#insufferable people are insufferable no matter what they are arguing about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelwonie · 2 years ago

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X + Y = YOU AND I || jeon wonwoo

PAIRING: academic rival!wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.6k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, rivals to lovers, college au

SUMMARY: you wish jeon wonwoo would sometimes act like an insufferable prick instead of the perfect guy, because then you wouldn't have to feel your head spinning each time he looks at you.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, fingering, use of petnames (baby, good girl), praise, some degradation, sex in an empty classroom] wonwoo is so in love

Class discussions where both Wonwoo and you are involved never end well.

Partly, it’s because none of you possess the ability of backing down from a fight, but mostly it’s because of Wonwoo’s annoying tendencies of having read all the books in the world, which allows him to criticize every word that comes out of your mouth.

Which again leaves you with no choice but to get angry and argue even more vividly — though Soonyoung claims that’s just your own stubbornness making matters worse.

He doesn’t get it, though. The desire to beat Wonwoo at his own game each time he opens his mouth. It’s something you can’t entirely explain, but it keeps you grounded, and so you don’t question it too much. The adrenaline that comes along with it is enough for you.

And that’s exactly what keeps you going today — Wonwoo’s annoying takes on social anthropology.

“I just don’t think cultural differences are the root of conflicts.”

He says this and shrugs, eyes subconsciously drifting to the side to look at you. As expected, you’re already raising your hand to comment on his statement and he has to fight the urge to smile. Despite coming in tired, eyes drooping, you’re eager to partake in a discussion with him. Always. It’s a little too reassuring to think about, so he stops, and instead focuses on what you’re saying.

“That’s a baseless claim to make,” you scoff, and again, he feels his lip twitch, almost forming a smile. “Of course they are. No differences means nothing to fight about.”

“Yes, in theory,” he says, and his eyes crinkle with the smile he offers you. A smile you can’t seem to tell if is cocky or genuine. “But cultural differences aren't everything. If we don’t have culture, people will still form opinions. And those opinions will still become the roots of conflicts.”

With those words, he crosses his arms over his chest, his elbow bumping into you.

You’re not sure who came up with the idea of the two of you sitting together in the classroom, but moments like these make you want to find that person and rip their hair out. Because in what universe should you have to argue with Jeon Wonwoo while his shoulder is literally touching yours?

It’s stupid, unethical, and every other derogatory term you can come up with, but most of all, it’s making it hard to focus. Obviously, it’s not about him, it’s about the closeness itself. You think. Probably.

You lean a bit to your left so you can actually think of a response, but end up sighing and asking a question instead.

“So you’re saying conflicts are inevitable?”

He tongues his cheek – a sign that he’s in deep thought – and bumps his elbow into you again. An accident, probably, but it catches your attention nevertheless.

“I’m saying disagreements become conflicts because we can’t handle our emotions. It’s not differences that are the problem, it’s our way of handling them.”

And there it is — that twinkle in his eyes that signalizes he knows he’s won. You know it, too, from the way he leans back into his chair and your words die down in your throat and the professor nods his head approvingly. Still, you wish he wouldn’t be so fucking happy about it.

“Asshole,” you mumble only loud enough for him to hear as you sink back into the chair.

He chuckles and you feel your insides turn. God, he’s annoying. Super annoying.

Especially when he leans a bit to your side of the desk, face a lot closer to yours than it needs to be when he whispers, “Good job.”

You glare at his soft expression, your own face heating up in something resembling embarrassment.

“No need to gloat about your success, dickhead.”

“I’m not gloating,” he frowns, the smile slowly fading from his face.

“Sure you aren’t. You’re just kindly reminding me that you’re better than me.”

“That’s not what– That’s not true.”

His voice falters, and he leans back in his chair and taps his pen against the desk. You scoff at him, but it’s nowhere as threatening as you’d like it to be — thrown off by the quiver in his tone.

“It is true,” you whisper, more to yourself, and avert your gaze from him.

The professor picks up where he left off, and you let your thoughts scatter and eyes drift closed. It’s been a long day, you think. Thankfully, the professor’s got you and Wonwoo placed in the back, and so he doesn’t notice it when you manage to fall asleep in your chair, head falling to the side.

Wonwoo notices, though. Your cheek squished against your shoulder, hair in your face. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep in class, and he should probably start scolding you for it, but seeing your under eye bags and hearing your tired voice makes something turn unpleasantly in his stomach. And so he lets you sleep.

(It’s all because of his perceptiveness.

You know about this trait of his, and it’s awful. How he hands you a pen when you’ve forgotten your own without you having to ask for it. How he knows when to shut up during an argument, because your face tells him he’s won. How he never feels the need to embarrass you, or anyone, for that matter.

He’s a good person in and out, and you hate him for it.)

It’s not before the class is nearing its end that Wonwoo decides to wake you.

“Y/N,” you feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake, and then a deep voice hits your ears. Wonwoo’s voice, you realize instantly, and then criticize your heart for jumping at the thought. “You might wanna wake up for this.”

“Huh?”

Wonwoo’s smiling at you softly, and you sit up straight, confused. At least until you see your professor clutching his phone against his ear, muttering aggressively.

“His wife called,” Wonwoo explains in a hushed tone, leaning towards you so you hear him better. “I feel kinda bad for the guy. She doesn’t seem to like him very much.”

You rub your eyes and yawn, then realize Wonwoo is sitting right there, and clear your throat.

“Maybe he’s an asshole.”

“Maybe,” he turns to look at you. “Girls like assholes, though, don’t they?

Your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily. You’re not sure whether it’s from the question or from the way he’s looking at you – like he’s already got you all figured out – but it’s making you nervous. All of it, him. And now that you’re discussing a topic you’re not certain about, it shows.

You chuckle nervously, “Where’d you get that from?”

“You, mostly.”

“Excuse me?”

He offers you a smile, one that you subconsciously accept by feeling your insides turn to mush. This has got to be the longest you’ve spoken to him without mutual friends around, and without arguing. Truthfully, you don’t hate it. You’d never have thought that this would be the topic of your first ever civil conversation, though.

“Minghao? Seungkwan? Your type’s pretty obvious.”

“Do you spy on me or something?” you ask, a little baffled he knows the names of your previous boyfriends. You weren’t hiding it or anything, but Wonwoo’s never shown much interest in you outside of class. “Plus, that was months ago.”

He fixes his glasses and tilts his head to the side.

“Yeah? And what type of guys do you like now?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die down in your throat. Not assholes, you could say. He’s sparked your curiosity, though — what type of guys do you like now? Because you know for a fact that you’re done with assholes, which is why you’ve been trying your hardest to classify Wonwoo as one up until now.

“I–”

You’re saved from answering his question by your professor, who’s successfully hung up on his wife and is now announcing that class is over.

A sigh of relief escapes past your lips — another thing that doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo, but he doesn’t push. He simply gathers his stuff, his pen that you borrowed included, and slings his bag over his shoulder. You smile at him, softly, a little hesitantly, because it feels right to do so.

His glasses rest at the tip of his nose as he stands up and says, “See you around, Y/N.”

Then, he walks off and you no longer fight the smile that makes its way to your face.

—

“Okay, so I think we all know why this meeting is being held.”

This is the first thing Soonyoung says as he sits down by the round table in the cafeteria, latte almost spilling out of his cup. You and Minjeong perch up in curiosity, and she puts her phone away in favor of commenting Soonyoung’s poor word choices.

“Meeting? It’s our lunch break, dude.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes at Minjeong who snickers. “This lunch break is being held because–”

“–Because we need to eat?” you raise a brow.

“Y/N, you are literally in no position to act all smart right now. It’s you that we need to talk about.”

“Me?”

You look to Minjeong, but she only shrugs, meaning that this is a Soonyoung thing. You try racking your brain to find what the hell he might want to discuss, but nothing comes to you. Not even when Soonyoung offers you one of his signature smirks that signalize he’s up to no good.

“You, and hot nerd Jeon Wonwoo.”

Your mouth falls open in genuine shock. “Wonwoo?”

“Did you just call him ‘hot nerd’?” Minjeong slaps her hand over her mouth as she laughs, but stops when she sees you glaring at her. “Damn, okay, someone’s defensive.”

“Yes, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung leans over the table, hands together on the table like some sort of Hollywood detective. “What’s the deal with you and him?”

“What deal?” you look to the side for some help, but all Minjeong offers you is a smirk. She’s enjoying this a little too much for your liking. “Why are you looking at me like that? There’s no deal. We don’t get along, that’s all.”

“You sure looked like you got along yesterday,” Soonyoung giggles like a little schoolgirl, and you feel your face heating up. Of course he noticed, even though you barely talked with Wonwoo for three minutes. “Also, have you seen how he looks at you?”

“Like he wants to kill me?”

“Like he wants to kiss you. You’re mistaking passion for hate, babe. Or maybe you’re just pretending, because there’s no way you’re not seeing how cute you are together.”

“Me and Wonwoo?” you ask again, incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way.”

“You have to admit, he’s pretty hot,” Minjeong cuts in. “Plus, you guys have, like, undeniable chemistry.”

“The only chemistry me and him share is the class. Which already sucks enough.”

“You know what they say, denial is a river in egypt.”

“Nobody says that, Minjeong,” you glare at her, deciding that it’s better to get out of here before you start doubting yourself. “Anyway, I gotta go to class, so get those Wonwoo delusions out of your heads, okay? Because that’s what this is — delusion.”

“Funny you had to clarify that.”

“Just because you’re insufferable,” you send them a painfully fake smile and grab your things so you can walk away, almost missing the words Soonyoung mutters under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

—

Usually, you can’t be found in the university’s backyard ripping your hair, but usually, you also don’t fail your chemistry exams.

You might be acting a tad bit dramatic, running out of class and sitting down on the grass with your back pressed against the stone cold wall to cool off, but that’s something to worry about later. Right now you’re just focused on feeling sorry for yourself. Which you are. To a very high degree.

“Are you okay?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion to your self-wallowing, turning around only to be met with a familiar face. His glasses are high up on his nose and his hair is neat, smile lines nowhere to be seen.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, a bit embarrassed that he’s seeing you in this state, especially when he looks so put together. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I read here every free period,” he says, frowning. “It’s you that should be in class right now.”

“Do you have my schedule memorized or something?” you look at him accusingly, pulling your legs closer to your chest for comfort. “Anyway, I’m just sitting here.”

Wonwoo’s silent for a moment, pondering on what to do, and then he takes a step in your direction. You don’t run away or protest, so he takes another one and another one until he’s close enough to sink down on the grass next to you.

“You look more like you’re drowning in sadness.”

“Yeah, well, I failed an exam, so,” you say and hand him the paper your hands gripped just a moment ago — your test with every mistake highlighted in red. The whole sheet might’ve just been red at this point, you think.

He examines it, brows furrowed, then hands it back. “Chemistry? I thought you were good at that, though.”

Your heart falters in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. That’s why I’m fucking sad.”

You don’t mean for it to sound so angry, but it comes out harsh and bitter. It’s nothing like Wonwoo’s used to hearing you speak. And what comes after shocks him even more — the tears that well up in your eyes and then fall, he can see them even as you turn away from him, perhaps in fear of judgement.

“Wait,” he says, a little dumbfounded. “Are you crying?”

It’s a stupid question, but his tone isn’t judging. Still, it doesn't ease anything — you feel like you’re about to explode. And what’s worse is that he’s here, Jeon Wonwoo, of all people, watching you cry over something so miniscule that he probably can’t even relate to. You’re not sure why it bothers you so much that he’s seeing you in this state, but it does, it really does bother you, so much you feel like you might die.

“Yes, I’m crying, Wonwoo,” you say, wiping your cheeks to your best ability. “Jesus christ. I did badly on a test, so I already feel like shit, and then you always have to come up to me with those stupid comments of yours.”

He blinks in surprise from behind his glasses, and even through your bitterness, you think to yourself that he looks cute like that — confused, for the very first time. At least it’s the very first time you are seeing him like this. But, to be fair, this is his very first time seeing you like this, too.

“I thought you liked it when I'm mean to you, though,” he says finally, and you look at him in disbelief.

“Wonwoo, are you seriously just here to imply I have a degradation kink?”

He remains silent for a minute, hesitating.

“Great.”

You laugh through the tears that have now stopped falling, and Wonwoo exhales in something that resembles relief. His gaze is still set on you, unrelenting, like he’s still trying to put together the puzzle. Does he want to leave?

A part of you hopes he won’t. Because despite that it’s a bit embarrassing, you could use someone to talk to right now. Even if it’s just so you can get your frustration out somehow.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “I didn't mean it like that. I never do.”

You meet his gaze – soft eyes that remain otherwise unreadable – and let out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You kick one of the stones in front of you, and watch it bounce a couple of times before it settles a little further away. Wonwoo doesn’t leave, even though you’re giving no signs of continuing the conversation. He just sits there, shoulder a centimeter or two from yours, and listens to both your breaths. Both uneven — his is nervous, while yours is upset.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says finally, catching you off guard just enough for you to turn in his direction again. “If I ever cross the line, tell me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He bites his lip awkwardly as you feel your heart dropping to your stomach. It’s silent for a while, the back of your throat burning — threatening that you might start crying again if you say something now.

He pushes his glasses further up his nose, and that’s when you decide to take the leap. Leap meaning that you lean forward to engulf him in a hug, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

It catches him off guard, you can tell. His muscles tense, breath caught up in his throat and your own heart beats so fast you think you might die. But it feels nice, hugging him. And it feels even nicer when he wraps his arms around you, too, albeit hesitantly.

You stay like that, bathing in his scent – peach and jasmine with a hint of something you can’t quite identify – and somehow, you feel at peace. The test is still at the back of your head, obviously, bugging you, but it’s faint compared to Wonwoo and his hand that begins to slowly stroke your hair.

“Thank you.”

The words are whispered into the crook of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

They’re so quiet he barely hears them, might’ve mistaken them for a hiccup hadn’t he paid complete attention, but he is. He is paying attention. To how your muscles loosen up in his arms and there are no longer tears soaking through his shirt; how his own heart beats a little faster than usual; how he’s so painfully aware of the fact that talking to you only makes him like you more.

More meaning that he’s afraid he might be advancing from the useless crush he’d developed watching you argue with him during class. Advancing into uncharted territory that he’s never even intended exploring. Though he supposes he sabotaged himself by approaching you today.

“It’s nothing.”

But it’s a lie. It is something — the butterflies in your stomach or the warmth spreading across Wonwoo’s chest. Whatever you want to regard it as, it is something.

And that something settles in the very depths of your mind and his mind alike.

—

When Soonyoung announces that he’s bringing Wonwoo to come study with you and Minjeong in the library, your first instinct is to tell him you’re not coming.

Obviously, you’re embarrassed. And scared. And a million other things you can’t even begin to describe with words. He saw you crying, after all. Jeon Wonwoo, top of the class, saw you crying over a bad grade. It really doesn’t get much worse than that.

Still, you go. Mostly because you know staying at the dorm would spark questions from your nosy friends, but also because you don’t want Wonwoo thinking you’re avoiding him. Or else he’s going to think you care — which, essentially, you do. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Do you think Wonwoo will laugh at me if I get the questions wrong?” Minjeong asks as you stand outside the door to the library, her hand on the handle.

“No,” you say. “He’s not like that.”

She opens the door, and you walk inside, met with the smell of books. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are sitting by the chess boards, talking, and you feel something turn in your stomach. Is it too late to leave now? Judging by Minjeong’s worried face, she isn’t so keen on being here either. Maybe you could both just go home.

Yet when she bites her lip and asks, “Are you sure?”, you can’t bring yourself to lie just so you won’t have to face him.

“Yeah. You should ask him to teach you if you don’t understand something, you know. Better to feel a little embarrassed than to fail an exam.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Just as she says this, Soonyoung catches your gaze and waves eagerly, urging you and Minjeong to come closer. He whispers something to Wonwoo, and he, too, turns to smile in your direction.

“Guess there’s no backing out now,” Minjeong giggles and you nod your head. There really isn’t.

The two of you make your way to the table where the boys are sitting and pick your chairs. Minjeong’s quick to sit next to Soonyoung, so you’re left with no other option but to plop down on the chair closest to Wonwoo. Normally, that would’ve only mildly annoyed you, but now, three days after he saw you bawling your eyes out, you can feel your heartbeat speed up vastly.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says and you almost jump. You’re not sure why, but you hadn’t expected him to speak to you first.

“Hi,” you reply and try smiling at him. Thankfully, he smiles, too. “What are you guys studying?”

“Chemistry,” he says, and upon seeing you wince, he’s quick to add, “‘Cause Soonyoung’s struggling with it. He asked me to teach him.”

You have to bite back a smile at his worried tone. “Ah, I see.”

He fixes his glasses, and clears his throat.

“It’s a really tricky subject, though, so I understand why you– uh, he, finds it troublesome.”

“Right,” you nod your head with a giggle, and you can almost feel Soonyoung’s stare burning into your side. It’s fine, though, because now, Wonwoo looks the slightest bit more relaxed.

