#most people tone down his attitude and bite

[marshmallowprotection]

Okay but what if i just straightup dont react to Unknown's crap? I mean i'll end up doing the work he assigns me bc i'll die of boredom if I dont, but if he wants me to be scared then sorry dude you're shit outta luck. Its not even an attempt to be tough my brain just doesnt work right

I've answered this a lot in the past because everyone seems to think that not reacting is a bold stance to take, or they simply can't dare to imagine being stuck in that room with him with nothing to do but whatever he demands until he sends you to the corner to be alone for the time being. It's emotionally overwhelming and will hurt you just as much as it's hurt Unknown if you're stuck long enough.

It's not a bold choice. The reality of being his captive or assistant is a grim one because you're doing paperwork and dealing with his many tantrums. I'm speaking to our canon Unknown who doesn't care for you apart from the fact that you're useful to him as the Eyes to the RFA's secrets, you're just a tool to him. You're useful until you're not.

Sure, he might find a bit of amusement in tormenting you because pushing your buttons might hurt the RFA. Say, if you were Seven's MC and he knew that manipulating you or tricking you into believing him and leaving Seven in the dust would help his revenge... well, that would be the end of that. There's an Ending for that, after all. So, that goes to show what Unknown's motive really is.

You're not the object of infatuation to Unknown that you are to Ray. You are a pair of binoculars. You can choose to work with Unknown or you can choose to defy his orders. Either way, it's not going to bode well for you. You want to make trouble and not give in to what he said to do? You don't want to help him find a replacement for you to go in that apartment? Okay, fine, go to the basement and come back when you're useful and pliable.

He isn't Ray or Suit Saeran. He's not gonna hesitate when it comes to the elixir. He won't even blink before he shoves it in your hands or lets you be taken away to drink it.

You want to play along and listen? His patience might run thin with you just the same. He wants revenge and anything else that stops his goals just becomes a problem. You don't want to be a problem. Your goal is to survive here and maybe reason with him over the months you're stuck with him. Try to empathize, humanize, and reason with him slowly. Find something in his twisted pain. But, if you can't really handle that... realistically, it's not going to be okay in the end.

Unknown doesn't have a route specifically because the chance of trying to win him over and reason with him would take you months. It would never be two weeks. There would be no way to pack in every single event that would need to transpire to reach him the way that it works with Ray or Suit Saeran... and even those two logically needed a few months. Unknown? Months if not a year.

That's why when I wrote my last Assistant Reader fic for Unknown I had to make sure the Believer that became his assistant was capable of withstanding the cult itself alongside his attitude... and even that was a mess of trying to reach him. When I write in a romantic sense, most of the time, I aim to find the stretch of humanity in him that's normally lost in canon because he's so numb and detached.

If you want to find that, you gotta be committed to the long haul for this. That means the dark days when you don't know how to cope with his mind games... and it's not pleasant. At least, he looks damn good in that shirt.

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[md-intermission-archive]

"Murder Drones: Intermission": A Story of Understanding

Uzi Doorman: Understanding Loneliness

I feel like during the development of this episode, Uzi was the hardest character for me to wrap my head around. To my understanding, she’s feisty, angsty, and plays up this persona of being apathetic. A sort of lone wolf thing.

She’s snappy towards her classmates who ostracize her, snappy towards adults in her life, and overall gives a middle finger to anyone who isn’t on Team Uzi. It’s a very “me vs. the world” type of thing. That, to me, just felt like the callous shell of someone who’s painfully fragile and has been hurt so often.

I will admit, I may be projecting slightly, but I honestly read her as like… a neurodivergent kid who didn’t know how to navigate social circles, so she just became incredibly bitter. Her father didn’t help her situation at all because he also treated her like a freak, literally calling her a disappointment in his business ads. Then on top of all that she had no mother figure to look up to. All of this accumulates into a habit of isolation. “No one will love me, so fuck it. I’m on my own”. She acts like she’s fine on her own, when in reality she’s so starved for genuine connection. With that in mind, in Intermission I wanted to peel back those layers a little bit. I wanted to explore self-isolation and that hunger for love. 

Some people clocked this I think: the way Uzi’s attitude is toned down in Intermission. I didn’t want to play up her angsty teen act as much (and I capped her at one “bite me”) because then I’d risk falling into the trap of making her into a caricature of herself. The way I framed her in my head is “if she wants connection, then she’d be happier around people who she sees as her friends. If she’s also fragile though, she’ll make an immediate 180 at the slightest hint of meanspiritedness”. This was the guideline I gave myself when it came to bouncing her off of V and N. N melts her icy demeanor. He’s very gentle and encouraging with her. One example being how N kneeled down to her eye level when speaking to her when she was putting up her walls again. As someone who’s constantly ostracized, she needs a gentle touch in order to relax.

I made sure to keep that in mind, that while she was being treated gently, she should show more signs of happiness. Comfort. Part of that comfort is also reflected in being mischievous/playful. As for the 180 she makes if shown any sort of cruelty, that’s reflected in acts of self-isolation. 

This is something I’ve observed from myself and people in my life. If someone is already deathly afraid of rejection, they won’t reach out for help and their immediate instinct will be to isolate. In the beginning of the EP when Uzi’s having her Solver flare up her immediate thought is “I’m going to put up a firewall (repress) and just not even mention this to anybody”. Then when N offers to help, she still shows signs of being uncomfortable because she’s not used to it. It isn’t until V’s comment calling her a lost cause irks her that she decides “screw it let’s give it a shot”. She hates being underestimated, so this reaction made sense to me. Meanwhile the climax of the episode is where I wanted the most overt display of her fears to be presented.

As I said earlier, Uzi’s sensitive to rejection. She attacked the only people in her life who care about her, and the worst part was it wasn’t even her fault. Uzi is a person who really wants a sense of control over her life for the sake of security, so that loss of control and the idea of “oh my god they hate me now” was the final straw for her. So, she isolated. She ran off (or in this case, flew off), she barricaded herself, and she cried.

During the scene when Uzi's found, I had a bit of an issue figuring out where to go from there with her. I had two options: I could once again lean into her badass persona and have her fight back, or I could have her fold. I decided the latter. To her, she just lost the only people who cared about her, she's a monster to worker drone society, her father doesn't care about her.

What's the point. She's doomed to be alone.

If V didn't have her revelation, Uzi would've let herself die. While I understand that's an upsetting choice to make in the narrative, given Uzi's circumstances it felt like the appropriate reaction. Which is why the events following were so important.

While Uzi's at her lowest point she's shown pinch of kindness.

While it’s true V’s initial intention was to off Uzi, her showing compassion and sympathy was what helped calm Uzi down. Rather than making her put up walls like V usually does, V was able to break through them a tad. That interaction, N pouncing at her with a hug, and the final scene was meant to cement in Uzi’s head that she finally wasn’t alone (even if V still struggled to not be prickly with her). The three are still incredibly messy, but there’s that sense of trust that Uzi now has people in her life that actually care about her despite her messiness. The mischievous attitude even comes out when she says, “you found a nanospark of warmth in your heart to care about me”. She now feels more comfortable with V to an extent, and she finally has a support system.

I think…the reason why I love Uzi so much is that she’s sadly reflects the experience of what it's like not being able to fit into society's mold of acceptable. Even if she might not be neurodivergent, the bullying and isolation she experiences is very familiar. I wanted to do her justice as much as I could with that all in mind and with the resources I had. I wanted to give her one happy ending to a day when every other feels like utter hell.

The angsty teen may be badass, but her heart is still fragile.

[pauli-writes]

Could I request Aventurine not so subtly demanding affection from his s/o?

warning: lots of kisses, suggestive content?

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: i guess i’m the aventurine gal now. thank you for the request, i didn’t really know what to do with it at first so i hope you enjoy the direction i took (ALSO I HAVENT FINISHED THE 2.1 STORY QUEST YET DON’T SPOIL ME PLS)

“reader, can you come to my office?” was the first thing you heard once you answered your phone, not even a hello, how are you? straight away he goes about commanding you around as if he was your superior, which he technically was, but that’s not the point.

you picked up your paperwork and put the phone in between your ear and your shoulder as you wandered the lower hallways of the ipc headquarters. “what do you need?”

“you.”

“aventurine…” you replied annoyed. he had a habit of calling you during a work day for no reason, but to play around with you. it was charming at times, but most often than not was annoying since you weren’t in such a high position at the ipc that you could afford slaking off for any period of time.

“i’m bored and i happen to know you have a free schedule too.”

you held back a sarcastic remark, of course he knew your schedule, topaz probably told him. “yeah, okay, but your office is sooo high up.”

“i’ll repay you~” he said in a sing song voice, making you let out a tired sigh.

“in what?”

“whatever you want~” he answered in that same silky sweet tone, that has so many people wrapped around his finger.

“okay, i’ll be there in a minute.” it was never about his gifts, but you knew if you didn’t agree to meet him he’d never relent. and so you began you treacherous way to the elevator, that would bring you all the way to aventurine’s office. he had one of the nicer office spaces in ipc, no surprise there, but you hated making the trip from your lousy office to his fancy one.

you knocked twice (your secret signal to tell him it was you) and walked into his office and were immediately grabbed by the waist and pulled into him. “come here.”

he sat you on his lap, as he sat in his very nice office chair behind his imposing desk. he tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, and started peppering your face and neck with quick kisses, making you giggle. he never lingered on one spot for too long, leaving you overwhelmed with sensations.

“what’s up with you?” you asked curiously as he readjusted his hold on you. aventurine was touchy at times, but this seemed more than that.

he only smiled, continuing to press kisses on your neck and collarbone. “just missing your company, is that a crime?”

“no-���

“good.”

he continued his assault of kisses, not that you minded of course. aventurine knew when you had enough, despite his flippant attitude, he was respectful of your boundaries and feelings. so, you let out a breath and leaned back, your head resting against his chest and savoured the feeling of his undivided attention on your.

although as you adjusted your position you spotted something on his desk. “oh, you’re heading to penacony tomorrow?”

you felt him pause for a fraction of a moment, before ignoring your question and continuing to kiss you. you sighed, turning around to face him and cupping his face in your hands. “aventurine. i asked you something.”

“oh, it’s nothing important,” he replied, taking your hand from his cheek and giving it a shallow kiss. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

“yeah, but-“

“no buts, only kisses.” he gave you a kiss on your nose, almost making you giggle again.

“you are going alone,” you said, trying to stay on topic, “that worries me a little.”

aventurine only laughed, waving off your concern as his hands moved up and down on your body. “i won’t be alone, the doctor will be there.”

“that does not reassure me. what if- Ow!” he had given you a small bite on your neck, cutting you off. it didn’t particularly hurt, but surprised you nonetheless.

as you stopped talking he cupped your face in his hands, making you look at him and straight into his colourful eyes. “stop worrying. don’t you trust me?”

you nodded, there was no one you trusted more in the ipc. “i do.”

“good,” he let go of your face and gave you a quick peck on your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “now how about we have lunch together? it’s my treat as always.”

[plutoleah]

1/10 - Denki Kaminari

[Nonbinary reader-insert, Denki x NB! reader. Fleshlight, Sub! Denki x Dom!NB reader]

Kinktober 2024

Denki leaned back into the couch, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as Y/N settled beside him. The soft glow of the room—the amber light from the nearby lamp casting long shadows—gave the space an intimate warmth, creating a halo around his blond hair. His eyes, reflecting the dim light, sparkled with mischief. 

The two of you were supposed to be studying; textbooks sprawled out on the coffee table between you. Well, trying to study. It hadn’t taken long for Denki’s attention to drift from the notes and diagrams. His focus now was entirely on Y/N, as if the material laid out in front of him no longer existed. You could feel his gaze, burning softly into Y/N, though it wasn’t menacing—just playful, like a game he was daring Y/N to play along with.

"You’re really bad at concentrating, you know that?" Y/N teased, breaking the silence, their voice light as Y/N nudged him with their shoulder.

Denki’s lips twitched into a wider grin, his head tilting slightly in their direction. "Maybe it’s because you're such a distraction," he shot back smoothly, his voice low and teasing, as though he was sharing a secret meant only for their ears.

