Marin turned back to him, her brows knitted with uncertainty. How much do I share? Will he think I’m a fool?

“Del slept with somebody else,” she blurted out, staring at the pavement. “So I stopped fighting my urge to come back here. To see you. I thought about it for a long time.”

“I presume… it wasn’t a planned arrangement, then?” he asked gently.

“No. He fucked some other woman for no reason at all,” she hissed, fighting back tears. “He doesn’t even know that I found out. I’m sure he thinks he’s rather clever.”

Astarion took her hand in his. They both stood silently for a long time, with light rain hitting the pavement as the only sound.

“I don’t want you to make a mistake,” he said earnestly. “But I’ll have you, darling. If this is truly what you want.”

“Yes, it is,” Marin responded without hesitation.

Astarion’s eyes searched her face cautiously, looking for any hint of doubt or regret. He moved closer, his eyes locked on hers, gently backing her up against the bricks behind her. She stared up at him, holding her breath, exhilarated from how close he was. His eyes gleamed a deep garnet in the growing darkness, his gaze now fixed on her lips. The damp wall was cold against her back.

He put a hand behind her head and kissed her, his chilled fingers at the nape of her neck making her shiver. Marin leaned deeper into the kiss, poking his lips ever so slightly with her tongue. He responded with his own tongue in her mouth, and before long, they were kissing messily like a pair of horny fools. She rubbed up against him with her hips, feeling the outline of his cock press against her. He inhaled at the sensation, grinding himself against her, his hands on her waist to hold her close. He moved one hand down to her ass, grabbing at her and eliciting a muffled moan.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he panted. “I’d forgotten how much until I saw you.”

“And you still know how to drive me wild,” she whispered.

She reached down between them, feeling the firm outline of his cock. His pants were perfectly form-fitting and made of a silky material. They can’t be very comfortable, but Gods damn it, they look so good on him. She felt him pulse at her touch, looking up to find his eyes had gone glazed over, almost feral.

“Just don’t bite me, okay? I can’t go home with a mark like that.”

“As much as I’d love to, I was thinking of something else,” he responded. He snaked a hand down the front of her body, grasping between her legs. Marin gasped, tipping her pelvis forward into his hand instinctively. He wouldn’t have any access through her long dress, at least not without a serious adjustment. Why did I wear this thing?

Astarion seemed to wrest control of himself with great effort, straightening up and pulling away from her with a deep breath. She whined at the loss.

“I don’t want any interruptions, darling,” he whispered. “It’d be a little unseemly to go any farther right here. People know me in this part of town.”

He once again offered her his arm, and she clung to him as they walked. The rain had started picking up again, and they both pulled up the hoods of their cloaks to keep dry.

“Do you know what I’d like to do with you, Marin?” Astarion mused quietly. “I would love to push you up against that wall and take you, here and now. Rain and reputation be damned.”

“I can’t imagine,” she responded, teasing him. “You’ll have to paint the picture a little more clearly for me.” He chuckled, realizing her game.

“Well, it would start with a kiss, just like that one. Our bodies pressed close together, and our hands on each other. Perhaps I’d touch you where it was sure to drive you wild. And perhaps you’d let me know how much you wanted it, and beg me to take you right then.”

She hummed as if she were pondering the scenario, her face scarlet.

“And after such an intriguing request from such a beautiful woman, well…” he paused. “I’d have no choice but to oblige. I’d hike up your dress and pick you up, both of your legs to one side.”

“Would you, now?” She was playing coy, despite how badly she wanted to hear the rest of his story. “And why is that?”

“So that I could pull your underclothes down over your ankles like the naughty little thing you are. Then I’d wrap your bare legs around me and pull your hips close, letting you feel just how badly I’ve missed you. How long I’ve missed you.”

She giggled at his double entendre.

“You’d be so close to my cock, and so ready to take it. I couldn’t resist you after that, naturally,” he whispered as they walked up the path. “I’d have to have you,”

Marin sucked in a breath, realizing she’d been captivated by his description for several blocks. They were nearly to the looming entrance of his palace. He stopped short of the front step to whisper in her ear.

“Of course, it’s all hypothetical, darling. I’m a gentleman, after all.” She snorted at the assertion as he stepped up and knocked, announcing himself.

The servant who had greeted Marin earlier opened the door. “Good evening, my lord. Ah, I see you found each other!” she said, recognizing his companion. “What good fortune.”

They stepped over the entranceway into the lavish home. “Thank you, Evi. You may retire for the evening,” Astarion said with a smile, his tone even.

“Thank you, my lord,” she responded cheerfully, hanging their damp cloaks on hooks. She glanced once more at Marin before heading down a nearby hallway.