You pull out your notebooks and textbook along with a coffee you’d made earlier, and when Wonwoo says your notes look pretty, you can’t help but grin. You kind of wish he weren’t so nice to you, but it doesn’t make you feel awkward, so you suppose you don’t have much room to complain.

It’s probably just reality catching up to you that’s making you nervous — the fact that he’s not so argumentative outside of class, and that you definitely felt something pull at the very bottom of your heart that day you failed the exam. That, and how the feeling isn’t giving any signs of leaving soon.

You let those thoughts wander as you start making notes, and soon enough, even Soonyoung goes quiet, occupied by his own stuff. It stays like that for a while, and at some point, Wonwoo’s knee bumps into yours. Warmth spreads all across you and you look at him.

“Sorry,” he whispers apologetically, retracting his leg, and the warmth subsides. In return you send him a smile in which you hope he can’t glimpse your slight – and unsettling – disappointment.

“It’s okay.”

And then it’s silent again, your body painfully aware of the fact that if you lean your leg a bit to the right you’ll touch Wonwoo. It’s not like you want to touch him, at least you don’t think you do, but the awareness is slightly nerve-wracking for some unknown reason. Everything about him is.

“Wonwoo,” Minjeong says, breaking the silence, making both his and your heads shoot up to look at her. “Y/N told me you could help me if I asked, so… I was wondering if you could explain biomolecules to me.”

“Of course.”

A quick smile flashes in your direction and then he’s leaning over the table to help Minjeong. His fingers follow the illustrations in her textbook and he starts talking — something about structure, you think. You listen intently, and it makes sense even though you’ve barely started the chapter, but you can’t bring yourself to take notes of what he’s saying. Can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off of him.

You wonder silently if he always was this handsome. You try to think of the times you spoke to him in class before, but it’s hard to recall his face in any other form than what your eyes meet now — focused gaze, lips moving to the rhythm of his voice. His glasses are slowly sliding down his nose, and you feel an immeasurable urge to push them up, but he beats you to it.

“Basically, they’re essential for cell division to happen,” he says, and you lean forward to look at the picture he’s pointing to.

Your shoulder bumps into his and he turns to the side. You notice, but don’t react in fear that you’ll just end up giggling like a schoolgirl. Instead, you pretend to read some of the text in the book.

Wonwoo picks up where he left off, voice a little hoarser than before, but you don’t move. Neither does he.

“Can you say that again?” you ask after he says something you don’t understand.

He repeats with his head turned in your direction, and your eyes drift down to his lips. You don’t want them to, it just happens, your stomach tying into a tight knot. You’re almost entirely sure nobody is supposed to look this hot while talking about biomolecules. Or was it morphogenesis? You honestly don’t know.

You don’t know why you feel like this with him of all people. Truly, there could be a lot of factors playing into it. The fact that he’s a smooth talker; the fact that he’s both intelligent and knowledgeable; the fact that you’ve grown to know him — what makes his blood boil and what makes him chuckle; the fact that he’s a constant in a sea of variables.

Maybe that last point especially. That even when everything else goes to hell, the moment you step into social anthropology class, he’s always there. Always willing to entertain you with, albeit sometimes pointless, banter.

You don’t even know what this is, though. Feeling your head spin when you look at him, having mini heart attacks when he says your name — are these the signs of you going insane? It could very well be that, you think. Insanity feels like the right word to explain your state right now.

“Y/N,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You listening?”

Your eyes drift back to his own, and you swear you see a glimpse of amusement playing in his gaze when you mumble a quiet “Yeah.”

Suddenly very aware of Soonyoung and Minjeong’s presence, as well as Wonwoo’s burning stare, you stand up, dusting off your clothes.

“I just need some fresh air,” you offer as an explanation.

“Mind if I join?”

You look at Wonwoo in disbelief as he asks the question. What the fuck? You don’t mind – at least in the sense that implies you don’t like his company – but it’s the same issue again; he makes you nervous. Goodbye to going for a relaxing walk, you suppose. And goodbye to whatever left there is of your sanity.

After what seems like hours of overthinking, you decide to get your shit together and send him a smile paired with a nod. Minjeong raises a brow in your direction, but doesn’t inquire further and internally you thank her for that. You’re not sure what you would’ve told her if she asked.

You and Wonwoo leave the library together, shoulders close together just like when you were sitting, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks as you leave the building. “You seem a little dazed.”

The air is still cold, though winter is nearing its end and spring is slipping through the cracks. You pull your jacket closer to your body in hopes of both warming yourself up and slowing down your heartbeat, but it only fulfills one of those wishes, leaving you to deal with the latter yourself.

“I’m alright,” you respond with a soft smile. “Thank you for helping Minjeong, by the way. You’re a great teacher.”

Wonwoo’s smile lines shyly make an appearance. “Thanks. I’ve been thinking about becoming a real one, actually.”

You stop walking and turn your head in disbelief. Somehow, you didn’t expect that answer. Wonwoo was always a diligent student, but now that you come to think of it, he never really talked about his plans for the future, or what he wanted to do with his degree in chemical engineering.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” his cheeks redden ever so slightly. “Teaching chemistry honestly doesn’t sound that bad.”

You take a moment to think it through — him, in a suit and those glasses that fall down his nose, teaching kids about biomolecules. The idea is foreign, and yet, it fits just right.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Professor Jeon, huh? It would suit you.”

He lets out a snort of laughter that sounds nothing like the small chuckles you’d hear from him during class. But it sounds nice, this loud laughter and you bathe in it for as long as it lasts. You’re starting to enjoy this whole ‘being kind to each other’ thing. Suits you better than yelling about something stupid in class. It suits him better, too.

Content with everything, you begin walking again and he follows suit. The grass is a little wet from yesterday’s rain and outgrown as it is, it tickles your ankles. It might’ve been mildly annoying if you weren’t so stupidly happy for whatever reason.

Whatever reason being Wonwoo, of course. You might be bad at chemistry, but you like to think you’re not dumb — at least not in an oblivious way. It’s become quite obvious, you think, that you like him.

The thought partly makes you want to kick your feet in the air and partly, it makes you want to rip your hair out. You like Wonwoo. It’s something so unexpected it makes you feel very bare as you stand there on the grass outside of your university, with your cold hands buried in the pockets of your jacket and Wonwoo’s eyes glimmering in the faint sunlight.

You like him. God, it feels weird to admit.

“About that day…” Wonwoo’s voice brings you back to reality, and you take a second to register what he’s saying.

“I freaked you out, didn’t I?” you ask.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he looks away and sighs softly, only to look directly at you the next second. “I just wanted to make sure you remember that one mistake doesn’t make you a failure. I should’ve said it earlier, but that day I was a bit… taken aback, I suppose. Not by the crying, obviously, but by the whole situation. And you.”

“Me,” you repeat, tasting the word on your tongue. Your heart starts beating a little faster, despite your best efforts at staying calm. He’s just talking after all; it’s not like this is some sort of love confession.

“Not in a bad way. Just in a new way,” he’s quick to assure you and you feel your heart swell in your chest.

“New. You make it sound so pretty.”

You laugh a bit, looking down on your hands. It. Does he even know what you mean? Does he know you’re talking about the fact that you’re slowly but surely starting to fall in love with him? Or is he just talking about seeing you vulnerable the other day?

“What would you call it?” he asks and you can’t stop your gaze from drifting back to him.

“I don’t know, confusing? And kind of insane.”

You swear his eyes drop to your lips for a mere second at that. He doesn’t say anything, just walks by you in silence, and it drives you crazy. You wish he’d say something – anything – just so you’d know if you’re even on the same page, but you don’t rush him.

Finally, he smiles at you.

“If insanity is losing control, then yes, I suppose I’m going insane. But it doesn’t feel all that insane to me.”

His eyes crinkle, soft streaks of sun painted across his face and you almost sigh. In delight, relief, or maybe fear, you’re not sure, but it’s those words, you think, that will linger. Those are the types of words to never abandon your mind, you’re sure of it.

“Did you rehearse this in front of the mirror or something?” you scoff at him, heart heavy in your chest.

He only laughs, and the sound stays in the air for a long time after you’ve left.

—

To say you were shocked to see Jeon Wonwoo sitting outside of his dorm with his head in his hands would be a major understatement.

You had grown closer to him in the past weeks — walking shoulder to shoulder around campus; him helping you with your homework — it all would’ve seemed unlikely had someone proposed the idea to you a month prior, but now, you had grown to truly enjoy his company. And he enjoyed yours, too.

In some ways, it stayed normal.

Comments and half-mean, half-endearing remarks remained untouched; what didn’t was your heart. It seems to be working against you at all times, beating too quickly when Wonwoo unexpectedly smiled in your direction, and dropping down to your stomach in fear whenever you saw him tippling over in emotion, only for the feeling to fade to the sound of his laugh.

This time, though, it doesn’t fade, only intensifies as you hear him curse under his breath.

“Wonwoo?” you try, and his shoulders tense ever so slightly.

You watch as he sighs, rubbing his eyes, then sits up straight, back against the wall. He doesn’t respond, even as his eyes, frail as ever, look into yours. They’re a bit darker than usual, and his lashes flutter as he blinks up at you.

There’s no one in the hallway, as if this part of the school emptied just to grant you a moment of privacy; a deciding moment, something in your stomach tells you.

“What’s happened?” you ask softly, quietly, unsure of what else to do with this obviously unhappy Jeon Wonwoo that’s sitting on the ground in front of you.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles in response, leaning on his arms to stand up. “Just some school stuff.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, but you call his bullshit. You don’t necessarily doubt the genuinity of his smile, but the way he said it makes you think there is something that happened.

Taking a step in his direction, you nudge him with your elbow.

“What, the golden boy failed a test for the first time in his life?”

His eyes change at that — soft crinkles appearing at the very edges of them. His shoulders relax, too, and though it’s barely visible, you see it clearly. The air feels a lot lighter when he tongues his cheek and nudges you back.

“You sure run your mouth a lot, Y/N,” he grins and you feel butterflies flapping around in the very pits of your stomach. Then the smile fades to be replaced with a faux scolding look as he says, “I suggest you stop.”

You move to stand right in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. He’s taller, and you have to tilt your chin to look him right in the eyes as you giggle with a hint of playfulness in your gaze.

“Or what?”

He sees the smile playing on your face, the giddiness in your tone, and his heart bangs loudly against his chest. You look gorgeous today — well, that’s nothing new but it never ceases to amaze him how you can look prettier for each day that goes by.

Is this it? Is this when he’s supposed to make a move, like Soonyoung told him to? What does even ‘make a move’ mean, exactly?

He supposes it varies — just like the value of variables in the equations he solves so often.

Then how come he can’t solve this one?

You’re still standing there, looking at him without a care in the world, and he thinks that he’d never forgive himself if he screwed this up. At the same time, it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to run away from him, and so perhaps making a move doesn’t sound so stupid right now.

“Or,” he starts, and lets his eyes glide down to your lips for a moment to test the waters. You don’t scream in fear, and he takes it as a good sign. “I’m gonna have to make you.”

You giggle. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that, big boy?”

He feels his stomach turning upside down, squeezed by some invisible force and he has to remind himself to breathe. Is he really going through with this? Don’t start something you can’t end, Soonyoung would probably tell him. For once listening to his advice seems reasonable.

“Like this.”

And before he can even think of backing out, he brings the palms of his hands to cup your face and leans down, placing his lips against yours.

Taken aback, you let out a startled noise, eyes growing wide. He hesitates upon seeing your reaction, about to pull away when you finally kiss him back, tongue swiping over his lower lip ever so slightly.

A groan. Then, he’s bringing his hand to the back of your head and pulling you towards him, kissing you until your head starts to spin, and kissing you through that, too.

Your arms hold onto his shoulders for support, cheek leaning into his touch. Your noses touch clumsily; teeth clash when you open your mouth to let him explore it. Still, it feels like heaven and you can’t bring yourself to pull away for a breath.

Wonwoo, though, the more sensible one of you two, pulls back after a while, a smile on his lips and breath ragged.

You look at him — waiting for him to pick up where he left off, but he doesn’t move.

“That’s it?” you ask, and for a brief moment, all color drains from Wonwoo’s face. Did you not like it? Did he do something wrong?

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to leave me hanging like that?”

Your lip pulled between your teeth, you look at home expectantly, heart still hammering against your ribs. Truly, it’s not just about wanting more – though that plays a part in it, too – it’s also about whether this was a one-time-thing.

“Was it not enough for you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side after he’s calmed his racing heart.

“Considering I’ve been waiting for this, like, a month,” you say. “not really, no.”

He smiles down on you — that same smile that makes you weak in the knees, and you know there’s no turning back now. Not that there ever was.

“I think you’re a bit greedy,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting for half a year, and yet, I still have some self control left.”

“I never had any in the first place.”

And with that, you pull him close for another kiss.

He doesn’t protest, opening his mouth and sucking on your tongue. His hands move down to your waist this time, pulling your body flush against his. You’ve never experienced being in such close proximity with him, and yet, you don’t feel all that nervous. It all slips away with his soft touches.

Your hands in his hair — it feels foreign, but he likes that feeling, gets drunk on it. But it’s some kind of reversed intoxication; he doesn’t feel faint; if anything, he’s feeling more sober than ever before as he bathes in your taste, your scent, you. This must be what love feels like, he thinks. This must be it, or else he’s certain he’ll never know love. If this isn’t it, he doesn’t want to know love.

He hopes you’re at least feeling a fraction of what he’s feeling as he pushes you gently against the wall, hands roaming your body. You do the same, holding onto him like he’s your lifeline, tugging at the strands of hair available to you.

So caught up in this feeling of bliss, you don’t even notice how you’re not alone with Wonwoo anymore until you hear laughter from a group of bypassing students.

“Get a room,” someone says and you pull away from Wonwoo immediately, face hot with embarrassment.

He doesn’t appear shaken, though — rather, you glimpse the shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he urges the students to leave. Just as you’re about to ask what he’s smiling about, his fingers close around your wrist and he pulls you along the hallway. He’s all rushed steps until you reach the nearest classroom that turns out to be empty, and he walks inside, dragging you with him.

Upon closing the door behind him, Wonwoo drags you into his chest. You look up at him, his inquiring gaze that asks for permission, and smile.

“Are you sure?” he asks and your grin turns teasing.

“Sure about what, Woo?”

He tongues his cheek, unsure of what to say. You’re just plain teasing him – that much is obvious – so he supposes he can give the same energy back.

“Sure that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re taken aback, though perhaps you shouldn’t be, considering how you set yourself up for this with your question. Still, your breath catches in your throat and your hand holds onto one of the nearby desks for stability as you face him. Wonwoo looks different now, to some extent; maybe it’s the lighting that gives his eyes a different glow, or maybe it’s how the air has suddenly become swollen with tension.

Whatever the cause, it excites you to no end, the way he’s looking at you when you take his hand in yours. Like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

At that, he pulls you impossibly closer. He takes off his glasses in a manner that you in a drunken state would’ve most likely called seductive, and throws them away somewhere you can’t see, too busy kissing him back when his lips crash into yours for the nth time today. He kisses you so hard it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and all thoughts out of your brain.

Mouth open, you let his tongue explore it and simultaneously, you allow him to walk you further into the classroom, until the back of your thighs hit one of the desks. Standing between your legs, he pushes your shirt up so his fingers can graze the bare skin underneath, and you sigh in content.

Before you know it, he’s pulling away to peel off your shirt and bra, leaving you bare in front of him.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours again.

You smile into the kiss, goosebumps spreading over your skin with the touches of his fingers that glide further up your thigh, until they slip under your skirt. Knuckles running over your soaked panties, he bites your lip and you let out a delighted moan.

“You’re so wet,” he comments as he slips a finger under your panties, running it through your folds. You can already feel another flood of arousal approaching just because of his words. “Won’t even need to prep you, huh?”

You desperately shake your head no, and he chuckles.

He lays his palm flat against your clit and you squirm until he retracts it. Playfulness in his gaze, he smears your arousal all over your cunt, ignoring your whines. This takes him at least half a minute before he finally – upon hearing you whimper his name in a way that makes his pants a whole lot tighter all of a sudden – gives in and slides one of his fingers into your pussy.

You throw your head back with a whimper, holding onto his shoulder as he starts pumping it in and out of you, noises caused by the movement filling the air.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as he adds another one, your cunt tightening around his digits endlessly.

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder which is an immense contrast to how he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot that makes your toes curl. He plunges his digits in and out of your hole as his thumb circles your clit, until you’re moaning loudly — despite how little time has really passed.

It’s in utter shock that you watch him retract his hand completely, sucking the arousal from his fingers with a smile.

“Wha–” is all you manage to say before he flips you over, bending you over the desk.

You’re painfully aware of how bare you are in front of him — your naked cunt on display, because your skirt doesn’t do much to cover anything at all, and your tits pressed against the wood of the desk. Plus the fact that the locked door won’t do much good if someone is to have class in this room next period. Which would be in about thirty minutes.