The way his eyes lingered on Y/N, combined with that easygoing charm, made their heart skip a beat, though Y/N tried their best not to let it show. You kept their expression calm, even though there was something about the way Denki spoke—something about that glint in his eyes—that always seemed to make their pulse race just a little faster.

"Denki, we have a test tomorrow," Y/N reminded him, their voice taking on a slightly scolding tone, though the smile tugging at their lips betrayed their amusement.

He responded by stretching his arms lazily behind his head, his body language exuding the kind of carefree attitude he was known for. His shirt lifted slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but it was the look in his eyes—those lazy, confident eyes—that made Y/N bite back a grin.

"What’s the point of studying when we both know I’ll just fry my brain halfway through the test?" he quipped, flashing Y/N that electric grin of his, the one that could disarm even the most stubborn of people.

"You just love making excuses," Y/N huffed, crossing their arms over their chest and pretending to be frustrated. But Denki knew Y/N too well—he could see right through their act.

Denki's grin widened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for Y/N to help me focus," he added, his tone almost challenging, as if daring Y/N to call him out on his lack of effort.

A smirk of their own started to form as Y/N leaned in slightly, their voice dropping. "You know what? I think I have a way to make Y/N concentrate." Your words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Denki’s eyes flickered with curiosity, his cocky grin faltering just for a second.

Without another word, Y/N reached forward and set the textbook on the coffee table, the thud of it hitting the surface the only sound breaking the silence between Y/N. Denki raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, his gaze following their every move. He didn’t know what Y/N had planned, but there was no doubt that he was intrigued.

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

Denki had always been a flirt, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He found himself seated in their lap, his pants and boxers discarded somewhere in the living room, and his body trembling under their control. The sound of his labored breathing filled the quiet space, every shaky inhale and exhale amplifying the tension between Y/N.

“Come on, Denki, answer the question.” Y/N purred, their tone both teasing and commanding as Y/N moved the fleshlight slowly up and down his shaft. Your free hand rested on his hip, keeping him pinned to their lap, his body twitching at every sensation.

Denki could barely form a coherent thought, let alone an answer. “I—fuck, shit—” he groaned, his voice breathless as he leaned his head back against their shoulder, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hands were gripping their thighs as if holding on for dear life. 

"C-cumming—" he whimpered, his body tense and trembling, desperate for release. His grip tightened on their leg, the pressure building inside him, but just as he felt himself teeter on the edge, Y/N pulled the fleshlight away. The sudden denial made him gasp, his entire body shuddering in frustration.

"Fuck, fuck, why?" he groaned, his voice full of desperation. He reached out to grab their hand, but Y/N were already one step ahead of him, pulling back just enough to stay in control.

You giggled softly, clearly unfazed by his pleas. "Let me repeat the question for Y/N, Denki," Y/N said, their voice laced with amusement. "It’s really not that hard," Y/N added, lowering the fleshlight back onto his cock, this time moving it slower, teasing him. “Who explored America in 1492?”

"C-Christ... Christopher Columbus," Denki choked out between shaky breaths, his voice barely above a whisper. His body jerked each time Y/N sped up the movement, sending waves of pleasure through him.

"Good boy," Y/N cooed, rewarding him with a faster pace. You watched with satisfaction as his body trembled in response, his eyes glazed over. You could feel the way he was holding back, trying to stay in control, but Y/N knew better.

"How many wives did Henry VIII have?" Y/N asked, their tone still sweet but with an edge of challenge to it.

"F-five," Denki stammered, but the second the wrong number left his lips, Y/N stopped. He let out a desperate whine, his body jerking as he realized his mistake. 

"Sh-shit! I mean six!" he blurted out, his voice frantic. His correction earned him mercy as Y/N resumed their motions, this time faster than before, pushing him back toward that edge he had been denied.

"C-cumming," Denki gasped, his voice a broken cry as he thrust up into the toy, desperate for release. But again, Y/N pulled it away just before he could finish. He let out a strangled whine, his body trembling, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

You smirked at his frustration, holding him in place with a teasing smile. "You’re doing so well, Denki," Y/N cooed, lowering the fleshlight one last time, this time pumping it rapidly. His entire body tensed, and within moments, his eyes rolled back as he let out a high-pitched squeal. His release hit him like a tidal wave, his body jerking uncontrollably as he came into the toy.

"Such a good boy," Y/N murmured softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his head as Y/N gently stroked his hair. He was a trembling mess in their arms, but there was something undeniably satisfying about the sight.

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

The next evening, Denki came strolling into the dorm, a piece of paper in his hand. "Y/N, look at the grade I got on the test!" His voice was filled with excitement, a proud grin stretching across his face as he leaned over the back of the couch where Y/N were sitting.

You glanced at the paper, raising an eyebrow. "A 70%? Really, Denki? I mean, Y/N passed, but those questions I drilled into Y/N—Y/N got them wrong!" Y/N said, pouting playfully as Y/N looked up at him.

Denki chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, um... turns out, I couldn’t really think straight while I was studying those questions... on my own," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Well then," Y/N said with a sly grin, reaching for a paddle nearby. You slapped it lightly against their palm; the sound was sharp in the quiet room. "Looks like you need another tutoring session."

Denki’s eyes widened, but the grin that followed told Y/N he wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea.

[mimisplayground]

Sunday was an awful, awful angel. He was cruel, uncaring, and he had a stupid smile on his face all the time. Like he thought he was better. Like he KNEW he was better.

And watching the people around you begin to whisper awful things about you. About how Sunday had told them you were a wicked, mean person. You couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling of despair. How were you meant to face this? He was a public figure, one of absolute authority and power that you could never hope to speak against.

So you go to him with tears in your eyes, asking how you could have ever possibly made him view you as so awful and wicked. “You’re undignified, unruly, quite honestly a bit airy in the head, and mouthy. Is that enough reason?” He smiles at you the entire time, tilting his head at the end of the question while watching fat tears roll down your cheeks.

“How do I… fix that…” you mutter through hiccups and sniffles, almost crying more when he coos at you and gives you a hug. Petting your hair as you went to full blown sobs. “It’s ok, just listen to what I tell you to do. I’ll always guide you properly. It’s not your fault you’re so stupid.”

He had sent you on your way, and the rumors and awfulness of those around you only got worse. You went from lazy to attention whore in their eyes. Clinging to Sunday and every word he speaks like gospel. Without so much as an approving glance your way.

You would cry awfully, not able to talk to those around you and not wanting to confront the man who had deemed you as a vile person again.

And you grew angry, though with that the talk got nastier. How awful you were. Being called for an audience with Sunday only for him to berate you for twenty minutes until you were a sniveling mess again was just awful.

In fact, the talk only seemed to vanish when you clung impossibly close to the man. In his quarters everyday, bringing him teas and snacks and not bothering to pay attention to the others.

It was easier that way. When you paid attention to the others you always found them saying awful things about you. When you were with Sunday it was like none of those rumors existed. And so you were like a personal assistant, telling people when he wanted an audience with them, bringing him foods and drinks, organizing things for him, anything he asked.

It wasnt hard to fall into the routine either. He was such a kind guy, he only ever told you when you did something wrong afterall. Your posture, your manners, your tone, what you were wearing, things like that. And you would always change it to fit how he said you were best. Because clearly he knew best.

He was handsome too, easy to look at. So of course it wasn’t long until you fell into his bed.

Sunday was a selfish lover. He would make sure you finished of course. But everything he did was with his own entertainment at mind.

Leaving you overstimulated and limp by the end of most nights. But he kissed you so sweetly afterwards, wiping you down and cuddling up to you. The next morning you would be pawing at him again, begging for more once again.

You were selfish in your own ways too. Sunday never seemed to mind when you were sat next to him, gripping his arm and glaring at whoever had come around to talk to him. How you would refuse to talk to them and bury yourself further into the man as he would laugh and apologize for your behavior with a dismissive attitude.

You don’t even really know when you began living with him.

Somewhere between his hand stuffing your face into some pillows as he calls you a mangy stupid mutt and the times where he thrusts into you slow and sensual while saying it was fine that you were stupid, because you were his.

Because you are his. No one else could ever fuck you the way he does. With a calm smile and a feral look in his eyes, pounding into you and rubbing your nipples. Sucking your neck and biting his claim all over you. And you babble insistently about how amazing he is. How perfect he is, how much you adore him as you pet his hair back and out of his face while he pounds you into a mating press.

He calls you a stupid little doll. A pretty pet. A cute accessory. Leaves you fucked out and drooling and laughs, making a comment about how he didn’t know you could get any dumber.

But it’s ok that you’re dumb. Because you’re his.

Forever and always.

——————

AN ACTUAL FULL FLESHED FIC??? FROM ME??? WOAH….

also hes TOXIC pls do NOT idolize him… anyways hes my idol :3 hope you all enjoyed lemme know what u want nexf!!

[purinfelix]

is it casual now? ✶⋆.˚ - joao felix

pairing - joao felix x reader summary - after yet another night spent together in secrecy, you finally build up the courage to ask Joao and uncomfortable question warnings - some angst, possibly a toxic relationship? word count - 1k

a/n: just bc ive been listening to chappell roan NONSTOP lately and realised i hadn't written a full length fic in a hot minute !!! hope u guys enjoy <333

There were a lot of people who wanted to know what kind of relationship you and Joao had.

Of course, there were endless amounts of media outlets and gossip pages that seemed to have eyes following everywhere the two of you went. It got to the point where you knew any time you were with him publicly, it would only be a few hours before your timeline was inundated with sensationalised headlines or sneakily taken candids.

Then there were the avid fans who commented on these posts, dreaming up theories that never failed to surprise you - that you were a childhood friend, a secret lover reuniting with him, or worst of all, that you were a ‘wannabe-WAG’ attempting to use Joao for his money. Perhaps most annoyingly though were your friends, who pressed endlessly for details whenever you mentioned having met up with the footballer recently despite your protests.

Sometimes it felt like all eyes were on you and your relationship - but sitting here, in a plush white hotel bathrobe on an equally plush and white hotel bed - you couldn’t help but feel as though you were the one who wanted to know most of all. You let the hand holding your phone fall to your side, heart heavy after seeing yet another gossip page post about the outing the two of you had gone on earlier the day with a headline relaying the typical narrative that you were nothing more than a gold-digging fake.

“Don’t bother with those,” you hear a soft voice behind you, Joao making his way out of the hotel bathroom in a matching bathrobe. His hair is still dripping wet from the shower and you’re almost envious of the way his skin glows in the soft ambient light. “Those idiots don’t know anything,” his tone is adamant, and you’d almost think he was being genuine.

“Well, it’s not like you tell them anything,” you mumble, barely louder than a whisper but he still catches the attitude in your tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs, tossing the small towel he was using to dry his hair to the ground without a care. Making his way to the other side of the bed, he lies chest-down, eyes fixed on you.

“All I’m saying is,” the regret in your voice at having brought up this tired conversation is evident but the almost daring expression on Joao’s face forces you on, “we can’t expect them not to make all these crazy theories when you’ve basically been keeping me a secret all this time.”

“Hey I thought we both agreed to keep this a secret, why is it all my fault all of a sudden?”

“It’s not, it’s just,” you sigh in frustration, eyes wandering the room - the crumpled bedsheets beneath you, your bag laying on the bedside table, contents half-spilled, your shirt laying where you had hastily thrown it - anywhere but his face.

“Just what?” he presses, and you bite your lip in a futile attempt to stop yourself from asking the question that’s been on your mind for as long as you’ve known him.

“What are we, Joao?” your gaze falls to your own lap, unable to look at the expression on his face as you’re sure it’ll only make his response sting more.

“Why are you asking me this now?” It’s clear this was the last thing he was expecting from the way he’s taken aback and slightly amused - which only frustrates you more.

“Why can’t I?”

“I mean, I thought we were just keeping this casual, you know? That’s what we agreed upon isn’t it?”

“Yeah, months ago.” You try to maintain your temper but you can’t help your voice from raising a little, “Don’t you think it’s time to reconsider that? I mean we’re a bit more than casual don’t you think? Casual doesn’t involve fancy hotel hook-ups or night time beach walks!”

“I don’t know, I mean,” his defensiveness irritates you, “You know what it’s like being a footballer, I just can’t have anything threatening my position right now. I need to focus on the game, a distraction is the last thing I need.”

