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chithereader · 2 days ago

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first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk.

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs.

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window.

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names.

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left.

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit;

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub.

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up.

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly.

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself.

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides.

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading.

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly.

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty.

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting.

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing.

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats.

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy.

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong.

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether.

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes.

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even.

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence.

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit.

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking.

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you?

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established.

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered.

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain.

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door.

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview.

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again.

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow.

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths.

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all.

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly.

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face.

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue.

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers.

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through.

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest.

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond.

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it.

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future.

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent.

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence.

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago.

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush.

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.”

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality.

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

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adrianastrix · 18 hours ago

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Another thing I'll add here is something that I was coincidentally discussing with a friend yesterday: this kind of issue can only be solved if our science education (and I'm talking BOTH Natural Sciences and Humanities) doesn't rely on teachers being simply a source of "correct" information.

I put "correct" in quotes because guys. GUYS. I was in a comitee for quality control of kids science textbooks (ages 11-14), and Jesus Christ. It was a book written in the Year of Our Lord 2022 and it had a SLUR as an "alternative name" to Down Syndrome. Not to mention information that was BLATANT WRONG when you as much as googled the legal definition of a certain thing, and much much more. We obviously bombed it, but there's the kicker: the only thing our ban ensured is that this textbook collection is out of question for Brazilian public schools. Private schools can use it, if they want to.

Which means that even schools can and, as much as we try, will spread misinformation, even if it's in a small scale. The teacher in the Twitter thread very astutely identified it as a crisis of authority. If education is just a matter of relaying "correct facts", it all comes down to a matter of authority. And the poor teacher feels hopeless because she can't even say, in good faith, that her word is inherently better than ChatGPT or Wikipedia or TikTok because, guess what, she could be wrong. There's no such thing as infallible authority.

There's only one solution, one that Education Scientists (which ARE a thing, I'm one of them!) have been saying since, I dunno, THE 18TH CENTURY: giving kids an education centered in DOING science, not memorizing its products. The teacher started amazingly by asking the kid to "look it up" in front of her. But what she COULD have done, if prepared for this kind of challenge (I obviously don't fault her for freezing when confronted by something for the first time) was to ask for the notebook or cellphone and show the student what she meant by "look it up" and how the results vary. And tell him that NO single source should be trusted, either her or ChatGPT, and when sources disagree, what should be the tiebreaker?

In other words, the only antidote is showing the kids HOW science is done, HOW you arrive at conclusions, and HOW documental research is done. Science isn't something that Very Smart Geniuses do in their ivory towers to create The Truth. It's science, not a sacred religious ministery. Science is mundane, messy, controversial, and everyone* can do it with a bit of training, just like everyone* can cook or sing or draw with the proper training. [*"everyone", of course, being a rethorical generalization; obviously there are circunstances in which people might NOT be able to do it, or might need especialized assistance that others don't need, but those are the exceptions, not the rule.]

The main reason why our education is stuck in memorization and trying to out-authority the internet has a name: Standard Testing.

It's LEAGUES easier to test for how many facts someone can spew exclusively from memory (you just need a multiple choice test that can be graded by a machine) than it is to test students for their ability of create, research and communicate knowledge (the current optimal way to do it is the whole process of writing a monography/dissertation/thesis).

The whole EVALUATION system holds us down WAY more than the teaching methods themselves, because when you are teaching scientific abilities, you WON'T be sparing time to ensure that all your students are commiting definitions and formulas to mind. At the VERY least, tests should allow students to search for the info they need: this alone already demonstrate that student's ability to research, compare and choose correct information.

The idea that you can compare kids by a test that quantifies the amount of information they have on their heads, and that once they perform well on a test, that info is certified as correct and true is RIDICULOUS. Information on the brain degrades with time, unless you need it constantly. And people who grade tests are human, humans can be wrong. The accepted answer in a test can be wrong.

But we have to maintain the illusion that we can OBJECTIVELY rank students, schools, school systems and nations on how much knowledge they have. Otherwise, how investors will be reassured that they are "top quality"? How private education businesses can boast that they are "the best", thus justifying their price tag? How international banks will "ensure" that the amount of money countries are investing in education are being "correctly spent" (instead of being used to repay them)?

Soooo... ChatGPT is only the tip of the iceberg. There ARE ways for us to solve that problem, there HAS been ways for it since the 18th FREAKING century. But as long as they don't make the money people happy, as long as we expect school knowledge to take the form of a standard list of memorized correct info, we will still be ineffectively fighting the robots.

#education #ai #chatgpt #education science #science education #construtivism #knowledge #testing

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ir-abelas-vhenan · 2 days ago

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Don't mind me, just revisiting the plot (again) and dying over this line (again). (These screenshots are going to be abysmal, but you'll get the point).

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

Yeah he's talking about Mythal (earned or not) and Felassan and Lavellan and Varric...but the way it applies to HIM, too, is what absolutely guts me.

Long post ahead...

Solas realizing that Lavellan doesn't care about how others see him or want to use him under the inquisiton, that HIS motivations as he has shared them are enough for her and worth defending against those who would tell him he's something he isn't. Solas, for the first time, being confronted with the realization that one these new elves he does not see himself in will still go to bat for him.

"You came here to help, Solas, I won't let them use that against you."

(Is he duplicitous? Yes. But intent on working against Corypheus? Undoubtedly).

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

“...thank you.”

Solas grappling with the fact that it wasn't just a one off, that this Dalish woman being faced with "hypotheticals" he's desperately been trying to get her people to entertain is jumping in head first, pushing back and disagreeing with him but never treating him worse for their differences and always admitting when he's helped shape a changing perspective. Solas daring to ask for help and marveling at the fact that he receives it, that the same woman who asked if it might some day be possible to live alongside spirits, who did not immediately shoot down his critique of THE CHANTRY REFUSING TO ACKNOWLEDGE SPIRITS AS LEGITIMATE BEINGS (GAH), who did not laugh at him for saying he preferred their company most days, this woman, is going to drop time and resources during war time preparations to personally help his friend.

And then, when he is too late and has once again failed someone he considers a friend, he disappears within himself, where he has always gone to exact punishment for the weight of the lives he believes he's betrayed. It almost works, too.

Psych. Lavellan doesn't want him to grieve alone, to stare at the place in the Fade where his friend used to be and think of all he should have done differently.

“The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone.”

“I know.”

“I’ll work on it. And thank you.”

And still she unbalances him, accepts him, wants more. Solas is sharing a personality that brings him the closest he has ever been to his spirit form, and it is ENOUGH for her. Existing as he has always dreamt of is all takes to earn her loyalty, respect, and eventually love.

But does she stop there? No. She doesn't chafe at this random apostate who speaks with certainty and unapologetically delves into a past he believes worth preserving, even at the cost of questioning her culture as it currently stands.

The very woman he once thought of as a mistake that HE unleashed upon the world is asking to be a part of his, not because of what he can bring to the table, not because she needs a right hand man, and certainly not because she thinks he has some well of power and intelligence critical to winning over enemies she’s willing to join for "supervisory" purposes (cough cough hi Mythal). She bears the weight of choices that can and will lead to death, to pain, and when it wears on her she relies on him, not for solutions but so that at the end of it all she might smile with someone who knows her heart and the good she tried to do amidst a sea of terrible options. She wants to be known, no inch of her unturned, and worse, she thinks she knows him. But how could she? This is no longer who he is, it is merely the remnants of what he destroyed to make a world at Mythal's whim.

“You’re an admirable man. Not many people know who they are the way you do.”

“Thank you. Both for saying that and…for seeing that. Few in this world can see me instead of just seeing a pair of pointed ears”

She. Sees. Him. Every part he slowly is realizing he wants to be known for and even a few he thought he could hide. And then he gives it all up. Because he woke to a new world where spirits and elves and mages were so far removed from the role they played in Arlathan that it can only be yet another mistake he caused and must fix, never mind the fact that the dwarves have forgotten why they fled underground millennia ago in the first place.

The friend who tore him from the world he loved, urged him to take physical form? She is dead, too, never mind the fact that she ignored his urging for a different path, nevermind that he killed and tore and hurt in her name because otherwise what was losing the part of himself he loved for?

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.”

He may no longer recognize where the Dread Wolf ends and where Solas begins, but if he gives up now and permits himself the chance to remember, the pain he caused himself and others means nothing, because he did it all for Mythal and in his final discussion with her, regardless of what Veilguard tries to convey, she does not release him from his position as her agent.

And maybe that's part of why I'm so angry, because EVEN BEFORE TRESPASSER, the fragment of Mythal that ends up in Morrigan could have freed him, but she does not.

"I am sorry." He whispers.

"The failure was mine," he tells her, voice trembling. "I should pay the price."

Silence.

And do we get that "what we did, we did together" psuedo-fake ass-absolution, the one that, if given enough time and safety to put himself first he may have realised he doesn't truly need to pursue the things he deserves, that make him feel finally like himself again? No the fuck we don't.

"As am I, old friend." She murmurs.

Looking through the lens of Veilguard, this isn't an apology, it's a condemnation. It's Mythal tormenting him one more time, twisting the knife deeper, agreeing that it is Solas alone who has brought them to this point, who deserves to be punished. And then she reminds him what they are to each other, what he is supposed to be to her. What he must become again.

"It isn't abuse if I ask," Cole says in his personal quest.

"Not always true," Solas shoots back.

So he recommits to the friend he gave up his nature for, he refuses to let himself remember that Lavellan learned the full truth of his identity and still begged him not to mourn alone. Even so, he still cannot quite forget.

Var lath vir suledin. Our love will persevere.

I wish it could, vhenan.

And so he pushes onwards, spending almost a decade denying himself his true nature and regretting that he ever gave it a chance to come through because now he KNOWS that this world is different and a little broken, but it's a world he could be a part of because of the woman and the friends that made a place for him. It is a world that doesn't necessarily need to be restored as much as it might need renovation, but that is not the world Mythal demanded of him when she let him kill a remaining piece of her. And any solution but that means the hurt of taking a body, of hurting the titans, of time and time again being called on by one evanuris to fix a problem they all caused, was for nothing.

And a Pride of that magnitude, that sinister an origin, has a long, long way to fall.

And then that same uppity little shit has the audacity to tell him it's not too late, that he can turn back.

He kills again. He kills again. He kills again.

He kills a friend.

He fails to prevent the Evanuris from wreaking havoc a second time, wrenches another innocent into his war, and when they ask him about the woman he calls vhenan, he feels the mask stifling him begin to suffocate. But he never lets it fall, because to surrender now is to place her broken heart atop the pile of regrets he's been holding up like Atlas crumbling beneath the weight of the world itself. Because he still thinks it selfish to want the things that make him feel like himself again, so they need to be taken off the board entirely.

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

If he gives up now, his entire corporeal life has been a betrayal of many, but worst of all, he will have ruined himself for nothing.

But then she's there. A little older, a little sadder, and still looking at him like she did the night he almost broke and instead carefully removed any suggestion that she had ever belonged to anyone but herself.

"Didn't you hear me?" Her every action screams as she kneels to meet his gaze like he did the day he took her arm (another failure, another sacrifice he cannot let be for nothing).

The tombstone in the fade is his greatest fear, but it is not his fate. Why? She will not let it be. It cannot be his din'anshiral if she is not beside him.

Lavellan may not have understood the depth of exactly WHEN Solas first came somewhere foreign and uncertain to help, but she never once failed to keep her promise. She refuses to let his initial desire to do good be held against him any longer. And when she sees him accept that not-quite-absolution-definitely-more-of-a-power-play from the god that saw what he was capable of and molded him into a weapon, she finds her in to make sure he doesn't walk off alone to mourn again, never again will she lose him to the expectations others have of him. No doubt she wants to find a way to sink the fingers of her good hand into that spectral visage and tear it away like he wishes to do to the veil. But she is not here for Mythal. She is here for her heart, and for the man who has been carrying it since the moment her lips met his in the fade ten years ago.