Not that you care. Or, essentially, you do care, but now it doesn’t really matter — besides, you’re certain that Wonwoo would’ve managed to come up with some sort of excuse had you been forced to open the door for some frustrated professor.

Amidst your thoughts, you almost fail to hear the sound of Wonwoo unclasping his belt. Almost. But when you do hear it, something turns pleasantly in your stomach.

“You gonna be good for me and stay quiet?” Wonwoo asks and you feel his hands move to hold your hips, cock positioned at your entrance.

You mumble something in affirmation, something you’re not even sure you can hear yourself, and spread your legs to urge him on. You feel his cock prod at your soaked cunt, run through your folds languidly; again and again, until you’re whining his name in protest.

He only chuckles at your behavior, and asks, albeit teasingly, “What did you say?”

Gathering your thoughts, you try your best to ignore the way he’s dragging his dick over your pussy, occasionally rubbing over your clit.

“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Wonwoo.”

Pleased with this response, he finally enters you — cock stretching you open and making you cry out, holding onto the desk for support. He’s big, you realize, tears prodding at your eyes as he bottoms out.

“Yeah? Gonna be my good girl?”

You nod and nod, fingers turning white from how you’re gripping the wooden desk once he starts moving — in languid strokes, he manages to turn your moans louder and louder.

His hands hold onto your hips, pushing them against him so you’re further impaled on his cock with each thrust, and you swear you feel him all the way in your stomach. It’s a good feeling, one you can barely register fully with the way your mind’s gone hazy.

You hardly notice it when one of his hands lets go of your hips and comes up to your lips, fingers tapping at your chin as a signal to open your mouth. When you do, he slips two digits inside and you suck on them obediently, tightening around his cock.

Wonwoo smiles.

“Thought I told you to be quiet, baby.”

In all honesty, he loves the nosies you’re making, but he can’t risk someone starting to bang on the door before he’s got you falling apart completely. Besides, the sight of you sucking on his fingers is just as pleasing; just as effective in making his cock twitch in your cunt.

Your walls suck him in perfectly, the sound of him gliding in and out of your pussy loud in the empty classroom. His thrusts grow gradually harder; the desk starts moving in rhythm with them, and you can’t help letting out moans and whimpers that his digits in your mouth do a poor job of concealing.

He realizes this, and decides on removing his fingers so they can grab at your hair instead, pulling your back closer to his chest. Your tits bounce with his movements, and he plays with them briefly, groaning as your pussy clamps down on him especially hard at that, but then his hand moves between your legs to tend to your clit.

He rubs it in circles, granting you an occasional pinch or slap that makes you cry out, and you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter.

“Feels so good, Wonwoo,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as his fingers abuse your swollen clit.

“I know, baby.”

Barely coherent, you beg him not to stop, and he wonders whatever even prompted you to think that he might want to stop. He only fucks into you harder, hand on your hips to steady the thrusts that bring you closer and closer to coming.

“Wonwoo,” you say. “So close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a slut?”

You nod, though he probably doesn't see, and he pulls you even closer, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight in front of him. And to think he could’ve had this earlier had he taken the chance. You in the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, moaning his name like you don’t care if anyone hears — he honestly thinks he might be in heaven.

“Good girl,” he groans, and that’s what sends you over the edge, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you reach your orgasm. “Good fucking girl.”

He comes less than five seconds later, buried deep inside of you as his cum coats your walls. You whimper at the overstimulation of his last thrusts, collapsing on top of the desk when he pulls out.

He’s careful not to hurt you, but you still wince slightly, which prompts him to ask you if you’re okay.

“Never better,” you reply, and as soon as you say it, you realize it’s true.

Wonwoo smiles. He helps you clean up – repeatedly apologizing that he’s wiping you clean with the paper by the classroom sink, even though you tell him it’s fine – and puts his glasses on again. It kind of makes you wish he’d never taken them off, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. Your opinion about his beauty is something you’ll keep to yourself for now.

You get ready to leave just as someone knocks on the door, and Wonwoo opens it for a very flustered professor that tells you he’s sorry for interrupting. Wonwoo tries telling him it’s not like that – though it definitely is like that, and the blush coating his cheeks does nothing to hide it – and finally, you’re in the hallway, free.

“Poor guy,” you comment, a smile playing on your lips.

Wonwoo sighs. “Tell me about it. And here I was, thinking we’d gotten lucky.”

“I think we did get lucky, though.”

You say this without thinking it through, but from the way Wonwoo’s eyes light up, you’re glad you didn’t.

Suddenly, the doors to all classrooms in the hallway open and out come tired students, marking the start of the next period. Which you’re supposed to spend in biology.

You sigh, and Wonwoo seems to get it, because he tells you to leave for class.

“By the way, Y/N,” Wonwoo says just as you’re about to leave. Something in his gaze tells you this isn’t just a ‘by the way’ thing. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m really in love with you. And I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

“Well, you’re in luck, mister,” you kiss his jaw with a grin. “Because it so happens that I’m in love with you, too. And I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

TAGLIST: @just-here-to-read-01 @syn-hhj @nikkell @dollyji

#wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #wonwoo x reader

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slut-for-evans-stan · 1 year ago

Text

Mission Accomplished

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k+

Summary: Ben and you can't stay in the same room without wanting to rip each other's hearts out. The Boys, tired of dealing with you, decide to take matters into their own hands by tricking you two into completing your most crucial mission yet— resolving your problems. One thing leads to another and you discover that there was an easier, much more enjoyable method to resolve everything between you all along. (I'm sorry I suck at summaries.)

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (18+), Enemies to Lovers, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy, Dirty talk, oral (m+f rec), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), hate fucking!? (kind of), rough sex, swearing, choking, squirting, creampie.

a/n: this is my very first time writing smut. Not proofread, please pardon me for errors if any! I tried my best :')

I'd really appreciate if you could like, comment and/or reblog, it'll make me really happy <3

Being a Supe with extraordinary powers didn't mean you were ready to exploit people for clout, with how things were at Vought. So when Starlight and Hughie learnt that you declined Ashley's offer to have you join the Seven, they convinced you to join hands with The Boys to ensure that the arrogant liars claiming to be "Saviours of the World" got what they deserved. Despite feeling a bit unwelcome at first due to Butcher's distant behaviour, you quickly settled in and felt accepted, and connected to everyone in the team, everyone except the newest member to join forces with you all to help in taking down Homelander and others; Soldier Boy.

In the dimly lit room, stood Soldier Boy in his silk robe, a cigarette in one hand, one leg on the bed, the other supporting his weight on the floor; his back facing the door. Upon hearing a soft knock, he turned around with a smug grin on his face. He began,

"Well, hello there gorgeous! You've sure kept me waiting long enough for someone who made eager promises to choke on my dick."

Unamused, and somewhat disgusted by his comment, you shot him a stern look,

"I'm not here for your entertainment, I need to run a few tests on you. So it'll be nice if you'll please spare a few minutes before you run off to get your dick wet. We need to be sure that you're not going to explode and kill us all."

Soldier Boy's smirk echoed through his room as he eyed you with an amazed expression. Undeterred, he sauntered over to you, leaning in and mistaking your seriousness for a mere challenge.

"Sure. Whatever it is, let's get it over with. Maybe after this, you and I could-"

You cut him off with an icy glare

"Save the charm for someone who cares. I don't have time for this bullshit, we've a mission coming up."

From your very first meeting that started with a misunderstanding, it would've been an understatement to say that Soldier Boy annoyed every living cell in your body. You were both constantly arguing and bickering about something or the other, always at each other's throats.

Soldier Boy's deep, intimidating voice echoed through the room, your comment having hit a nerve.

"You know what, you're insufferable."

"At least I'm not stuck up." he shot back.

What should've been a meeting to discuss the upcoming mission, turned into yet another baseless argument between the two of you. Making your teammates uncomfortable with every passing moment. Hughie, Frankie, Kimiko and others exchanged uneasy glances as the tension thickened. You continued,

"I can't believe I've to be stuck with an unbearable asshole as you. Butcher I think I'm gonna skip this mission. Don't want us to end up in another mess like the last time."

At this point, it seemed like you were both minutes away from strangling each other. Soldier boy chuckled,

"Why, you're so intimidated by a real hero you want to hide away like a pussy?"

Eyebrows raised, you retorted, "Real hero!? More like a reckless liability. I've seen toddlers with better impulse control."

Sensing a storm brewing, Hughie spoke with a shaky voice, attempting to intervene and diffuse the situation. "Can we focus, guys? We have a mission-"

Your gaze never wavered from the supe. "I'll focus when he stops acting like he's better than everyone else. He is not the only one with superpowers here, he might be strong but he doesn't scare or intimidate me in the slightest."

Rolling his eyes, Soldier Boy muttered, "I wouldn't need to if you could follow a plan for once in your life."

Butcher commented shutting you all up "Oi. Enough! No one is backing out. You two should go fuck it out or something, whatever issues you stupid cunts have with each other. Don't need any fuck ups in the mission."

The tension spilled into the supposed battlefield, your bickering a dangerous undertone to the chaos around you. Clashing on missions, your mutual disdain fielding your actions, each vying to outdo the other. Yet beneath the surface, a spark lingered, an undeniable attraction that you both, despised and desired, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

On a particularly precarious mission, your incessant bickering almost jeopardized the entire operation.

Amidst the mayhem, you found yourself pinned down by one of the opponents, wounded and unable to use your powers, and Soldier boy reluctantly came to your rescue.

You grunted, "I didn't need your help."

He shot back, "Don't get used to it. I'm saving the mission, not your sorry ass."

Watching the scene unfold from a distance, your teammates exchanged knowing looks. After the mission, they decided they'd have enough, and decided to take matters into their own hands, realising that the unresolved tension between you two threatened not just personal dynamics but the success of missions itself.

On Butcher's suggestion, the team tricked the two of you into thinking there was another mission but instead locking you up in a safe house together,

"Sort this out, or we'll all end up as collateral damage."

warned Hughie before haphazardly shutting the door and leaving, forcing you to confront your issues, facing a choice: either talk and resolve the conflict or risk tearing each other apart. Silence filled the room. However, it was short lived.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped on the sofa across from where he sat and spoke as calmly as you could.

"Great, those little shits tricked us."

Soldier Boy scowled, "This is ridiculous. I don't need couple's therapy, I need a way out of here. I'm gonna beat the shit out of these fucknuts."

This made you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Maybe if you weren't so intolerable, we wouldn't be stuck in this situation in the first place."

As another argument filled the space, the air in the small living room of the safe house shifted. Soldier Boy's tone somewhat softened, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"You think I enjoy being like this? Constantly on edge, wondering if I'll turn into a goddamn weapon."

You sighed, your defenses momentarily crumbling.

"I didn't sign up for this either, you know. Being a supe's babysitter wasn't in my job description."

As you bickered, underlying desire simmered beneath the surface. Soldier Boy's gaze lingered a moment too long, making a very visible flush rise in your cheeks.

A smug grin playing on his lips, as he said,

"You can't resist me, can you? Admit it, there's something between us, more serious than all this bickering. You know, I think you want me-"

You cut him off, but your voice wavered. "Keep dreaming, I still can't stand you." This remark gave rise to another banter.

"Don't get over yourself. I was only pulling your leg. You're insufferable."

Accusations started flying like daggers, each word cutting deeper than the last. You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, making your way back into the living room, catching him intently staring at you. Frustration morphed into a heated exchange of longing glances.

Tension crackled in the air, and just when it seemed the room might implode, his expression shifted.

He got up from the sofa, walking over to you, cornering you till your back hit the wall. He leaned in, his eyes darkening with a growing desire, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone.

"You know what? Maybe you're right. I can't stand you, because everytime I look at you, this is all I want to do."

You arched an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Wait, what?" But before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours in a passionate kiss, making the beer bottle fall from your hands, effectively silencing any protests. You caught hold of the shirt he was wearing, kissing him back with equal fervour, savoring the moment as if it was a dream that would end all too soon. All your pent up anger and frustration showed up as the two of you desperately tore at each other clothes, never once breaking the kiss. A battle of tongues. He only pulled back for a second, with a sly grin on his face, his eyes dark, pupils dilated with glimmers of lust.

"There, no need to argue when we can do this instead. We should've figured this out sooner." Rubbing you over your panties with two of his fingers, he groaned.

"You're such a slut. So wet already and I haven't even touched you. You want to get railed till you can't walk, don't you?"

Before you had a chance to say anything, he reclaimed your lips in a hunger fuelled kiss. The room once filled with tension, now crackled with a different kind of energy. Pieces of both your clothings flew across the room. Soldier boy lifted you up and carried you to the small table in the kitchen and set you down hurriedly. The two of you continued to kiss while he rid you both of the remaining pieces of clothing. He kissed you like a mad man, biting and marking every inch of your skin he could in his desperate need to be close to you. Starting from your neck, moving to your tits, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting it while palming and squeezing the other roughly, then switching and doing the same to the other one. He moved back up to place another rough kiss to your lips, both of you moaning and biting each other's tongues and lips, intoxicated with the feeling of being so close. With an animalistic growl he parted, giving you a look so intense, it could scare the bravest of people.

"When you feel the need to scream, moan my name. Scream it as loud as you can."

With that he roughly nudged your legs apart as wide as they could go and dived right in, eating you out like man starved, licking and sucking your most sensitive parts like it was his last meal. You pulled his hair, legs shaking and trembling with pleasure. His gruff beard giving you a delicious burn, that would heal in no time. He started flicking your clit with his tongue and entered two of his fingers inside you, moving them in and out rapidly. When he added two more fingers, you lost it. Screaming his name and cumming all over his face, your legs wrapped around his head, making it impossible for him to move away.

"Fuck. Ben. I can't-"

you tried pulling away but he didn't stop even then, holding you down with his arms, making you cum two more times before finally deciding to let go. You were dazed in pleasure, but still wanted more. Jumping down the table, and on your knees, you made eye contact with him as you slowly took his long, thick and veiny cock in your hand, stroking him and giving a few kitten licks from the base to the tip and sucking off the beads of precum, moaning at the salty taste, making him groan. You then looked up at him, taking him as far as you could before pulling back again and asking him to fuck your face. He hesitated for a second but his resolve crumbled as soon as you opened your mouth, showing him you were waiting for him. He grabbed your head with both his hands and pushed himself into your mouth, roughly thrusting in and out again and again, moaning your name, cussing like a maniac. You could tell he was close, and then he held your head as close as possible, making you gag a little, his eyes closing, his head thrown back, as ropes of his cum shot down your throat.

In ragged breaths, he said "Be a good little slut and swallow it all."

As you did, you opened your mouth with your tongue out, showing no remnants of his release. He chuckled, pulling you up by your arms, surprising you with a softness in his gaze as he asked

"You sure you want to go further? If you don't, we'll stop right here and pretend this never happened-" you cut him off with an aggressive kiss "Fuck me as hard as you can. I won't break. Take all your frustrations out on me."

With that he smirked and rapidly turned you around, bending your back and shoving your face on the table with his hand, setting it for support right by your head. He entered you with one brutal thrust, making the both of you moan and groan loudly, not giving you a second to adjust as he started ramming his cock into you, hard and deep, his hips moving at an inhuman speed.

"That's it. This is what you wanted right? Now take it. I don't think I'm ever going to let you go after this. You feel so good. Gonna make you my personal little fuck toy. Such a perfect fit."

Hearing all the filth leave his mouth made you clench around him, making him throw his head back in pleasure, never once letting his pace falter.

"Ah you love this. I can tell by the way your tight pussy's choking my dick."

At this point, all rational thoughts had left your brain and all you could do was moan and revel in the pleasure he was giving you. One thing you knew for sure was that he had ruined everyone else for you. After a few moments he moved the hand on your back between your legs to rub your clit and you started screaming in pleasure, feeling yourself flying close to the edge. As soon as Ben realised how close you were, he pulled out and turned you around, lifting you on the table and onto your back, swiftly entering you again.

"I know you're close. I wanna see your face when you cum all over me."

He moved his hand back between your legs to rub your clit in circles, while his other hand moved to your neck, choking you, as he went back to thrusting at his original, rough pace. This new angle somehow making him go deeper than before, hitting that one spot that made you see stars.

"Fuck. I don't think I can last long either."

To that, you finally managed to say

"Cum with me."

which sounded more like a moan than a sentence. You both looked into each other's eyes, moaning, grabbing each other, raking your nails all over his gorgeous, broad shoulders, not breaking the eye contact once. After a particularly hard thrust, you felt a funny sensation, one that you have rarely ever felt, only while pleasing yourself and before you knew, you screamed and started squirting your release, coming undone while Ben kept thrusting into you.

"Oh yes. Fuck. That's so hot baby. Cum all over me. I don't think I'll ever get enough of the look on your face right now. I think I've finally managed to shut you up, fucked your brains out. Fuck I'm cumming."