“And what about me Joao? Don’t you think I’m tired of the constant slander I get every time we’re out together?” You feel your heart racing and your blood boiling, “You’ve seen the articles haven’t you?”

“Look, it’s late, I’m tired and really don’t feel like talking about this now. Can we just go to sleep? We’ll discuss this in the morning.” He doesn’t even wait for your reply before stretching out underneath the blankets with a loud fake-yawn. You just sit there slack jawed, not entirely surprised but still a little taken aback that he would just cut you off like that, in the middle of a conversation you had been rehearsing in your head for weeks like it was nothing.

You know he’s lying about discussing this in the morning but still, you reach over to turn off the lamp on your side table before slowly pulling the blanket over yourself - not like you have any other option. You make a point of turning your back to him and huffing though, too frustrated to fall asleep as your mind continues to whir with thoughts about all the things you’re going to say to him the minute you’re awake tomorrow.

That is, at least, until you feel the familiarly gentle touch of Joao’s hands around your waist, tugging you close to him until he’s able to fully envelope you in his arms. He kisses the back of your head - a slow, sleepy, almost genuine apology. You can’t do anything other than let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost in the comfort you’ve learnt to find in his touch, in his scent, and his presence - no matter how fleeting it may be.

Because even if you wake up tomorrow to an empty bed, no sign of him even having been here at all other than a heavy heart, and no one else in the world knows what sort of relationship the two of you have - at least you’ll have moments like these to yourself to savour.

[tojivu]

# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

[affableramen]

tsundere!pantalone having hateful sx with his sworn enemy (you)

explicit, mature, sexual themes, mostly rough and angry sx; female reader. if you proceed on reading you confirm being 18+

first time with pantalone is here

note: this one is short. also, pantalone is emotional asf.

“You’re so fake, it’s almost disgusting!” You raise your hand to deliver a slap to his pale face, but Pantalone is agile enough to take it quickly.

“I know I am fake, that is common knowledge”, he says with a strict tone, his eyes glaring at you as raging flames. This man is so smooth and cold, but behind his whole subtlety there’s fiery personality you slowly start to be enamoured with.

He tightnens his grip on you, dangerously painful, and his eyes fall down from your big rounded eyes to your plump glossy lips.

You know where exactly he guilted himself into staring.

“This is what I do for survival”, he takes one more step closer to you, his other hand moving up from the bottom, tracing the contours of your hip (you didn't know how he could feel your body under all those numerous layers of rough fabrics). “Lying to people.”

“Fake, fake, fake! All of you!” You almost scream into his mouth.

“I guess you are a saint, then?” One more leaning to your face, you feel his raven locks tickle your cheek and neck.

“No, I always admit when I am a bad guy. But you do not.”

“Oh, my dear. If only you could see what’s behind that ‘bad guy’ attitude…” He can't wait any second more, releases your hand and cups your cheeks gingerly.

“Let me kiss you, just this once.”

Before you could fetch him a respond, Pantalone already starts devouring your lips with long pent-up fervour at first. You grab his hair and grasped it in your finger though a sudden burst of adrenaline made you involuntarily bite his lip. A sound of protest merged with pain escapes him. Pantalone pulls away running his fingers down his lips that are bleeding weakly. You see the expression on his face and immediately rush to apologise, with your face red of embarrassment. As if in order to apologise, in a most different way though, you move your hand downwards and touch him below his belt. His surprise of pain falters and morphs into bliss, the corners of his lips dropping as his mouth opens agape. You rub it a few times, not enough to lead him to peak before you suddenly find yourself in the softness of sheets, spreading wide.

Pantalone cages you between his arms, his hands squeezing your thighs before he enters with one movement. You make an “oh” sound to one another.

You find yourself almost fainting, but Pantalone pulls you back into reality.

“Oh, Pantalone…”

“Say it again.”

“Pant—archons!..”

He chuckles and smirks, enjoying how he humiliates you with his size and bold movements, before being trapped by his own overwhelming sensations.

“Ah… yes…”

You allow him more depth and watch as your most sworn enemy bucks his hips against you with the most intense expression ever on his face.

“You’re mine. I got you.” He hisses. 

“I hate you… so badly.”

“I hate you, too. The way you soften me—ngh!”

Can you deny how much you want him? Can you not feel how good you and him fit together? Can you not see the expression on his face when he is balls deep inside you?

“There is no place for hate in intimacy with one another. Pantalone, I have the softest feelings for you, let me indulge it—oh!”

His hand slides up your chest and squeezes a breast of yours.

“Ngh—shit…” Pantalone lets out a profanity blended with the most private sound you could ever receive from him. “I just—want to—love you.”

You feel it too, the vivid sensation between your legs, your heat pooling. It was as if something within him had been suddenly awakened and he started thrusting more forcefully.

“You-” You move your hips in accordance to his, trying to keep up and match his pace. 

“You hate me? Keep… saying that… but I don’t think I… believe you…” 

Suddenly you grip him very tightly (and your heat squeezes him inside) which causes a yell from Pantalone’s lips.

“Ah! For archon’s sake, Y/N—”

“Don't yell so hard, you're scaring me!”

“I can't hold it in any longer. Not with you, little foolish dove.”

His sight is covered with haze and he starts losing himself completely, fucking into you roughly and desperately. The deep, precise pushes are met with your high-pitched sounds of bliss.

“You will pull out, will you?” You slap him. “Pantalone, will you?”

Drunken by desire to have you whole, he hums: 

“I will try.” Feverishly he nods but the sparks in his eyes tell a different story. He is breaking into a million pieces to not hurt you unintentionally.

Not many thrusts after Pantalone pulls out and touches himself until release. He gasps for breath with his head tilting back before landing on the bed, his hands to the sides, caging your head.

“You’re a beast.” He moves the forefinger down your cheek.

“Perhaps. But I’m also your enemy. And I didn't expect the intimacy with one to be so…”

“So what?”

“So desirable.”

“Oh, bastard! If you don’t kiss me now!”

Pantalone doesn't wait and pushes his lips against yours in a kiss that is gentle, not feverish like the first one. 

“Will you stay? For one more night, with me?” He gives it a long thought before cutting the silence like glass again.

“I’ll see what I can do. I need to make some calls to back me up.”

“Do you want me to wait in the other room?”

“I won't go anywhere without you. What if you decide to escape?”

“You are willing to make a phone call with me eavesdropping?”

“Darling, I can talk discreetly.”

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i keep recalling things we never did ; why are you eating ramen and burnt cheesecake in a café with him? what if people think that you’re on a date?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The morning air was cool as you stepped into the classroom, your heart heavy with anxiety. The exhaustion from the past week clung to you, but there was also a small flicker of gratitude in your chest. Tsukishima had been there for you all night, helping you cram as much information as possible. He had even insisted on dropping you off at class, carrying your bag and other belongings because your hand still hurt from the IV needle. He made sure you were settled in your seat before leaving without a word, a gesture that left you both touched and a bit bewildered. You promised yourself you would find a way to thank him properly after this exam, maybe by treating him to something nice or doing whatever he wanted.

As the exam began, your worries resurfaced. Despite Tsukishima’s help, you still felt unprepared. Some of the questions seemed foreign, and you found yourself leaving several blank as the clock ticked down. By the time it was over, a sense of dread had settled in your stomach. You could barely remember walking out of the classroom, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of failure. All you wanted was to get back to your dorm and rest, but the nagging uncertainty about the answers kept you flipping through your book as you walked.

“Loosen up, the exam is over,” came a familiar voice from behind you.

You turned to see Tsukishima standing there, a slight grin playing on his lips as he approached. There was a teasing glint in his eyes as he reached out to close your book gently. “Your body has been telling you to stop looking at your books since yesterday when you collapsed at the infirmary, and here you are still studying even after the exam is over.”

His words, though spoken with his usual dry tone, held a touch of concern beneath the surface. You wanted to tell him how much you feared you had failed, but the thought of burdening him further made you bite your tongue. Instead, you pushed your emotions aside and mustered a warm smile. “How was your exam?” you asked, trying to shift the focus away from yourself.

“Good, think I did pretty well,” he answered, his confidence evident as he began walking beside you.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I want to treat you to something since you took care of me yesterday,” you said, your voice sincere.

He frowned slightly, his expression questioning.

“It’d be impolite of me not to return your kindness,” you replied, hoping he understood how much his help had meant to you.

“Kindness?” he chuckled, a sound that was almost amused. “I told you the doctor asked me to help. I was just doing her a favor.”

“Yeah, but still—” you began, feeling a bit flustered by his nonchalant attitude.

He cut you off with a shrug, a small smirk on his lips. “Okay, if you insist. Let’s get some ramen and burnt cheesecake at the café downtown.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his choice, surprised that someone like Tsukishima would have such a specific dessert preference. But you agreed, the thought of resting at your dorm forgotten as the prospect of spending more time with him took over.

The café was as cozy and inviting as you remembered, a favorite spot for university students to unwind. The space was filled with warm lighting and soft music, creating a homey atmosphere that made it easy to relax. Around you, couples occupied most of the tables, enjoying quiet moments together, sharing laughs, and indulging in sweet treats. You couldn’t help but notice how many of them were on dates, their conversations and gestures filled with affection.

As you waited for your order, Tsukishima excused himself to the restroom. Left alone, you glanced around the room, taking in the sight of other students. It struck you suddenly that, from an outsider’s perspective, you and Tsukishima might look like just another couple on a date. The thought sent a brief flutter through your chest, but you quickly shook it off, not wanting to read too much into it. After all, this was just a simple thank-you meal—nothing more.

Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you waited for him to return.

Two bowl of ramen was steaming, the broth rich and savory, and two slice of burnt cheesecake you ordered sat beside it, looking almost too beautiful to eat. You both settled into a relaxed rhythm, exchanging conversation that flowed more easily than you expected.

“This place is nice,” you commented, glancing around at the cozy interior. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, I usually come here with Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima replied, taking a casual sip of his tea. “It’s quiet enough, not too crowded. Perfect for avoiding people.”

You chuckled, finding his usual avoidance of crowds almost endearing. “Sounds like you,” you teased lightly. “So, do you always order the burnt cheesecake?”

Tsukishima smirked, a small curve of his lips that was more subtle than full-on amusement. “Only if I’m in the mood,” he said, his eyes glancing at you from beneath his blonde bangs. “I didn’t peg you as someone who’d enjoy this kind of place.”

“I guess I’m full of surprises,” you said with a grin. “But honestly, I’ve been too busy with exams to explore much.”

“Typical freshman,” he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone, only the familiar teasing you were starting to appreciate. “How are you holding up with your classes?”

You sighed, feeling a bit more at ease talking to him than you would have expected a few days ago. “Barely. This semester has been a lot tougher than I imagined. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even cut out for biochemistry.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have made it this far.”

You blinked at his straightforward reply, a warmth blooming in your chest at his unexpected reassurance. “I guess,” you murmured, your voice softer.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself noticing the small details about him, details you hadn’t paid attention to before. The soft freckles scattered across his face, faint but noticeable when the café’s warm light hit him just right. The way his lips quirked into a half-smile when you said something he found mildly amusing. How his eyes, sharp and intelligent, would flicker toward you, only to quickly look away as if he didn’t want to be caught staring.

There was a moment when he laughed—a deep, rich sound that made your heart skip. His nose scrunched slightly, just enough to soften his usual stoic expression, and you realized you liked seeing him like this, more relaxed, more open.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was a side of Tsukishima that few people got to see, a version of him reserved for moments like these, where the world outside the café didn’t matter.

You smiled, feeling a comfortable silence settle between you, the earlier tension from your exam worries fading into the background. It felt nice, this moment of connection between you two, and for a while, you let yourself forget the pressures of university life.

But just as you were settling into the calm, your phone suddenly buzzed on the table. The sound broke the quiet bubble you’d been in, and you glanced down to see the reminder flashing on the screen—Take your ginger tonic and vitamins.

You quickly snoozed the alarm, feeling a slight flush rise to your cheeks, but it was too late. Tsukishima had already stolen a glance at your phone, his lips quirking up into an amused smirk.

“So, you like ginseng tonic?” he asked, his tone teasing as he raised an eyebrow at you.