“I only have two of them here unless I’m hosting,” he explained. “Their quarters are below the main floor. They won’t bother us.” He must have seen the unease on her face. He snaked an arm behind her waist and led her to the staircase.

“Or hear us, no matter how loud we are,” he added quietly. Her face burned fiercely at the very thought. “Now, let’s get upstairs and out of these wet clothes. There will be time to explore later.”

Astarion led her up the stairs with a haste she hadn’t seen from him that evening. He seemed to drop his gentlemanly demeanor more with every passing second, his excitement becoming more apparent. She followed him without a word. Several floors up, they reached a room at the end of a long hallway.

He swung the door open a little too hard, drawing her in behind him. He shut the heavy wooden door and pushed her up against it. Holy hells. She’d forgotten how fast he could move when he felt like it. Despite her pounding heart, she held her breath, noticing his eyes locked on hers again. They were ruby red in the candlelight, and hungry, like the bloodthirsty predator he was.

“Oh, Astarion,” she blurted out, stunned by the intensity of his gaze.

“This is still what you want, my dear?” he whispered, breathless and deadly serious.

“Yes. Gods, yes,” Marin replied immediately.

And with that, he dropped all pretense, kissing her like they’d resumed exactly where they left off. He pressed his hips against her body, his tight pants giving away how completely hard he was already. His little story on the way home hadn’t been only for her entertainment, apparently.

“You’re so hard,” she whined, grinding her hips against him.

“Of course I am,” he huffed. “You’re here, in my bedroom, after all this time.”

He reached his hand down and grabbed between her legs once more, the thick fabric of her dress in the way.

“Now, that won’t do,” he growled. He took her by the hips and moved her to the four-poster bed, gently pushing her down on her back. He hurriedly undid the buttons on his suit coat, and then his undershirt, before throwing both across the room. Marin watched his every move, her eyes wide. He always looks so good with his chest bare, Gods damn him. Same as he always did. He unfastened his terribly tight pants, adjusting his cock without exposing himself.

“Bleeding hells, that’s better,” he groaned. “It was getting painful.”

Marin let out a tiny giggle at his honesty. He hiked up her dress and kneeled in front of her, pulling at her wet underclothes. He got them down over her ankles and returned his attention to her, his cold, nimble hands snaking up her thighs. She shivered beneath his touch.

“You are… so beautiful,” he managed, trying to control himself as his fingers reached her hips. He met her gaze, an unspoken question on his mind. He was still careful about consent after all this time, no matter how mad he was with lust.

“Yes, Astarion,” she panted desperately. “Yes, please, touch me.”

He moved his hand quickly to comply. First one finger was inside, then another, searching for the spot that made her wild. He found it with a few strokes, making her hips tilt forward in surprise.

“Oh, Gods,” Marin whined, letting her head fall back on the soft bedding. She felt every ounce of tension melt in an instant, and then slowly return. His fingers beckoned inside of her, making her absent-mindedly wiggle closer to the edge of the bed, seeking more. His other hand was flat on top of her pelvis, applying gentle pressure to increase the stimulation inside, with his thumb rubbing at her clit. The combination of his movements was completely overwhelming, emptying her mind of anything else. Every bit of her attention was focused where his deft hands met her body, inside and out. She felt a hot wave of pleasure move slowly up her entire core. More and more waves followed, and she felt the pitch of her moans rising unintentionally. Oh, hells, here we go.

Marin finally perked her head off the bed to look down at him, his forehead dripping with sweat, eyes transfixed on his work. Astarion heard her move and glanced up to see her, doe-eyed and gasping.

“Oh, Astarion,” she whimpered. “I’m so close, I’m going to- ohhh-”

“Come for me,” he purred, enjoying the show. “Come, darling.”

Her thighs quivered, hips thrusting upwards as she reached her peak, crying out loudly as she tumbled down over the edge. As soon as she relaxed her hips, she felt his hands pull away from her. Marin propped herself up on her elbows to look down at him. He had pulled his cock out and was using his hand, still slick from touching her, to cover himself with some oil he’d grabbed.

Before she could say a word, he yanked her to the edge of the bed by her dress, wrapping an arm firmly behind her waist and pulling her up. She did her best to hold on as he stood up, her arms and legs wrapped around his bare torso, despite how weak and useless her muscles felt. He backed her up against the door, his cock touching the back of her thigh, her dress draped over where their bodies met.

“Ready?” he panted. She nodded eagerly, and he reached up under the fabric and guided his cock to her entrance, pushing inside of her. He groaned from the relief as he worked her smoothly down his own length, propping her on his hips. He put one arm out straight against the door to steady himself, the other wrapped around her waist to keep her close to him. He thrusted into her, making contact with her most sensitive spots and making her cry out.