His thrusts grew frantic, and much harder than before, kissing you roughly, your teeth clashing, and he finally slammed his hips into yours one last time, holding your hips so tight, you were sure you would bruise for atleast a few hours, despite your super healing abilities. Groaning and grunting in his deep voice as thick ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, triggering yet another release out of you, making you squirt even more. He collapsed on top of you, careful that he wasn't crushing you with his weight.

The two of you stayed like that, entangled with each other for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath, before he slowly pulled out of you, making you both wince at the sudden loss. As he walked to the living room, "That was it" you thought, a one time rendezvous with Soldier Boy that might have either helped you two or made things worse. He sauntered back in with a towel in hand, towards the sink to wet it, also filling up a glass of water and quietly walking to you, cleaning you up without a word, handing the glass for you to drink. Taking it from him, you looked at him mumbled a soft "thank you", getting down the table, you nudged him to walk out with you, sitting down on the couch and covering yourself with a blanket, while he picked up his surprisingly untorn boxers, putting them on and sitting next to you, making you turn to face him. You both understood you needed to talk about what had just happened.

The shared realisation that the animosity between you two that had led to this impulsively passionate encounter, had somewhere blurred the lines between desire and hate.

Ben began to say "Look, about earlier... I didn't mean half the things I said."

You replied "What? You didn't mean it when you said you want to kiss me and do other filthy things to me everytime you see me?"

Taken aback, with a raised eyebrow and confused express Ben said, "Oh no, no lies there. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

You cut him off saying "I know, I was just pulling your leg. I've felt the same way about you. Your reputation preceded you and it made me crazy knowing I still wanted you."

He replied, "I think we let our tempers get the best of us." sighing, he continued "I care about you more than I let on."

Which made you sigh in response. "Then why do you never act like it? Making me think of you as a douche who loves berating me?"

Ben ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I feel scared. Scared of how much of a hold you have had on me from the very beginning. It made me feel like a fool at times, I thought the only way I could supress these feelings were by acting like an asshole towards you. I'm really sorry."

Your gaze softened, "I'm really sorry too, my behaviour towards you hasn't been any better either." You continued, "I thought we were destined to be enemies. I don't hate you, I never did. I just wanted you to see the person I am beyond the righteous supe everyone else sees."

Ben slowly took your hands in his, making you look into his eyes. "Now I see you more than I ever thought I would. Maybe.. maybe there's something more here."

You replied, "Maybe there is. What happens now?"

To which he said "We talk. Like normal people. No more running away or avoiding things and arguing for no reason. We figure out where we stand, one step at a time, together."

You smiled, nodding your head. "Agreed. No more hiding how we feel. Besides, I guess I like this way of solving our issues much more." Which made him chuckle and pull you into his arms, staring at you intently, pressing his lips to yours.

Back at the Flatiron building, Hughie sat at his table across from Frenchie, fidgeting with his cup. "I'm worried. What do you think? Will they make up or kill each other?"

Butcher entered the room, a smirk plastered over his face "I'm pretty sure they are fucking like rabbits back there." And boy, was he right.

The two of you went multiple rounds, thanks to your super stamina, christening every possible surface of the safe house. From the couch, to the bedroom and the floor, and the shower too. You had both awoken a hunger, only the other could satiate.

"Now that we're not at each other's throats for the wrong reasons, I think maybe, we'd make a good team after all."

Said Ben, holding you close, running smooth circles on along your arms, with the two of you lying on the bed, tired and basking in the afterglow. You smiled, turning to face him. "We'll have to see about that, you might just be right. For now, I can't believe I'm saying this but I need sleep, we both do. You've worn me out completely."

He chuckled, tightening his arms around you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead and lips, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, feeling content in each other's embrace.

It was a start of a connection and understanding that arose from the most unexpected places, even amidst the chaos of a world filled with superhumans and the fight for good. Fiery exchanges and whispered confessions bringing in an unexpected depth to your dynamic, proving that there can be a fragile, pure connection between two polar opposites. Serendipity, often painted as an unusual force, interweaves with fate, guiding people towards love where they're least expecting to find it.

Your story a testament to the unpredicted twists of the heart, proving that even the fiercest adversaries can find redemption in each other's arms.

a/n: Finished watching Season 3 of 'The Boys' just a few days ago and let me just put this out here, Jensen as Soldier Boy is one of the best things to ever happen to this world. Oh! the things I'd let this man do to me-

Been planning this fic for a week now, I really hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing this.

I'd really appreciate if you'd comment any thoughts, improvements, suggestions or requests that you have! Thank you ^_^

Credits: Banner by @mykento

post divider by @saradika

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megu-meow · 9 months ago

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family ties - gojo satoru

gojo x fem. reader

Summary: Satoru takes you to meet the in-laws.

The Gojo family members mentioned are named after the Zoldyk family, cuz Satoru is the grown-up version Killua. Argue with a wall on that one. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one!

"Please, sweetheart! I've been begging you for four years, it's time..." Gojo implores, running after you in the hallways of Jujutsu Tech like a lost puppy.

"I told you already, Satoru, I don't want to do it. You said it was ok if I didn't because you don't care what they think anyway."

"I know, but now that I proposed to you, my family wants to see you. Especially Ojiisan, he wants to meet the woman who charmed his favorite grandson." he whines as the two of you stop in front of your classroom.

"Toru, you said it yourself, all of your clan members are obsessed with you marrying someone from the big clans. We both know they will not accept a nobody like me." you explain as you rub your forehead. It wasn't that you didn't want to meet Satoru's family, but he was the one to refuse to introduce you to them in the first place. He didn't like the way they treated outsiders and he didn't want you to experience how old-fashioned and downright disgusting their beliefs and traditions were. You were better off without ever crossing paths with them, you were sure of that. However, as soon as he proposed to you, his clan members started pushing the matter, because being Satoru's wife would mean that you would get your own responsibilities in the clan, like attending meetings representing Satoru, when he was away, you would get your own vote in different matters, and lastly, the one you refused to take into consideration, you would become clan head if Satoru would ever be unable to fulfill his duties as such. It was normal for them to wish to meet you, but that didn't make it any easier.

"You will only have to meet my mom, my dad, and my grandparents. They don't care about how you are or what powers you hold as long as you love me. They will not make you feel miserable, I promise." he looks at you with those cerulean orbs that shine like rhinestones, ones you cannot say no to.

"You pinky-promise?"

"Of course, sweetheart." he says and he shows you his pinky, waiting for you to link it with yours. And you do.

The day finally arrives, a sunny Friday in April, as the Sakura blossoms. Ijichi picked up the two of you from your shared apartment early in the morning to begin your hour-long drive to the Gojo estate in suburban Tokyo.

"So your father's name is Silva?" you ask your fiance as you observe the landscape around you.

"Yes. He's kinda scary at first glance, but he would do anything to make me happy."

"Your mom's name is Kykio, right?"

"Yes, good job sweetheart! She's a kind-hearted woman, she's gonna love you for sure."

"Okay, I think I know enough about your family tree." you sigh, you really want these people to like you. You don't exactly know why, Satoru said he doesn't care what they say, he's gonna marry you anyway, but you know he loves his parents and his grandparents. Contrary to popular belief, he grew up in a loving family, he was spoiled rotten by everyone, hence his insufferable personality. However, despite how Satoru claims his family not liking you wouldn't affect him, you know it would. These people are important to him, whether he admits it or not. So you're not going to screw this up by not knowing their given names. Or by anything else.

You get dropped off in front of a massive gate that Satoru opens with ease and you're met with a pebbled road lined with Sakura trees. They are in perfect blossom, there is a sea of pink in front of you. Satoru grabs your hand in his and starts walking down the road, leading you toward where you assume the Minka is.

"Three, two, ..." you hear Satoru count back under his nose and you look at him with confusion, but as you look back to the road ahead of you a person appears, bowing in front of your fiance.

"Gojo-san, welcome back!"

"Amane, long time no see! How are you holding up?" he asks joyfully and you remember him mentioning his name before. Amane was Satoru's best friend at the estate, his cousin on his mother's side of the family.

"I'm doing good. You didn't announce your arrival, the clan is in a meeting right now."

"I know." he smirks. He timed this perfectly and you take a note to yourself to scold him for slacking off. "By the way, this is my fiance, y/n."

"Hajimemashite, y/n-san! Welcome to the Gojo Estate."

"Nice to meet you too, Amane. Please leave the honorifics, makes me feel old."

"As you wish. Please do not hesitate to call for me if you need anything. I will make sure to prepare Gojo-san's bedroom for the two of you." Amane disappears right after finishing his sentence, you couldn't even thank him for his help.

"GOJO SATORU!" you hear a deep voice shouting from afar and you feel goosebumps covering your entire body. Whoever that voice belongs to is frightening as hell. "Not only do you not show your face to a clan meeting, but you have the audacity to not announce me about my daughter-in-law coming to meet me?" you observe the tall, muscular man in front of you as he approaches with inhumane speed. He has long, wavy hair with bangs, the color identical to Satoru's, and icy blue eyes. It is Gojo Silva, Satoru's father. The cursed energy around him has a crazy strong presence, similar to Satoru's when he lets his unleash, but this one feels rougher, slightly colder.

First, he steps to his son, yanking his left ear, which results in Satoru whining like a little kid. The whole ordeal is comical, you know that his father is just messing around. After that, he looks at his son with disapproving eyes, calls him a menace and turns towards you.

"Y/n, yoroshiku! I am Gojo Silva, Satoru's father. You can call me otousan." he bows and you return the gesture with a blush on your cheeks. Satoru giggles, enjoying his father's antics. Despite being a seemingly intimidating person, Silva seems to be just as much of a goofball as Satoru. He asks you silly questions like what is your favorite dessert, how much you can eat and whether you discipline his son when he acts like an idiot. The last one causes Satoru to chirp back at his father, claiming that he called him the other night to 'change the Google logo back to the original'. As you observe the dynamic between the two you have to remind yourself that you're in the presence of the heads of the Strongest Clan in Jujutsu history.

You finally arrive in front of the house and you are greeted by a beautiful woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She looks welcoming in her flowery dress and with her wide smile. Her smile resembles Satoru's, it reaches her ears and it's vibrant, like there is nothing wrong in this world. Her cursed energy is low, even lower than yours, and you're not sure if it's because she is limiting it or if she simply doesn't have much to begin with. Her aura is stronger, it is familiar and welcoming.

"Kaachan!" Satoru exclaims as he walks up to her, embracing the petite woman in a warm hug. She pats her son on the back, her eyes sparkling with the motherly love she reserves for him.

"I'm glad you're finally home, sunshine! Please don't give your father any more headaches while you're here."

"I will not, mother!" he says curtly and he suddenly snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you close to his side "By the way, this is my fiance, y/n!" he introduces you and you bow in front of his mother politely.

"I am glad to finally meet you, Kykio-san!"

"Oh, please, sweetheart, leave the honorifics. You are family, you can call me Okaasan or whatever you prefer." she says with her warm smile.

They all walk you to the family dining room, claiming that you arrived in time for supper. You're being presented with a variety of traditional Japanese dishes and you're more than excited to try everything that you like. Satoru's parents are extremely nice and calm. They ask you questions about your family, your upbringing, about Jujutsu and your time in high school. They claim they already know about every single detail of your relationship with Satoru, apparently, you're one of his favorite topics to mention when he is back home. They tell you stories about their son, how he was while growing up, what he liked and disliked, and how much of a troublemaker he was. You listen carefully to these stories, you want to remember them, to cherish them for a long time. After you finish the dishes, they are serving desserts, a whole lot of them in different assortments.

"Satoru has got a sweet tooth his whole life. His grandmother likes to prepare all kinds of deserts, even western ones so he grew up eating a copious amount of sugar." Kykio explains.

"Y/n bakes too! She makes cookies for me all the time!"

"That's not true, Toru! I've been trying to reduce his sugar intake, so now I only bake once a week." you explain and his parents look at each other knowingly, as they start laughing. You look at Satoru in confusion, but he just shakes his head, signaling that he doesn't get it either.

"Sweetheart, Satoru has been teleporting back home every week to eat desserts from his Sobo." his mother explains and you look at your fiance in disbelief. He acts like he's innocent, smiling at you widely, mouthing 'i love you'. You roll your eyes, but mouth the words back, because otherwise he would throw a fit in front of everyone.

"Where is that grandson on mine? Always causing trouble." you hear a male voice from the hallway and a pair of footsteps. The cursed energy coming from their direction is unpaired, it exceeds Silva's, maybe not Satoru's, but it still makes you uncomfortable.

"Have some decorum, Zeno. That boy has done nothing wrong in his life." a woman's voice is heard and the male grunts in disbelief.

"Typical Sobo Gojo, she always thinks Satoru is perfect." Silva explains and he lets out an obnoxious laugh, very similar to Satoru's. Now you understand where he got it from.

The doors open and you observe the cute elderly woman and the man with hair pointing toward the ceiling on her side. What is it with Gojo men and their gravity-resistant hair?!

"Satoru, do you have any idea how long it took me to convince the clan geezers to let your lady off the hook this time?" Zeno questions and looks at his grandson with an authoritative gaze.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, Ojiisan. I promise that next time, y/n will meet them as well."

"Good! Now come here, my child. I wanna see if my grandson was telling the truth about you being the most gorgeous woman to walk on this earth." he says as he gestures for you to walk up to him. You oblige as he takes your hands into his, analyzing them carefully. "Huh, truly beautiful. Your cursed energy flows nicely and you have a lot of it. You are strong, I like that." he says, drops your hands, and walks towards the table. After that, you are greeted by his grandmother, who scolds you for trying to limit her beloved grandson's insane sugar intake. However, she compliments you on your looks and politeness.

You sit back down at the table afterward, enjoying the moment of being surrounded by the Gojo family. Despite their reputation, they are all nice people. The three generations of men keep teasing each other, grandpa Zeno is a savage, making fun of both his son and grandson, he has absolutely no mercy. They keep telling you stories about Satoru like the time his grandfather shot him in the eye with a Nerf gun despite aiming at his butt. Or the time he was playing hockey inside while his parents were out and he broke the glass on his mother's favorite painting. Luckily for him, Sobo was home and she had the glass fixed before his parents even got home.

You tell them about the time he encountered a cleaning curse and how he smelled like detergent for two weeks. Or the time he wanted to pick you flowers from the forest near Jujutsu Tech, but fell into poison ivy.

The night goes by like that, filled with laughter and family stories. Despite having your doubts about meeting Satoru's family, he observes how you fit right in. How everyone loves you and they accept you for who you are because the love you have for him is evident. As it should be. And he swears that his love for you skyrockets even more that night, despite him knowing that it's nearly impossible.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojou satoru x you #dad gojo #jjk imganie #satoru imagine #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Ren Writes - Gojo ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

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notquitecanon · 1 year ago

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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."

"No promises."

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.

____

Ambushed in the night.

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.

And Astarion? Their target?

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.

"SHADOWHEART!"

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader #astarion x you #Astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 fanfic #Astarion self insert

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alwaysshallow · 5 months ago

Text

single mom x price; PART 5

everyone knows it's you and him. even your mom.

AO3 VERSION

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

Day starts with a fight and morning sex—and it’s only John’s fault.

Both things, of course.

He wanted to stay the night. That was—still is—your problem, knowing how your mother is. Intrusive, without the basic sense of privacy (because why do you have to keep things away from your mom?), and the chances of her cornering John and asking about the most absurd things seemed inevitable. If you’d know him better, maybe staying with you would be actually an option.

But.

It shouldn’t be a surprise for him that you wanted him out, that you threw your robe in hurry and grabbed him by his arm. Might be considered rude, but you needed some time for yourself only, and on top of that, you wanted to get yourself together before your son and mother will arrive. Normal.

Except, when John resists, reassuring you that he’s not gonna get in your way and stuff, it’s easier to burst at him with negative emotions than actually get yourself to work. You expect him to snap back at you, thinking that would be something you could use to kick him out (yelling at you in your own house; and after, you could apologize because with your behavior, you’d yell at yourself too), but he’s not doing any of that.

He takes your hands in his (annoyingly warm, compared to yours) and with a smile on his lips, he says something about handling things together and that you two have time. You’d love to argue with his logic, but when his eyes crinkle in the corners with such kindness, you can’t physically say anything negative.

You try, though.

“She’ll be insufferable. You’re not going to hear the end of it, I just bet she’ll ask neighbors about you, and that’s not even the half of the things—”

“—I have nothin’ to hide,” he says, giving you a little kiss. Actually, he gives you one every single time you think of something that could possibly kick him out. He’s like a pest that knows how to hide before the trouble comes. Knows exactly how to take care of himself, so he’ll be in the winning position. How to pacify you. “Besides, it’s not like you have something to hide either, hm?”

Good question. Do you have something to hide?

As you think of it, you do have something.

A lot, actually.