You nearly choked on your food, shaking your head furiously. “No—my mom makes me,” you replied, a bit more defensively than you intended.

Tsukishima seemed taken aback by your quick response, but the surprise quickly faded into another teasing comment. “Seems like your mom really knows how to take care of you,” he said, his voice laced with a playful edge.

You tried to laugh it off, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “She says I’m too clueless to take care of myself, so she has to intervene,” you joked, though there was an undeniable bitterness beneath your words. You hadn’t meant to let it slip, but Tsukishima’s perceptive gaze caught it instantly. His teasing demeanor softened slightly, but he didn’t press further, sensing that there was more to the story.

Instead, he reached across the table, his hand moving with surprising gentleness. Before you could react, his thumb brushed against the corner of your lips, wiping away a small spot of broth you hadn’t noticed. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through you, making you freeze as your heart suddenly sped up.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment, and you could feel the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. Tsukishima’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a softness that made your breath hitch. The café around you faded into the background, and all you could focus on was the tenderness in his gesture, the way his eyes flickered with something deeper than just casual concern.

Neither of you spoke, the silence hanging in the air like a delicate thread. You could feel your cheeks growing warm under his gaze, your thoughts a jumble of confusion and a budding realization that perhaps, just maybe, there was something more between you two than just a reluctant mentor-student relationship.

Finally, Tsukishima broke the tension with a small, almost imperceptible smile, his hand retracting back to his side. “You missed a spot,” he said lightly, but his voice had a gentleness to it that made your heart flutter.

You managed a weak laugh, trying to shake off the overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill over. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The moment passed, but the memory of it lingered, etched into your mind like a secret you weren’t quite ready to share, not even with yourself.

As you both continued to eat, the earlier playful banter faded into a more comfortable silence. Yet, the unspoken understanding between you two grew, and with it, a warmth that neither of you could deny, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet.

The café had grown quieter as the afternoon wore on, the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes providing a comforting background to your shared meal. You and Tsukishima had settled into a relaxed conversation, the earlier tension gradually melting away as you discussed everything from university life to random observations about the people around you.

He had just finished the last bite of his burnt cheesecake, and you were savoring the final spoonfuls of your ramen, the warmth of the broth lingering in your chest. You felt surprisingly content, more at ease than you had in weeks, thanks in no small part to Tsukishima’s presence.

As you set down your spoon, you reached for your bag, ready to pay for the meal as you had promised. But before you could pull out your wallet, you caught the attention of the waiter, gesturing for the bill.

The waiter approached with a polite smile, holding a small leather-bound folder. “Your bill has already been taken care of,” he said, handing the receipt to Tsukishima instead.

You blinked in surprise, your eyes darting between Tsukishima and the waiter. “Wait, what? No, I was supposed to pay—”

Tsukishima looked at you with a calm, unbothered expression, his hand already tucking the receipt into his pocket. “I got it,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“But… why? I said I’d treat you. You took care of me, remember?” You couldn’t hide the confusion in your voice, your brows furrowed in disbelief.

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “What kind of man do you think I am, letting a woman pay for the lunch I chose?”

His tone was light, but the weight of his words made your heart skip a beat. There was something undeniably charming in the way he said it, his usual teasing edge softened with a hint of genuine chivalry that caught you off guard.

“But—” you started, but he interrupted, holding up a hand.

“You can save your arguments for next time,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Consider this a thank you—for putting up with my attitude this past semester.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his unexpected admission, your protest fading into a soft smile. “You’re not that bad,” you said quietly, though your heart was racing a little. “I mean, you did help me a lot.”

Tsukishima’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something in his gaze that made your breath catch—a fleeting softness, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had been growing between you. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual guarded expression, but the memory of it lingered, making your chest tighten with a mix of emotions you weren’t ready to untangle.

“I’m serious, though,” you continued, trying to regain some composure. “Next time, it’s on me.”

He raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at the thought of a next time. The idea that there could be more moments like this, more shared meals and conversations, filled you with a quiet sense of anticipation.

As you both stood up to leave, Tsukishima casually picked up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady and unhurried.

You followed him out of the café, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement as you walked side by side. The day had taken an unexpected turn, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for this moment—one that felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t quite name.

And as you walked together, the light breeze ruffling your hair, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just the end of a shared meal, but is it just you hoping for more?

taglist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything

[adaptacy]

You mind writing a little Johnny Slaughter thing where the reader is southern, too? Not from Texas, but maybe from a whole nother state like Louisiana or Mississippi. Like, *really* southern- thick drawl, sassy attitude n everything. If it's not too much to ask, could the reader first start out as a victim? But the thing is, they're not really one to mess with. They're witty, quick, and honestly a bit of an asshole. They're worried about themselves- going as far as to sacrifice the other survivors to ensure their own survival. Maybe even off one themselves, quickly realizing that they like killing just as much as the rest of the family. Love ur work! (Also, have you heard about the new Nancy leaks? I'm so excited to see her, you have no idea.)

OMG OFC WAIT THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN!!

i love requests ongogngrij

also YES!! I love her so much!! i saw someone (i think it was creepling's post) about what Nancy would think about johnny getting a soft spot for someone and oh god the brain juice started flowing with that. i think her and johnny will def be my mains bcs ive been dying for another female family member that isnt sissy (no hate to sissy, but i tried her and she just wasnt as fun as johnny)

anyways anyways anyways, here you go! this is gonna be fluff, but if you want an nsfw part lmk and i can make that work ;) <333 hope you enjoy!!

this is gonna be kinda cheesy and cute aside from the death (whoops) but if i do an nsfw it'll be more serious. i just thought this would be a good opportunity to write a jaw-dropped johnny who's like "oh shit i think im in love"

"The hell you wantin' now?!" You snarled, cracking your neck as you squared off with a man nearly twice your size. He was used to this kind of fighting back, but there was something about your volume, your genuine anger that was new to him. It was intriguing. He almost wanted to study your brain before he ate it.

"All that, and you still got caught, sweetpea. Ain't that quite the case of karma?" Johnny chuckled, casually spinning his blade in his hand. Beneath his feet was a brunette boy, far too bloodied to be anywhere near alive. You didn't know him, didn't care about him, and you were far more concerned with your own well-being than the safety of some stranger.

"Don't tell me yer gettin' cocky now, pretty boy?" You laughed. You'd wrestled unruly gators twice his size, you could manage this egotistical megalomaniac. Hell, you didn't win a championship in bull-riding for sweet talking it.

"Ain't you a little too pretty to be talkin' so much?" Johnny pouted, sulking closer with his head tilted.

"Ain't you a little too muscular to be flirtin' with yer food?" You rolled your eyes, gripping the kitchen knife tighter in your hand. He'd been so preoccupied with the random teenagers to keep an eye on you, exactly as you'd planned. While they were playing duck duck goose in the rickety basement, you'd been granted easy access to the family house. And with it, the kitchen. And with that, the knives.

Your knife was much larger than his, and it made up for the size difference between your bodies. You knew for a fact he was underestimating you, most people did. They thought you were all bark and no bite, but your bark was only really half your bite.

"I've made pie with apples mer fearsome than you," you teased. The man furrowed his eyebrows, seeming a little stung by your remark.

"The hell you from, anyways?" He shook his head, still not letting his guard down, but he seemed to be a little less on the offense.

"Louisiana, born 'n raised. Ain't you able to tell? Or you too dumb for that?"

"Drop the damn knife," Johnny demanded, and you couldn't help but laugh. Literally laugh. Not just giggle, not just chuckle, not just scoff- full-on laugh at his attempt.

"Or what? You gon' stab me with that there lil butterfly blade?" You mused, waving a hand in the air. "I'd like to see you try," you added, your tone a little lower.

Johnny opened his mouth to reply, but there was a voice from behind him, instead. "You-- You killed them! You killed all of them!" A female yelled, sounding hurt and angry. Both of you paused your bickering to turn towards an angry girl, a small pointy bone in her hand. "You killed my sister!"

Johnny scoffed, looking the girl up and down. You eased up as well, watching the interaction. "Ain't you see we was talkin'? Could'a waited your darn turn, missy," you grumbled, finding the interruption rather rude. The girl turned to you, her eyes wide.

"You-- You're that bitch at the bar! You gave my friend a concussion!" She accused, and you scoffed.

"Now, I would neva-- Oh, oh, she's yer friend? Well ain't that right rich! Small world, ain't it?" You laughed, reminiscing on the bar fight you'd gotten into after some city boy claimed he could take more rye whiskey than you. You were practically raised- hell, made out of whiskey. You had to show him up, obviously. It wasn't your fault his little girlfriend couldn't handle him losing.

It seemed as if the girl couldn't choose between who to attack, but when she finally did make up her mind, you found yourself in the hot seat. You assumed it was because she was more confident taking down you than she was taking down the man, but it was merely another case of underestimation. She swung the bone shiv towards you, and although Johnny stepped forward to do something, you had it handled.

You were the last woman who needed a man to rescue her. 'Specially against a pipsqueak like this chick was. As she rushed forward, you drove the kitchen knife directly into the girls gut. You weren't sure what possessed her to make such a foolish move as to charge at a woman with a knife, but it made for an easy means of defense. The brunette gurgled as blood splattered onto your mouth, hitting your cheek as she fell over your arm, eventually collapsing.

You twisted the knife out of the girls gut, reaching up and wiping the blood off of your cheek-- or, trying to, anyways, but you only really managed to smear it on your face. You scoffed in irritation, wiping the blood off on your shirt, and doing the same with the knife. After all, you didn't want to risk damaging the blade from the blood. It seemed like a good quality vegetable slicer.

With a simple clearing of your throat, you shook the girl off of your leg, looking back at your opponent. He was frozen in place, his eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted in a mix of confusion and disgust. "Now, where was we at? Them city girls just ain't got no manners. Momma neva raised 'em right," you complained, giving the kitchen knife a once-over before looking back at Johnny.

He blinked, remaining silent.

"You still home, or you gone out to get groceries?" You frowned, confused as to why he wasn't responding. You snapped your fingers and swung your weight onto one leg, placing your free hand on your hip. "Mister muscles? You missin' yer brain?"

"Who are you?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I was merely defendin' myself. Ain't nuthin' special 'bout it. Now, where's we at? You still wanna go, pretty boy?"

Johnny licked his lips, pulling his head back. He tucked his knife into his pocket, and a small smile spread over his face. "You wanna go out sometime?"

"Kidnappin' and threatenin' a woman ain't no way to get 'em in yer bed," you scolded, tilting your head. "I know yer mama's taught you better'n that. Ain't she?"

"You like rye whiskey?"

You smirked. "That's more like it. Count me in."

[touyasdoll]

Why Are You Here?

pairing: rockstar!Touya Todoroki x ex girlfriend!reader (fem), model!Keigo x reader (implied)

warnings: quirkless!au. exes to lovers. reader's wearing a dress. no cheating involved. reader & Keigo aren't exclusive, but it's still a little shady. Touya has low self worth. bathroom sex. wall sex. unprotected sex. biting if you squint. dacryphiia if you squint. v mild degradation. praise. reader gets picked up. creampie. emotionally charged sex. tiniest bit of angst, but it's immediately resolved.

word count: 3.5k

notes: based on the MGK song of the same title. his music always makes me think of Touya, so I couldnt resist 💕

also shout out & credit to @emotionalsupportemoboys for making me fall so deeply in love with rockstar!Touya that it actually hurts sometimes. every version of this man that you write is just *chef's kiss*

💕Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist 💕

“Why are you here?” 

You recognize the voice behind you immediately. Recognize the ire permanently laced into his words. Ire that was never truly directed at you, even now. He’s always had plenty of reasons to be angry, but not with you. Not for long, anyway. 

After inhaling a silent breath, you turn to face him and, unfortunately, he looks as good as he ever has without even having to try. It’s unfair, honestly.

Snow white hair perfectly mussed atop his head. Dark, ripped up jeans. A black button down that’s half undone, offering you a generous peek at the smooth skin of his well toned chest, covered in various tattoos that you know you could trace without even having to look at them.

And then there’s that fucking look on his face. The handsome smirk that has your knees turning to gelatin, but you’re determined to try and prop up your walls. They always seem to be made of cardboard when it comes to Touya, but something is better than nothing. 