“Oh, hells, Marin,” he whined at her. “You are perfect.”

“Oh, Astarion,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck me!”

“I will,” he grunted, trying to get even deeper. She could hear her back bumping clumsily against the heavy wooden door as he thrusted into her. She felt a hot ball of pleasure building in her chest, bouncing along with her tits and intensifying quickly.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck!” she cried out, ignoring the racket they must be making by this point. She could hear rhythmic moans rising from his throat as he slammed into her.

“Oh, I’m close, darling,” he panted, his voice higher-pitched and desperate now. “Please come for me, Marin, please- I ca- can’t stop-”

She felt the ball of pleasure explode behind her sternum like a firework, her mouth open wide, voice cracking as she cried out. He let himself loose as he felt her coming around his cock, falling apart, banging her back against the door, hard.

“Oh, Marin, I- love you s-” Astarion whimpered as he came. Her eyes went huge at his admission. She felt him go weak under her weight, and he slid slowly to the ground, careful not to let her fall. He landed on his knees and slumped all the way down, Marin still planted firmly on his hips with her back resting against the door. His head fell forward onto her shoulder, exhausted, his chest heaving.

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part IV

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~4700 Warnings: swearing, PTSD, trauma, past/implied abuse, fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here  part III: here

Summary: Set at the end Act II in the Gauntlet of Shar. Shadowheart finally faces Reader/Tav's blessing from Selûne in the temple of her dark mistress.

Notes: We finally got to the angsty part between Reader and Shadowheart muahaha. I've had a couple of these lines stuck in my head FOREVER. Does anyone else play the game and immediately start thinking of the scenario and more detailed dialogue for their specific Tav?? No.. just me? ahaha...

Also — Shadowheart rejects Shar in this, as an FYI. If that isn’t your cup of tea or prefer other decisions, etc. that is your discretion for your own game, etc.! For the purpose of my fic and this specific Tav, that is the route I took and don’t want it to be a debate! 👍🏽 Cause I know that happens in fandom sometimes - and that’s not what this fangirl is about baby!

I also just really really love the idea of letting Astarion and Reader/Tav explore things sloooooooooowly. Like little tiny fingertip touches and touching shoulders. I think that Astarion being emotionally vulnerable with someone first and slowly building up to being physical intimate is just MUAH chef’s kiss.

ANYWAYS Ted talk over — Thank you so much for reading and interacting! It means so much to me ♡♡♡

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

“Tell me another thing.”

It was Astarion’s new favorite game — asking for you to confide in him, to tell him about how you see him. The things that made you fall for him. 

Each one had made him feel more and more seen. More and more safe. Some had been surprising characteristics he would have never assigned to himself — but you had explained them so earnestly that he couldn’t help but believe you. You had said he was strong, that he had more strength than he realized. That he was funny (obviously). That he was open-minded. 

He was collecting the compliments and observations, letting them stroke the flame inside of him that he had long thought dead. 

“Hmmm…,” You were sat on the worn, dirty floor leaning against a crumpling wall. The group was taking a moment to rest after another harrowing trial in Shar’s Gauntlet. Squinting your eyes you pretended to study him, before speaking, “I like how materialistic you are.” 

“Oh." Something akin to shame flooded through him. "I don’t like this one, pick another.”

A chuckle escaped you, shaking your head. “That’s not how this works.” 

The vampire frowned at your laughter, “This one seems like some back handed compliment." He turned his nose up, trying to mask the small twinge of pain spreading in his chest, "Just tell me I’m pretty instead.” 

You finally recognized the hurt, the smile vanishing from your face. “Astarion, I swear it's not a backhanded compliment. It’s something I genuinely like.” You sounded earnest, you looked solemn. 

He met your wide eyes, nodding as he believed you. “Hmph. Why?” 

“Well, you know I come from a noble background… I grew up with certain luxuries and I miss them." You admitted, your nose scrunched. "It’s nice to have someone who also appreciates the finer things in life.” 

He realized that you thought it was trivial to admit such things, surrounded by death as you all embarked on a seemingly impossible mission. But you were being honest and vulnerable with him in the broken hallway of the dark temple. 

He kept his tone light, smirking at you. “I do have good taste.” 

“Excellent taste. You would love the keep I grew up in, the art and amenities…" You closed your eyes as if you imagined them right there. "I dream of them on cold nights on my bedroll.” 

“Hmmm, tell me about them tonight when we are holed up in our tent.”  

Our tent. A slip of his tongue, but it really had become that way. You rarely were in your own tent anymore, only enough to change and store your things before you were slinking into his.  