For example, you do hide how much of an impact John has on you. How you don’t want him to let go of your fingers, when he intertwines them with you, no matter if it’s when you’re amongst other people, or in the moment like this one, when he sinks his cock into you, whispering sweet nothings right into your ear, grunting how good you are to him. It’s your moans that betray you, a cocky smile on his lips every time he hears them. Like he knows you’re trying to hide everything under the blanket of casual sex.

You hide how you like his roughness in bed, how he almost doesn’t listen to you, when he’s in his element. He makes you feel good; but his hands are on your throat the second you try to take the initiative. Circling a bit, making you remember where exactly your place is, so you won’t think of doing shit like this again.

It’s almost ironic how you like it and the most delicate behavior when you’re not having sex. When it’s time to “take care” of you, of the house, of everything because he feels your home is his, and his home is yours. How he feels responsible for you and for everything around you, and you didn’t even tell him once that you need him to do all of these things. It’s just him and his free will that tells him to do what he does.

You have to remind yourself that you aren’t anything with him, but when he behaves like that, when he says something about giving you another baby, you think you’ll die.

When he’s out of the bed, you pull the covers around yourself a little. A desperate try to have something to cover yourself because nowadays, it seems like he knows you inside out. “It’s casual. Between us,” you croak. There’s not much time before your mother will arrive with her grandson, but you have to state this, get it straight—your first time with John could be considered as an accident. Second? You knew what you were doing.

“Mm.” It’s all he says. Or, mumbles, and you sigh.

“I’m serious. It’s casual, right?” You put the emphasis on the last word; you want to know if he gets the message you’re trying to send him.

“Yeah. It’s casual,” he kisses the top of your head. “No promises and all.”

You have no doubt that he’s lying. The reluctant tone of his voice, eyes sparkling despite what you’ve just said, his whole personality is still warm. No sign of disappointment at your words whatsoever, just pure joy. Something other than you expected, to be completely honest.

You don’t have time to take care of this, even if it’s a possible problem, so you just sweep it under the rug. You’ll deal with it later.

(Probably never—or when there’s too much under the rug, and everything will be more stressful than it already is. Again, you don’t learn from your mistakes. But John’s here, so why would you even care?)

First, you deal with your mom and your son coming back. It’s the nice part of the visit, your kid practically falling right into your arms, laughing and telling you all the things that he did at his grandma’s. Even if he tells something that you know, there’s no point in telling him, not when he’s so excited.

You expect at some point that your mom will drive to her place, but when she turns off the car and you can hear the door closing, you wish you’d clean your house more.

She told you multiple times that she despises your house. Too small and too messy, she used to say when you invited her multiple times after she spent time with her grandson. So, naturally, invitations stopped, as well as her getting out of the car. A couple of times you had a coffee with her on your front porch, but that was all.

Right now, she’s right in front of you, raising her eyebrow. Expecting.

“Well?” She looks at you. “Are you going to make your mother a tea?”

As much as you want to throw her out, you can’t—probably only because John is here, and you want to present yourself your absolute best to him—so with a sigh, you welcome her in. It’s already a win that she doesn’t comment on the state of your corridor or your kitchen, when you present her the tea options you have. You don’t miss how she uses disinfectant spray at the mug you give her.

What is weird, she’s at her best behavior. No rude comments, nothing that would represent her “old” self. She talks about your son, how well behaved he was (you give him a bowl of ice for that), about her retirement, and then she asks if there are interesting things happening in your life. “If there’s something to share”, and you almost roll your eyes at that small jab.

It’s not a surprise that she doesn’t listen to you as much, when you start talking about yourself. You see how her eyes are constantly looking for something. Or, someone, in that matter. You know she wants to see no one else but John, you know also that she came to your house only because of him. If it was a completely normal day, without the special someone answering your phone, you doubt she’d even stay on your property for more than five minutes.

You sigh, massaging your temples. It’s getting almost ridiculous, how she doesn’t speak about what she wants, but you can see the hints. Very obvious ones. “He’s outside, mom. Do you want to meet my neighbor?”

She acts like she’s the owner of the house, when she gets the lemonade for him because he works hard in your backyard. Tells him to call her “Susan”, not “Mrs”, as it makes her feel old, and for certain she is not old. She just had you young.

(And it’s not a lie—but it’s comical, how she acts.)

If you didn’t know her like you do, you’d probably assume she’s the best woman on the entire Earth. In the whole galaxy, maybe—she talks about how hard it was to raise you and your brother, how devastated she was when he moved to Italy and she hasn't heard from him to this day.

She, of course, doesn’t mention how she constantly judged him, so he cut her off. To you, he’s the best brother ever that sends you cards from time to time.

It’s laughable how quick he earns her sympathy. Not only does she talk about herself, but wants to learn more about him, as she asks about everything she can think of. If the neighbors are nice, if you have been nice, if he needs anything. And that includes food, “because she knows how to make a wonderful pie” and it wouldn’t be a problem for her to make one in your kitchen. Those comments hit twice as it normally would, considering that she’s behaving like this towards complete stranger. You can’t recall when she was nice to someone that she didn’t know.

Not only that, she wasn’t even once like this to a man in your life. Constantly fed up with your choices, sometimes rightfully so, full of venom, she didn’t even think before she offended someone and kicked them out, one way or another.

Now?

Now, she acts like he’s your husband, for God’s sake. Neglected one, to be precise.

John isn’t even your boyfriend.

He isn’t anything that she could consider perpetual in your life, but you don’t need to tell her that. At least, not when she made a first proper conversation with you in the span of months.

But, he’s wonderful. Carefully listens to her, nods, when he acknowledges something, asks if she needs a second opinion when she complains about a hole in the wall that is bothering her. And, a final nail to the coffin, he has a monologue about finding a soulmate in the corrupted world. Your mother looks at him the whole time, and John looks at you; a small twinkle in his beautiful eyes, when you notice that.

You’re doomed.

"He's a good man," your mother tells you, when John and your son are outside, building a little playground near your garden.

It’s a nice view—to see how your neighbor explains something to your son, just for him to do it the right way. Maybe even the perfect view; straight out from the movies, where the son and his father have the best contact ever. Where the lady of the house prepares a meal for her two boys, smiling under the nose, just like you are right now.

John is the perfect picture man, but you’re not his wife, and your son isn’t his.

"Kid needs someone like that.” Your mother continues, giving you the look—look you know very well from your teenage years. Look that was coated with wisdom and experience, look that you despised because she always tried to win something with it.

She tries to win something here too, as she coaxes you into the thought that normally you wouldn’t even speak out loud about, too embarrassed to say you actually were thinking of it. Of white picket fence, church on Sundays and building a playground for your boy after, while you’d complain about something so mundane, that Price would only laugh.

It’s a vision you don’t want to speak about. Something that you dig deep down, so it won’t be the first thing on your mind when you wake up. Maybe it’s the consequence of you not having a man for so long, or his character, yet you can’t help but think.

You think your mother would put you and John under the altar within the five minutes, if she could do it. Knowing her and her friendships, she probably has some priest in her contacts. She almost did it with the previous guy you dated.

The only difference? Right now, maybe you’d say the famous “I do” right away.

“And, he's handsome too,” she murmurs, a bit of hope in her eyes. It makes you look at your neighbor again, head tilted to the side. For the first time in years, you feel eager to talk with your mother about something other than your son. Something that makes your fingers curl with excitement, not only about things that trouble you.

He is handsome, it’s something that you can’t disagree on. Extremely handsome. Everything you look at, you like—his chest, big arms, hands, thighs, his ass that you observe with caution when he picks up something. He’s perfect everywhere, and it’s almost unfair.

You hum, deep in thought. “So, you want him as your fifth husband, then?” you quip. She’s quick to smack your arm in an amused manner.

“I already have someone else. But, I could use a son in law from time to time. Maybe at least he is going to remember to visit his mother.”

Your eyes are still glued to your son and John, when you roll them at your mother’s comment. It’s not like she invited you ever, but she sure as hell likes to make a big fuss about you neglecting her. “When he’s gonna meet the annoying you, I’m sure that he’ll see my vision, mom.”

“Whatever you say, I’m still going to be at your wedding, my dear.” She points at you. It’s a promise and a threat in one, knowing how authoritative she is, but even with the thought of her ordering around, you can’t help but smile for a second. It’s a nice thought; to have John so close to you that you could actually marry this man. He was nothing but a stranger a while ago.

The rest of the visit goes smoothly. It’s lemonade, the store bought cookies and a lot of water from a water gun that Price bought for your son, but no one seems to mind it; and it’s perfect, enjoying the moment like this. Calm. And surprisingly, without any spite between your mother.

When she is gone, it’s just you and John washing the dishes, gossiping about the visit—or it’s you telling him how amusing it was observing your mother as a completely different human being. He doesn’t want to believe you at first, but when you maniacally laugh and he receives a playful bump to his shoulder, he joins you in talking about her.

“I just seem to be good with mothers,” he concludes, smiling from ear to ear. He moves a little bit closer, leaning into your personal space. Arm to arm. “Am I right?”

The intimate tone and close proximity makes you realize that the mother comment wasn’t entirely innocent. It brings a warm feeling into your cheeks, and like a robot, you start washing again, trying to occupy your mind with something other than the hotness of his body. So close to yours, almost like it was in the morning.

“You do have a talent,” you just murmur, more to yourself than to him. Thankfully, he lets that one slide.

He doesn’t stay long after this. “Work is calling,” he says, and then with a quick peck to your cheek, he’s gone, leaving you with your thoughts.

And it’s better, considering you can quickly call your brother and tell him everything that happened today. Your mother’s behavior to John, how she acted towards you, what exactly she has said. Oliver interrupts your monologue a thousand times, saying something like “you’re lying,” or more sophisticated, “you’re shitting me,” while you laugh and add other things that have him shocked.

To be honest, you never would’ve guessed that your next conversation is going to include your mother so much and it wouldn’t be as hateful as normally.

“The next time you see him, you gotta show him to me.” Your brother points at you, sipping a glass of wine he poured himself a while ago. “He has to be charming as fuck to smitten our mother.”

“Next time I’ll see him. Mhm.” You nod. “We’ll see how it goes.”

It doesn’t.

Well, in fact, you meet him multiple times; but no time is right to tell him “Hey, my brother would love to see you!” because he’ll think that you’re insane. You also don’t have a great angle to take a sneaky photo, and since you don’t want to be a creep, you have to wait.

Waiting doesn’t come easy, when you have him in mind probably 24/7—you try not to, really, but it’s complicated when you see him everywhere. In your town, when you’re out with your friends in another city. He’s also one of the important topics whenever you talk with your neighbors.

So it’s only fair that you look for him in the crowd, chatting in the meanwhile with your friend. He should have been here a long time ago, you know how he just loves talking with others, but for some reason, you don’t see him.

“He’s gonna come here, y’know.” Liam says, laughing a little at your surprised face. “What? It’s so obvious right now.”

“What is?”

“That you want him bad, right now. Not a good company, am I?” He raises his eyebrow, amused. “It’s not like I don’t get it. If I were you—”

“—I believe you took my place.” You hear.

And there he is, the main subject of the recent conversations with everyone. His flannel is impeccable, jeans with a few stains there and there, rightfully worn-out from all the years he has them. Small smile on his face, like he just didn’t growl in the young man’s face that he took his place.

If it would’ve been anyone else, you’d straight up laugh in his face and tell the man to go somewhere that he’s wanted.

But it’s John. A little bit pissed at Liam, but he’s gonna live through it; especially that the man stands up and apologizes, more amused than he’s supposed to be right now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He looks at you, like you’re talking in a completely different language than him. He gets even more comfortable in his seat. “Liam is my friend.”

“‘m not doin’ anything. He has another spot, closer to his brother.” He shrugs—and that’s not entirely false, considering that Liam takes the spot next to his brother. And his brother is visibly upset, as you can see. “He needs to know his place, so I’m just helping. ‘s all.”

Helping.

You don’t have time to laugh at that, as Janice starts the community meeting. There’s just a displeased look you can send into his direction, a look he decides to ignore or he takes it as something else, as his hand is on your knee soon enough.

It’s hard to say if you’re overreacting or you’re right, but you feel like at least a couple of people are burning a hole into you and John. Curious what is exactly happening between you and the new neighbor—even if he’s not exactly new-new—because the two of you, fortunately or not, aren’t very social people. Gossiping? Maybe, but not about yourself. You’re more of an observer type, always being around the drama, not in the middle of it.

And you know there’s a lot of nosy people that would kill for at least a scrap of information. It’s not surprising that people talk.

Even the blind would see what is happening between you and John, how possessive he got, compared to before. How he always curls an arm around you these days, thinking it would help to set the boundary between you and the others. It’s nothing scandalous, nothing that you should be ashamed of, but something guiding your relationship on the specific tracks.

You see it even after the meeting, when you talk with your neighbor about organizing your kid’s birthday. She’s an excellent planner, and you want your son’s birthday to be special—especially that he had a specific request this year, and you don’t want to fail him.

“We can meet at dinner to talk about this,” she says, a kind smile on her face. “You know. To have the details, I’ll have my laptop ready too.”

You return the smile, as you get ready to leave. “Right.”

“You can bring John too. Sure as hell he’s gonna get along with my husband, so we’ll have a calm evening without them.” She laughs, and you suddenly stop in your tracks.

“John?”

“Yeah. You two grew closer, ain’t you?” She nudges you. “Can’t blame you. He’s a dream to catch, honestly.”

He is a dream to catch.

And it slowly, but surely, creeps down at you how everyone sees John’s marks on you. It feels like he signed you, and everyone sees it over your head like a damn sign that is hard to miss.

#john price x reader #price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #x reader #captain john price x you #john price/reader #john price call of duty #captain john price #john price cod #captain price #captain price fanfic #john price #price cod #single mom reader #john price smut

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inoreuct · 1 year ago

Text

i’m thinking about zosan.

thinking about sanji who says you’re the dumbest fucking man i’ve ever met but also god, i’m so in love with you it hurts and you call and i answer, because you’d do the same. i would move mountains to get to you if you needed me.

thinking about zoro who says you’re a priss and an ass and absolutely insufferable but also i’d fucking kill for you. i don’t know what i’d do if you ever got hurt because that would mean i failed to protect you and also i’ll be there. no matter what, i will be there. say my name and i’ll cross oceans for you.

zosan who bicker and fight and and snip at each other’s heels like they’re getting paid for it, but as soon as one of them actually gets hurt it’s over.

zoro takes a bullet to the side and sanji’s there, furious and incandescent in his rage, covering for him, fighting for the both of them because he can. he’s strong enough for zoro to be weak, just for a moment.

sanji gets a slash to the thigh and zoro’s tearing across the battlefield with a vengeance, desperately cutting down anything that gets in his way because they’re insignificant, they don’t matter, not now, not ever, not when sanji’s compromised.

and their love isn’t all just blind rage in the name of protectiveness, either; it’s the way sanji stocks up on zoro’s favourite liquor and yet still locks the cabinet to give zoro the satisfaction of stealing it and not getting caught. it’s the way zoro appears in the galley after dinner, gently taking the clean plates from sanji’s hands with a dishcloth, drying as sanji washes.

it’s the way their things keep shifting around until there are more of sanji’s clothes in zoro’s room than zoro’s, until zoro’s sword cleaning kit becomes a permanent fixture on sanji’s nightstand. they still decide to not share quarters; they’d really drive each other mad if they did. they’re the kind of people who need their own space.

but on the nights when the quiet gets a little too quiet and the silence gets a little too loud, they know where to go. they show up at each other’s doors in the middle of the night to crawl back into sleep-warm sheets and familiar arms; zoro runs hot and sanji runs cold, and it never gets too much of either.

the nightmares are vicious, with the lives they lead. the ghosts of their pasts are still very much alive when they close their eyes. but when it gets too much, there is always, always a door open. a designated side of the bed. soft reassurances mumbled half-asleep but no less concerned, no less tender, lips pressed to mussed hair, a second heartbeat, an anchor, a safe port to dock in the night.

and even when they don’t need the company they seek each other out anyway, simply because they can and they want to; late nights in the flickering light of the electric lamps, laughter hushed so that they don’t wake the others, curled together so closely they can’t tell which limbs belong to whom. it’s easy— warm and content and strong like the rhythm of the sea, and they don’t need to say anything to hear what they already know. i know you. you know me. i care for you. you care for me. i choose you and you choose me and i need you, i never learned how to love but by god will i try, because i’m learning from how you love me.

their love is a constant. it flows like the waves they sail, but it will never ebb— and it says we may fight and we may argue but i don’t care, i don’t care, i will be there. call for me. please. do not doubt me. do not doubt us. we may drift but you are the home i return to. i will come home, always. always, for you. to you.

#zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #zoro x sanji #ronoroa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #they make me SICK #SICK I SAY #GGGJFHFHHFHDHDHDJHD #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #one piece #one piece but my heart is no longer in one piece because of these clowns

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spdrvyn · 2 years ago

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Hello! May I request a Miguel O’Hara x reader (could be a spider person) but could the reader not be so submissive towards him (which is odd to him cuz everyone always listens to him) and instead they are more headstrong. They act like they hate each other and they’ll argue about almost anything. There’s this growing tension between them and neither one of them wants to admit it or back down and after another argument they finally just kiss and make up lol . It would also be pretty funny if everyone else knew they would get together eventually it was just a matter of time and so its not even a shock to them when they do. Also I live for the angst, fluff, build up and romance so you could add that or spin it however you want. Thank you!!! :3

a sense of loathing — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: you and miguel are rivals, to some extent. it was an unspoken assumption between the two of you that there was a major mutual dislike. at least, that's what you thought.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: angst. violence. grief. tragedy. minor character death. minor gore. miguel is an asshole. you are also a little bit of an asshole.

NOTES: i really liked this ask, i wanted to write what a rivals to lovers relationship with miguel would be like so here it is! admittedly, i got a little carried away as you can see from the... warnings... and because of that, i'll have to write a second part for this fic. anyway, enjoy!

You considered yourself to be a civil person.

Sure, sometimes the little things ticked you off and your temper was shorter than most people but you learned to tamp it down over the years and not to start meaningless arguments.

Unless it came to criminal scum or whatever ravenous beast that you encountered on your duties as a Spider-Person but you liked to think that they deserved it. They were doing horrible things, so they didn't really deserve any of the niceties.

Whenever you found yourself disliking someone that wasn't either of those two things, you'd try to create as much distance as possible. It would be easier on you and on them.

But when it came to your boss...

Look, it's not like you absolutely despised the guy. You partially understood his motivations and his reasons for going about things but the way he acted upon it and his attitude made him so insufferable that it was hard to keep your head straight.

He was sarcastic, uncharismatic, and somewhat unlikeable.

Whenever you tried reasoning with him during arguments, he always had something to snap back with or a snide remark up his sleeve that leaves you seething.

How you ranted on and on about how he could be so difficult. To which your companions just responded with a shrug of their shoulder saying: "that's just how he is sometimes".

Which only angered you even further, among everyone in this god forsaken Spider Society, nobody has thought to talk back and call him out for his behavior?

Either that or someone did but never lived to tell the tale.

No, that was too ominous. You were aware that Miguel was more violent than most, you wouldn't be surprised if he's killed a guy before but he wasn't too far gone to land a hit on his own recruits.

Land a hit on you? If you pushed him enough then maybe.

Thinking about having a reasonable conversation with Miguel seemed like a long and faraway fantasy. The day that would occur would be the day that Spider-People don't have to go through soul-crushing loss to develop as a person. As a hero.

You couldn't even relate to him on that end, whenever it came to personal discussion, his lips were as sealed as a bank vault. It frustrated you to no end.

You kind of understood where he was coming from, talking about one's past can pass as a difficult subject but you just found it harder and harder to sympathize for him.

It was even harder when actually trying to collaborate with Miguel on missions. He was the boss, you knew but the amount of orders that he gave you caused your brain to throb.

Nevertheless, you persisted.

Perhaps, you persisted a little too hard, as when he asked (more like demanded) that you go on this search with him; you couldn't find it in yourself to decline.

According to and detected by the small gadget thingymajig (you couldn't bother remembering what it's called) planted by one of the other Spider-People, you and Miguel stood outside of the extremely worn down Alchemax. It's shattered windows and tattered architecture uninviting and cold.

"How cozy." You remarked, arms folded over your chest as your eyes darted around the crumbling building. The challenge of seeing how much your anger could boil everytime Miguel responded to you with a scoff or grunt begun.

He went in without a word, disappearing into the foggy debris to which you tail behind him. As you properly enter the building, it looks just as pathetic as the outside.

Abandoned, dark, decrepit. It was a sad display.

On your left, you spot an escalator. A tall statue peeks from your view on the ground floor, you go in that direction in hopes of checking out the area—

Until, there's something that binds your wrist. You look down and see tight, neon red webbing and before you could even say anything, you were tugged back rather harshly. Closer to Miguel.

You nearly stumble back from the whiplash but the webbing disintegrates into thin air once you find balance and are a few inches away from him.

"Stay close. Each time we visit a place like this, it's an entirely new layout and setting. Do you want to get jumped?"

"Right, because you know everything? You can detect an ambush from miles away, with what sense exactly?"

You didn't even need to see him unmasked to feel the eye roll, it's there. He did it, signified by the way the 'eyes' on his mask narrow ever so slightly.

He doesn't bother snapping back, he goes to the right immediately. Before you could lose him in the fog, you stay close by. Tailing right behind him.

You know one thing now, he takes very long strides and is a very fast walker compared to you. Although, his mere size explains all of that. To be fair, it's not like you were a big, strong, man that couldn't be any less than six feet. How was he expecting you to catch up exactly?

Not minding the marathon that Miguel is making you run through, you two trudge through cracked cieling tiles and fallen over vending machines.

For a lab, it seemed to be a little more devoid of actual scientific chemicals or gadgets. Abandoned places like these had some sort of stench to them but you couldn't get a whiff of anything besides cement and dry wall.

Although, perhaps there was a reason for that. Most of the windows were shattered open, you noted the glass that was scattered all around the ground around when you were outside a while ago. You were just getting a better look at it now from the interior.

The glassless windows provided some more light inside the structure, the shimmer and shine of the distant city painting the dirty floors in a tint of yellow.

You found yourself getting lost in the view, that you had almost forgotten your pesky superior who had you on the tips of your toes.

Thankfully, you're able to catch up to Miguel before he completely disappears into the darkness but before you can take even a step closer, he holds his arm out in front of you.

"Can you hear that?"

You shoot him a confused and unamused glare through your mask before it was clear to you. The faint sound of someone...

Crying.

Your gaze shifts to each corner of the room that you were in, in an attempts to pinpoint where exactly it was coming from but the sobs practically bounced off of the walls, making it even harder.

The wailing then gets louder. Increasingly so. As if it was approaching you rapidly.

You lean to the side a bit, trying to look ahead to see if there was anything getting closer and there was. Miguel moves back, with you along with him. Blades emerge from the sleeve of his right arm.

"Wait," You put a hand on his bicep but his gaze seems to be fixated on whatever is going to come out of the cloud of fog ahead of you. The figure is small, a funnel shape, and a very noticeable bow. "It's a kid."

"Disguised as an anomaly."

"Are you being serious right now?" You scoff at him. Patting his arm, but when he doesn't relent - you nudge him on a little. "Let me through, if it's actually trouble then bitch all you want back at HQ."

With a sigh, he puts his arm down and lets you go. You and the child meet in the center of the atrium, somewhat. The kid falls and slips onto her butt, before she continues crying.

She doesn't seem to be above the age of eight, you kneel down in front of her and slowly raise your mask. You can see Miguel jolt forward as if to stop you but appears to have stopped himself.

You get a closer look at her. She has a brown complexion, darker brown hair that's tied back into a ponytail with a little bow hairtie, a slightly frilly dress but the frills at the end are all tattered.

The girl looks up at you through teary eyes, they fell down her cheeks like a continuous stream. You put your hands up in a placating gesture and wore the kindest smile you could muster.

"Hey, hey..." You uttered, volume barely above a whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Where are your parents?"

Even when you tried to the best of your ability to reassure her, the tears continued to drip down like a never ending waterfall. If she was trying to say something, it come out as a choked gasp or a hic.

You sighed, talking to kids wasn't exactly your strong suit and you don't even know how this little one even got here but you tried your best to be as understanding as possible.

"Me and my... friend here were looking around to see if there were any lost people. Are you lost? What's your name?" Your tone was delicate, gentle even. It quelled whatever breakdown the child was going through. Very little but it was progress.

She continued to wipe at her tears but the previous noises that she was making halted to some degree, on occasion she'd try stifle a small sob but it was all sniffles now.

"Yeah, there we go." You reassured her. "We're not bad people, if you can tell us where your parents are, we'll see if we can find them."

You tried to look all nice and friendly for the kid but deep down, you were a teeny bit terrified. An eight year old shouldn't have any business in an abandoned Alchemax.

A 'bring your kid to work' day doesn't even justify this either because the establishment looks years old from the time it was abandoned. The location was also deserted, which means there's a good chance that her parents are far away by now.

You also noticed that Miguel wasn't doing anything, he's been standing in the exact same spot since a while ago. Most likely observing your interaction with this girl.

Still, it confused you. You didn't know or understand much of Miguel's past but you knew bits and pieces, you knew that he had a family. Shouldn't talking to the children be what he's doing right now?

There was no time to question it, you're snapped out of your daze when the girl finally said her name.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Briana. My name is Briana."

"Briana," You parroted. "That's a very nice name. Are you okay now? Do you - do you want a hug? Hugs can make people feel better when they're sad."

She shakes her head, swiping at one stray tear that fell down from her puffy eyes. "No, thank you. My mommy and daddy say that I shouldn't hug strangers."

"Right, of course." You nervously take your hands back and scratch the back of your head. "Your mommy and daddy, do you know where they are?"

Another shake of the head. There was a good chance that yiu and Miguel would have to escort her back to city, to a police station or a hospital and whatnot. Looking for her parents in this forest would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

You're about to stand up, maybe bring Briana over to Miguel and tell him that you need to take her back to the city first but you get that dreadfully familiar tingle on your head.

"Sorry for this!" You exclaim, before suddenly grabbing Briana by the shoulders and pulling her to the side as a tiny explosion lands right where you were just kneeling by.

Emerging from the fog is unfortunately, Green Goblin, although he looks very different from most of the other variants you've seen of him. This Green Goblin looks less green and more of a creamy brown paper color, he lacks color besides the pencil lines.

He looks more like an incomplete sketch if anything and a lot more olden timesy, almost like he was from the Renaissance era or something like that.

"Look out!" You hear Miguel shout as another explosive is chucked at you and Briana, you both go in completely directions. As you were about to try and grab her again, the villain is quicker. Swooping down and sweeping Briana up in his arms with a cruel laughter.

You have to bite back a certain f-word from coming out of your mouth as Green Goblin veers to the left, up the floor you were about to investigate when you had first entered.

Swiftly, you put on your mask as you rushed to run up the escalator to which Miguel followed closely behind.

You've heard remnants of gossip from your colleagues anout Renaissance looking anomalies but you've never thought to encounter one yourself any time soon.

Green Goblin was absolutely going on a rant about god knows what but it was incomprehensible to you, like he was speaking in a different language.

Once you reach the upper floor, Green Goblin perches himself up on the top of this globe looking statue. He had an arm wrapped around Briana's neck, proceeding to yell some nonsense in Italian, before pointing at you and Miguel.

"What is this guy even saying?"

Miguel doesn't bother answering your question, he's silent.

It was more than safe to assume that this guy was using Briana as hostage but considering the language barrier, figuring out what exactly he wanted was tough game.

You know all about how Green Goblins are like. Vindictive, cutthroat, and annoying. From that, you guessed that if he was going to drop the little girl if he didn't receive whatever handsome payment that he was expecting.

It was risky, but if you reacted quick enough then you might be able to catch her. Seemed like Miguel had figured that out also when he leaned into you and whispered:

"I'll find a way to get to him to drop the girl, you catch her. I'll subdue him. You got that?"

"Then what? I can't exactly bring her back to the city by myself but we can't keep her here while we're fending this guy off."

"Open a portal. I'll give you a day pass for her."

The statement shunted you a little. Miguel didn't particularly enjoy bringing back anything or anyone that wasn't an anomaly back to his dimension.

You don't want to push his buttons right now though and it's not like you were going to disagree, he puts a day pass in your hands before shooting a web at the statue to sling himself up.

His sharp talons dig into the surface of the sculpture, he swipes at Green Goblin in an attempt to tail onto his hoverboard but once again, the villain is quicker.

It's a small chase that goes on for a while. You move carefully and circle around the carving just in case that he'll let go of Briana or drop her on accident but the grip he keeps on her is firm.

A web shoots out from Miguel's shooter, sticking directly to Green Goblin's chest. He tugs on it harshly, causing the other to lose balance and fall off of the floating board. Briana along with it.

You jump and hitch the little girl into your arms, murmuring soft reassurances like 'it's okay' or 'we got it handled'. You carefully slip the day pass onto her wrist and it secures onto her tightly.

Good timing, a loud thud rings in your ears as you turn your head. Miguel presses the anomaly into the bare dirt, unfortunately he's still conscious.

You press a couple buttons on your gizmo, squinting a little as you're met with the same dizzying array of colors. You pat Briana gently on the back, ushering for her to go inside.

She seems hesitant but you can't exactly blame her, not everyday that a kid goes into an interdimensional portal. You rub the small of her back encouragingly.

However, just as she's about to enter, just as she's about to retreat to safety -

Your eyes widen in shock as a blade pierces through her body, she coughs and similar to the tears that continued to fall down her cheek now it was a stream of blood oozing out of her mouth.

Miguel seemed stunned too, he looks down to see Green Goblin with a shit-eating smile on his face and a hand out. He threw it. He killed her.

You don't even hesitate to catch her, watching as she bleeds out on your lap. "No, no, no. Briana, Briana?"

Almost immediately, Miguel lands a hard blow against the villain's head. Knocking him straight into unconsciousness, he pulls out another gadget that you couldn't find a name for but it activates some sort of cage around the anomaly.

You called out her name a couple more times, hand shaking above the spot she was stabbed but all she did was cough and cough and cough. Each one a painful reminder that she was nearing her end.

When her chest rose and fell slowly and slowly as the moment passed, when her skin went pale, when her body went limp. You realized exactly what happened.

You swore that the air got colder.

Slowly, you stood up. Letting Briana's corpse rest against the floor of the Alchemax. You could barely look back up at Miguel, who had another much unimportant body in his hands.

You couldn't stand looking at it anymore. Angrily, you snatched Green Goblin's unconscious body from Miguel's grasp and tossed it into the portal.

"We should go."

You grumbled. But your colleague's mind seemed to be elsewhere, he looked down at the lifeless child. Mind seemingly blanking.

"Miguel?"

Not much to your surprise as he simply walks past you, stopping a step away from the portal.

"Let's go."

request rules here, masterlist here

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #green goblin #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst #tw death #angst #anon request #requests open

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sanderssidesthehouse · 4 months ago

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Sanders Sides Ranked: Flirting???

Why do I have “For Legal Reasons This is a Joke” stamped on the front here? Because I get to saying some shit later that is NOT meant to be taken seriously. I enjoy saying words recreationally and making bits, not everything I say all the time is an accurate representation of my thoughts or beliefs and I just want to make that clear when posting on the piss on the poor webbed site.

Sorry, Logan. I don’t think he cares actually, but just in case. I would [verb] you. I also don’t think he cares about that, but just in case.

Also after adding the text on Logan's picture I decided I should add a little blurb to every slide so you can tell exactly how not biased I am.

When trying to decide on widespread appeal I had to acknowledge that most people would probably find him kind of annoying, which is his right, for sure, but then I had to gauge how annoying and how much that mattered and it took me a while.

For niche appeal, I just think that most theater kids™ don’t want to [verb] other theater kids™. They do [verb] for sure, but mostly because they can’t get anyone else because they’re theater kids™ and I think other insecure people mostly want to give him a hug.

(I was a theater kid but not a theater kid™, though I knew some. I just want theater kids™ to know it is their right to be insufferable.)

He's really kind of got two tricks, one is being dad and the other is being sad. I think I'd like to give him a Patt-on the head. If you're into that, though, hopefully you're also into frogs.

Look I was at one point part of all four niche appeal groups and I’m still part of two, this may be a targeted attack, but I caught myself in the crossfire.

Putting Roman in there was a joke bc you cannot tell me you don't classify what Janus was doing as flirting and it worked very well on our prince.

And unrelated to the ranking, I just get jump scared every time I see what Janus actually looks like bc he has long hair to me now. Where are his beautiful locks? Who cut my wife's hair?

Ok look. Quality of banter. We ALL saw his episode, ok? That was NOT top tier creative work. Granted he’s been locked in the basement for a long time so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t change the facts.

For his blurb I was between what I wrote and something along the lines of "I would forcefem him" and I don't think either of those convey to you how not biased I am but just know that I adore him.

I had a blast making this, I kept cracking myself up, which means probably zero other people think it’s funny but here we are.

I actually went into this thinking I would have Logan as the worst and I thought Roman and Janus would tie for best so I’m glad to see we all have the same general consensus. It looks like this list would go Roman, Janus, Patton, Remus, Virgil, Logan.

I did my best to cut out any egregious swearing and anything explicit so I hope everyone can appreciate my sacrifice /j. Thanks for joining me, argue about it in the comments and reblogs. (<- Also a joke, please be nice.)

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #siding post #siding ranks

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scentedpepper · 3 months ago

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Okok so I have this request that's technically lip x m!reader x Ian where lip and reader are in a relationship but Ian has had a crush on reader since he started hanging out with lip. And once they officially started dating, Ian was pretty much heart broken about it but reader is oblivious to it so they stay friends. Until the relationship starts to get rocky with them arguing all the time (as canon lip high key sucks at being in relationships) and it eventually leads to Ian comforting reader after a dramatic fight with lip and Ian confesses and maybe they kiss 🫶

Bar Fights and Candle Light

IAN GALLAGHER X MALE READER

Summary: You're flawed, but Ian will scream he loves you for it until he's blue in the face.