“Getting a drink? I could ask you the same question. This was my bar first.” You offer nothing more than a nonchalant shrug as you lean against the countertop in the dimly lit dive bar. “Some people just say ‘I’ve missed you’, y’know.” 

“Oh, so you miss me? S’that why you showed up with pretty boy?” He cocks a brow as he sidles up beside you, cheating his body towards you as he rests an elbow on the bar. 

He’d seen you walk in Keigo and he’d also just outed himself, because no sooner than the blonde had left your side did Touya seize the opportunity to say hello to you. He mentally kicks himself from slipping so soon into your interaction.

He leans in a little closer and the aroma of his aquatic cologne mingling with the ever present scent of smoke hits your nostrils. He smells like a bonfire on the beach and it catapults you back into the memory of the last morning that you’d spent together. Tangled up in the sheets, limbs intertwined while your noses brushed against one another’s. The taste of cigarettes on your tongue, despite the fact that you don’t smoke. You’re a little ashamed to admit that you bought a pack just to burn one whenever you miss him a little too much. 

“Why? You jealous?”

“M’sure you’d love it if I was,” he says as he turns toward the approaching bartender to order himself a whiskey. He orders you your usual. 

“If,” you scoff once the bartender busies himself with fixing your drinks. He hates the way you threaten to cut through his entire facade with a single syllable. 

“Didn’t miss your fucking attitude, that’s for sure,” he mutters, but there’s no truth to his words.

He’s missed you. He’s always missing you. Constantly. It’s exhausting, actually. He’s well aware that he has a tendency to obsess over things, to fixate, and you’re no exception.

He’s only at this bar, because he knows that it’s your favorite. He was so used to attending exclusive nightclubs, posting up in the VIP section to party to his heart’s content, which was fun in the beginning of his career. He loved the attention that it brought him, but eventually the charm wore off and he realized that most of the people around him were after something. 

Not here though. He was just looking to get a drink without having to entertain anyone. He wanted to unwind and take his mind off things, so he happened into this place. Strolled up to the bar the two of you are posted up at right now and there he found you. The only thing worth thinking about from that point forward. 

You and your gentle touch. You and your kind words. You and your concern for his well being. You and your Godforsaken love for him. He can still feel it too. It’s practically radiating off of you, even through your veil of sarcasm; he’s practically drowning in it and he’s ready to take a deep, deep breath. 

But he doesn’t. He’d rather suffocate like a fish on dry land when the ocean is right there, waves outstretching over and over again, offering assistance to see him home where he could finally breathe again. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Bullshit,” you laugh and the sound is genuine. It makes his heart skip a beat and he knows that he’s helpless now. 

“What do you mean, bullshit?” He quirks his brow, narrowing his eyes and offering you the slightest hint of a smile. 

“You miss my attitude,” you state plainly, shrugging as you accept your drink from the bartender with a polite thank you before you turn to look at Touya. “It’s the only one that can keep up with yours.”

The tension finally breaks. It doesn’t shatter, but there’s an obvious crack in it. Enough to relieve some of the pressure that’s so violently palpable between you. You focus back on your drink, taking a generous sip as you start to study the few other bar patrons here tonight. 

“Ya got me there,” he chuckles, looking down at his designer combat boots as his smile grows and turns a touch wistful. 

He quiet for a moment, fingers tapping against the glass of whiskey on the bar. He studies the amber liquid until he can’t fight it any longer and he reluctantly fixes his gaze on you. His eyes slowly travel along your frame, pulse quickening when he finally gets a good look at the way the stark white dress that you’re wearing suits your body. You look perfect. Hair done and makeup perfect. He’d still think the same if you were sitting here in sweats, barefaced. You were always perfect in his eyes. 

“What?” You ask as you peek over at him, innocent as ever. 

“I miss you like hell.”

Your eyes meet and everything seems to slow down for a moment. You study his features, your gaze briefly flitting to his lips that you wish you could just lean in and taste again, but you told yourself that you had to quit him. It isn’t healthy to keep doing this same old song and dance. Even if it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive these days. 

“We can’t keep this up, Touya,” you whisper, meeting his eyes again to see the same sense of longing you feel reflected in his own.

“One more time.”

It’s a plea. He’s desperate, holding his breath and praying to a God that he’s never believed in that you won’t turn him away. 

“We always say that.”

“And one day we might mean it, so c’mon. We can’t hurt each other more than we already have.”

“You’re underestimating us.”

“You’re avoiding this,” he counters. “Because you don’t wanna say no.”

And he’s right. You don’t want to. You can’t. 

“Ya got me there,” you admit, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. Despite everything that you’ve been through together, which has definitely involved hell and high water, there’s always an invigorating sense of newness and novelty with Touya. A fire that you can’t put out. 

He grins, nodding towards the back wall of the bar before he tips his glass back to swallow his drink in one gulp. You fight the smile on your lips, taking one last sip of your own before you abandon it in favor of following a few paces behind him towards the men’s restroom. 

He slips inside and you wait nearby for a beat until he just barely kicks the door open to signal that the coast is clear. With a quick glance around, you’re assured that no one’s paying you any mind, so you slip inside and are immediately welcomed into his arms.

“You didn’t say it back,” he points out, pressing you against the counter as his hands slide from your waist down to the hem of your dress. 

“You didn’t lock the door.”

He huffs a laugh and steps away to twist the lock on the bathroom door, sauntering back towards you to seize your waist again. 

“Satisfied?”

“Never.”

“Smartass,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he leans in to capture your lips, silencing whatever remark you had brewing. 

Both of you had tried to put distance between yourselves, in vain, clearly. None of that mattered now. All that seemed to matter was getting closer. Your arms wind around his neck, hand cradling the back of his head, so that you can kiss him more deeply. His tongue parts your lips, begging to explore your mouth while his hands slip beneath your dress. He wastes no time in finding what he’s really after. His index fingers hooks into the crotch of your panties, tugging them aside to slip his middle finger between your folds as he pulls a moan from your throat.

“This wet for me already? So you have missed me, huh, doll?” He smirks, teasing your slick entrance as he pulls back to look at you before he starts peppering kisses along your jaw. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmur, shifting your hips forward in search of friction, which he grants you in the form of his thumb gently circling your clit. You rest your hands on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady. 

“Don’t hafta. You’re the one doin’ that,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and sensuous. “Keep it up, baby. You know I like hearing the sounds you make for me.”

He doesn’t give you much of a choice when his lips find the skin of your neck. The tip of his tongue slides over your pulse before he nips at it with his teeth, making you gush a little around his finger when he effortlessly slips one inside of you. 

“Touya,” you moan, already too pliable in his capable hands. “We don’t have a lotta time.”

It’s an unfortunate truth that he can’t argue with. He wants nothing more than to make this last, but he’ll always take what he can get as far as you’re concerned. 

“I know,” he grumbles and you swear you can see a pout on his lips for the briefest of seconds as he cups your jaw. 

He kisses you like he means it. It’s not searing, but it’s comfortably warm. His soft lips move against yours again and again, slow and deliberate. He savors every second that he’s able to taste you and he uses each one to try and tell you without words just exactly how much he’s been missing you. 

“Guess we oughta do this efficiently then, yeah?” 

The signature smirk is back when he pulls away and you hardly have time to process before he’s spinning you around to face the dingy mirror in front of you. He guides your hands to the counter as the bulge in his already tight jeans prods at your ass. 

“Just shut up at fuck me already,” you beg impatiently, too wound up to deal with any more banter while your cunt was still empty. 

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looks at you through the mirror and pulls his cock from his pants. Long, pierced, and swollen with need. 

“I love it when you boss me around,” he rasps as he guides the head of his cock between your folds, quickly gathering your slick on his length before he sinks himself inside of you with a sinful groan that he doesn’t bother stifling. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, sighing with relief as he fills you. 

Your eyes fall closed and you hang your head while he slowly starts shifting his hips, dragging his cock back and forth along your walls to inch himself deeper with each pass. 

“You feel so good, doll. Shit.”

His head lolls back and he loses himself for a time, too distracted by the feeling of you finally being wrapped around him again to focus on anything else. 

You eventually pick your head up to look at him through the mirror, your moans echoing off of the glass. He meets your gaze a moment later and neither of you dare look away from one another as he starts thrusting harder and faster. 

“Fucking missed your cock, Touya. Missed it so fucking much,” you whimper, clutching to countertop as tears start to well in your eyes, because it truly just felt that good. 

“Don’t cry, doll. You’re gonna ruin your makeup and we can’t have that,” he says with an edge of condescension in his voice. “I gotta send you back to pretty boy in good condition.”

He looks down to watch where your bodies are joined, never missing a beat as he continues drilling himself into you. 

“M’not w-with him,” you feel the need to clarify while you can still form words.

“But you came here with him. Could have any man you wanted and yet you show up here with a friend of mine. M’not stupid, doll,” he pants, gradually slowly his pace as he finds your eyes in the mirror yet again. “And neither are you.”

“Touya—,”

“Ssh,” he hushes you, pulling out to grab onto your waist and spin you around. “I don’t give a fuck about who you’re here with.”

You gaze at him, allowing him to walk you backwards towards the wall that he pins you to. He lumbers over you, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt it back, so that his eyes can bore down into yours, allowing you to see the unadulterated desperation in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you just say it back?” He asks quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I know you miss me, doll. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, right?”

You don’t know what to say. Of all the times that the two of you had slipped and ended up like this, neither one of you had ever let your guard down so completely. 

He’s impatient and painfully aware that all of his insecurities were bubbling up to the surface, so he changes course again, throwing the two of you right back to where you were. 

“You said you missed this, yeah?” 

He grabs your thigh to hitch it up onto his hip and palms his erection, slowly sliding it into your core again and breathing a little easier when it still tears a moan from your lungs. The tension lessens once you’re connected again, but it doesn’t dissolve and he thinks the only solution is proximity. 

“Up,” he instructs as he slides his hand behind your other thigh. 

You comply and jump high enough to let him catch you and hoist you up, your back flush to the wall as he starts rocking his hips again, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of you. 

“I missed you,” you admit breathlessly, draping your arms around his neck and holding him close. “I always miss you.”

Hearing those words brings him some relief and it shows on his face, but he realizes then that just that alone  isn’t what he really needs. He needs more and you know that already, because you need it too. 

“Say it. Please. Please just fucking say it. I need you to,” he outright begs, too lost in the moment to care about the fallout that might occur after the fact. 

“I love you, Touya. I love you so much,” you confess, feeling an immense weight slide off of your shoulders. 

“I love you too, doll,” he replies without a second thought, sighing with relief as he picks up the pace again, spurred on by your reassurance. 

“Fuck! Touya, baby,” you whine, clutching to him as he starts hitting an angle that makes your eyes roll back inside your head. “B-baby, m’gonna cum. M’so close. So fucking close—ahh!”

“Cum for me, doll. Cum right on my fuckin’—oh fuck yeah, baby. That’s it. Such a good girl f’me,” he praises you through grit teeth, feeling his own end rocketing towards him as he fucks you through your own. “Such a tight fucking pussy. Gonna make you all mine again. All fucking mine.”

The cacophony of noises that ensue as both of you enter nirvana is likely enough to alert anyone standing too close to the bathroom, but neither of you care, too wrapped up in the glorious feeling of being reunited once again. Hearts thumping. Bodies pulsing. Adrenaline running high. It almost feels like flying.

It isn’t until you start to recover from your orgasm that you realize what goes up, must come down. And reality was likely to hit both of you once you walked back out that door. 

He seems to have the same sad epiphany as his breathing even out. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, refusing to let you go just yet, even if it was just prolonging the inevitable. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you echo your words from earlier in a remorseful whisper, closing your eyes as you knit your fingers into his hair and cradle his head. 

“I know,” is all he says. 

He feels empty all of a sudden and he hates it. He doesn’t want to let you go. What if this really was the last time?

“But I don’t wanna stop,” you add more quietly. 

His lips curl into a barely there smile against your skin and he presses a kiss to your pulse. 

“I don’t either.”

Not two minutes later, you stroll out of the bathroom. Thankfully, no one seems to notice, but you do see Keigo across the room searching for you. 