“I’ll take you there someday and you can see it yourself.” 

His eyebrows shot up his face, shock morphing his features. You thought that far ahead? Taking him to see your home? Meeting your family? 

You smiled at his reaction, before filling in for his stunned silence. “And… you’re very pretty.” 

A puff of air escaped through his nose, his lips quirking. “Oh I know.” He stretched his fingers, before sweeping his thumb across the back of your knuckles. “Thank you," He whispered. 

You smiled at his touch, your eyes darting to where his pale fingers met yours. 

The pair of you stayed in that quiet moment, until it was broken by the sound of a swear echoing down the length of the crumbling hallway. "Shit!"

Karlach and Shadowheart were sat across the hallway, the tiefling putting on a new bandage across the half elf's small palm — or was attempting to. The cleric had sliced her palm three times now, offering her blood in the name of her dark mistress before every trial. The party had winced every time she did it — but the woman never faltered. 

And she didn’t not heal it with her divine abilities, instead letting the wound remain, cutting into it deeper with each trial and then only wrapping it up. She said it was intentional, purposeful pain that her Goddess demanded. And that she alone would pay the price for it. 

Astarion had immediately marked the strain in your face as she said it. Knew that you wanted nothing more then to remind her that she was not alone, that she could be anything, anyone she wanted to be.

But the words had remained unspoken. Like you didn't have the right to say them to her anymore. 

The vampire was now watching you watch them — studying you once again, trying to decipher how you were feeling. Karlach continued her efforts, but her large fingers fumbled as she tried to tie the knot and the bandages fell off again. 

"Godsdammit! Sorry, Princess." She said sheepishly, snatching the bandages up quickly. 

"It's okay, Karlach." Shadowheart shook her head, looking down at her hand and squeezing it into a fist. She winced from the pain, a hiss coming from her mouth. 

"May I?" Your voice was soft, quiet as a mouse. But not so quiet that Shadowheart did not hear you. She flashed her eyes over to you, her face contorted with genuine surprise. The cleric said no words, instead nodding and offering her hand out. 

Astarion remained sitting, watching as you stood up and crossed the hallway to the two women. You knelt before her, bowing your head slightly as you grabbed the bandages and began to wind them tenderly around Shadowheart's hand. If it were another moment, another person, the vampire would be jealous. Wishing he had a wound himself so that you could offer your services and gentle touches. 

But this was monumental. Not only was it a rare sight — one blessed by Selûne taking care of one of Shar’s disciples. But it was an olive branch, a silent offering that meant much more then those bandages. An offering of peace and acceptance. 

He was sure he saw Shadowheart's eyes lining with silver as you worked, the bob of her throat as she swallowed thickly. With a slight cough, you made to stand back up. "All done." You said in a hushed voice. But before you could stand up, the cleric grabbed your elbow. 

"Thank you," She choked out. The gratitude was for more then just this moment, he imagined. 

You bowed your head again, "Of course." As you marched back across the hallway, Astarion stood up to meet you. He ducked his head to look at your face, a silent conversation passing between you as your eyes met. An art the two of you had begun to master already. 

Are you alright?

I will be. 

He blinked and nodded in understanding, before falling into step at your side. 

• • •

Every place they explored in the Shadowlands somehow topped the previous wretched place. If Astarion never had to step foot in a temple of Shar again, it would be too soon. 

The air surrounding them was freezing, and the hairs on his arms and back of his neck had been standing up for what felt like hours. It felt like eyes were always on him, trailing after your group and judging every step taken. 

Glancing behind him, he waited for you to step onto the disc with the rest of the party. You were hesitating on the edge, the smallest tremble in your hand as you stared down at the floor. "Darling?"

Your face shot up, like his voice snapped you back to reality. You looked rattled, completely shaken. 

Astarion extended his hand out to you, beckoning you forward. He grabbed your hand easily, pulling you into him with a questioning glance before letting go. The rest of your party was looking at you, worry forming in their features. 

You had all but stepped into him, your shoulder pressed into his. He actually didn't mind it one bit. 

“You look pale, are you feeling okay?” He kept his voice low, his mouth downturned. 

You gathered yourself for a moment, before flashing him a smirk. “I’m pale? Coming from the vampire himself?” 

“Ha," He rolled his red eyes. "Trust me, my sweet. I’ve memorized the flush of your features by now — something’s off.” 

Your eyes settled on Shadowheart for a moment, before looking down at your boots. “I think it’s being in here… Her gift is straining inside me.” 

Her gift, Selûne's blessing. You didn't dare say the Goddess' name in Shar's ruined temple. The rest of the party had heard the tale over the campfire about a week ago. While most of their faces had been filled with awe and astonishment when you had told them then, now their faces were only anxious. 