Content Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, reader has been cheated on, impulsiveness, poor attachment styles, sexual implications

Other Pairings: Lip Gallager x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Hey Anon I'm ngl it's 4:30 in the morning rn

Much to my misfortune, I woke from my sleep at 2am and had an unbearable urge to finish this so lucky for you 🫶

This starting to look a little like a twilight scene..

Anyway, usual shameless stuff, lip is lip, reader is flawed to a determinate blah blah blah

Hope you enjoy 😛

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

Lip Gallagher held the kind of charm that reminded you of drunk bar fights and somehow, simultaneously, roses. The kind of trouble that ends with an eyebrow raise and the kind of kindness that gets you on your knees.

As much as you loved him, the man really had no sense of what loyalty was and instead seemed to revert to breaking the hearts of every girl he had ever slept with.

You knew such things well and your ogling from a distance soon became a thorne in your side that you wished to diminish.

You met Lip when he accidentally stumbled upon a gay pride rally. How he'd got there? You weren't entirely sure of those facts even now.

Four months after you'd befriended him and simultaneously, his red-headed brother, when you'd lost your dignity and, later, your boyfriend, Lip had looked at you with, if not genuine empathy, then interest.

"I know what will make you feel better. " He had urged, and you had just rolled your eyes and pressed your face further into the warm pillow.

You had just been cheated on, and nothing Lip could say would be as appealing as lying in the rundown springs of your mattress to inevitably– sink in with them.

However, the things he could do was a different story.

When you, in a half drunken state amongst the alibi a few days later, admitted to what had occurred in your bed the same night your boyfriend dumped you for a woman, of all people, Ian was –for some reason– under the assumption you would've rejected Lip's idea in entirety.

"Wait, " he laughed, his finger prodding the side of your ribcage until you were squirming with a wince, "you–really?"

And he could not believe his ears when you told him the truth of it.

Ian learned two things that night.

One, his brother had more flavoring within him than he otherwise assumed.

And two, no matter how much he tried to shove his affections for you, they only seemed to grow stronger.

Into the next months, however, where it was not entirely shocking, but rather, indescribably insufferable to Ian, you entered a very hot and heavy romance with a rather short and bitter soon-to-be-ending with his brother.

He was doomed.

He knew it from the moment the blush touched your cheeks and not your ears when you spoke of Lip.

And every second of it felt like searing hot daggers plunged and twisted into his stomach.

Ian wanted to resent you but everything you did, be it picking apart the little lies around his brother or, right down to the way your brow pinched in concentration when you played UNO, had Ian just adoring you more.

It was probably unhealthy how quickly he had fallen and you should've noticed the intensity of his stare.

But, nevertheless, your sight was akin to that of a bat.

And Ian cursed you for it.

What he also cursed you for was not understanding his pain.

Falling for the wrong person.

Sure, Lip was charming and deceptively gorgeous but he was as cold and disfigured as a snowman that seemed to melt no matter where he went.

Oh, and how you were the sun that shined down on him.

"You're just-! Fucking-!"

"What, Lip!? I'm fucking what!?"

The unsavory sound of the two of you came to Ian's ears on a Saturday morning.

Like a dog who's been kicked around, Ian reluctantly walks up the stairs with a heavy sigh and a headache already blooming within his skull.

Knowing you and his brother, he braces himself for the worst with a wince.

"For fucks sake!" Lips' voice pitches to an all time high when Ian removes the physical barrier of wood between he and the two of you, the first thing he sees being the redness of his brother's neck, and then the vein popping from it as he yells at you. "You're a real piece of work you know? Fucking selfish. "

"Oh–I'm selfish?"

Ah, and your voice, laced with salt and hurt, such a strange contrast from what he swore to be giggling 5 minutes ago.

"Lip.." he begins to warn, though if anyone catches the genuine concern within him, no one seems to bother notice.

"You are so fucking unbelievable, Lip! You realize what a fucking wreck you are, don't you?”

Ian's head spins with a stutter of thoughts.

He doesn't have the fortitude to beg this to stop nor the confidence to storm away.

His only options, and the ones he decided were best, was to wait until the dust cleared–the chances of things growing civil between the two of you was extremely high, when not fighting, you were an absolute sweetheart, however much you looked tough to be –but never once did Ian try to stop the arguments.

Because inside of him, the part that is far too gone for you, was vindictive and wickedly happy with the idea that you were growing discontented with his brother.

He knew –while guilty over the idea– it wouldn't make you easier to have.

"Youre too fucking clingy, Y/N! I can't breathe around you! I can't even stand to look at you sometimes, fuck!”

The pure, toxic rage spews forth from Lip's lips and Ian winces at the harshness of it.

He hated to see people yell like that.

You, however, were unrelenting as you shouted, like an echo through the house, the vicious noise came to him again.

And as you moved in pace, fists tight and feet steaming for the friction with the floor, Ian was in a comatose-like state and had no trouble tracking the beautiful anger you expelled.

"You fucking asshole!"

You started with a shove that sent Lip halfway across the room. There were tears springing from your eyes and the water glistened like stars.

When you shoved Lip again, his back hit the wall and while not very strong, was still heavy enough to make an ungodly thump.

Lip grabbed your forearms with a fierceness sure to burn through your bones, though everything within him was shattered, down, down, to the core of his heart.

Yet, all he could do was continue to yell obscenities right back into your face.

That is, until Ian had had enough.

The redhead stepped forward and finally yelled your name, much louder than he usually did.

Which was a bit horrifying and nerve-racking and every negative synonym to such an event.

He had to force himself in between the two of you to push you apart and without thinking, his palm smacked you square on the chest in an attempt to set you aside and there was barely a beat in between your hit to the floor and Lip's hands thrown around his shoulders.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?!" His elder brother seethes and Ian doesn't flinch.

"My problem?" He grinds and before Lip can let the flame singe him more, Ian shoves him off of him like it's nothing. "My fucking problem is the two of you. You can't keep yelling at each other like this, jesus. Grow the fuck up. "

If he hadn't seen the shame fill the space of where you both were only minutes ago, he might not have expected you to hang your head and break out crying.

"Oh, for fucks sake. " Was the exclamation of exasperation Lip gave to you, sighing angrily at the sight of you sobbing.

It made you cry harder, feeling betrayed by even his outburst.

Ian thought his lungs might explode.

"Hey-" Lip tried but when his hand came near you you were quick to smack it away.

Lip had made an attempt to further his explanation but you promptly cut him off with an ear shattering yell.

"Get out! Get the fuck out! I don't want to see you again you fucking piece of shit!"

The fiery look in his dark eyes contrasted awfully to your words of pure, burning red.

Hurt, is what he showed.

Broken, is what he felt.

"Fine. " He dared and your nostrils flared.

The door slammed shut not long after he finished, the sound leaving your eardrums ringing and your mind racing, filled to the brim with all the hatred you could possibly have for a single man.

The last emotion you thought you would have to battle, however, was empathy.

It was quiet.

With the tears still leaking from your face, your palms lifted to press against the spaces of your sockets and you hiccuped pathetically to no one.

No one except Ian who had slowly, after the initial shock had worn off, carefully inched his way across the floor towards you.

Right now, Ian held the kind of charm that reminds you of drunks that carry with them the very essence of a candle lit room and some kind of naiveté that was hard to put a finger on.

The kind of trouble that ends with the tightening of sheets and the kind of kindness that just breaks the dams.

He, unbeknownst to your knowledge, had learned how to treat you for a long time now.

He saw the way the plump of you lips tightened when Lip didn't make it home on time and didn't send word, the way the skin around you eyes grew darker when not sleeping in the same bed and the twitching of your hips when kissed anywhere less than suitable for a child.

From the comfort you sought within yourself and within your friends, to the tears shed all alone in your bathroom, Ian became quite versed in everything that made you, you.

"Hey, " the word comes out as soft as his heart feels and you don't move to acknowledge his presence. The sudden relief that sits beneath your skin has him gaping open with an ache pulling at his heart. "Hey, what did he say?"

You shake, maybe not violently, but enough for Ian's hands to move like magnets toward you.

They rest on the sides of your legs at first because that's where you're tucked, hiding and deserted. All alone in your cave as you try to collect the shattering pieces but all you feel is shame.

When Ian attempts to gather you closer, you fall apart and so he comes together.

"I'm sorry he's such an asshole. " He breathes into the side of your hair, rubbing his thumb along your back.

"He–" You hiccup, your body rising and falling again and again before you could get the sentence out. "He said he wasn't attracted to me. "

Ian thought he should vomit.

Or rip Lips cock clean from his body.

"He lied. " Ian insists and he wonders where that came from but when you sigh it's to shift and press your head down the top of his shoulder. His fingers run along the bones of your spine as he ponders for a moment.

"You're fucking hot, Y/N. " Is the next thing he says, hoping to encourage the confidence, but what takes over Ian when he sees the blush form so fast on your neck, is the absolute need to impress you with his tongue.

"Yeah?" Your tone isn't flirty or surprised, rather, exhausted, in need of someone who's not belittling you.

It's everything Ian is and feels.

You laugh softly next, but it feels sarcastic and cynical.

"Everyones attracted to you. " He tells you then and lets the gentle thumping of his chest bring you to solace. "Even me. "

His statement gives the impression of an abnormality.

Your heartbeat halts its rapid state and Ian tries not to flush when the thought of an engagement or invite forms illustrate inside his head; all from an accidental confession.

You, none the wiser, have the audacity to open your eyes and look up at him from beneath your lashes.

When you see him, he seems as though he himself is an extension of a person made of every emotion there is that you haven't learnt how to properly decipher, yet somehow, you felt connected to him for it.

"You're nice. " You say it like there's a small child in front of you, too young to understand you, too old not to want to speak to you.

Your voice is small and the sound it makes is akin to that of a mouse.

While it amazes Ian and has a great hold on his heart, he also knows you've only used the simplest way to describe his softness.

He stares back at you, frozen in a way he can't describe, his heart hammering like he's been told to run a mile and been given nothing but the anticipation of knowing it was, in fact, coming.

When he cups your jaw, the gesture is out of place for two friends, certainly, though your eyes close, serene.

You did not take his statement to heart.

But he meant it with all of his.

As usual, Ian was drowning.

Into another night of contemplating the intricacies of his next move and of the next possible one itself.

Because, without context, it appeared his brother had left him with his ex, sitting alone together, and would probably be fucking the living daylights out of any girl he could get a grasp on.

Lip had a poor source of regulating his emotions.

But so did you.

However, more than just the want to steal you away as his own, Ian felt the need to help you.

The kind of want that hurts like starvation.

‘You okay?’

Was the thing you'd often say to Ian before slipping into bed beside Lip and watching him slink from room to room.

Back and forth in a weird paranoia and an annoying kind of behavior that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Every time you asked, however, he was adamant on not opening his mouth for anything but a yes.

And you stared at him strangely, the same way you were now.

Again, Ian's lips parted for just one word.

"What?" He asked with a sort of soft laugh that felt like you were a leaf spinning gracefully in the wind across a green, fruitful park.

"You're sort of beautiful. " You told him, without 2nd thought, and Ian jolted.

"Ha. " He laughed –or at least breathed it in a laughing manner, if the strain against his lungs was of any significance– and the warmth was instant.

"Thanks.."

Ian knew.

And you were unaware, but you knew, too.

"He doesn't deserve you, Y/N. "

With every inch of his body aching to scream a declaration, what it resulted in instead was a calm sincerity with an earnest kind of gleam in his eye.

"I know. " You spoke it as a whisper, like it was forbidden and someone would have your head for it. But Ian's reassurance is enough to allow your shoulders to slump as they give out under the weight of the world.

Like Atlas, who caved at the sight of eternity, you feel it too.

Feels as though he were holding up, not the moon, not the stars, not the sun, not the planets, not the earth.

But you.

"Ian. " You said it, ghostly.

A call, something dark and heavy inside of you, the kind of dense which reminds you of death, rising and falling, beckoning you in a way that could only end poorly for yourself and any other life you might choose to cherish.

"Yes.." Ian acknowledged, more a breath against your skin than actual words from his heart.

"Kiss me. "

You didn't allow him the patience for one extra second.

Reaching up, you captured Ians lips with a simple tilt of his head, kissing him like it was the last time you ever would.

There was an odd feeling resonating within you.

One that said, this will most definitely not end well, it was the kind of thing you never seemed to listen to, even before, with the way you treated life like it were the ocean and you were trying to find Atlantis.

Like that, Ian became the kind of addict you held.

It started with the gentle way he kissed, his hands running small tracks down the curve of your cheeks and even smaller ones down the line of your jaw.

"What is this?" He managed to whisper between his lips that began to overtake yours, the glide smooth and succulent.

You don't know the words to respond.

Ian is no fool.

But for you, he resigns the right to be.

And he's kissing you like you're made of sugar and honey and he's been starving in a desert for days. The craving is hard to sate when it's been long fulfilled, the love never gone, the want and desire still constant.

How can this be so wrong? You can't even register the thought because it feels so delicious.

Maybe when one door closes, another opens, but neither was meant to be swung with a latch.

Maybe this is wrong; his conscience tugs, but he doesn't care.

You both ascend, but it's pure teenage stupidity that you enter this together, a high reaching just below the clouds, and you couldn't see past his eyes.

Couldn't see further than the feelings and the affections he gives you; that Lip had somehow left so much that Ian could easily fill up the vacancy.

Fill it so well that, this, all of this, is alright.

Just for now.

#shameless #lip gallagher #ian gallagher #ian gallagher x male reader #ian gallagher x you #ian gallagher x reader #ian gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher x male reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher x you #angst #comfort #request #took me for fucking ever to find this gift #i need to go back to sleep #unknown ending

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kepnerandavery · 8 months ago

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My favourite quotes from On the Way to the Wedding..

1. “It was only a matter of time before he, too, found the woman of his dreams and settled down to be fruitful, multiply, and take on such baffling hobbies as papier-mâché and the collection of nutmeg graters.”

Nutmeg Graters?? I can’t 😂

2. “Where is the scintillating Lord Bridgerton?” he asked. “Oh, somewhere. I don’t know. We’ll find each other at the end of the day, that is all that matters.”

This book is every Kanthony stan’s dream follow-up to TVWLM 😭 I love that we got little glimpses into their marriage to see how they've evolved as a couple and people.

3. “She was without artifice, the sort of girl a man could trust. Rather like his sisters, he supposed, with a keen wit and a sharp sense of humor. Lucy Abernathy would never inspire poetry, but she would make a very fine friend.”

Bahahaha. Did he just friendzone her in his head? 😂

4. “It was nothing. She was nothing. No, that was not fair. She was something. Quite a bit, actually. But not for him.”

Ohhh Gregory! My poor, sweet, innocent, naive Gregory 🤣

5. “Lord Fennsworth took one look at the duo (more at one than the other, and suffice it to say that blood was not thicker than unrequited love), and he murmured, “Friday it is.”

Props to Gregory for being perceptive about someone’s feelings, if not his own 😂

6. “At least she seemed rather more like herself. The world seemed a bit steadier with Lucy Abernathy yipping along like a terrier. He’d felt almost off-balance when she’d been staring morosely at the trees.”

Signals!! He’s missing all of the darn signals. How?? 🙆‍♀️

7. “Auctioning your friend off to the highest bidder. You’ll be well-practiced by the time you have a daughter.” She jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing with anger and indignation. “That is a terrible thing to say. My most important consideration has always been Hermione’s happiness. And if she can be made happy by an earl . . . who happens to be my brother . . .” Oh, brilliant. Now she was going to try to match Hermione with Fennsworth. Well done, Gregory. Well done, indeed.”

Hahaha, Lucy is too nice for her own good. And Gregory just keeps making things worse for himself at every given opportunity 😂

8. “Didn’t you wish for time for yourself?” she asked, softly . . . so softly it was almost a whisper. Slowly, he shook his head. “I did,” he said, sounding as if the words were coming to him at that very moment, as if the thought itself was new and not quite what he had expected. “I did,” he said again, “but now I don’t.”

My heart 🥺 💕

9. “She later told Gregory that he had still not forgiven her for costuming him as Cupid at the Billington fancy dress ball the previous year.”

I will so pissed if I don't get to see Anthony dressed up as Cupid on the show. I simply must see it 🤣

10. “Surely she would not come over an hour late. If nothing else, Lady Lucinda would not have tolerated it. She was clearly a punctual sort. In a good way.As opposed to an insufferable, nagging way. He smiled to himself. She wasn’t like that.”

Omg, someone needs to hit him in the head!!! How is he missing this? 😫

11. “What happened to you? Are you all right? Did someone—” His grip loosened slightly as he looked frantically around. “Who did this?” he demanded. “Who made you—”

You’re a little too concerned about her safety, aren’t you, Gregory?? 😂

12. “And I didn’t have my mask, which made me stick out a bit.” “Like a mushroom?” “Like a—?” He looked at her dress and nodded at the color. “A blue mushroom.”