“No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

She forces him to see that the only remaining betrayal is to lock himself away one more irreversible time. All that's left to lose is the piece of himself he cherishes more than his greatest victories: all that he has to gain comes from making sure the love that was given to him at Skyhold, in the moment where Varric saw all he was capable of and still tried to bring him back home, was not given in vain.

"There is no fate but the love we share." She tells him as soon as Mythal's too-little-too-late platitudes send shudders through his body.

Banal nadas ar lath'ma vhenan.

It will not be so terrible a place, so unforgivable a betrayal if he can finally dare to put himself first. If, unlike that night in Crestwood, he finally gives in not to break, but to make himself whole.

There's a codex entry in Inquisiton about a spirit of wisdom who is summoned by researchers and only after a very pleasant conversation do they realize they made a mistake and never successfully bound the spirit in the first place, that it chose to speak with them of its own accord.

"I am not certain the spirit would have talked so freely had it been shackled at the time," writes the author of the entry.

I keep thinking about this alongside the datamined line of Morrigan saying, "And so, the Dread Wolf is stopped by, of all things love."

But that isn't quite right, is it?

Because in the end, of course the Dread Wolf could only ever freed by, over everything, love.

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas dragon age #lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age inquisiton #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #datv #datv spoilers #dragon age veilguard spoilers #veilguard spoilers #mythal #fen'harel #dread wolf #cole dragon age #varric tethras #veilguard

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sweetshuga · 2 days ago

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MS ✰ Bewitched ✧ CS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

contains ��︎ smut!, strong language!, suggestive remarks!, obscene descriptions!, polyamory, hint of overstimulation, p in v (unprotected, use condoms irl), threesome, oral (m! receiving), size kink, light s&m, bondage, toys & idk a bunch of kinky stuff °~° ⚠︎

sum. Switching their clothes for a video leads to new sexual discoveries.

wc. 2.1k (2,116)

note. English is not my first language!

You watched from your place on the living room couch as Matt and Chris paced back and forth between their rooms. Seemingly exchanging clothes, laughing and talking about some type of tiktok they’re gonna film. You were only partially paying attention now—the fanfiction you were reading on your phone suddenly taking an interesting turn.

"Hey, ma?" Your head shot up at the sudden interruption, your eyes widened by a fraction when you saw their attire. They had exchanged clothes, and even their jewelleries were of the other. It’s not like they don’t wear each other’s clothes, you’ve seen them share hoodies or pants, but never fully dress as one another.

"Yeah?" You breathed out, your voice coming out a bit too shaky for your liking. "Can you please go into one of our rooms while we film a tiktok? Y’know... we can’t really show you yet." Chris said apologetically, and you nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course, tell me when you’re done." You stood up and made your way towards Matt’s room.

"Sorry about this, sweetheart, we won’t take too long ’promise," you chuckled quietly to yourself before replying with a soft "okay" and closed the door behind yourself. Immediately plopping down on Matt’s bed as you opened your phone, ready to continue reading the fanfic.

Some people might think it’s weird to read fanfictions about your boyfriend— or boyfriends in your case, but you couldn’t deny how hot it was, how much it turned you on. The suggestive part of the fanfic began and just as you got comfortable on the bed Matt walked inside the room.

You looked up from your phone, raising an eyebrow, "you done already?" He chuckled and shook his head no, "Chris is filming his video, I’ll do it after him." You nodded, and motioned for him to come sit beside you. "You should wear bracelets more often, it suits you..." Your voice trailed off as his hand landed on your thigh, giving it a small playful squeeze, and the seemingly innocent gesture sent shivers down your spine.

"Yeah? Maybe I should get a similar one–" he paused, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the Tumblr logo on your phone, the fanfiction left open and abandoned on the bed beside you. You looked at him confused before following his gaze, a small gasp escaped your lips before you quickly turned your phone off.

You sat up, flustered and embarrassed to have been caught red handed reading such a frisky fanfic about him and Chris. Stammering as you tried to find a good excuse as to why you were reading a smut fanfic in broad daylight – even if you could – but it only made it worse. "You read things like that? What was the name again?"

You looked at him for a solid minute before opening your mouth to speak, only getting out a flustered "what?" in response. The corners of Matt’s lips twitched into a small smirk, "what’s the name?" He repeated himself, his smirk threatened to grow wider with each passing second. "Simple solution," you whispered.

"Hm? And what happens in it?" You gulped softly, feeling your face heat up. "Do I have to? I mean, you can just read it yourself, I know you’ve got Tumblr on your phone." Matt laughed, the sound rich and amused, "yeah I do, but I wanna hear you tellin’ me about it, sweetheart." You couldn’t help but fidget slightly at the pet name, it was one of your faves.

"Uhm... It’s like, well," you stammered, "it’s about how much you and Chris look alike when you wear your caps backwards." You finally blurted out, biting your tongue as you waited for his reaction. "That’s... Interesting? So y’like it when we look alike huh?" He chuckled, thoroughly amused.

The bedroom door opened, and Chris peeked his head in. "I’m done," he walked fully inside the room, grinning and putting his hands on his hips in a mock attempt of display. "So, how do I look, ma?" You chuckled and sat up straight, "So fine, I’ll give you that, the kisses tee is just chefs kiss."

Chris grinned wider, "pirate girl tank or kisses tee?" Your jaw dropped, "how do you expect me to pick one? Also, why didn’t you wear the 'iconic' pirate girl tank?" You nudged Matt playfully, "we’re not recreating outfits... well, basically, but it’s more like how we dress and all—" you cut him off with a laugh, "okay, whatever you say, kid."

"Are you two done filming yet?" Nick popped his head in, looking annoyed, "’cause I’m so fucking hungry, and you keep telling me to stay in my room like what am I? One of your secret girlfriends?" Chris scoffed in faux annoyance, "we’ve only got one girl fyi, and no, Matt hasn’t filmed yet, but go ahead and eat if you’re about to starve to death."

Nick huffed, raising his eyebrows in dramatic disbelief, but didn’t say anything else as he walked away, mumbling under his breath about how ridiculous everything was. Suddenly, Matt spoke—breaking the silence. "I’ll be back," he gave your thigh one last squeeze before standing up to film the short video for tiktok.

Chris smirked and sauntered over to Matt’s bed where you were – still – laying on. Sitting on the edge as his hand absentmindedly started to caress your calves, "so, real talk, how do I look?" You hummed thoughtfully, "real talk? I think you look hot, like 'makes me wet' kinda hot." He let out a surprised yet amused laugh, "bold now ain’t we?" chuckling as he leaned closer.

"Mm... 'makes you wet' kinda hot huh?" He teased, a wolfish grin on his face as his gaze raked over your body appraisingly. "So, you gon’ show me how wet it makes you or do I have to see it myself." His tone wasn’t one of questioning, more like a commanding one as if you were obligated to show him either way. You felt pleasantly surprised, the fluttering in your abdomen growing tenfold.

However, Matt walked in before you could respond. Raising his eyebrows with a small smirk as he sensed the tension in the air. The room seemed warmer, more electric. That’s when Nick opened the door again, "I’ll be out for a bit–" he paused, having sensed the tension as well.

"Well, uh... Don’t be too loud? We don’t need another noise complaint from our neighbours, that’s just borderline embarrassing." With that, he closed Matt’s bedroom door, leaving you three alone. The front door clicked shut a few minutes later. Your mouth hung agape at Nick’s words.

"Damn, kid has no filter whatsoever." Chris chuckled, taking the fanny pack off and tossing it on Matt’s gaming chair. "Hey, easy with it," Matt said as he took off his cap. Putting it on his gaming desk before turning to look at you. Sensing their eyes on you, you suddenly felt a strong heat in your lower abdomen. Their gazes were enough to make you squirm.

"So, now that Nick is out," Chris looked at Matt before looking back at you, "we’ve the house all to ourselves," Matt continued for him. You nodded subtly, shifting slightly on the bed, trying not to show how in need you were. They weren’t stupid, knowing exactly what was happening with you as their handsome faces lit up with amused grins.

You squirmed, a muffled moan exiting your gagged mouth as your hips bucked and jerked when Chris pressed a button on the small remote, making the vibe in between your legs buzz louder. The intense sensation of the vibe, bound to stay precisely on your clit, was enough to make your eyes roll back.

Your ankles were bound as well as your wrists, making you unable to move much as the pleasure coursed through your body. You bit the gag, your back arching and hips rolling as you tried to get the vibe at least a millimeter away from your throbbing clit, but Matt held your hips down and Chris positioned the vibrator so it was exactly on your clit again.

"Aw, too much?" Matt pouted, jutting his bottom lip out in obvious mock sympathy. Your eyes glazed over as a tight knot formed in your stomach, your body trembling as you tried to fight the impending orgasm – knowing it would turn you dumb from how powerful it would be.

Just when you thought you couldn’t hold back anymore, Chris pressed the button until the vibe buzzed at max. An immediate jolt ran through your body as your eyes widened, tears of pleasure threatening to fall as you shut it back closed, loud muffled noises penetrating through the gag.

Your mind blanked when you felt the knot snap, the orgasm so powerful that you wondered if you could stay conscious. Noticing the slight overstimulation, Chris turned the vibe to a low buzz. The sensation bordered on overstimulating in your oversensitized post-orgasmic state – even if it was barely there. Matt chuckled as he took the remote from Chris and turned the vibe off, your body immediately limping into the mattress as the sensations stopped.

Chris gently untied your ankles from the bounds, but kept your wrists tied over your head. His fingers working deftly to remove the bounds from your pelvic area and tossed the vibe somewhere on the bed. Seeing your inner thighs quivering, covered in your juices, and your swollen, glistening folds on display made their cocks twitch.

They were already naked, not seeing the point in having clothes on, but kept the bracelet and rings on per your request. The tips of their hefty lengths were already dripping with precum from how aroused they were, swollen and taut with unfulfilled desires. Matt suddenly stood up from the bed and walked towards his closet while Chris took off the gag.

A few seconds later, Matt was back on the bed, now beside you as he helped you into a sitting position. Your gaze fell down to his hand that held a red silk blindfold before taking it back up to his face, your eyebrows raised. "Where did you even get that?" You asked with a small hint of amusement.

Matt just grinned, "bought it a while ago, been contemplating whether to use it or not, but I think now’s the best time to use it." Chris chuckled, "dude, I can’t believe y’had all this stuff in your closet, laying ’round like that." Matt chuckled and scooted closer to you, his erection bobbing obscenely as he moved. "C’mon, sweetheart, lemme blindfold you." You eagerly closed your eyes, not denying how much you liked this.

The blindfold cut off any source of light, making you feel a shudder of excitement. It was designed for plays like this so it wasn't a surprise that you couldn't see anything. The inability to see only heightened your other senses, every graze and touch of their hands on you seemed to make your body tremble and jolt.

𓆩♡𓆪

Your mind was a haze as Matt pounded into you with hard, deep strokes, and the slight difficulty breathing from Chris’ length down your throat added to the haze. Your mind fogging with pure unadulterated pleasure as they used your holes. Matt held your bound wrists, keeping you from moving as his other hand gripped your hip with bruising strength.

The obscene sounds of squelching from your sopping pussy being filled over and over again by Matt and the slurping sounds of your mouth working Chris filled the room along with the bed creaking underneath you. The position you were having intercourse in was a new one neither you, Matt or Chris had tried before.

Your neck was supported by the edge of the bed, but your head hung down it—allowing Chris to use your mouth. Matt’s pace quickened as he felt himself growing close with each spasm of your inner walls from your previous orgasms, the aftershocks still coursing through you.