“Oh gods, you’re not going to...?" Wyll trailed off, his brows furrowed together. 

“Drop dead? I hope not.” You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. 

“Not funny.” Astarion hissed, flashing you a look. The sentiment was echoed by Gale, chastising you for saying such things. 

You quirked your mouth, before wrapping your arms around your torso. "I'll be fine." 

Suddenly, there was a loud click and the disc you all stood on began moving — descending deeper into the ruins. 

Astarion heard the heartbeats of the entire party begin to increase, the thrumming pounding in his ears. None were as loud as the rhythm of your heart. 

Then the scent of your fear filled his nostrils. 

He could think of no words, no quips or jokes. The dark ruins had been taxing, draining. And he did not know what to expect at the bottom of this temple. 

But he was afraid too. Afraid for you, for both of you. 

The disc settled below with another audible click, and as the rest of the party began to move off of it and deeper into the next area you stayed planted where you were. 

The vampire stayed with you, eyeing your complexion that was turning paler by the minute. Your breaths labored as you blinked, long and slowly. His red eyes followed your line of sight — to Shadowheart and Karlach. 

The half-elf and tiefling were standing before large ornate doors, shoulder to shoulder. Their hands were intertwined, fingers laced together as they continued to stare the door down. 

Your eyes were fixed on their hands, before you licked your lips and spoke quietly — only for him to hear. "Would you be okay with that?”

His brows furrowed together in confusion. “With what?” 

“A touch like that.” 

A bewildered look crossed his features. Here? Now? This is where you wished to discuss such things. Moments before stepping into the unknown darkness of the mistress of night. He stepped in front of you, his back to the rest of the party as he looked you in the face. 

“Holding hands? What next, you want to cuddle?” He teased with his sharp tongue.

The smallest twist in your features was your only tell. Anyone else would have missed it — a flash of sadness at his rejection. 

He suddenly realized it. Longing. You had been looking at the pair holding hands with longing, yearning to be touched like that right now. "You want that, don't you?"

You stiffened, as if you had said the wrong thing. You stumbled over your words, immediately backtracking, “Not if you don’t want to. I'm sorry, I just thought—“ 

His eyes softened at your reaction, “You’re upset.” 

“No, never." You shook your head, your voice unwavering. "It’s your choice, Starry.” 

“I’m not the only person in this—" In this, what? Finish the sentence, Astarion. He thought to himself. "Is it, something you would like to do?” 

“Maybe." You licked your lips, before nodding self-consciously. "Yes, but only if you were okay with it.” 

“I can try." He whispered sincerely, before looking back over his shoulder to the group. Shadowheart and Karlach remained at each other's side, their fingers still intertwined in a tight grasp. "I just— I don’t really understand it. The touch I’m used to is… sensual, erotic. Or incredibly violent. I thought touch was only supposed to lead to some explosive end, one way or another. What’s the point of it?” 

“It’s comforting, holding the person you care about. Feeling their presence with you, when you need it." You admitted, your eyes unguarded as you looked at him.  

He recalled how he felt when you had held him in your arms in the river. How he had let his fingers linger and hold onto you as you pulled away from that first hug. The overwhelming urge he had sometimes to just be near you. He could understand that feeling, he knew that feeling now. He just wasn't sure how to act on it. 

"I think I'd like that." He agreed, the corners of his mouth pulling up with a hopeful expression. "I will try." 

You smiled back at him, the pair of you momentarily forgetting where you stood. What was to happen next. What could happen next. 

As you made to finally step off of the disc, he called your name softly — halting your movement. "We will get to try."

It was a promise. A vow.

No dark mistress or Absolute or bastard vampire master would stop him from having you. 

You nodded, smiling back at him before moving to join the others. 

The group was cautious as they entered into the final chamber, the hundreds of candles in the room suddenly lighting with an eerie purple flame. The coloured flames flickered and cast dancing shadows on the stones around them, all leading to a pool of still water. A ginormous, untouched statue of the Mistress of Night stood in it — her arms outstretched, beckoning you forward. 

"This must be the last step. I need to pray. Only by Lady Shar's grace did we even make it this far." Shadowheart fell to her knees immediately, offering silent prayers to the intimidating figure ahead. Karlach stayed loyally at her side, but her brows were crinkled with worry. 

Everyone lingered behind, unsure of how to proceed. 

"I'm ready." The dark-haired cleric spoke, determination flashing in her features as she stood up. The spear she had fought and bled for in the trials strapped to her back. She held a boot over the unmoving water for a moment, hesitating for a moment before stepping into it. 