Trust him to be even cuter when he's drunk 🥺

13. “I will walk you to the stairs, then.” Lucy knew better than to argue. He would not relent. His voice was quiet, but it had an edge she wasn’t quite certain she’d heard there before. “And I will remain there until you reach your room.” “That’s not necessary.” He ignored her. “Knock three times when you do so.” “I’m not going to—” “If I don’t hear your knock, I will come upstairs and personally assure myself of your welfare.”

Omg. He's sooo cute 🥰

14. “I’m not, he thought, and he realized that it was true. He had a sudden flash of his life married to Hermione Watson, and he was.. Bored. Good God, how was it he was only just now realizing it? He and Miss Watson were not suited at all, and in truth, he had made a narrow escape.”

"A narrow escape" haha 🤣 🤣 At least he realized it rather quickly. Granted, his brothers have set the bar quite low when it comes to life-altering realizations lol

15. “And Anthony was worse. He didn’t even have to say anything. His mere presence was usually enough to make Gregory feel that he was somehow not living up to the family name. It was difficult to make one’s way in the world with the mighty Lord Bridgerton constantly looking over one’s shoulder. As far as Gregory could determine, his eldest brother had never made a mistake in his life.”

Oh, if only he knew.. Looks like Anthony hid his devilry from the younger siblings quite well. Props to Benedict and Colin for covering for him 😂

16. “The way she was looking at him, her hand on his arm. She’d been clutching him, and for a moment it had almost felt like she needed him. He could be her rock, her center. He had never been anyone’s center.”

Awwww 🥺

17. “She turned. She turned, and she saw him. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, and it hit him squarely in the chest—It was good to see her.”

I would have found this so romantic if I wasn't so mad at him at this point 🥲

18. “He simply liked Lucy. Considered her a friend. And he wished for her to have a bit of fun. It was admirable, really.

Haha, sure Jan 🙄 It totally doesn't seem like you're in love with her. No one goes so out of their way to help friends. He would've never gone to Violet if she wasn't so special to him 🥺

19. “Anthony is exceedingly generous,” Gregory said quietly. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Violet said, smiling. “With his money and his time. He is quite like your father in this way.” She looked at him with wistful eyes. “I am so sorry you never knew him.” “Anthony was a good father to me.” Gregory said it because he knew it would bring her joy, but he also said it because it was true.”

My heart.. Anthony was so worried about living up to their father, and yet he has managed to fulfill all of his duties to perfection. Edmund would be so proud of him 😭

20. “I know what it means to work for something,” he said in a quiet voice.”

He's got so hurt by her implication.. And when Gregory is hurt, I'm hurt. It's a simple law now 😫

21. “I have found that most men do not notice anything that is not clearly spelled out, anyway.” “Even your sons.” “Especially my sons.”

Haha It's a universal truth 😂

22. “And then she saw him. Lucy saw him. He saw it first in her eyes, which widened and sparkled, and then in the curve of her lips. She smiled. For him. It filled him. To near bursting, it filled him. It was just one smile, but it was all he needed.”

Sighhhhhh 🥰

23. “His fingers gripped hers when they should have just brushed by. She looked up and saw that he was gazing at her. ”

Ohhh... How scandalous lol 😏

24. “Hyacinth regarded her with a delighted smile. “I like you,” she said slowly, as if she were deciding upon it right then and there. “You are wrong, of course, but I like you, anyway.” She turned to her brother. “I like her.”

Hyacinth literally showed up out of nowhere towards the end of the book and stole the show 😂

25. “He and Lucinda Abernathy were meant to be husband and wife. Hers was the face he was supposed to gaze upon over eggs and bacon and kippers and cod and toast every morning. A snort of laughter pressed through his nose, but it was that nervous, desperate kind of laughter, the sound one made when the only alternative was to cry. Lucy had to marry him, if only so that they could eat masses and masses of food together every morning.”

And the most endearing Bridgerton sibling award goes to... 🥰

26. “Her eyes glistened as they met his. In the dim light of the night, they looked a dark, dark gray, and achingly sad. He could imagine the entire world there, in the depths of her gaze. Everything he needed to know, everything he might ever need to know—it was there, within her.”

My man is soo wrecked in the best way possible 🥺

27. “Let me kiss you,” he whispered. “One more time. Let me kiss you one more time, and if you tell me to go, I swear that I will.”

The respect!!! No wonder Lucy fell in love with him so quickly 😭

28. “The night seemed to dance, sparkling and tingling, as if the air itself understood that nothing would ever be the same. Dawn was waiting on the other side of the horizon, and already the stars were beginning to look less bright in the sky. If he could have frozen time, he would have done so. Never had he experienced a single moment that was so magical, so.. full. Everything was there, everything that was good and honest and true. And he finally understood the difference between happiness and contentment, and how lucky and blessed he was to feel both, in such breathtaking quantities.”

Awwww! Happiness is seeing your favourite fictional men so utterly and hopeless in love 😭

29. “It was simply impossible to enjoy one of nature’s small miracles and not kiss her.”

Why is he soo cute??? 🥺

30. “I have sworn in my heart to protect you,” he said, his voice passionate and fierce and maybe even a little bit revelatory. Because today, he realized, was the day he truly became a man. After twenty-six years of an amiable and, yes, aimless existence, he had finally found his purpose. He finally knew why he had been born. “I have sworn it in my heart,” he said, “and I will swear it before God just as soon as we are able. And it is like acid in my chest to leave you alone.”

She's so darn lucky. She wasn't even looking for love and somehow found the best of the best 🥰

31. “Gregory had told Colin everything, even down to the events of the night before. He did not like telling tales of Lucy, but one really could not ask one’s brother to sit in a tree for hours without explaining why.”

What are brothers for, if not to sit in trees for hours in front of their sibling's girlfriend's houses? 😂

32. “Listen to me. I love you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I love you,” he said again. “There is nothing in this world or the next that could ever make me stop loving you.”

Oh my god, whenever he told her he loved her an year was added to my life.. It's so damn adorable 🥲

33. “He would try with everything he had to make sure that they both came through this alive and unhurt, but if there was a choice—if only one of them was to walk out the door.. It would be Lucy.”

Chivalry at its finest 😭

34. “Nine children. Nine. It was only one less than ten. Which possessed two digits. If he did this again, he would be in the double-digits of fatherhood.”

Haha, Lucy wanted a large family, and Greg certainly didn't disappoint lol 😂

#gregory bridgerton #lucy abernathy #grecy #gregory x lucy #on the way to the wedding #bridgerton #favourite bridgerton quotes

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stoopid-turtle · 1 year ago

Text

the art of being a skeptical turtle

So this is a personal post more about my experience as a turtle. If you just want to get to the fun list of candies I totally buy into regardless of evidence, just skip down to where the asterisks are. (Consider this like a recipe attached to a blog post)

For those interested in the whole nerdery going on here, let me share that I had a lot of trouble coming to terms with bjyxszd. I wrote a whole series of posts about it to get my thoughts in order. Now I'm fully on the turtle train, but I find myself skeptical of some candies.

This is gonna get super-nerdy so hold on to your butts.

I'm a generally skeptical person. I come by it honestly. My parents literally subscribed to Skeptical Inquirer and Skeptics magazines. They (well, my dad mainly) were capital-S Skeptics. My family talked about logical fallacies, perceptual oddness, and the fallibility of memory over the dinner table.

Please don't back away. I know self-identified Skeptics are typically insufferable. I didn't know this as a kiddo, though, so the whole "thinking about things skeptically" became just my default way of processing stuff. Nowadays, I wouldn't call myself a Skeptic in the way that some in a particularly obnoxious subculture do. But I do tend to be a skeptical sort. I just don't...you know...think it makes me smarter/better/cooler than other folks.

(Actually, it makes me way less cool bc I can single-handedly ruin a fun party by expressing skepticism about something. Nobody likes a wet blanket. I know this)

My bestie in high school always called me Scully to his Mulder. He would believe anything he saw or read, whereas I didn't. Usually, I was right. Like when he totally thought that the Blair Witch Project was real found footage (It's not. Nobody thinks it is now, I know, but it was part of the promo at the time). On occasion, he was right. Like when he told me that some gray clouds we had overheard were from wildfires in Mexico. I scoffed bc, really, we weren't that close to Mexico. But he was right and I learned a valuable lesson on large-scale weather phenomenon. (He's still wrong about there being a picture of a light bulb in the pyramids though)

So, yeah, that's just how I process things. It's second-nature for me. But I reached a point with my generally skeptical outlook where I considered 2 things to see whether I really cared if people were buying into something I thought was false.

The stakes. If a person believes X, what does that lead to? If I don't believe Y, even though it's true, what does that lead to?

There's a whole bunch of political stuff that heightens the stakes. To take a ridiculous (and outdated one), when I was growing up, there was a common story that AIDS hopped from apes to humans because a gay man had sex with an ape and then had sex with other humans. Thus, the AIDS epidemic.

The stakes of other people buying into that homophobic nonsense were (and are) life and death. (If you believe that...uh...bye?) It's something that's worth me being the obnoxious Scully if I hear someone buying into it.

The stakes of, say, my high school bestie believing that The Blair Witch Project was real found footage was...nothing. It just made him want to see the movie more. Nobody was hurt. It didn't matter.

I argued with him at the time, but I probably wouldn't anymore.

The stakes for believing that bjyxszd, here in international fandom, are perhaps higher than the Blair Witch thing. But only barely. If somebody believes in a particular rumor/candy that I don't think is real, it affects literally nothing. We're both still turtles. We have a lot more in common than we do difference with regards to YiZhan. Likewise, the effect of me not believing a candy that may be true is nil. Gg and dd are not impacted in any way.

(I think things may be different for c-fans, but that's not at all a thing I'm qualified to delve into. I can only account for myself in my context)

2. The other thing I consider is the context. That is, how likely are we to know the actual truth?

Scientific claims have a method to test them (and claims that can't be tested are just...not something science addresses). Claims about current events can be researched using journalism methods or whatever. For that homophobic AIDS story, there's ways to prove that it's not true. For the Blair Witch thing...well, the actors went on the talk show circuit for promo so, you know, the real footage myth was quickly lifted.

Celebrities exist in a different context. Like most people, they have a private life that is not accessible to people on the outside. If they choose to open up about that life, then cool. But if they don't or can't do so (like is the case with YiZhan), then they'll try to keep their private life out of sight of fans.

It really hit home to me when I was doing the bts thing how little of dd and gg we saw in the Untamed bts. We see even less of them now. I'm at peace with the fact that I just will never know much about these guys (I wrote a whole post about it). But the fact that there's a big mass of the unknown means that the possibilities are endless. We don't know and we'll never know.

So I don't have any more authority on anything gg or dd related than anybody else does. So why would I attempt to question or dismiss candies that other people find compelling? At the end of the day, there is a truth, but it's not accessible to us, so anything we come up with is just extrapolation.

Which is fine. It's fun. I think there's real stuff going on. (If I didn't, I wouldn't be here) But it means there's no real point arguing about the specific candies.

(and to be clear, I don't see turtles doing this, really. so this is all just me reiterating my own approach to things bc I'm a person who processes thoughts through long tumblr posts apparently) (and it's not a reaction to any particular candy. this post has been in my drafts for ages)

I think I'm a hard sell on a lot of candies, and I'm definitely the fuddy-duddy who just squints and asks a bunch of obnoxious questions about things.

But I ask those questions of myself and don't feel the need to annoy other turtles with them because, honestly, we're all in this boat together. Some candies appeal to particular turtles more than others, and I think we all kinda have our personal preferences for which ones resonate with us. I'm not here to rain on anybody's parade, especially as we all have way more in common just bc we all believe in bjyxszd.

This is all a long-winded way to explain how I think about candies, honestly. Or more, how I assess candies that are new-to-me and figure out whether to buy into it or not. With anything involving bjyx, I also leave a lot of room for there just being an unknown and unknowable. Again, the stakes are low, and if I'm wrong about any particular candy (in either direction), then...oh well? It affects literally nothing.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

So here's the fun part! The list of candies that I fully admit don't have a whole lot going for them (by my stupidly exacting standards) but that I totally buy into just because I like them.

Basically all lip-readings, but especially this one

(if you don't want to click thru, this is the moment from the Nanjing farewell concert where dd and gg seem to flirt about photos while on-stage)

Okay, I know, rationally, that lip-readings are always gonna be shaky. I mean, I've seen Medieval Land Fun-Time World. If I'm honest with myself, I know that the lip-readings are basically fluffy candy.

But whatever. I choose to believe them. This moment, especially, I adore (and it does come with dd posting a bare-faced photo after!). I think their big grins while openly flirting with each other on stage just jazzes me enough to pretend.

It's all true. I totally believe it.

Related to this is:

2. Any and all CPN about dd and/or gg seeing turtle signs and smiling or otherwise reacting positively.

I've seen such CSI-worthy analysis of sight-lines to try to establish with precision where dd or gg is looking at the moment they smile/look happy. I have no idea how much any of it holds up, and it's not worth the bother to try to confirm any of it.

But whatever. I like it. I believe it. I'll probably believe it everytime it happens.

3. Advanced Bombology.

So there's some things that aren't in dispute here. We definitely know that gg suddenly cut an Olay commercial ad from a 2 day shoot to a 1 day shoot, and it's a reasonable assumption that he did so to be at the DDU anniversary episode with GG.

The rest is a little fuzzy. The video details dd being kinda grouchy in interviews before the DDU shoot, and it also shares an anon rumor from a person who claimed to overhear dd in a studio restroom arguing on the phone with gg. This rumor came out a year after the event.

The rest of the video is some interpretation of the boys' behavior/mood in the DDU anniversary ep.

So, like, I get that anon rumors a year on maybe aren't the most solid evidence for anything. But whatever, I buy it.

And the interpretation of the boys' mood seems true to me, especially the moment where the interviewer asks gg if they'd discussed his visit ahead of time. Gg def does a sweatdrop, panic pause, look at dd moment and waits for dd's lead to answer. I find a lot of mood interpretation from videos a bit much, but this feels real.

In fact, the whole thing just feels real. Maybe that's why it's easy for me to buy. It feels like a real argument a couple would have.

4. The 5/22 fight during CQL shooting.

I talked about this back when I was doing the bts in order.

In tl;dr, dd gives gg a bit of a brush-off response to something. gg responds by cold shouldering him and then doing some passive aggressive sniping about how dd doesn't want gg to care about him. dd gets upset, then he apologizes, then they go on to watch something on one of their phones.

The basis of this one is some gossip plus a video shot from a distance that requires reading lips. So we know that's already fuzzy, and I know I approached this with some skepticism in my earlier post. That was just to be rational about things so as to be honest with myself.

In truth, I buy it. I buy the argument. I buy the lip-reading. Again, it feels real.

5. GG's card to turtles

This is one of those frustrating ones I'm having trouble refinding. Darn.

The upshot, and I'm going from memory, is that there's a CPN about a card written to turtles ostensibly from gg. This came with some handwriting comparison to try to match the signature to gg's known signature.

This isn't something I'd place bets on, because...seriously, it's so fuzzy.

But in my heart, I believe it for no reason other than that I want to.

6. DD as gg's mystery driver

Okay, there's a couple such incidents. One quite recently. Where gg's driver is mysteriously masked such that you can't see their face.

And, truth, it could be literally anybody under there. But for me, it's dd. No need to give me painstaking comparisons of hands or whatever. I'm fully in on this one.

7. The bone necklace.

Ack, don't hate me for this one!

When I was doing my posts about stuff that had convinced me that gg and dd were still together, I stumbled with the bone necklace. To me, it's the main thing that convinces me, but if I'm honest, it really is kinda a leap of faith thing.

With the ox-head necklace, we have the fancam footage to back it up as being from gg. All we have for the bone necklace is the timing and the precedent of dd having already worn a necklace from gg. That's shaky, really.

In fact, I think I saw some other dd CP claiming the bone necklace as theirs (I saw them also claiming the Leica camera). I think they're wrong, but I don't have any solid proof to say so.

I think the most I can say is that there are much harder evidences that gg and dd are still together. But these typically involve massive privacy violations so I'm not eager to spread them around (I kinda hate that I stumble upon them, tbh). But in any case, it has me convinced, so if I already know gg and dd are a couple, then of course the bone necklace is related.

But on its own, the bone necklace is a leap.

Okay, that all said, since I (finally) had a photo of dd last time I posted, I'm dropping a random gg photo here. Not my favorite, cause pls don't make me choose, but one that hangs out my head throughout the days.

#bjyx #yizhan #considerations of being a turtle #it starts nerdy and then turns into a listicle #no judgment for just skipping to the candies #gratuitous gg photo #they srsly just wrapped him in cables and then that happened #what is his waist yall #and why's there a car driving up his lapel?#still sexy

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