Chris moaned as he felt the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each thrust down your throat, the sight of the bulge he was creating with his cock on your throat proving to be too much. You felt them twitch in your holes, their paces quickening and you knew they were close.

With guttural moans they came, one after the other. After a few seconds of shuddering over you, they finally pulled out, leaving you filled with their releases, but you knew better than to think it was over. Your suspicions were proven right when they coaxed you into a different position, but you weren’t complaining. After all, who could resist? They seemed to have you under their spell—bewitching indeed.

𓆩♡𓆪

ps. The fic mentioned in the beginning is actually one of my chratt fics. I know, I know, sneaky mf, but here's the link in case you wanna check it out<3 «Simple Solution»

Also, the beginning part of the actual smut was inspired by this «p link»

Chratt taglist: @bells-sturn @h3arts4nat @zombiesturniolo @urfavnickgirl @cwistofurr @goingtojohnkramershouseee @blahblahblahm @shoo-00 @ariana2saucyy @ksturnz @sturniolos4life16 @strnlslut @babysturniolo @ashleighpray23 @bl1ssfulbunn1e @ijustbelurkingmymen

♡ If you wanna be tagged on my future Chratt fics click «here» and interact with the post ♡

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xetlynn · 2 days ago

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season 2 claggor x fem reader maybe they get caught making out?? thank you for keeping the tag alive

of courseee and thank you!!!<3

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Preheat

[arcane] [main page]

Summary: in which you and claggor get caught in a lil steamy moment.

“We’ll see you guys later!” Powder and Ekko wave goodbye, leaving our home to go out on a well-needed date. Claggor, Mylo and you tell them to have fun and enjoy themselves. You bring your legs up on the couch, playing around with your necklace. “Welp, this is boring. I’m leaving.” Mylo stands up, grabbing his jacket. He doesn’t even say anything when walking out the door.

Claggor and you turn to one another before chuckling. “We have the house to ourselves it seems.” He smiles. The corners of your lips doing the same movement. “What should we do?” You ask, holding onto your knees. The two of you had recently started dating after being friends since you two were children. You were raised by a close friend of Vander’s and Benzo’s. You had grown close with the others, especially Powder, being best friends. Claggor was her older brother and it felt weird to go after him but then he pursued you. It was kept a secret from the others and still is. You didn’t know how to tell Powder you were dating Claggor at all. Not knowing how to bring it up.

“Want to cook?” He proposes and you purse your lips, shrugging your shoulders as if to say “why not.” He stands up from his chair, going over to you to help you up.

You lead the way to the kitchen. “Pizza?” You tilt your head, opening the fridge. “Sounds good.” He hums, getting the cutting board out along with the flour and oil. You grab the cold ingredients.

“I hope it turns out better than when Mylo did it.” You comment, throwing the stuff on the counter. Claggor laughs, “I don’t think we’d have the skill to catch the pizza on fire and only burn the inside.” He shakes his head, remembering when Mylo woke everyone screaming that there was a fire. “Fun times.” You whisper.

You leave the room momentarily to put on some music before joining back. “Alright, let’s start.” You roll your sleeves all the way up to wash your hands before actually touching anything. Claggor had already done that when you left the kitchen.

The two of you start off together before you get distracted by the song that came on. Dancing around the room, pretending to smack your boyfriend’s butt. He didn’t mind taking care of the pizza, this usually happens when you cook. In the middle of it you’d get bored or distracted by something small. Forgetting about the ingredients on the counter.

“Alright, did you preheat the oven?” He asks suddenly, already knowing the answer though. You forgot to do it. Your arms drop to your sides with a frightened expression. He bursts out laughing. “It’s okay, babe. I figured you wouldn’t have.” He kisses your forehead and you frown. “Rude.” You cross your arms and look away. “But true.” You mutter. He gets the oven started and you both watch it heat up, leaning on the opposite counter.

“Sorry.” You say sadly, upset that you can’t have the pizza sooner. “It’s okay, I promise.” He snorts, pulling you into his chest, hugging you. “I’m so hungry.” You whine, tugging on the chest of his shirt.

“Same, but it’s only going to take a couple minutes.” He says, but right as he says that the oven dings meaning that it’s done heating up. He lets me go and you open the oven door for him as he grabs the pizza and sets it in. Shutting the oven.

“Set the timer.” He points over to the tiny little timer next to the oven on your side. You set it to twenty-five minutes, clapping your hands after placing it down. Since you two had some time you decided to go back to the couch and cuddle for a little bit. You were snug between the cushion and partly on top of him. Legs tangled together. He pets your head as you stare at the coffee table. Only thinking about how good his fingers feel on your scalp.

He stops after a couple minutes, staring down at you. “You’re very pretty, y’know.” He compliments, you lift your head to look at him. “Really? Say more.” You tease making him snicker. “I could compliment you all day.” His hands travel down to your waist, rubbing up and down. “I’d love to hear just a few.” You cross your arms on his chest to rest your chin on them.

“You’re very smart even though you get easily distracted.” He begins and you pout. “Not off to a good start.” His body shakes under you with laughter. “Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes.

“You are incredibly kind, I don’t understand why. Kind to people who don’t deserve it. Also just beautiful. Your inside matches the physicality and not a lot of people can say the same.” He tells you. “So nice on the eyes. More than nice. I love admiring you.” His hands start to get lower and lower on your back/ hips. “An amazing kisser.” He raspily says when his face gets closer to yours.

“You think so?” You hum, eyes flickering between his lips back to his eyes. “I know so.” He pecks your lips. You slowly move your legs so that you are straddling him now. You butt right above his crotch.

“Let’s make sure I’m truly right though.” He sits himself up a little more and kisses you.

You moan into the kiss, lips cushioning one anothers. You press further onto him, gripping his shirt for dear life. “Mm, you drive me crazy.” He musters taking a small breather before getting right back to making out. His tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You open your mouth allowing it.

He takes it and battles with your own tongue. Going back and forth not even noticing the fact that the front door opened.

You move his hand from your back down to your ass before bringing your own hand to the back of his neck. Not wanting to let him go. He grips your clothed flesh. You pull a little bit on his hairs on the back of his head on accident, getting a low groan in response, vibrating your lips. His free hand is holding you tightly by your waist. Making sure you were right against his torso.

You do it for another time to take another breather, but really it was because you wanted to do something more. “Wow!” A voice laughs from the corner of the living room, startling you both. You jump off of Claggor. “In the family room!?” Ekko grips onto his stomach with laughter as Powder was trying to bite her own giggles. Claggor and your faces flushing tremendously. “I- sorry.” You put your head down, not believing that neither of you heard the door open or close.

“We already knew about you two, don’t worry.” Powder puts her purse on the hook. “You guys made pizza?” Ekko excitedly asks, heading to the kitchen.

“It’s not… done yet.” You say, not understanding why they’re home from their date not even an hour into it. “Oh can’t wait to eat it then.” He chuckles from the kitchen. Powder smacks her brothers back, plopping down on the couch. “Have fun there, didn’t ya.” She teases him. He rolls his eyes.

“[Name], you okay? You look mortified?” She asks me and you turn to her, blinking slowly. “You knew?”

“Of course we knew, you two are not discrete… whatsoever.” She smirks up at you. “And you just let me think you didn’t know!?” You cry out, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Mm I knew you’d tell me when you wanted to or I’d “find out” like this.” She uses finger quotations then does a hand motion to the room.

“At least we don’t have to hide it anymore, babe.” Claggor stands up, rubbing your back. “Doesn’t stop the shame I am feeling right now.” You turn into his chest, still hiding your face.

“Bleh, babe.” Powder mocks, playfully gagging. “Oh you can’t be talking, sweetie.” Ekko sits down beside his girlfriend and you turn to see her face turn red. “Shut up.” She looks away.

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multipleoccupancy · 2 days ago

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"Things were just very different after that attack," he explained cautiously, his arms crossing absently in front of him in some quiet attempt to reassure himself. That time was it's own horror but at least he wasn't in for any revelations about it through suddenly accessible memories of it. "I wasn't able to trust anyone in The Program after that, only Samantha and she had her own burdens to bare aside from me." The breaking up of O-Cell had been a shock to the system for the pair of them and just in time for the new way of working to come in too. "I am still very distrusting of other agents, though I try my best not to be." Paranoia brought its own challenges, "another disorder I have earned from working for Delta Green." Though that in particular had been because of Sloane, again though, details.

"She basically set it up, but she speaks to agents who do very foolish things, break the rules or jeopardise themselves and their fellow agents." He said of Samantha, "she's very good at her job and other agents don't know how lucky they are she's there."

Theo managed a short and quiet chuckle that still wasn't quite right but he was at least amused at her agreeing he did indeed lecture her. Surprised that she had been hoping for one and not realising it was because she would see it as a sign of him returning to normal. Though he didn't particularly want to talk about his work for Delta Green he wanted the dangers well known and understood to her but he supposed he could open it to her to ask and that way he could understand what it was that seemed to intrigue her most. "What do you want to know about it? I can't promise to answer but I'll tell you what I can."

Still he was pleased when she revealed that she would be careful about her own security when talking about her travels and would take steps to protect herself. What really delighted him though was the reveal that she no longer wanted to work for Delta Green. The wave of relief that appeared on his face was unmissable and Theo's shoulders that had been so tense for days seemed to relax just a tiny bit more. Her reasoning was both a reassurance and a sadness that she had only needed to understand what Delta Green had done to him to be deterred from joining.

"I am so pleased to hear that," he told her straight and honestly. "I was so worried when you said you wanted to join them, I should have explained it all sooner but... I couldn't." He was still struggling in being honest with her, but he thought as long as he was mindful not to reveal too much he could get away with it, especially with her no longer wanted to be an agent. "You would be right, if they had just asked, I would have agreed. But that method has long been obsolete it is still a questionable organisation in its own right." Threatening and killing agents as it needed to.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"Why... why did you stop working together after Sloane's attack?" Violet didn't really know, of course, that they used to be a close-knit cell, and that Sloane's betrayal had left invisible scars on Samantha, too.

"I didn't know Delta Green had an HR department." That seemed very... corporate of them. "What does she do?" It was a relief to know that her dad could call Samantha if needed, as this week was proof that she would be there for him. But it would have been much more reassuring to know she was out there on the field with him. Violet remembered how fiercely Samantha had protected him, in that abandoned parking lot.

She managed a little smile. "I don't mind the lectures," she explained, "in fact, I was kind of hoping you were going to lecture me today." It would have been the final proof that he was feeling better. "But I like this conversation better. What else did you want to tell me? About the Program, and... your work as an agent?" She wanted to know everything he was willing to tell her. It was a part of his life he usually never revealed. And she always worried so much, whenever he left on a "work trip."

Her dad's reassurance widened her smile a little bit, it even brought a slight flush of pink to her cheeks. "Thank you, Dad." But she was still taking his warning very seriously. "I won't tell anyone else," she promised, "and I'll be careful, I won't talk about it on the phone." The last thing she wanted was for people to think she was a cultist, or that she worshipped the Horned One. The thought alone made her nauseous.

"I understand. And... you know, Dad, I don't want to work for them anymore." Violet suddenly realized she hadn't told him yet, until now. "After meetin' Agent Davidson, and seeing what the Program did to you... I don't want to work for an organization like that. I know their goal is noble, but... I don't think the greater good justifies treating people like this. They tricked you and hurt you when they could have just asked you instead. You... you told me you wanted to open a special FBI branch, to fight monsters. I know you would have accepted if they had just asked."

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au

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felassan · 2 days ago

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David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:

"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. 😅 Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."

"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."