A voice spoke throughout the chamber, echoing and rattling the stones. The candles flickered with her voice, as if the magnificent voice caused the cold breeze that suddenly filled the room. "You are so close, my child. So close to fulfilling your destiny. And is that another trophy you bring for me? You honor me with your dedication.“ 

The party turned to stare at you. Shar was aware of who you are, of what lingered in you. Astarion swear he saw Shadowheart’s bottom lip tremble as her gaze fell on you again. 

But you put on your practiced expression of calm, nodding at your companions to continue. But as you stood on the precipice of the pool, Astarion noticed your fingers twitching at your side. 

It should have been be so easy for him to reach out and hold them, like you said you wanted. He had been daring himself to touch you more lately — a brush of his knuckle against yours, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. He was trying. He wanted to, so badly. 

But something was holding him back. A weight on his chest and lungs that made it feel him feel so tainted and undeserving for such things. 

He hesitated for too long, and your hand was moving away as you stepped into the sparkling water. So he took his own steps in. The water was ice cold, instantly sending goosebumps over his entire body. Then a frozen sensation that went deep into his half-dead body. It began clutching at him, at everything he was and ever could be. 

His red eyes widened, searching frantically for you beside him — his hand reaching out wildly for you before he was suddenly pulled under. 

• • •

The last thing you had seen was Shar’s menacing face —looming over you, spelling your end. A blanket of cold had surrounded you, tightening unbearably around your ankles and wrists before yanking you down into the darkness. 

You had never been afraid of the dark before. 

You could no longer say that. 

With a gasp, you wretched your eyes open to find yourself somewhere new. Standing on a craggy rock, floating in raging winds and surrounded by streaks of lightning. A living storm of black and purple swirling around you. 

"Lady Shar...," Shadowheart's voice was quiet — her tone a strange mixture of astonishment and fear. "I can feel her all around. This is her domain. This is the Shadowfell.”

“Bloody hells.” Gale muttered, the wizard's mouth a hardline. 

“We best keep moving.” Lae'zel ordered, eyeing the surroundings with a look of disgust on her face. 

You all murmured in agreement, before traveling down the precarious craggy rocks until you were at the very bottom. You hesitated at the site of a person— a pale, large woman dressed in only shredded rags.

The Nightsong. 

She stood in the centre of several complicated sigils, the symbols radiating a sickly green. Her head flicked up to your group, her eyes narrowing as she inspected every single party member. Before they settled on you, and softened. 

“I recognize you." Her voice was hoarse at first, like she hadn't spoken out loud in ages. "You aren’t a sibling… But I recognize you. Why are you so familiar to me?” She cocked her head at you, her eyes studying you. There was a flicker in them — hope.

Her hair shined silver like yours, but her eyes glowed even brighter. Much more than any mortal could. Your mouth fell open as you realized. She was not blessed by a divine being like you, she was immortal herself. 

“You are...“ 

“A child of the gods.” She finished for you, and even clad in nothing but rags she stood tall at the words.  

“Selûne’s?”

Your mind raced as you put together the pieces, the ritual on the stone similar to the secret room of Balthazar. Kethric’s undying nature. She was bound here in the Shadowfell — being syphoned like those fairies in the lanterns. And the dark justiciar’s — they used her, killed her like a bounty for their goddess. Over and over. As Shadowheart was meant to do now. 

But you. You were bound to nothing, and you were not born from the goddess — only a mortal woman, who feared for her child. A mortal mother who was thousands of miles away, not knowing where her child now stood, not knowing that they were waiting to see if a spear would be driven through their chest too.

"My mother spoke of you once. I don't think that even she knew we would meet." The daughter of Selûne eyes shone with quiet understanding. The flicker of hope in them still catching light somehow in the dark storm in the Shadowfell as she stared at you. 

Shadowheart stepped forward, toeing the edge of the ritual symbols carved onto the floor. Her face was stoic, determined. Yet she refused to look at you. 

"But you.” The woman’s eyes dragged to the cleric, her voice a vicious snarl. “YOU. You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart." 

"Not a dagger — a spear. My Lady Shar's spear. Your fate is mine to seal." You noticed Shadowheart's hands were trembling fists at her side. 

"The fate that you seal is your own. To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy — only servitude." Karlach stiffened next to Shadowheart, concern etching every feature of her red face. "Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you. And there is much she does not tell you — a terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death. Beyond your companion's."

The cleric looked over her shoulder to you, her eyebrows furrowed. You said nothing, keeping your face steady. 

But it was the first she looked you in the eyes since you found yourself in the dark place. Truly met your gaze. And the rage and betrayal you had first seen in them that day she learned the truth about you had lost their heat. Instead you saw only pain and regret. 