Touya steps out of the bathroom to see you joining the blonde at his side. He watches you take a seat beside him at a table and sip on the drink he’d ordered you as his arm slips around your waist. 

He’d love nothing more than to tear his friend’s arm off at the moment, but he plays it cool, pretending like he’d just happened into the bar as he approaches the table. 

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” He asks coolly, standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he surveys the two of you. 

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think we’d see you here,” Keigo says as he looks up, his arms subconsciously tightening around your waist. 

You smile up at Touya, having fully prepared yourself to put on this dumb little act, but your expression falters when you see a scantily clad blonde step to his side and practically throw herself onto him. 

“Hey, Dabi,” she says in a sing song voice that makes you want to hurl. 

He doesn’t look thrilled to see her, but he slips an arm around her anyway. 

“I see you’re busy,” you say as you lift your eyes to his face. “It was nice to see you, Touya. We should catch up soon.”

The woman on his arm must recognize you as his ex, because she slips her hand through his and starts not-so-subtly tugging him towards the bar. 

“C’mon, baby, let’s let them get back to their date,” she says, shooting you a judgemental look that you know you could wipe straight off of her face, but you don’t. 

“We were just leaving, actually,” you explain as you slip out of the booth and Keigo follows. “But I’ll see you around, Touya?”

Your tone is sweet and he understands that there’s more meaning behind your question than either of your respective dates would pick up on. He flashes you a knowing grin and nods. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you around. Take care, doll. Keigo,” he nods to him as well before he walks off towards the bar with the now disgruntled blonde still attached to him like a leech. 

When you finally get back home that evening, alone and grateful for it, you plop down on your sofa to kick off your shoes, feeling the effects of the alcohol you’d downed at the next bar you’d ended up at. 

You sink back into the cushions and sigh, staring at the wall as you consider whether or not you’re drunk enough to text him before you realize that you’d do it sober, so who the fuck cares? 

You grab your phone and it buzzes the second that it touches your hand. The preview shows that it’s from Touya. 

I can’t wait any longer. I know we can’t do this shit anymore, but I don’t wanna play any more games. I want this. I want you. Always. Not just sometimes. 

He sends another. 

Can I come over?

You chew on the inside of your cheek, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read his message over and over and over again. 

Finally, you take a deep breath and punch in your response. 

Took you long enough. I’ll be waiting 💕

thank you for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs are always very much appreciated 💕

[yanderes-galore]

Hii!! Could I get Hiccup haddock with your prompts 2, 28, and 33?

These prompts so so interesting because it implies a more manipulative/dishonest Yandere Hiccup... which I plan to have fun writing >:) I have this set to female darling in my notes so I guess I'll just go with it, lol?

Yandere! Hiccup Prompts 2, 28, 33

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

"Do you know how hard it is to wear a facade? Just to get people to like you?"

"You ever think of our future children like I do?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, MATURE THEMES (but nothing too graphic) Takes place after HTTYD 2, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Deceptive Hiccup, Threats implied, Mentions of baby fever, Hiccup wants kids, Strange displays of affection, You're both married, Implications of mature themes, Some graphic kissing/biting I guess, Dubious relationship.

You had a feeling Hiccup wasn't being honest with you. Before you got married he was kind and polite. He cared for you and acted like a partner should.

You were happy to accept his marriage proposal.

Then you started to notice certain behavior from him after all the vows were said and done. Hiccup changed once you were married. Once you were his wife... you thought you didn't recognize your husband.

He was still gentle and kind around you, all smiles and kisses. But soon an uncharacteristic possessive behavior began to brew within him. You could see it in his clouded eyes.

It was easy for Hiccup to intimidate those around him. As Berk's Chief with a loyal Night Fury, safe to say most back off from you with one glare. Hiccup never used to be so threatening before you married.

Yet now you catch his facade slipping at times, revealing a darker attitude underneath his usual one.

Has he lied to you this entire time? Has he lied to everyone this entire time?

You thought you could tolerate it. Maybe he's just stressed due to his new role of chief? Then the yearning for children started.

You notice his touches often drift to your stomach. He leans himself against you and kneads the flesh of your stomach softly while kissing you. You could tell these were all hints.

If you didn't understand it before, he outright told you as you were getting ready for bed tonight.

"Hey..." He whispers to you as you prepare yourself to sleep. "You ever think of our future children like I do?"

The question was expected but still managed to catch you off guard. You glance at your husband for a moment, unsure what to say. Eventually you sigh, you don't trust this new side of Hiccup.

"I don't think we're ready to be parents." You admit, Hiccup going silent at your words for a moment. It's as if he wasn't expecting you to decline.

"What do you mean? Of course we're ready! We're at a good age, I'm chief of Berk... what's making you have second thoughts?" Hiccup asks, standing up from the shared bed.

"It scares me that you haven't noticed." You admit, turning to face the man you once married so willingly. "You've changed, Hiccup."

"Changed?" The viking questions before chuckling softly. "Oh, you poor dear..."

Hiccup's tone takes a noticeable shift. You take note of the darker tone and go to say something, but instead Hiccup wraps his arms around you. You're pulled against his chest, his lips ghosting your ear.

"Do you know how hard it is to wear a facade? Just to get people to like you?" Hiccup whispers in your ear, grip tightening. "I'm tired of playing nice when my wife is having other men talk to her."

He kisses your cheek softly, but you notice his lips travel lower over time. Your breathing picks up, you can't tell if it's due to fear... or if you like what he's doing. This definitely wasn't the Hiccup you knew...

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you..." Hiccup continues, nipping your skin occasionally. "I chose you to be my wife, to watch over Berk by my side...."

He pulls down your collar ever so slightly, before shifting his attention to your lips. He adores the blush on your face. Maybe you did like this?

"So why should my wife need to worry about other men? Who cares what happens to them...." Hiccup whispers, kissing your lips deeply. You kiss him back, not noticing Hiccup lead you to your shared bed.

By the time Hiccup pulls away, you're both out of breath and in bed. Hiccup smiles towards you, holding your chin before positioning you into a laying position.

"So what do you say?" Hiccup whispers, kissing you softly.

"Shouldn't we try for children? We'll make great parents."

[chi-icha]

This is a very oddly specific request, but is it possible for you to have a comfort scenario with Wanderer/Scaramouche where an autistic reader has been feeling insecure and hurt regarding their flat affect because a manager at work essentially embarrassed them publicly by treating them like a child and accused them of "having attitude" when they were asking a simple question all because the manager decided a monotonous voice = attitude, and because of that they've started masking more obviously, have stopped speaking as often for the most part and only use very exaggerated and fake tones when they do speak.

I recently this happen to me and the whole argument with my manager has left me so embarrassed and ashamed of my autism, my meltdowns and my flat affect that I'm literally handing my resignation in the next shift I have and I'd love a comfort scenario for it, especially since I tend to see Wanderer as autistic, since his vocal tone in EN feels very similar to my own in some ways- I feel like he'd get it.

I apologise if the prompt is too overly specific or if it's unclear but I felt I'd ask anyway because I feel so hurt ashamed right now and don't even want to speak anymore and I hate feeling like that over something I have no control of.

oh dear, i’m really sorry that happened to u :( i understand how hard it is to communicate when you have difficulty doing it. even if i myself don’t have autism, i understand that people who do have difficulty in daily life. people all around should respect and try to help instead of making a whole deal out of it

and don’t apologise!! nothing is your fault to begin with, and you don’t have to apologise for something you can’t control or are not even conscious about it.

you feel your eyes prick with tears, even if you don’t want to cry. it makes you feel weak, and no one should be weak, or so you thought.

you feel like punching your manager, but that’s not allowed. what else are you supposed to do? just let them treat you like a child and deal with it. fuck, no.

you sit down on a bench in a particularly isolated area in Sumeru, hoping to god no one comes and bothers at this time of day. After fighting with your manager about something that could’ve just been resolved without a problem, you feel exhausted, lonely, even.

“crying alone? I thought I’d never see the day.” a slightly flat voice comes from in front of you, a few metres away. you know that voice, and it gives a slight smile to your face and a warm feeling in your chest.

there he stood, crossing his arms while having a small, amused smile on his face. but it’s not the kind of smile that’s meant to mock you, it’s more like a jab that close friends do; harmless and a little funny despite the situation.

“shut up..” you mumble while gently wiping your eyes, the smile rising on your face despite trying to hide it, not wanting to please that fucker. Wanderer huffs softly, then invites himself to sit beside you and crosses his legs while propping his chin on his palm, elbow neatly placed on his knee just so he could get a good look at you.

sure, seeing you cry was a little rare to see since you always seem so.. monotonous or flat, for lack of better word. he knew little bits of what your relationship with your manager was, and to say he was disgusted was an understatement at best.

“manager?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly to the side.

he knew how to read you like an open book, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“yeah,” your voice was soft, and he immediately caught up on that. usually your voice would be at the same pitch he’s used to. “nothing much though, just..”

you trail off, not knowing how to finish your sentence without thinking of how much of wuss you sound like. you bite your lip, and his form a soft frown.

the silence draws for a little longer, and you feel like you should’ve shut up. your head hangs low, your thumbs fiddling together and mentally beating yourself up for creating such an awkward atmosphere from just trying to speak. fuck, why was speaking so hard—

he hums, just a flat one that seemed to silently say he understood whatever you were trying to silently say.

he inches closer, hand holding the back of your head before pulling your body close to his. he hopes his artificial skin would help you warm up, even if just a little could be nice.

with the help of his comforting touch despite the coldness of his artificial skin, you chuckle softly despite the tears gently streaming down your cheeks. just small ones, but wanderer finds himself wiping them away anyway.

“that’s enough crying,” he cringes at his own voice, failing miserably at trying to form a warm tone and he stays silent, hoping you just understand that he’s genuinely trying to comfort you.

you smile softly, burying your face a little on his neck to not let anyone else see you cry as your arms softly wrap around him, squeezing gently to relieve some of your own tension.

“thank you.”

your voice was but a whisper, but he finds his skin to redden slightly anyway.

please please pleasee correct me if anything is incorrect about autism or any other issues about my writing :(( i have no friends or relatives who have autism, so i really don’t know what it’s like. i made a little research about it but i really don’t know if it’s correct or not 😔

[ruishusband]

᧔ ˖ ࣪ 🪞 ࣪ ⤹thanks princess

⤷Velvette (hazbin hotel) is beyond stressed, so her gf!reader decides to help her out<3 (making out at the end)

"UGH, VOX! COME DOWN HERE AND CALM DOWN YOUR LITTLE BOYTOY, I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS!!" Velvette was already having a bad day, the last thing she needed was Valentino being a pussy because of something to do with Angel Dust, 'it's always that goddamn Angel Dust, isn't it?'.

But whatever, Vox will calm him down, he BETTER calm him down unless he wants another broken screen to repair. She had more important problems to focus on, like her best model being late and giving her attitude. 'I HAVE to put this bitch in her place' she thought to herself, a mixture of annoyed and angry. Dealing with her was easy as to be expected, as she's all bite no bark. Velvette thinks, scratch that, KNOWS it's absolutely pathetic all she had to do was yell at her about how she's under contract to get her to behave.

Even though she truly wishes that was all, it wasnt, her day was actually testing her patience, which is saying something considering she's never had any in the first place. After a long, excruciatingly painful day of dealing with every type of jackass who can't pull their shit together to save their life, she just wanted to rest. Did she have a migrane? Not sure, but it sure felt like it, but maybe she only thinks she has one because of everyone and their bullshit. She went to her room, rubbing her forehead, clearly irritated.

You walked into Velvettes room, speaking gently "Whats wrong Vel? Is it Valentino again, cus if it is I'm gonna beat his ass-" "OH FOR FUCKS SAKE, it's not just Val it's EVERYONE, so could you just leave me the fuck alone" "Im afraid I can't sweetheart, I know it's important to give frustrated people some space, but you tend to be terrible at getting your head clear. So I'm going to try and help," you took a pause in your speech, sitting beside her on the mattress "-tell me what happened, you don't have to tell me everything and you don't have to tell me right now, take your time and tell me the most important things" you said, reassuring her by holding her hands.