"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"

"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"

[source thread]

David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]

User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]

User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]

#dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #jade empire #lgbtq #alistair theirin #fav warden #morrigan #queen of my heart

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pomefioredove · 2 days ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ requiem of a cringe

did something embarrassing last night and was like "I need to go crawl in a hole and die. OR I could write"

type of post: blurbs characters: cater, rook, jack, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (the term "damsel in distress" is used in vil's part, but it's meant to be teasing and not indicative of the reader's gender), reader is yuu, rook is rook

I. Talks Too Much

It's not that you're trying to be annoying.

Your mouth simply moves faster than your mind, and before you know it, you've been talking for twenty uninterrupted minutes about... well... nothing.

You always notice that uncomfortable, irritated look on their face just after you're done. And then you keep rambling in an attempt to make it less awkward (it never does).

And now you're here, hiding in the hedge maze outside Heartslabyul, thinking about getting lost and never coming out of it.

Of course, if anyone were to find you now, it'd be him.

"Hey, hon~ you busy?"

"Please, not now, Cater," you mutter.

The boy stills, looking a little taken aback by how miserable you sound.

"Are you still upset about that thing at the Unbirthday Party? That was hours ago, babe! I bet no one even remembers,"

You physically cringe. The faces of your uncomfortable tablemates won't seem to leave your memory...

"I remember it," you murmur, burying your face in your hands. "I'm so annoying."

For once, Cater is quiet. A minute goes by, and you think he may have left, until you hear the grass crunching under his knees as he kneels down and pulls you into a hug.

"You are not annoying. And even if you were, it'd only make me like you more," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Understand?"

Your surprise at his change in tone doesn't stop you from hugging back. "Understood,"

You hadn't meant to say all of that.

You just spilled a potion you'd been working on for hours, and amidst your frustrated floor-scrubbing, you had vented about your entire week to your poor lab partner, a person you had been trying to impress all semester.

He had, gracefully, let you finish your rant, and then let you sit in it, just like the harmless potion now coating your knees as you cleaned up the floor.

Then, he awkwardly said: "That... sucks. I guess. I don't know what to say,"

There had probably never, in your whole life, been a person who looked more unhappy to be around you.

Afterwards, you found a nice spot in the woods behind campus to die.

You lie there, hoping nature would reclaim you before next alchemy class, when some purposefully loud rustling in the bushes catches your eye.

"Ah, Trickster! You really should not lie like that- a predator will take that as weakness, non? Are you injured?"

"Only my pride,"

"Talking about it will make you feel better," Rook says. It's more of a demand than a question.

You sigh. "I think I've done enough talking for... ever, actually,"

"Nonsense," he suddenly straddles your waist and pins your wrists to the earth. "I will not move until you tell me the problem, mon cœur."

You're like an animal in a snare. Once Rook has made up his mind, that's it. He will find out.

And so, with a sigh, you let him take the kill- that is, you tell him everything. Your whole, terrible week, the potion incident, the look on your lab partner's face...

When you're done, he's just. Smiling. "I see now. You are embarrassed,"

"Well... yes. You don't think that's embarrassing?"

He beams. "You are simply overflowing with beautiful emotion and passion for la vie! How could I ever find that embarrassing? You and I are not so different,"

In a weird way, that makes sense. Rook is never one to let shame hold him back from expressing his feelings.

He smiles at your pensive expression, and gives you a kiss on the head.

"Mais, next time you are upset, maybe you should come to me first, non?"

II. Clumsy

Forgetful, scatterbrained, oblivious, dimwitted are all words you've become used to hearing.

As well as a few colorful swears.

You have two left feet, even when you're not dancing- you're used to walking into walls, tripping, and dropping things- it just sucks that you have an audience now.

The first years that had gathered around the mess you made- tripping over your own feet and spilling the papers you were meant to deliver to Ace and Deuce all over the floor- are watching with grins and phones out.

You pretend they're not there, even with their taunts and whistles and laughter.

"Hey! Loitering is a waste of time!" someone barks. Literally.

You look up to see Jack moving through the crowd, scolding the other first years for blocking the hall.

When he sees you in the eye of the storm, on your hands and knees picking up your spilled papers, something upset takes his usually-stoic demeanor.

"What's the matter with you?!" he snarls at the boys. "Didn't anyone teach you any manners?! It's rude to stare- and laugh!"

His ears are flattened against his head when he kneels down beside you to help, collecting the papers, and putting them in your hands.

"Come on, we'll be late if you keep 'sittin there,"

Jack pulls you to your feet and gives one final snarl to the other first years before walking you off.

"...Thanks,"

"Eh? Don't mention it," he says. "Leona woulda had my tail if I just walked by..."

You know there's more to it than that, but you don't push. You're just happy he's forgotten to take his hand out of yours.

You can't handle being the center of attention.

For good reason, too- you're awkward, clumsy, and about the least graceful a person can get.

A true Ugly Duckling at a place like NRC. But Vil Schoenheit sees the swan in you. Perhaps that's why he's always been so patient and sweet.

It's a little distracting.

So much is obvious when he waves at you in the hall and, distracted by his smile, you walk right into a wall.

Though you can't see anything but stars after falling on your butt, the stares and snickers of everyone else are hard to miss.

Vil glares them away with a look that could kill twice over, and then stands over you as you lay on the floor.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I'll check you for concussion."

He brings you to Pomefiore and sits you down, shooing off a few curious underclassmen as he checks your pupils. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"Not really,"

"Then you'll be fine. Just a bump. You really should be more careful, though,"

You've heard that one before. Vil smiles at your dazed expression, and presses a cold compress against your head.

"This will help with the swelling,"

"Thanks," you mutter, still a little out of it. "You're my hero."

His eyebrows raise in true surprise, and then he chuckles. "And that makes you a damsel in distress?"

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before taking away the compress and kissing the red mark on your head.

"Don't think that being so cute is going to distract me. I'll make some time for lessons on poise this weekend,"

III. Unsociable

You'd think that being quiet and staying out of people's ways would get them to leave you alone, but it really just attracts more attention.

And after a grueling period of your tablemates making you the butt of every joke ("wow, I didn't know you could even talk!" "are you quiet because you hate us? come onnn, you can tell me!") you were ready to bury yourself alive.

"I don't ever want to leave," You mumble into the bundle of sheets and blankets on Idia's unmade bed.

"You could stay, y'know," Idia says from his desk, mindlessly scrolling through some gaming forum. "I should blackmail Crowley into letting you stay down here at least half the year."

"Couldn't it be the whole?"

"Nah. You need like, sunlight and stuff,"

"And you don't?!"

Idia snickers. "I'm built different. You know that. I get all my nutrients from blue light... You could at least stay for the weekend, though,"

You roll your eyes.

"...And I'll leak those normies' data. I'm sure I could get into their browser histories and have that emailed to their parents,"

Hm. You genuinely consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to give mercy. You're basically a saint.

"I think I just wanna pretend like I don't exist right now,"

Idia nods in understanding and pushes his gaming chair over to the edge of the bed, before crawling in and wrapping himself around you.

"That can be done. Pancakes tomorrow?"

Sure, there were people who talked to you, but you didn't talk back.

You just don't know how, you suppose. Every time you try, you end up saying the wrong thing, or are accidentally rude, or do something embarrassing.

You don't understand the references people make. You don't get social cues or hints. You have the social skills of an oyster.

Four months at Night Raven College, and you didn't have a single friend.

Well- except for him.

"How are you enjoying your tea?" Malleus asks, polite and curt as ever.

You take another sip- it's tangy, sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Some sort of Briar Valley blend that Malleus had imported just for you.

"I really like it,"

He smiles. "I'm pleased,"

One of the things you find so agreeable about Malleus is his simplicity. He often says exactly what he means; albeit, in a sort of 13th century Lord sort of way.

There's less stress with him. You don't have to pretend to be interesting, or outgoing, or cool. You can just be... you.

Because he likes you.

"You know," you say with a faint smile. "You're so nice to me. Sometimes I think that you're the only person I need. I could be happy with just you for the rest of my life."

You had meant that casually, but when you look back up from your cup, Malleus has this... look.

Wide-eyed, his lips pressed firmly together. There's even a dusting of color on his cheeks.

"Oh," you internally panic. Was that too much? Was that weird? Did you make things awkward again? Crap, you should have just acted normal, what's wrong with you?! "S-sorry, I-"

"Do you truly mean that?"

You go quiet, looking back at him with wide eyes. Your heart is pounding against your chest.

"...Yes,"

Malleus hums, his expression becoming more... pensive, and then...

He smiles. "I feel the same. Shall we go for a walk while the night is still young?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond x reader #rook hunt x reader #jack howl x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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straynoahide · 2 days ago

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I like your explanations of our morally imperfect existence, accepting the need for help or a savior, that Christianity is also a mindful and onerous process, not a side-thought with no burden, that being raised Christian and being Christian are two entirely different things, and the personal relationship with God. I would add, Christian faith is faith in the ultimate goodness and victory, Hope unending, despite the world, despite everything, because of Him.

Everything in this universe is transactional, except God's love, which merely has to be understood, and accepted. God is perfect and needs nothing - he made us because he wants us, because he loves us, because he chooses us.

A "Christian declaring himself to be a Jew" is a schismatic and heretical form of the religion, very atypical, a Messianic Jew, and should not be used to misrepresent Christians in general.

Catechism leading up to confirmation, in many Christian denominations adult confirmation, is also a process of learning, reflection and commitment, although it is not "conversion" itself, it is part of the road towards being a full member of the Church and living in the faith, and it is for example the way i converted / re-connected.

I however, perhaps influenced by having being an atheist until the time of my actual conversion (despite having being raised Christian), have never come to actually believe in punitivistic Hellfire doctrines.

I can get the doctrinal view of the existence of a state of self-imposed separation from divinity, and of the unredeemed, but I believe two fundamental things that modulate how I interpret that: (1) there are kind and good people who are not Christian, (2) Christ helps us willingly and enthusiastically by us accepting his moral message, which is time-sensitive worldly kindness and ultimate goodness, and rejection of cruelty and tyranny when it matters, which is now.

I really don't believe that atheists, Jews, muslims or other 'pagans' are "punished" simply for not professing Christianity, the mere idea is unchristlike. Communication and truth go deeper than that. Christ, who is the Logos, emphasized content and criticized form so many times it can't be a coincidence.

I also don't conflate unredeemed and unredeemable. I think only God knows what the "restoration of all things" is and that attempts by us to see who is in eternal exclusion are meaningless, because we are partial and our view is partial so long as we are here- as Christians I believe we should, for example, reject the death penalty to be truly pro-life, and also reject "capital punishments" of the soul in our utterances of who is condemned, lest we incur in sin, because if we pronounce a soul condemned to hell, and we are wrong, what does that entail for our soul? I believe we should strive for healing, reconciliation and restorative justice on this Earth, for literally everyone. No one harms who has no god-given unmet need and is at ease, no one kills without halving their humanity. There is no other sound view of universal human dignity, to me. You can't dignify through disdain nor exclusion.

On proselytism, my views are not precisely typical or orthodox. I believe there are many ways to evangelize. I personally don't have an individual disposition towards trying to make others hold my beliefs. On the contrary, my tendency is towards compatibilization unless proven wrong. So as for evangelizing, I think there are good ways and bad ways to do it, and I think the Church has sometimes done it poorly, organizations within it often do great work however and I appreciate it, and have been part of some.

As for my personal life, I believe in doing good and in sharing knowledge as the main forms of 'showing not telling' my moral worldview. I feel more like non-proselytes in that regard, because I know I can influence people in a positive way despite them not coming to share my worldview - and that I can learn from the Other and genuinely listen, even if they aren't Christian, without needing to be insecure that it will challenge or oppose my faith.