Astarion made to move in front of you, to act as your shield as Shadowheart turned her attention on you. But you waved your hands at your side, silently asking him to stop. 

You knew the rest of your party waited with bated breath for you to intervene, to speak up for this woman, for yourself. 

But instead, you held Shadowheart’s gaze and waited. 

The Nightsong spoke again, drawing her attention away from you. "You may think you know what they are, but do you know what I am, little assassin? For I know you — a lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark." 

"What did you say?" 

"Much has been promised to you, hasn't it? But what has been taken from you?" She asked sadly, her eyes piercing through Shadowheart. "What do you know of your own heart — your own life? I sense more in you then you know." 

"I—" The spear was suddenly summoned into her hand, her light coloured eyes widening as she feels its weight. It was as if Shar would wait no longer, and would thrust the weapon into her hands and guide it through the Nightsong if need be. "I..." She raised it up, inspecting the intricate designs and deadly tip of the spear. The bottom of her eyes filled with silver as she studied it. 

And just as fast as it was summoned, it was gone. Soaring over the party's heads, away and into the swirling storm below them. 

You let loose the breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was echoed by a sigh of relief from the rest of the party. 

Shadowheart's mouth was agape, staring into her empty hands and then to you. A humorless laugh escaped her, like she was in a state of shock. "I can't believe I just did that. Lady Shar will disown me... what will happen to me?"  

"Not what will happen — what will you do? Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite Sharran, and I will fight the battle that been waiting for me this last century." The large woman knelt before them, bowing her head. "Then — oh then, we will have much to discuss. All of us." She looked up to nod at you, still standing on the edge of the circle. 

The cleric stepped forward with more certainty then she had in most of the trials in Shar's Gauntlet. Her head held high before she grasped the child of the god on her shoulder. Suddenly the green of the binding ritual turned into a bright, silver light. The woman fell to all fours as the silver light traveled through her.  

"Our lady of Silver. Hear me! She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selûne — mother of the so-called Nightsong. THE NIGHTSONG IS NO MORE!" Then she began to levitate in the air, a shining light of white and silver wrapped around her before large wings spread from her back, and spectral armor and sword appearing upon her body and in her hands.

The group was amazed as they watched her fly up and up. Before she landed with a gentle thud.

A child of a god indeed. 

"I am resplendent. You have given me a great gift, little warrior." She nudged Shadowheart's chin with a gloved hand, before stepping back. "Come now — there is a battle to be fought." 

"My kin," She looked back to you, her eyes and brow set in a determined line. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" You asked, stepping forward until you were at Shadowheart's side. 

"To kill Ketheric Thorm." She flashed a wolfish grin that was filled with a controlled rage. Vengeance and justice was to be served by that glowing spectral sword in her hand. With a large woosh, she was soaring into the air and vanishing back to the mortal plane. 

• • •

It wasn't until you were out of the Shadowfell, away from Gauntlet and endless depictions of Shar that you all finally spoke. 

The cool air of the Shadowlands was welcoming for the first time since you had arrived. Astarion watched as you took large gulps of air, your hands resting on your hips as you centered yourself again. The colour was already returning to your cheeks, your heart slowing to a familiar rhythm. 

He made to reach out for you, but Shadowheart got there first. A look of surprise flashed across your face as she threw herself at you. "I don't— I don't know what to say." She muttered into your shoulder. 

You swallowed hard before holding her back fiercely, your mouth quivering. "You don't have to say anything. I forgive you."

Astarion blinked. You gave her your forgiveness so easily, much easier then he would have. But wasn't that one of the things he was so fond of? Your kind heart, your innate goodness. That even though he didn't feel he deserved your attention, or that Shadowheart deserved to be forgiven, you still granted it to them. Your kindness was not just for him, but for everyone in the group. The hubris wizard and seasoned fighter who didn't think they were enough. The warlock and barbarian ripped from their homes. The manipulated manipulators who were used and discarded.  

“You can't—You can't just forgive me." She pulled away from you, staring at you like you had gone mad. "What I did, what I almost did — I almost didn’t bring you back that day, oh gods—" Her hand moved over her mouth, her brows meeting in the middle. 

“But you did.”

“But if I didn’t—" Her voice broke.

You grabbed her by the shoulders, ducking your head to look at her. “But you did. And we will not speak of the past any longer. But we will get you answers for your own, okay?” 

"What she wanted me to do in there, what she's made me do..." A sob escaped Shadowheart, the sound breaking something in Astarion. Something that hit a little too close to home. His red eyes flickered to his boots as he tried to keep his own emotion at bay. 