Velvette sighed, acting annoyed, but in all honesty she appreciates that you care, and knows you're right, she needs someone to listen. So, she started ranting to you, and you made sure to not interrupt her. As she signals you to start speaking, you open up your mouth, using a soft tone. You rubbed circles in her knuckles, making eye contact. You're not sure if it's the loving look you gave her or the words you whispered softly, but it worked, she calmed down a bit, taking a few deep breaths. "Thank you princess, I need someone to listen to me" she said, giving you a soft kiss on the lips "You know, I would be even more calm if-" you cut her off, kissing her "I know, more kisses" she didn't reply, continuing to make out with you.

[lendeah]

After the Weave 4.

series masterlist

Summary: Following the Duke's murder, Elara and Astarion find themselves detained by the Flaming Fists and interrogated by detective Valeria. Somehow, they are forced to spend a pleasant evening in the barracks' basement, and the outcome is far from what they anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC!Tav, past Gale x OFC!Tav

Tags: Angst, Drinking to Cope, References to Depression, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Emotional Baggage, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Post-Break Up, Tav finds herself again with Astarion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD.

Word count: 5.2k

"How come every time there is a series of murders, it's always you guys around?" Valeria asks, their pipe perched as always.

The Basilisk Gate Barracks are filled to the brim, with every fist trying to talk down the nobles assembled there. Most of them are still in formal attire, adding to the chaos of the situation. Meanwhile, Blaze Elin, a gruff woman with a thick scar running down her cheek, stands at the front of the room, trying to maintain some semblance of order. She had called all of the Flaming Fists in for an emergency meeting, and now they stand tensely, waiting for her orders.

"We have no idea who is behind these murders," she barks, voice booming through the barracks. "But I can assure you, we are working tirelessly to solve this case. I urge you all to share any information you may have so that we can bring justice to the Duke's murder. And then you can go home and rest easy knowing we are doing everything in our power to protect Baldur's Gate." Her eyes scan the room, daring anyone to go against her judgment.

Valeria flies around the room, their eyes narrowed skeptically. "That's what they always say," they spat lowly, their words like venom.

Astarion is slumped in his chair, his white hair falling across his face as he rolls his eyes dramatically. "Must we linger in this dull abode any longer? We have divulged everything we know," he complains, casting a side glance at the detective.

We both knew that was a lie, of course. We hadn't told Valeria about the spawn under the city. Or the ones in the Underdark, for that matter. It was too risky to spread the word about their existence.

But Valeria wasn't easily fooled. They perch on top of a bookshelf, piercing gaze fixed on us. "I know you're hiding something," they state matter-of-factly.

Astarion scoffs. "And what makes you think that?"

Valeria tilts their head to the side, their pipe still clenched between their teeth. "How about your sudden return to Baldur's Gate socialite? Your involvement in an apparent "charity hospital for children"? And let's not forget your companion here, which you have suddenly reunited with after months." They gestured towards me with a wingtip.

I can feel my stomach knotting with anxiety, but Astarion just laughs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh please, detective, I'm flattered that you find my life so interesting. But I assure you, the only thing I am involved in is solving this terrible murder case."

Valeria raised an eyebrow skeptically, as they calmly blew a puff of smoke.

"Is that so? Then tell me, why does every corpse we are finding present bite marks? Vampire bite marks?"

My heart skips a beat at Valeria's accusation. I know they are onto us. Astarion, however, remains once again unfazed. He leans forward in his chair, his lips curling into a sly smile. "My dear detective, are you implying I am the culprit just because I'm a vampire?"

Valeria's expression remained unreadable, their pipe still clenched between their teeth. "I'm not ruling out any possibilities," they replied evenly.

Astarion chuckles, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug. "Well then, I suppose anyone could be the culprit."

Valeria's eyes narrow at his nonchalant attitude. "You seem awfully calm for someone who is being accused of killing multiple people," they state, their tone laced with suspicion.

Astarion's smile falters for a moment before he regains his composure. "My dear detective, I assure you, I am not responsible for these murders. Do you have any evidence to suggest otherwise?" He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. "And in this case, the simplest explanation is that there is a vampire on the loose, preying on unsuspecting victims. Just because I am a civilized vampire, doesn't mean every of my kind is." he ends with another casual shrug. Gods, he is good.

I take a sharp breath and blurt out. "You know, this could be considered vampire discrimination!"

Valeria raises a skeptical eyebrow at my outburst. "Vampire discrimination? I highly doubt that, Miss. Not when we have solid evidence pointing towards a vampire as the suspect."

I clamp my mouth shut, realizing that I may have just made things worse. Astarion gives me a warning look before turning his attention back to Valeria.

"Forgive her, detective. As you know, she tends to let her emotions get the best of her," he says with false charm.

Valeria seems to consider this for a moment before speaking again. "Then why would this vampire target specific people? The past victims were normally lower class, but the Duke and his family were well-protected and respected individuals."

Astarion shrugs again. "Perhaps it was just a simple case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like we were."

I can see Valeria nod reluctantly at Astarion's words, but their eyes continued to bore into us with suspicion.

"Well then, if you come across any information or leads from your kind, be sure to inform me," they say sternly before standing up from their perch on the bookshelf. "I trust you, but I will be keeping a close eye on the both of you."

We both nod solemnly and finally get up to head out. At this point, only a handful of nobles are left to be interviewed. Among them is Lady Saphira, her elegant dress sparkling in the dim light. When she catches sight of us, her painted lips curl into a warm smile and she waves us over eagerly.

Regrettably, just as we are about to exit the building, I catch a glimpse of the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. The soft orange and pink hues cast a warm glow over the city, signaling the start of a new day. I look at Astarion with a grimace, knowing this means we are unable to walk outside. The elf lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of cover.

"Well, well, it appears we'll have to find some shelter until nightfall," he mutters.

I nod in agreement, my mind already racing with thoughts on where we could go. And then I realize: we are in the Barracks. I look to the corner of the room, where the door to a small staircase lies hidden out of sight.

"Maybe we could rest in my old basement until then?" I ask.

Astarion turns to me with a raised eyebrow. "Your basement? Well, I suppose it's better than wandering out in the open..." he says with a hint of skepticism.

However, as I lead him to the door, I notice a guard is currently standing in front of it, and he would surely notice if we were to go down. During my time here, the Barracks were often pretty empty, so I didn't worry about the Fists finding out I was using their basement as my home.

I try to call the magic to my hands to cast an invisibility enchantment, but it is so rusty from months of no use that barely a few sparks appear.

Astarion, noticing my thoughts, places a hand on my arm and smiles. "Darling, you can just ask me to cause a distraction."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the mischievous glint in his eyes. "And just what kind of distraction are we talking about?" I ask.

Astarion smirks, his charming smile reaching his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, Astarion reaches into his cloak and retrieves a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. He holds it up to the light, the liquid sparkling like stardust. "This," he says, waving the vial playfully, "is a little something I acquired during our time apart. It's an enchantment potion that can cause illusions. But not just normal illusions, big illusions. Trust me, it'll be quite the spectacle."

I nod, dubious of the effectiveness of said potion. "Alright then, show me what you've got."

He smirks, and gets closer to my ear to whisper, "¿Ready to run?"

Without another word, Astarion forcefully throws the vial to the other side of the room where it explodes in a thousand shards. I watch in amazement as an image of a huge ogre appears in the corner of the room, letting out a deafening roar.

Panic erupts among both the soldiers and nobles as they scramble to either arm themselves and prepare for battle or run away. The Fist in front of the door immediately runs to help in the chaos, leaving the door unguarded. The image of the ogre is so realistic that even I start to panic for a moment, but then Astarion's hand grabs mine and pulls me towards the stairs. As we run, my ball gown gets caught on one of the tables, causing me to stumble and almost fall. But Astarion quickly catches me and effortlessly detaches my dress from the table.

"Come on, we need to move fast," he urges, his grip tightening on my hand.

I nod and we continue our escape. Soon, we reach the small door, and it takes all my strength to open it since I haven't used it in so long. Finally, with a loud creak, it swings open revealing a dimly lit staircase that goes down into the basement. I quickly urge him forward and close the door behind us, making sure to lock it. The sound of chaos from above fades as we hurry down the stairs into the darkness. I can feel Astarion's hand gripping mine tightly, guiding me through the narrow staircase.

As we reach the end, I see another door, this one larger and made of metal. It has a large lock on it, but before I even remember where I left the key, Astarion quickly takes out a set of lockpicks and skillfully picks the lock. The door opens with a soft creak, revealing a small underground room, barely lit from a small window to the street. Astarion collapses onto a nearby chair with a grin on his face.

"Well, that was exhilarating," he says with a laugh, catching his breath.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief as I sink down onto another chair beside Astarion. My hands shake as I begin to remove the layers of my ball gown, leaving only the outer scarlet texture that falls freely over my feet. Astarion watches me with amusement in his eyes as I struggle with the intricately designed dress. Finally, I manage to pull it off and throw it onto the floor, feeling suddenly free from its suffocating hold.

"I can't believe you had an enchantment potion on you," I say.

Astarion shrugs nonchalantly. "What can I say? I like to be prepared for any situation."

I chuckle and then take a look at my surroundings.

As I take in the room, my chest constricts. Despite it only being two weeks since I last stood here, it feels like a lifetime has passed. The room is dirtier and more somber than I remembered. A small bed sits in one corner, with a tiny window near the roof as its sole source of light. Two old chairs and a table, coupled with an old sofa, make up the rest of the barren furnishings. Empty bottles of alcohol litter the floor, along with many plates of half-eaten food. Oh, and it absolutely stinks.

I can't help but feel ashamed of Astarion's presence; I don't want him to see this place. Don't want him to realize how low I fell before he took me in.

Astarion takes note of my discomfort and raises an eyebrow. "Is everything alright, love?" he asks, concern coloring his voice.

I force a smile and shrug it off. "It's just...I didn't think it had gotten this bad," I say, trying to brush it off casually.

Astarion's eyebrows furrow in concern as he takes in the state of my basement. "What do you mean?" he asks softly.

I sigh and avoid his gaze. "I hadn't been taking care of myself properly since... since Gale left," I admit with a hint of sorrow in my voice.

Astarion's expression softens and with a tenderness that surprises me, he takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Elara," he says, sincerity lacing his words. "I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."

I shake my head, feeling a touch of guilt for bringing up the subject. "It's not your fault, Astarion. I'm sure you had your own reasons for leaving," I say, trying to reassure him.

Astarion nods, but I can see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. He stands up and starts looking around the room, "Let's clean this place up a bit, shall we?" he says with a grin, picking up empty bottles and plates.

I can't help but laugh at his sudden enthusiasm for cleaning.

"Oh, you? Engaged in the noble art of cleaning? I am astonished."

Astarion gives me a mock offended look. "Why yes, my dear, I am capable of more than just thievery and seduction," he retorts with a smirk.

I laugh again and join him in cleaning up the mess. Together, we spend the next hour tidying up the basement. It's a surprisingly cathartic experience, feels as if we are washing away the memories of my past struggles together.

When we finish cleaning, Astarion looks around with satisfaction. "Much better," he says with a smile.

I look around as well and feel a weight lift off my shoulders. The room is no longer dark and depressing; although still austere, it feels a bit more cozy and welcoming now.

"Thank you," I say sincerely to Astarion.

Just when I am prepared to sit on the makeshift sofa, I notice a stray bottle hiding between the wall and the bed. Curiosity getting the best of me, I reach for it and realize it's still full.

"I really spent five months drowning my sorrows in ale. What a brilliant strategy, right?" I say, reaching it with a heavy sigh.

I sit defeatedly back on the sofa. Astarion looks at the bottle in my hand, deep in thought. After a moment, he turns to me with a determined expression.

"Why don't we make a different kind of toast?" he suggests, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask.

Astarion settles beside me on the plush sofa, grabbing the last bottle of ale. "Let's share this final bottle, closing the chapter as it began," he suggests with a wistful smile. "And then let us make a promise to each other – to move forward as one."

I look at Astarion in surprise, not sure what to make of his sudden declaration. But something in his eyes tells me that he is being genuine, and I can't help but feel touched by his words.

I nod slowly, and Astarion opens the bottle with ease "To new beginnings," Astarion says, raising the bottle in a toast, and gulps with a grimace. "Gods, this ale is awful."