At the end of the day, these are just my interpretations, and I've shared them with my spiritual father; there is room for discussion and differing views on punitivism and proselytism, but I remain a full member of the Roman Catholic Church and I respect my fellow Christians and those who are not because I believe highlighting the human dignity of everybody, in our work and in our words, is the most christlike thing we can do.

My favorite, and I mean FAVORITE teaching of Judaism is that proselytizing is wrong. It’s the one Christians have the hardest time understanding. That even though Judaism is an incredible part of my life, that it’s an incredible community to be apart of, that I could not care less about wether or not they choose to become apart of it. That conversion is possible, and converts are a welcome part of our community and no less Jewish than anyone else, but at the same time we do not seek out people to convert. In addition, conversion is a very serious decision, and the conversion process is lengthy and difficult.

It’s because while I love being Jewish, and I love my community, I do not think that Jewishness is required to live a happy and productive life. I know that it is not right for everyone. I know that for most, the conversion process is not something they view as worth the time and effort. And that is okay. No one HAS to be Jewish. No one should EVER be coerced, manipulated, or forced into conversion.

If someone chooses to convert, it is because THAT PERSON wanted to. They saw something of value in the teachings and community. I think that means so much more than “convert or you’re going to burn for eternity because you are a bad person.”

#theology #catholicism #christianity #hellfire doctrines #proselytism #important stuff

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mydearlybeloathed · 1 day ago

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── 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're less than pleased to be marrying the arrogant noble your parents arranged for you. On the day of your wedding, you cross paths with a pirate who seems keen on ruining your big day, and you couldn't be more thrilled.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: minor alabasta spoilers, arranged marriage, I kind of went ham on the descriptions and readers backstory in general, violence, mother issues

𝐚/𝐧: *arises from where i fell off the face of the earth and throws down an offering* greetings.

“Respectfully…” You took a moment to compose yourself, sipping from your teacup and raising your eyes to settle on your soon-to-be husband. “You are the scum of the earth, Mr. Toleson.”

Mr. Toleson, quite used to this, only rolled his eyes and moved to pour you more tea. “Pray tell me what I have done to receive such contempt, Miss?”

That question could not easily be answered. Did your contempt stem from your lack of choice, or from Mr. Toleson’s less than agreeable disposition? Or perhaps from society’s overall decision that whatever may happen, you should sit still and be merry. Who cares if your marriage is loveless and your life unfulfilled?

You dropped another sugar cube in your tea and stirred it around. Maybe it was everything all at once. And Mr. Toleson’s… superiority in age didn’t help matters either. The rickety man just reached his late fifties, his hair reaching a color not yet gray, but most definitely not the brown of his youth. You’d seen pictures. He was a handsome boy twenty years ago, when you were but a lemon-shaped babe in the womb.

“I had plans,” you answer at last. “Plans that do not include you.”

His eyes twinkled like the idea was preposterous, his mustaches curling with his lips. Mr. Toleson gazed at you like a child, only discomforting you even further about the idea of sharing a marriage bed. “What plans, Miss?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped back. “I’m going to be chained to you all my life. Even after you die, which I assume will be soon given the state of you, I’ll be forced into widowhood. I look awful in black, you know, and pretending to grieve would do nothing for my mental state—oh, where are you going?”

Mr. Toleson had thrown down his napkin, face hot and brows screwed together. He peered down his nose at your poor attempt at hiding a smile. “When you’re my wife,” he said, tone even and dark, gaze even more so. “You’ll do well to learn manners, Miss.”

There was a threat in there somewhere, for certain, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Mr. Toleson huffed out his too-small nose and spun on his heel, barking at a poor attendant to fix the table’s preposterous flower arrangement.

You gave the young boy a sorry look and stood to leave when a sharp voice filtered in from the next room.

“Mr. Toleson! Where are you going—?” Your mother’s shrill tone cut short, a growl of your name soon to follow.

“Shit.” You whirled on the attendant boy with a pointed finger. He froze, eyes wide as several petals fell loose onto the table. “Please,” you hissed, pressing your palms together. “Ypu must help me.”

The boy dropped the flowers back into the vase, splashing a bit of water. With a single nod, he beelined for the window, unlatching it and swinging it open. You rushed over, his hands pushing you outside. “This is the only way out, my lady.”

“I’ll fall—wait!” You were swinging your legs over the sill before you realized what you were doing. Heart pattering in your chest, you cast him a look, but he was already shutting the window and drawing the curtains behind you. “Oh, dear.”

Down below, about twenty feet down and beyond the hedged yard, were the streets of the city, carts pulled by mules and passersby tracking dirt and mud and other materials across the dirt roads. You glanced around the outer wall of Mr. Toleson’s house. A trellis ran down the side just one window away, which you could use to climb down to then jump into the hedges. Stealing a breath, you began to inch along the window sill, setting a delicate foot on the wide declarative trim running from each window to the next. When it didn’t crumble beneath your foot, you went on, barely breathing as you clung flush to the wall.

Reaching the window, precariously making a step up to the next sill, you nearly tipped backward when you caught your mother’s back through the window. Feet slipping, you scurried down the trellis, losing your grip every few seconds and clinging to the wall. Eventually, you touched the earth, dusting off your dress as you faced the garden wall. Ivy ran all along it, but you’d done enough exploring whilst avoiding Mr. Toleson’s advances to know that a gate hid behind the green. It led right into a damp, drippy alleyway. You cringed down at your custom-made shoes, costing a fortune for certain. Sacrifices had to be made, and today, your shoes paid the price.

Your wedding was a day away, and with it the end of your happiness. Not that anyone cared about your happiness those days. Expelling a sigh, you wandered the streets till nightfall, returning to the grand house in the dead of night.

Your mother paced the entry hall when you stepped inside, the tall door booming shut behind you. Her eyes were on you like a hawk, her words sharp knives. “Where have you been?”

“Uptown,” you drawled, tossing your now dirtied shoes across the carpet. “Downtown. Midtown. Where haven’t I been is the real question.”

She looked close to exploding, cheeks inflated and lips pinched together. “You embarrassed me—You embarrassed Mr. Toleson!”

Waving an absent hand, “I couldn’t care less, woman. Now let me be before I drop dead of melancholy.”

A stiff utterance of your name struck the air, the impact on your back fleeting as you swept upstairs. Again and again, she cried your name till it sounded more like a beg than an order, and it halfway made you desire to face her. But facing your mother and having her see you had long been a futile task.

Her voice struck your back until you reached the top of the stairs and darted down the hall, whipping open your bedroom door and slamming it back behind you. Swiftly locking it, you clawed at your chest, skin constricting and choking you out. That woman… your mother could never understand.

Once, you hoped maybe she could. Your oldest servant, a frail woman who’d been serving your mother for a decade, told you that your mother went through the same unfortunate situation as you. She walked an aisle leading to shackles, just as you would at tomorrow’s soon-coming dusk. But time had turned that woman cold, making her hellbent on sentencing you to the same fate.

Eyes scanning the room, you gave a shaken sigh. Tomorrow you would be forced into a similar room, but that one you would share with Mr. Toleson. Your skin crawled. “At least he only wants my money. He cares for nothing else.”

You slipped into bed, unsure of the next good sleep you’d receive.

જ ⁀ ➴

Up with the sun, you dressed quickly and slipped out of the house, careful not to make a sound as you exited onto the street. There was ample time between sunrise and the ceremony, each second passing with a daunting swiftness. Soon, the morning bells rang throughout the city, signaling that noon had fallen.

You stared up at the sky as the chimes fell silent, chest constricting. This walk around the city had done nothing to quell your distress. In anything, it made it worse; people on the street beamed and congratulated you on sight, offering you flowers and well-wishes. You received them all with practiced kindness, even as doom lurked behind you.

“Just a few more hours,” you mumbled, taking refuge in a damp alley. “I can visit the old pond… perhaps the frogs will be out.”

Nodding, you slipped back out with a ducked chin, walking quickly through the crowds until so little as three people were around and the the stone streets faded into soft dirt paths underfoot. Through sparse trees and lonely wood, you made your way to the duckpond on the outskirts of the city. Not a soul around; perfect.

You plopped yourself on the ground and hugged your knees to your chest, oblivious to the dust curling around you. Maybe, if you stayed right there all day, no one would find you. You could sit through the whole ceremony—through the whole year, till weeds crawled up your limbs and rocks were surfaced by the winds. You’d become part of this pond when the rain fills it beyond the banks, dissolving into an urban legend of what happens to heartbroken young women.

You smiled for the first time in many weeks. That fate sounded as lovely as anything.

The reverie broke as voices crept up behind you. Peeking over your shoulder, you spotted two entities: the first being the constable, and the second farther behind him. This group of people was more like a gaggle, or perhaps a rabble, their boisterous tones causing the constable to cast them a glare.

You jumped to your feet before he could face forward again and darted toward to big oak tree you used to climb in your youth, skidding to a halt right behind it. The constable was good friends with your fiance and would surely escort you back home the instant he saw you.

“Are you sure we can fish here?”

“I’m sure no one’s told us we can’t.”

“Sanji!”

One of the voices, presumably the one called Sanji, laughed in reply while their counterpart grumbled under their breath. Part of you felt the need to jump out and warn them against it, because surely the constable would be quick to apprehend them. But then he would also surely apprehend you.

“Sirs,” the gruff voice of the constable barked, right on cue. “Fishing in this pond is strictly prohibited. It’s for viewing only by law.”

The one called Sanji clicked his tongue. “Is there some sort of sign we missed? Because there’s no warning stopping us.”

Oh, dear. “I’m here to stop you. Now please, put away your tack and gear.” There were a few indignant huffs, but no rustling of a confrontation. Good, good…

“Right. Now, have either of you gentlemen spotted a young woman about?” The constable proceeded to give your exact description, spiking a panic within you. The search party had already begun. “No? Drat. Perhaps I’m at the wrong pond… Good day to you…”

You remained behind the tree for five long minutes, listening to the constable’s steps fade away and the conversation between the two men go on. Peeking out, you saw a tall skinny blond and a man with dark skin at the pond’s edge, fishing of all things.

Puffing your cheeks, you stepped out with crossed arms. “He told you it's not allowed!”

Their heads swiveled around, eyes wide and startled. The blond was the first to recover, his hold on the fishing rod slackening as an easy smile slid across his face. “My, my, what kind of nymph are you?”

Your cheeks warmed as his eyes scanned you up and down. “The angry kind.”

The other man quirked a brow, quicker than the other. “Was that guy looking for you?”

Alarms went off in your mind. “Never mind that, just don’t fish in my pond.”

“Whatever you say~”

“Sanji!”

Satisfied, you trudged off, letting their bickering be drowned out gradually. With the knowledge that the whole city now knew to look out for you, probably thinking the aloof noble girl just lost track of time, you took the long way around, slinking through dirty alcoves you once called your kingdom some years ago.

This whole city was your empire, in your mind. You and the other young girls and boys traipsed about without a care, creating your own world only the lot of you could see. You, of course, were high empress of all alleyways.

Growing up like this meant your mighty empire was toppled. All your old friends had new lives now, time ticking by with mundane tasks and masks to keep up. Many of them would attend your wedding, but they might as well be strangers now. Such was the way of your city. You get old and you lose your life.

A subtle burn welled up behind your eyes as you rounded a dark corner and found the old crates you’d formed into a palace, untouched and frozen in time as the curling alleys of the city grew dusty from neglect. You stopped short at the sight, quickly snapping back to reality and darting away, running as fast as you could to get away. Left and right, you were reminded of how expansive these alleys really were, and how easy it was to get lost in them.

Not that you would ever get lost; you’d cling to your memories as long as possible. You knew this place like the back of your hand, so it was a surprise when instead of a dead end, you turned to find a long alley leading out to the market. The scent of the baker’s stall and sweet rolls being sold wafted down to you, providing a momentary calm—before that laugh broke it all down.