Your next words were a whisper in her ear, too low for even his elven ears to hear. But you both nodded together, before Karlach was pulling the cleric into a hug of their own. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering her own affections to her. 

Before the vampire could even try to will himself to do the same things for you, you were in front of him. He could see no hint of expectation on your face, only relief as you took him in. 

He ran the tip of his finger down your wrist, to the back of your hand, before trailing it in your palm. "That was all a little dramatic, wasn't it?"

A tired chuckle escaped you, "I'd thought you'd learned by now that we have a flair for it, don't we?"

"We certainly do." 

Suddenly, flashes of divine white power swept above you, before shooting fast across the sky — the light silhouetting a set of large wings. Without further thinking, Astarion threaded his pale fingers through yours, squeezing them slightly as he watched the light head closer and closer to the imposing tower in the distance. 

He gulped as you squeezed back. 

Your party watched the sky for a moment, silence filling the air before you all stared at each other. Your tired, aching bodies were begging for rest. But the world would not wait for you to rest. 

"To Moonrise?" Gale asked, a sad, tired smile on his face. 

"To Moonrise." You nodded, starting to march forward and lead the group forward. 

Astarion curled his pinky around yours as you meant to pull away, not quite ready to let you go again. 

Read part V here

[shiraishi-kanade]

So, I kept thinking about the sustain pedal joke I made about this moment.

(which I mistakenly called suspension pedal in my original post - I don't know why, I guess I was sleepy)

And the more I think about it, the more beautiful it becomes to me.

Because - hey, proseka definitely does mystify music quite a bit, but it's still realistic at it's core; and realistically, there's nothing other in a piano that could produce such an effect. Especially in piano: sure, there's difference between slamming on the key and pressing it gently and with intention - but it was probably still the pedal.

(Mostly because the sound I heard definitely made me think it's played with a sustain pedal, and hey, let's pretend I know something about music.)

The image of baby Touya being fascinated by something that simple as a sustained note was funny and a little ridiculous for me before, but it's really not, is it?

Imagine this: Touya, three years old, is sitting on the bench for the first time, his stature so incredibly small against the giant instrument, and he presses a note for the first time. His feet don't reach the pedals yet - he probably didn't even notice them at all, like I used to, - he doesn't understand why he sounds so different from his father, how his father sounds so much better when playing - that must've felt like some sort of incredible feat, a blessing, of some sorts, to play so beautifully.

(He doesn't know yet that in just a couple of years he'll he playing with the same beauty, his mistakes discernable to his father and himself, of course, but the story of the piece, the shape, the emotion of it - that's what the audience hears more than any imperfection,)

A pedal. How simple. And how, at the same time, it's anything but.

How many generations upon generations of musicians have perfected their craft before him, how many started with just one key? How many composers and masters came before him so that piano has the shape and sound we know it today? To create the piano's ancestors, the harpsichord, and the clavichord before it?

Because in every single instrument, every single iteration of it, there's love. For Touya's piano to have the shape that it does, the sound, the tuning (the tuning!), the 88 keys, 56 white and 36 black ones, seven full octaves and three more keys, for that sustain pedal to exist in the first place, someone out there had to love music so earnestly, so honestly that their love kept the instrument alive, that shaped it into the virtuosic one we know it to be today. Every piece written, every variation, every note placed the way that it is, so many mechanisms, tender and complicated, that someone had to put together so painstakingly in order for the music to take form and then become the standard.

Centuries of history, for a child to fall in love with it at the first touch.

That is music. That's the purest, most innocent essence of it. It always has been.

That's what Touya is about, too. He loves music, he falls in love with it so easily and honestly. The first time, when he's three, when he doesn't know anything other than his father and the piano, when the strictness of his father and the pain it will bring later is at the periphery of his vision - but not there enough to make him afraid of it more than he's excited to learn, to play.

The second time, when he's fifteen, full of shame and guilt and regret, and when he meets Akito - and he falls in love with music, again, and again, when he sees Rad Weekend for the first time, and when he sees it for what it truly was (a testament of overwhelming, irrefutable love that is there to stay forever, unlike...) - but he knows better now.

Because oh, Touya understands loving something. He understands loving music. He loves music so much it's stupid, he loves it so much that he forgives it for anything, for all the pain and suffering, because what else is Touya, too, if not a testament of that love - his father's, his family's, and thousands of musicians that came before him?

And now, that love, just as overwhelming and undeniable as RADder's love - that love is now a weapon in Aoyagi Touya's hand, something more powerful than anyone else could have ever given him.

Because that childlike innocence and fascination in little Touya's eyes, and everything that allowed it to happen is the clearest evidence of love that lives, by design, in art itself.

I just... I just think he's neat, okay?