I chuckle and take a sip myself. The drink is strong and bitter, but I find myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. We sit in comfortable quietness for a few moments, passing the bottle back and forth.

"I can't believe the Duke is dead..." I say, breaking the silence. "Wyll..."

Astarion nods, his expression grim. "Yes, and he won't have a clue unless he graces us with his presence again."

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "I wish there was a way to contact them."

Astarion leans back against the sofa, taking another swig from the bottle of ale. "It seems we are also very screwed," he says bluntly."No noble will want to help a vampire now, even with a charming hero by my side."

I roll my eyes at his choice of words, but can't deny the truth in them. I bite my lip. "And now everyone will hate you even more," I murmur.

"I'm used to it by now, that is the least of my worries," Astarion shrugs nonchalantly."The problem is the Underdark spawn. We can't keep covering to sustain them if the nobles don't pay us."

Astarion takes another swig of the ale, his expression troubled despite trying to conceal it. I can't help but admire his genuine dedication to the well-being of the spawn.

"You're right, but we can't just let them starve," I say, thinking of the innocent children that were turned into spawns by Cazador.

Astarion nods in agreement. "We'll have to come up with a solution soon or else things will only get worse."

I take a deep breath and try to think of a plan. "Perhaps we could find the culprit spawn? That way, instead of being labeled as monsters, the nobles might see us as saviors in the end. Plus, you know, prevent further harm to innocent lives."

Astarion looks at me with a smirk. "Ah, always the hero. But finding the spawn? That's a risky move, my dear. They're not exactly known for their civility or cooperation. Much less yours or mine."

I raise an eyebrow at Astarion's comment. "I never said it would be easy, but it could be worth a try. We can't just sit here and do nothing while they go around killing more innocents."

Astarion nods slowly and then gives me a sly smile. "Well, looks like we'll have to go on a little hunt. We'll most certainly find them, but we must tread lightly and play our cards just right."

"I agree," I say with determination. "We can start tomorrow and see what we can find out."

A heavy silence settles between us, the warmth of the ale slowly creeping into my mind. Suddenly, I feel emboldened by the alcohol and ask the question that has been nagging at me for months: "What did you do during all that time we were apart?"

Astarion looks at me with surprise before a small smirk forms on his face. "Oh, just the usual. Drinking, gambling, and charming my way into the beds of highborn virgins."

I raise an eyebrow at him and he chuckles. "Just kidding, of course. Well, mostly kidding."

I roll my eyes at Astarion's flippant response. After what I saw at the party, I am more than sure that he has indeed been visiting a lot of bedchambers. The thought, for some reason, doesn't sit well with me.

"Seriously though, what did you do?" I press on, trying to distract my thoughts. We are so close our arms are touching, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

"As much as I wish to boast about how I was far off better than you... I cannot" He sighs. "Hiding in the shadows once again took a toll on me, and I fear it may have shattered me completely. I never thought I would have to resort to such methods again. It was like reliving a nightmare."

Astarion takes another swig of ale before continuing. "I spent most of my time huddled in my bedchambers. My appetite disappeared, along with any sense of purpose or thought. All I could do was lay there, consumed by my own despair."

His raw confession tugs at my heart, causing it to clench painfully. My mind struggles to process this new side of Astarion - so unlike the guarded and closed-off man I thought I knew. It's almost as if he's a completely different person now, changed by the events of these past few months. Or perhaps, his sudden honesty is simply a result of the alcohol loosening his inhibitions.

I find myself reaching out to gently place my hand over his in comfort. He just looks to the wall, as if his mind is elsewhere, and keeps talking. "I was utterly alone. Everyone else had found their own happily ever after - Lae'zel fulfilling her duties to her people, Shadowheart finding her true calling, Wyll and Karlach, you know, at least they were together. And then there was you and Gale..." He looks over at me with an unreadable expression before turning his gaze back to the wall. "I couldn't help but feel envious of all of you. It seemed like everyone had moved on except for me."

I take a deep breath, his thoughts resonating so deep within me, reminding me of my own struggles back when I was alone and trying to help everyone. "I understand what you mean," I say softly, squeezing his hand lightly. "I've been there too, feeling like everyone has moved on and left me behind."

Astarion shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "It's not their fault. It's just... hard being alone after so long. It reminded me too much of my old life."

I nod, "I can imagine how hard it must have been for you," I reply sincerely.

"Surviving wasn't easy, but I managed." He says with a hint of amusement, "Dalyria found me cowering in the bedroom after a month and gave me quite the scolding. But then she helped me dust off my pride and put me back on my feet. She knew we needed all hands on deck to deal with the spawn, and apparently, I was deemed the most capable." With a shrug, he sums it up, "And that's how it went."

His final words are a bit slurred as if the alcohol is getting to him too. I grasp his hand tightly, not wanting to let go even as the world around us spins. His skin is cold against mine and I can feel the tremble in his fingers.

"Well, we're not alone anymore. We're together." I whisper, my words also a bit slurred.

Astarion looks at me with surprise before a small smile forms on his face. "Together," he repeats, his voice muddled, before pulling back and taking another swig of the bottle. My gaze follows the movement as his strong hand grips the bottle, his soft lips enveloping the tip, his translucent eyelashes fluttering shut in pleasure. My mind reels as I watch his throat move while he gulps, and for some reason, my drunken haze makes me ache with desire for him.

His red eyes connect with mine, and I can feel myself getting flustered under his intense gaze, caught in the act.

A faint smirk appears on his lips as he takes another swig of ale. "Do you like what you see?" he teases, and his voice is now low and husky.

I have the urge to look away, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. But instead, I reply emboldened by the alcohol, "Maybe."

Astarion's eyes widen in surprise, and a mischievous grin spreads across his face. He leans closer, his breath fanning against my ear. "Well, isn't that interesting," he whispers, his voice dripping with playful suggestion. "Perhaps we should explore this newfound curiosity of yours."

My heart skips a beat as his words hang in the air, my mind buzzing with a mixture of desire and confusion. A part of me wants to push him away, to remind myself that this is just the alcohol talking, but another part of me yearns to indulge in this intoxicating connection we share. It's been so long since I've felt this desire, this need. So long since I've been touched.

Summoning up the courage, I lean in closer to his ear, our knees now touching.

"Do you like what you see?" I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. From this close, I can admire the small moles dotting his cheek, and fight the urge to trace them with my fingertip.

Astarion chuckles softly and pulls back slightly, his red eyes locking onto mine. His lips curl into a mischievous smile as he places his free hand on my thigh. His touch sends an electric jolt through my body, igniting a fire within me. "Who are you and what have you done to my dear Elara?" he asks teasingly.

Our faces are now mere inches apart, our bodies pressed against each other.

"Do you like what you see?" I repeat, surprised at how low and sultry my voice comes out.

Astarion leans in closer, his nose barely brushing mine. "I do," he replies, his voice filled with desire. "Who could resist such a stunning creature?"

The tension between us is palpable as Astarion's hand continues to trail up my thigh, his touch igniting a burning desire within me even through the thick fabric of my dress. I don't know if he is pretending anymore, my head is swimming, my thoughts clouded by the alcohol and his touch. I know he can hear my heartbeat, his pupils expanded to the point where there is no crimson in them. He licks his lips, briefly showing his fangs, and I can't help but shiver, my body remembering the way they felt on my neck.

Without fully realizing what I'm doing, I take my trembling hand to his neck, touching the bite mark there softly, and caress my way to the base of his throat. My fingers tremble as I tug on the strings of Astarion's black shirt, feeling the smooth fabric open to reveal his sculpted chest. The dim sunset light from the basement window casts a golden glow over him, accentuating his every muscle and curve. He looks like a creature carved out of marble, perfect in every way.

Astarion watches me with intense eyes as I trace my fingers down his chest, feeling the softness of his skin under my touch. His breath hitches slightly and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I can feel his hunger for me radiating off of him, and it only fuels my desire.

"How long has it been?" Astarion's hand goes up and cups my cheek gently, his thumb stroking my skin softly "How long has it been since someone touched you?"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within me. "It's been a while," I admit, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his intense stare.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Astarion's lips as he leans in closer once more. Our lips brush lightly again, sending all kinds of electric feelings along my skin. "You are drunk," he whispers.

And then, he pulls back completely, retrieving his hand. A wave of disappointment washes over me and I can't help but whine at the lack of contact.

"B-but I want to," I say, my words almost gibberish.

He just shakes his head and gets up to get even further away, allowing me to see I wasn't the only one affected by our exchange.

"You will regret it tomorrow." He adds, "If you still want to when you sober up, I will more than oblige."

The room suddenly feels cold and empty with Astarion away from me. I can't help but feel disappointed, my desire still burning strong within my veins.

"I won't regret it," I say with determination, but my words are slightly slurred from the alcohol. "I want you."

Astarion's eyes darken with desire as he looks at me, but he shakes his head again. "Oh darling, you are clearly drunk," he repeats, "And a whiny, obnoxious one at that."

I pout, feeling rejected and frustrated. Why won't he just give in to our mutual desire? Is it really because I'm drunk? Or maybe because he thinks I'm not good enough for him? Is this even his true self, or is he simply pretending to be flirty as usual?

"Can we please go home now, precious little crybaby?" he drawled with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

My pout deepens as I watch Astarion head towards the door. "Fine," I mutter, standing up and swaying slightly as the alcohol starts to hit me harder.

Astarion's teasing grin transforms into a devilish chuckle as he observes my unsteady steps. "Oh, darling, is this your attempt at seduction?" he quips with a wink. "I won't fall for it, but I'll gladly watch you stumble."

But then he comes to stand beside me and with his firm grip, he assists me in walking up the stairs once more. The barracks lay eerily quiet and devoid of life in the cover of night, the moon casting an eerie shadow over our movements. As we walk through the empty hall, Astarion's arm finds its way around my waist for support, and my mind is still consumed by thoughts of our previous interaction. The alcohol in my system makes me more aware of his touch and the way his body presses against mine.

Before leaving the place, Astarion turns to face me with a mischievous grin on his face. "Now, shall we finish our little promise?" he asks in a low voice.

I can feel my cheeks heating up at his words and I nod eagerly. I hold out my hand "I promise to move forward from this place. And from Gale. And from the ale."

Astarion raises an eyebrow at my wobbly words, but he takes my hand in his and gives it a firm shake. "Together," he says with a smirk, his grip surprisingly steady despite the amount of alcohol we've consumed. How is he not drunk? He drank more than me!

As we make our way back to the Palace, Astarion keeps his arm around me, guiding me through the now-dark streets of Baldur's Gate. Despite the alcohol clouding my senses, I can't help but feel safe and protected by his presence, and I unconsciously lean into his touch. As we reach the metal gates of the Palace, I am starting to sober up, and he finally releases his grip on me and opens the door.

"Well," Astarion says, leaning against the door frame with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That was certainly an interesting day."

I roll my eyes at his comment, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. It's bad enough that I made a fool of myself in front of Astarion, but now he's going to tease me about it too?

"Can we just forget about it?" I mumble, trying to brush off the embarrassing events of the evening.

A cunning smirk spreads across Astarion's face as he gazes at me. "Oh, don't worry darling," he drawls. "I will most definitely forget." but his words drip with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at Astarion's teasing comment, but I can't deny the small flicker of disappointment at the thought of him forgetting about our drunken encounter. Despite trying to push those memories away, they keep resurfacing in my mind. The way Astarion's fingers had felt against my skin, the desire burning between us... I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

Astarion leads me inside and we have barely taken two steps when two figures appear in front of us.

"Are you two drunk?"

Astarion and I freeze in our tracks as Shadowheart and Lae'zel stand before us, their arms crossed and disapproval etched on their faces. My heart stops at the sight of the two women.

I straighten myself, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. I can feel my face flushing with embarrassment, desperately wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Astarion, ever the smooth-talker, steps forward with a sly grin.

"My two favorite companions!" he replies, feigning innocence. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my modest property?"

Shadowheart and Lae'zel exchange a doubtful glance before turning their attention back to Astarion.

"We've been waiting here the entire day for the both of you," Shadowheart says, her tone serious. "We heard the Duke died, and it's clear you two were entangled in the mess somehow."

Lae'zel finally speaks up, her voice cold and commanding. "We are here to deal with the wreckage you left behind."

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