Creeping back around the corner, you waited for the laugh to stop, peering around to find that you weren’t alone. Near the mouth of the alley, a boy stood clutching his chest, laughter fading even as he glanced out onto the street. For just three whole seconds, you swore he was something out of a novel.

Pretty face scarred on one side, but it didn’t make him any less to look at. Hair windswept despite the stillness, clothes ratty in some places and newly stitched up in others. Whoever he was, you’d never seen him before, so where exactly did he come from?

“Hey.” You blinked widely, realizing quite too late that you’d been caught. Locked in severe eye contact, you ever so slowly retreated back around the corner, flattening yourself against the wall. Maybe if you didn’t breathe, he’d think he hallucinated and walk away.

“Hey,” that boy said again, closer now. “What’re you doing?”

You didn’t make a sound, flush against the wall as if trying to disappear even when his face appeared in your peripheral. He blinked, waiting for you to do something. “Why’re you being so weird?”

“I, well…” You glanced around, anywhere but his face. “I was taking a walk.” You tensed up, held your breath, and blurted, “I don’t talk to strangers!”

You stared hard at the ground, hoping that he’d think you were crazy and walk away, but then the boy laughed at you. Gasping softly, you raised your head and gazed at him softly, lips parted slightly. Nobody had ever laughed at you before, at least not to your face like this boy, heaving as his chuckles faded.

“You’re talking to me anyway.” He had you there. His eyes glinted despite the sun being obscured by the tall buildings.

“I…”

He thrust out his hand suddenly. “I’m Luffy.” His hand, his face. His hand, his face. Your eyes darted back and forth until you finally settled on his hand. Dirty, that was the first thing you noticed, and then the callouses. You’d only seen hands like that on a sailor.

You blinked back up at his face, locking in on his eyes. Sailors weren’t to be trusted. They took young girls’ hearts, along with something more personal, and set back off to sea. That’s what your mother said, but you had a feeling your mother had never seen someone like Luffy before. You’d never seen anyone like Luffy, so bright he could’ve been the sun itself. You took his hand quickly, shaking it firmly, and introduced yourself.

Luffy chuckled. “Now I’m not a stranger.”

You couldn’t help but crack a grin. “I suppose not. Do you sail?”

“How’d you know?” Luffy tilted his head, leaning back on his heels, and you forgot how to speak. Luffy wasn’t too bad to look at. He was unlike any of the handsome boys you’d seen in court, sure, but that didn’t matter. Perhaps it endeared you more. Luffy, whoever he was, was different from everything you knew.

“You hands, I suppose. They’re like a sailors’.”

His laugh was odd, like a shi-shi-shi sound, prompting a stifled snort out of you as well. “Yep! I’m a pirate!”

Instantly, your whole face dropped, frozen in place. “Oh… that’s… something.”

Pirates were very different from regular sailors. They stole and pillaged and plundered and did many other terrible deeds. Your great-grandfather had been killed by a pirate… but you’d never known him. It’s all hearsay. Besides, Luffy didn’t look like he would ever think of maiming you. He looked like your next good friend, even if just for now.

“Your crew is here, then?” you asked, moving to sit atop a set of crates along the wall. Luffy jumped as he followed, plopping in the dirt in front of you instead.

“Mhmm. They’re… somewhere.” He snickered. “We just left Alabasta, y’know.”

You leaned forward to gawk at him. “So you saw what happened? With Crocodile? It was crazy.”

Again with that strange laugh of his. “Yep. I’m the one who beat his ass into the ground!”

“You—huh?” Tilting your head, his smile infected you, tugging at your lips. “So, you’re the savior of Alabasta? Not that marine?”

You sat in awe as he told you everything, going so far back that you learned exactly how he met Princess Vivi. By the end of an hour, you were on the edge of your seat, knees snug against your chest as Luffy described it all in grand detail.

“Wow… that sounds amazing. Not the part where you nearly drowned in sand, but you know.” Resting your chin on your knees, “You must feel so… free out there.”

Luffy nodded quickly, eyes unfocused for a moment, staring at the unseen. “Yeah. It’s amazing.”

Your smile grew dim and melancholy. The bells of evening rang in the distance. “Thank you for telling me your story, Luffy. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged one shoulder, his expression one you could only call cute. “You wanted to know… what’re you so sad for?”

You hummed, startled. “I’m not sad.”

“Are too,” he said, eyes narrowed. “So what is it?”

For some time, you didn’t say another word. Luffy stood now, hands planted on either side of yours knees as he stared right at you. It wasn’t threatening or seductive, simply curious in a way you’d never witnessed. Like he truly wanted to know. And so, you told him.

“I’m getting married. Today.” You shut your eyes and grimaced. “And I don’t want to, but I have no choice.”

“So… don’t?”

You reeled back. “Did you not hear me? I have to.” Luffy only tilted his head as you scoffed at the sky. “My only choice is to comply with the path set before me. If I stray too far… I can’t stray too far.”

You hardly realized how angry you’d gotten till Luffy’s finger poked at your forehead once, twice, three times. You blinked slowly. “What?”

“I don’t really get it,” he said. “But you seem pretty sure.” He was right in your face, oblivious to the fluster rising in your face. And then he smiled a beaming smile. “Hey, why don’t you—”

“There you are!” A coil formed in the pit of your stomach, eyes slowly drifting to the mouth of the alley. The constable stalked toward you looking as relieved as he was pissed off. “Your mother’s been sending everyone out for you, miss. Have you lost your mind?”

“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, ignoring how Luffy stared at you all perplexed-like. “I’ll… I was looking for some flowers for the parlor. Didn’t find a patch in bloom. I’ll head back now.”

The constable stepped forth, not yet noticing Luffy. He began to loom over you, and only when Luffy inched closer to your side did the constable’s gaze flicker to him. Disgust was the only word to describe how the constable looked at Luffy. “Let me escort you home, miss. Wouldn’t want you to lose your way again.”

You looked between the two of them nervously. “Of course, sir.” You stood from the crate and moved to follow the constable, hoping beyond hope Luffy would forget the entire ordeal, for his sake. The constable was going to forget all about your new friend, if only Luffy stayed quiet.

“Hey.” You tightened every muscle in your body. “Who’s she marrying anyway?”

The constable jerked to a stop, his deepset brow furrowing.

“Only the most powerful man around,” the constable replied very carefully, very calculated. He sized the boy up. “She’s very lucky to be marrying Mr. Toleson.”

“Let’s go, sir,” you insisted, daring to hook your arm through the constable’s and nearly drag him away. He dug his feet in. “Introduce me to your friend, miss.”

“He’s—he’s not my friend,” you blurted, eyes glued to the ground. “Sir, let us go. I’ve made us late enough. I have to prepare—”

Luffy took a daring step forward. “You shouldn’t have to marry someone if you don’t want to.”

The constable gritted is teeth, hand closing around your arm. “What would you know about what she wants?”

“Let’s go—”

“She doesn’t like this Tole guy,” Luffy persisted. Your eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn’t looking at you, sight set on the tall man beside you. “So she shouldn’t marry him. Tole-y can find someone who actually likes him if he’s so desperate—”

“Shut. Up.” Dangerous. Your tone was dangerous, wide glare moreso. Luffy silently eyed you, looking right through to your soul. “Goodbye. We have to go. Places to be. Come, Constable.”

Halfway turned, the constable kept one eye on your friend, feet slowly following after you—when Luffy reached out, grabbed your shoulder, and tried to tug you to his side. You whipped around to smack him, but your palm swiped at air.

Luffy stood five feet back, his arm stretched beyond comprehension and latched onto your shoulder.

“What the…” Head foggy, you barely registered the click of a gun till it rose in your peripheral. Everything went by far too quickly, and suddenly you stared down the head of the constable’s pistol, gasping like you hadn’t a clue how you’d got there.

“Get out of here, Luffy,” you ordered, not taking your stare off the constable. “I won’t say it again.”

He was gone when you finally chanced a look over your shoulder. The constable swiftly took your arm in a vice and led you onto the street, holstering his gun and muttering, “Street rats have no place here.”

“Sea dog,” you corrected absently, quite out of your own head. “He’s a pirate, so, sea dog.”

As if that would cease his endless muttering.

You were shut inside your house and shuffled away to a sunny parlor, tended to by maids you’d known since birth, their chattering unable to draw you out of your stupor as they powdered your face and tightened a corset round your waist till the room started spinning.

Meanwhile, a pirate boy returned to his friends, not sparing their newly caught fish a second glance as he asked Robin if she’d heard anything about a wedding in the city. The archeologist grinned as if she knew precisely what had transpired in that alley, though she couldn’t possibly have.

At any rate, the notorious Straw Hat pirates now prepared to act on their captain’s whim, not one of them questioning when he said his “new friend” was in trouble.

જ ⁀ ➴

The carriage ride to the chapel was so you bumpy you were half convinced the driver did it on purpose. You sat wobbling from side to side, eyes glazed over, and you let your mind drift away—you became a specter, wandering blindly till you blinked, and you stood in a sunny side-room, waiting to be fetched for the altar.

Your arms like gooseskin, you peered into a spotless mirror despondently. Your hair was done up prettily, face caked in different powders and creams. The sickening scent of rose perfume surrounded on all sides. The dress fit nicely, not too tight, not too loose. Perfect. Not a thing was out of place.

It all set in at once; by the end of the hour you’d be Mrs. Toleman. Your mother would receive all the benefits, all the praise. She’d smile and really mean it. Your husband would be free from bankruptcy, your family’s massive inheritance given to him the moment you say, “I do.” You’d stand on his arm the rest of his life, the perfect ornament, so quiet and dull.

An older woman fussed over the tears dotting your lashes, roughly swatting them away with her handkerchief, chastising you for such childishness.

“If my daughter were in your position,” she said after nearly gauging your eye. “She’d be ecstatic.”

You gazed quite darkly. “Your daughter was in my position,” you whispered, causing her to freeze putting away her handkerchief. “I’m sure you recall her escaping to the circus very clearly.”

A sharp gasp. A drawn hand. Your mother stepped into the room, flustered beyond compare, and the maid resigned to fume quietly. You wished she would slap you. Perhaps the strike would redden your face so much that the whole thing was called off.

“Well,” your mother exasperated, eyes raking down your form. “I hope you’re ready. Look pleasant.”

She weaved an arm through yours as a bouquet of lilies was shoved in your hands. A sneeze crawled up your nose and died as you held your breath, for the next moment you faced two long and full rows of people you’d never met and would never see again.

Despite the petals and music and lovely weather, it felt very much like a funeral march. The empty faces of the guests chilled you to the bone, not one of them sparing even a grin. A few checked their watches. One boy tugged on a young girl’s pigtail, and the girl was swatted for disturbing the peace. A ginger girl fought with a green-haired male in one of the farther pews. Against the far wall a blonde caterer absently smoked a cigarette. Somewhere, a bird sounded like it was dying, crooning a sad song.

This damn city. These damn people. You’d die here, physically, spiritually, and mentally so. White hot panic welled up within you, but it was far too late to even think of darting for the door; you stood before your groom, gazing blankly into his chest.

You felt as if you were dying, a life so short flashing before your eyes as your hands were taken into the clammy grasp of Mr. Toleson. He wore no smile, no warmth upon his face. Only cold indifference. You hoped you looked the same, lest he spy your terror.

The officiator droaned on meaningless words, warbled by your dazed mind. Only when your hands were squeezed harshly did you refocus, blinking widely.

Clearing his throat, the officiator shuffled uncomfortably. “Do you take this man to be your husband?”

Were you at this bit already? Heart thundering, you didn’t dare to look at Mr. Toleson, panicked gaze flickering to the now bated audience. Every eye stared at you, boring into you fiercely, only worsening your condition.

“I…”

Mr. Toleson gripped you tightly, painfully. He gritted out just for you to hear, “You what? We haven’t got all day…”

“I–I…” A gulping breath. A flash of red ribbon and straw. Cutting your eyes across the room, you settled on a boy near the back of the pews, a grin emblazoned on his face. He caught your eye and held it fast. You hardly believed your eyes, yet understood in an instant.

“Miss,” said the officiator.

Luffy tilted his head, as if asking are we doing this? You chanced a flicker of a smile.

You ripped your hands from Mr. Toleson’s sweaty grip, eyes wide and childish smile inching across your face as the room filled with sharp gasps. Gaze flickering up to Mr. Toleson’s aghast expression, you lurched back three, four, five steps till your heel met the edge of the raised platform. A hand settled on the small of your back as you slipped to the floor. The caterer planted his feet beside you, face grim as he gritted down on his cigarette.

“Are you alright?” he muttered. You gave a quick nod.

The point of no return had come, and you’d taken the path once blocked by a landslide, the path you’d dismissed entirely just an hour ago. Your mother gasped your name, a hissed out word, drawing your gaze quickly. She was deathly pale, like she was about to be sick. No sympathy of yours rose to meet her, none at all, and the freedom of two words boomed from your chest.

”I don’t!”

Silence. You heaved in a breath of air, and no one said a word. Like time had stood still.

Then a litheful, frightening laughter ripped through the church and everything sped up all at once. Mr. Toleson’s face rivaled the ripest of tomatoes.

“Why… you…” He hadn’t so much as taken a step when the caterer whirled around and kicked him right in the chest. Only when he blew his hair out of his face and stomped out his cigarette, looking like he’d done this twelve hundred times before, that you started to think he wasn’t a caterer at all.

“I’ve seen you before,” you thought aloud. Chaos erupted all around, guests rising from their chairs in a panic, and you just couldn’t put your finger on it. “Oh! You were at the pond!”

Sanji, that was his name. He dodged a punch from one of the quicker groomsmen, an easy smile on his face. He faced you then, hands shoved in his pockets. “That’s your priority, love?”

You flushed, whether from the tease or endearment, you didn’t know. “Well—”

“You!” your mother’s shrill voice cut the air. You turned just in time to catch her pouncing at you, her hand clawing for your arm. Her nails barely got close to scratching you when a hand branched out of her chest and drove her back by a vice around her neck. Somebody screamed as guests began a mad rush to escape the inevitable fight; everyone had the same guess—pirates.

You’d never been so happy, even with the disembodied hand issue.

Mr. Toleson rose to his feet, nursing his chest, his eyes aflame. He whirled in the groomsmen. “Don’t just stand there!”

The men broke out of their daze. The constable shook himself out of his shock as several other burly men of the town shouted angrily. You inched backward as dozens of eyes settled on you, heart quickening, when that ginger girl from before rushed up with a bow staff and gave several men severe head trauma. The green haired man drew three swords out of nowhere. That other man from the pond jumped over a pew, a slingshot in hand. And a tall, graceful woman stared down your petrified mother.

Only those willing to put up a fight were left, leaving only the rougher men of the town and the pirates of your friend Luffy.

Sanji flung an attacker off his back and sent the guy flying your way, wiping the smile from your face as you yelped and dodged. You scurried off to the side, nearly tripping head over heels in your dress, having to hike up your skirts as you twirled in and out of the swiftly rising rabble.

Luffy’s marksman remained unscathed at his vantage point, lining up a shot and letting it fly. You gasped delightfully when the constable was nailed right in the forehead and hit the floor unconscious. From your place flush against the wall, you beamed at the destruction.

Pews turned to splinters under the power of the swordsman. Refreshments scattered across the floor as the ginger was thrown into a table and jumped back up again. Flowers fluttered around as the raven haired woman used some kind of magic to extend her reach. And Luffy—he laughed through it all. People jumped at him with fists and clubs, yet he threw them all off like it was nothing. Perhaps to him it was.

You stifled another smile behind your hands. The people of your town were absolutely demolished by these pirates. These glorious, heroic pirates you would be thanking for the rest of your life—

“You did this.” In an instant your wrists were captured by your ex-fiancee. “Witch. Where’d you get the money to pay them, huh?”

“Let go,” you bit back, jerking away only for his hold to tighten, prepared for your escape this time.

He yanked you closer. “After everything I’ve done for your family—”

You spat in his eyes and kneed his crotch, watching satisfied as he crumbled to the floor. “Family my ass.”

You darted into the chaos without another word. Men lay unconscious every few steps, their bloody and bruised faces staring up at you. You tripped over someone’s leg, growled sharply, and took hold of your skirts. One by one you ripped off the layers of tulle, leaving you in your knee-length bloomers, dress reduced to the lacy bodice and shreds of fabric at your hips. Finally you yanked your heels off, hopping on one foot and then the other.

Right as you were about to drop your left shoe, the man of honor, some guy called Henry, made for you swiftly. Gasping, you gripped the toe of the heel and clubbed him over the head.

Someone grabbed your shoulder a second later. You shrieked and dropped to the ground, slipping out of the grip and rolling to the side. The swordsman appeared suddenly and cut the man down in one move. The body dropped beside you. You blinked, gasped, and let a delayed scream flee your lips. The swordsman reached to grab your wrist and hoisted you to your feet. “You okay?”

“Y-you killed him!” you cried.

“Relax,” he rolled his eyes. “I hit him with the hilt.”

Sure enough, the man only had a gash on his temple and some head trauma most likely. The swordsman looked you up and down briefly. “Watch out for the ero-cook lookin’ like that.”

You hardly cared if you looked indecent. “Where’s Luffy?”

He didn't get to answer—a laugh you quickly grew to recognize had you whipping around, eyes peeled.

His profile shone in the evening light bleeding from the windows. He stood with his head thrown back and eyes tightly shut, a blinding smile on his face. Transfixed, you wondered, not for the last time, if he was more than human.

When his laughter died down Luffy held his fists close to his chest and looked around as if searching for another fight, his gaze finding you. Your heart skipped, but his smile dropped deathly fast. You didn’t have the chance to wonder before his fist zipped a hair's breadth away from your cheek. You hit the ground instantly, head ducked between your knees. You might have remained there forever, wondering just what possessed him, if you were stupid for trusting him, overwhelmed by something akin to heartbreak—when two sandaled feet entered your sight.

“Hey,” he said, giving you deja vu. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?”

Eyes wider chest heaving, you sprang to your feet and got nose to nose with him. Luffy merely blinked widely, unfazed. “What’s wrong with you!? First, you help me, then you try to hit me! Why—Don’t touch me!”

He gripped your shoulders and spun you around in one fluid motion. All your sputtering got caught in your throat. Two feet away Mr. Toleson lay flat on his back with the worst bloody nose you’d ever seen.

One. Two…

You couldn’t help it; you laughed. Ugly laughed. Louder and more all-consuming than you ever had before. You tried to choke on it, only making the sound sizzle into harsh snickers.

Luffy felt like he was in a trance, watching you dazedly as he broke into his own fit of laughter.

“Gah!” Your mother bolted for the door, throwing a fretful glance over her shoulder. She paused, wove around a man limping for the exit, and dragged Mr. Toleson to his feet. Coughing, your would-be fiancée set his grim sights on Luffy. Your mother tugged him with her, more forceful now. “Come. She isn’t worth your life.”

Really, it shouldn’t have bothered you. She’d never done anything for you, yet—her words struck you oddly, fiercely. They were gone before you recovered. You glanced around at a loss as Luffy stood a strong pillar in your peripheral. Your eyes darted to meet him as the final pieces of your world crumbled to dust, and you found nothing but cool assurance; you sighed out a breath you’d been holding since you were ten.

“Good riddance,” you choked. Luffy’s lips ticked up in a smile. The figures of his friends came into focus as they gathered around in the wreckage of the church. Emotion tingled in every corner of your body. “Thank you, all of you. I’m… forever in your debt.”

That wasn’t all you wished to express by far. You’d been thinking it the whole while, perhaps even from the first moment you learned he was a pirate. The request teetered precariously on the tip of your tongue when the caterer cut you off.

“No need, madam,” he said with a flourish of his wrist. “Always a pleasure to assist.”

His eyes took you in gratefully, and he was quick to wipe away the small bit of blood leaving his nose. You grinned, almost grimacing, and gave an awkward laugh. “Of course…” Luffy’s shoulder brushed your own, drawing your gaze to him. His bright eyes had you wanting to reach up and brush his messy hair out of his face. Somehow, you refrained. “Just what kind of pirates are you? I didn’t think your lot were in the business of wedding crashing.”

Luffy shrugged his shoulders, barely smiling as he replied, “I like you.”

You choked on nothing. “Well—that’s—indeed.”

The silence of the room, only some harsh breaths breaking it, had you questioning what came next. Your adrenaline crashed all at once as your eyes got heavy and your shoulders sagged all at once. You rubbed at your eyes and suppressed a yawn, shivering as a breeze drifted by.

The ginger girl noticed the change at once, moving to your side despite her own exhaustion. “Let’s get you cleaned up. That can’t be comfortable.”

For some reason, you didn’t jerk away from her touch, so gentle and kind as she took your arm. “Yeah. Uhm, I can go to my servants’ quarters. They won’t say anything…”

The girl scoffed, catching your eye. “No way. You’re going to our ship.” She blanched a second later, backtracking. “If that’s okay with you.”

You watched for any sign of falsehood, and found none at all. You shook your head quickly. “No, that’s fine. Can we go now?”

The girl—Nami, you later learned—giggled and swiftly ushered you out of the wreckage and into the sun. You gave a soft laugh of your own, still very reserved yet filled with the tentativeness of someone realizing that everything would be okay.

And Luffy watched you leave, his lips tugging upwards subconsciously. He stood solidly as each of his friends followed after you, till only Robin remained. She had her arms crossed, head tilted low and eyes scrutinizing. She took in Luffy’s stance, his twitchy fingers, his eyes transfixed on empty space. All usual features on her friend; it was his dopey grin that gave it all away.

“Captain,” Robin spoke. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded. He didn’t even stutter, his reply instant. “Why?”

She nearly chuckled, holding back if only to humor him. She nudged his shoulder with her own to spur him into motion, and the pair walked slowly into the streets.

“What do you know about your new friend?” she asked as they passed under a bakery sign squeaky as it swung with the wind.

He paused. “She’s fancy… and unhappy.” Luffy kicked a pebble and watched it skip all the way to the end of the sloped path. “Very unhappy. She’ll be happier with us.”

Robin’s heart went tender as she looked away, hiding a smirk. “Have you told her that?”

Catching her eye, Luffy smiled. “She knows.”

They caught up enough to spy the others as Usopp and Nami had their arms around your shoulders, bickering absently whilst you snickered quietly between them. Robin nodded, for who was she to argue? Besides, maybe you did. The smile on your face may have betrayed just that.

જ ⁀ ➴

You still heard the boisterous laughter of your new friends even as you swept away from the galley, heart beating a little too fast to be comfortable. They were amazing, sure, but overwhelming at best. All you needed was a moment and you could return unnoticed to the good food and warm company. As soon as you got some air.

You instinctively reached to pick up a skirt as you rose the stairs to the deck, only to grab at air, look down, and grin at the sight of Nami’s brown trousers.

The cool night breeze hit you like a wall the moment you stepped outside, shooting shivers down your spine. The saltiness of the sea clung to your skin and clumped in your hair, filling your nose with every deep breath of air.

The deck felt odd against your bare feet, grating against your skin just enough to make you wary of splinters despite the apparent fine craftsmanship of the wood. You leaned into the ship rail and gazed down upon the rolling waters. A soft and steady kussshhh kussshhh greeted you, a gentle sea spray kissing your cheeks.

So far, the sea was far greater than you’d ever conceived. Freedom rippled in every gust of wind billowing in the sails; the waves sang songs of grandauer; the stars winked secrets you couldn’t hear but felt in the creak of your bones. The music of the world had finally included you in its symphony, and you would never go back.

Never.

You heard him before you saw him, his bumbling, careless steps thumping against the deck. Luffy came up out of the belly of the ship, gazed around once, and settled his sights on you. You met eyes and simply existed; he smiled first; you returned a grin. Luffy approached with all the familiarity he shouldn’t have given you in such a short time.

“You disappeared,” he said too loudly, threatening to break the perfect silence settled around you.

“I did,” you whispered back. After pursing your lips, you turned back to the sea and waited, assuming he would take the hint. It took two seconds longer than you anticipated, but Luffy’s shoulder soon bumped against your own.

When he spoke again, he was softer, “How do you feel?”

You sucked in a lunfull of cold air and laughed it out. “Free. I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again.”

He nodded, because he wanted to say so many things but at the same time had no clue what to say at all. Luffy had never experienced this before, being at a loss for words; all evening he’d dwelled in this confusion that only grew every time you smiled and he lost his breath. What was so different about you that all his words felt terribly redundant?

“Wow.” He turned his head quickly, blinking at you. You were already looking right at him.

“Huh?”

You shook your head, shy smile dripping in tease. “You’re quiet. I didn’t take you as someone to just dwell like this.”

How many minutes had passed? Luffy wasn’t sure, but you looked content, so he didn’t really care. His eyes danced all over your face, puzzlement laid in his brow. You tilted your head and began to worry about the cloudy look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” you said. Luffy gave a wordless nod, still looking so lost. You wanted to touch him, the realization setting in suddenly, hand itching to grip his arm. “Why did you help me? You didn’t have to.” Crossing your arms, you turned to watch the curling white foam ripple off the ship. “It certainly made things harder for you. They might tell the Navy, and I can imagine that’s plain hell.”

“They won’t catch us,” he scoffed, catching your eye. “And like I said, I like you.”

Your lips pursed before you let slip a chuckle, face far too warm for your liking. He probably didn’t know what he was saying. “Right. How could I forget. Is that all?”

“You’re… funny.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Real funny. Odd. Makes me feel funny.” He said it with such nonchalance you wondered if he was joking, but the longer you stood and stared at your feet the more aware you were of his presence at your side. Finally, you lifted your head, finding him staring out to sea. He was one to talk about being odd. You hardly understood what was so odd about you; you felt fairly normal if you said so yourself—but that wasn’t exactly the point.

Because Luffy was confused after all, just like he looked to be. The conflicted boy never strayed far from your shoulder, his hand brushing yours every few seconds. You hardly knew him—you didn’t know him—yet you couldn’t deny the overwhelming trust clawing its way into your heart.

So, really, there wasn’t much more debate on whether you should ask.

“Let me stay.” “Join my crew.”

The pair of you whipped your heads around suddenly. Eyes wide, you smiled, bursting into laughter with him, leaning into his side so he was half holding you up, your forehead hitting his chest—you missed hugs, sighing deeply as his warm hands brushed your skin and—

Cold rushed up your spine. You jerked away, an apology on your lips, when Luffy grunted and reeled you back in. You hit his chest with a thump as his arms wrapped around you three times. Eyes wide, body stiff, his deep breathing enveloped you till all you heard was in and out, in and out, that steady yet unsure rhythm.

“I’d like to join your crew,” you said after a while.

He focused on the space ahead of him, hold loosening bit by bit. “I’d like you to stay.”

You pulled away, and this time he let you. “Somehow, I feel I’m making a grave mistake.” He tilted his head all puppy-like, so you reveled in his puzzlement. Spinning out of his arms you faced the sea again. “You’ll most likely get me killed, Captain.”

Luffy blinked rapidly, heart thuding at the sly grin planted on your profile. Captain. He liked that. He always did, but now especially—when it came from you.

“I won’t let that happen,” he said with such casualty. He stepped into your line of sight. “You do want to stay, don’t you?”

As if you had a choice, you mused. Even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t change a thing in your eyes. You smiled softly at him, a spark of wild excitement in your eyes. “More than anything.”

It started small, only a grin until it grew too wide to remain shut, his teeth shining seconds later. His eyes squinted, head thrown back, and you swore his laugh echoed to the very depths of the sea, encircling your whole being.

He fascinated you, filling you with this sense of freedom you’d never known before. Luffy was larger than life, and you stood there to witness his existence. Somehow, even then, you understood the gravity of who he would become.

What an odd pair the two of you made. Him so unrestrained and you so proper—though surely the longer you spent with him the less true that became. Neither of you really cared either way; you found the other wildly fascinating, and in that moment on the deck as he blinded you with his smile, that’s really all that mattered.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s @kryscent

#one piece x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy x y/n #one piece drabble #one piece fanfiction

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nathaslosthershit · 1 day ago

Text

The Main Event (Multiple Pairings) Part 1

Can be read as a standalone but also (Part 8 in the Blind Items AU A/N: Its my nineteenth birthday 🥳 I wanted to write about adults being happy in different stages of their life because I am so scared of growing up and the thought of not being a teenager next year makes me nauseous. Enjoy! Each pairing has a Blind Items backstory which is linked at the start of their section (You don't have to read the backstory, though) Multiple (separate) Pairings: Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!reader, Oscar Piastri x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader, Lando Norris x reader, Lance Stroll x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader, Alexander Albon x reader in the next part Summary: A wedding between Logan Sargeant and the youngest Leclerc child means a very interesting guest list, in which all previous victims of the F1 Blind Items account are included.

Oscar Piastri

“Dude, how come you are more nervous about my own wedding than I am?” Logan asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes and scoffed, pretending what the American was saying was ridiculous, as he nervously picked at his nails, trying to hide his trembling hands. Logan just laughed at his friend's failed attempt at nonchalance.

“It’s just- I’m nervous about the media inserting themselves in the events today. I mean I don’t want to have my toddlers in the spotlight any more than they already are.” Oscar explained. After being forced to reveal his kids to the world before he nor his fiancée were ready, and after just a few interviews and racing events the kids attended, Oscar didn’t want to give the media much more for the time being.

“Wow, way to make my wedding about you.” Logan teased, trying to relieve the utter look of anxiety and despair on Oscar’s face. But the Mclaren driver just shot him an unamused glare. “Look, I have told you time and time again if you don’t want them as flower girls- or kids, I’d gladly make my brother frolick down the aisle throwing petals. As much as I love my honorary niece and nephew, nothing would make me happier than making Dalton do that.”

This finally got a laugh out of Oscar. “They have been practicing too much to do that, we would be in for a shit storm if you tried to take away their time to shine.” It had been a big thing in the Piastri household for the past few months. Every second of every day, Frances and Hudson had been asking their parents questions about what weddings were like, how they should walk down the aisle, and if they had to see uncle Logan kiss his wife (they were not amused by the idea of having to see that). Not to mention the hundreds of times they forced their parents to watch how they would walk down the aisle, asking what they thought and ignoring any criticisms given to them (they saw no reason as to why they shouldn’t be allowed to dance and sing while throwing petals).

“Then calm down. If all goes well there won’t be any media there, I mean I think we have done a pretty good job at making sure no one outside the event knows about it. Plus, no offense but there are plenty of people with far more interesting stories and scandals than your family. The tabloids are bored with y’all now that there isn’t anything new to expose.” Maybe a harsh way of putting it, but it was true, there were plenty of Formula 1 couples who had been exposed by the media for various reasons in attendance today.

“Right. Got to say, Logan, the guestlist is impressive. I mean could you imagine telling your 13 year old self that the Lewis Hamilton would be attending your wedding?” Oscar asked. Even after a few years racing against the guy, the shock from being around him never wore off. He just had that ‘greatest of all time’ energy.

“I can’t even take the credit for much of it though. It's the bride who brought all the biggest names.” Logan rolled his eyes playfully. It was true though, his wife-to-be had made friends with all the biggest names in the world and they weren’t half assed friendships either. She could make even the tiniest of acquaintances feel like longtime companionships. She could make everyone feel so unbelievably loved and cherished in such a short time.

God he couldn’t wait to marry her.

Oscar laughed at the lovesick grin on his friend’s face. Usually he’d tease him, but he decided maybe he should just cut the man some slack on his wedding day.

But the urge was too great he couldn’t let Logan go unteased, before he could do so though-

“Dad! Dad! Dad! Look, me and Fran match!” Oscar’s son, Hudson, ran into the room, his sister following after him.

The two seemed to light up in their soft blue outfits.

“Don’t you two look awesome!” Logan said from behind the twins, making them turn around. “You guys look better than me on my own wedding day.”

The toddlers shouted in excitement as they ran to their favorite honorary uncle (much to Lando’s chagrin. He fought hard for that title).

“You two ready to be the stars of the show? Throwing petals ain’t easy work.” He said as he crouched down to hug the toddlers.

Oscar rolled his eyes. Leave it to Logan to make his own children completely uninterested in him. Fortunately, someone who was actually interested in him entered the room after them. His wonderful fiancée.

“You look gorgeous, honey.” Oscar said awestruck.

“You saw me in this earlier.” She deadpanned.

“Let a man compliment his fincée, will you?” Holding her close to him, kissing her deeply. It was only when the two weren’t cut off with toddler “ewws” and “stop grossss” that they looked back at their children, currently in a… dance competition with the groom. “Glad to see how much they care for us.” Oscar sighed, feeling childish jealousy.

“Let him entertain them, he’ll get some more practice for when he has his own kids.”

“He’s too young, honey. He is about to get married, he doesn't need to think about that right now.” Oscar scoffed, feeling offended for his children that Logan would ever dethrone his honorary niece and nephew from being his favorite kids.

“Says the man who had two kids by 18 and has been engaged twice, but not married, by 23.” Honey amused.

He blushed at the reminder that their relationship had been done a bit… backwards.

“They already have an officiant and audience, maybe we can just jump in with the bride and groom, two birds with one stone.”

“Nope! I already have two Piastri’s taking the spotlight today, I don’t need more.” Logan said while both twins climbed all over him.

Charles Leclerc (And the Leclerc Co.)

Normally, hard launching your child was not something a bride would encourage on her wedding day, but as the youngest Leclerc child, Charles’ sister loved the drama. Hence why her nephew was making his debut to the public as the ring bearer. Only a month old, the media hadn’t gotten to meet the cutie as he was born right at the start of winter break. It brought tears to his eyes, how insistent his baby sister was on having her nephew involved in her wedding. It was already an emotional day for Charles, who felt like he was losing his first baby as he walked her down the aisle and sent her off into her future, but he truly couldn’t be happier.

And doing it with his son by his side just made it all the more memorable.

“Honey?” Charles’ girlfriend called as she popped her head into the room he was getting ready in. In her arms was their newborn who, while still so small, broke everyone’s heart at how big he was getting. “Oh, my love, are you seriously crying again?” she asked as he tried to inconspicuously wipe away his tears.

Being reminded that he had just been crying only made him start to cry more.

“Charlie, you are more emotional than I was while pregnant. What is going on with you today?”

“It is stupid, I’m sorry. It's just- it was yesterday my sister was in my arms, having just been born, and now she is getting married and the American is taking her away.”

If there was one thing the Leclerc brothers loved to do, it was make fun of their soon to be brother-in-law. They truly did love Logan, but it was so easy to pick on him and he was far too polite to try anything with them yet. If you asked them, they would say they are just treating him like the brother he is, but they also just really love how much it pissed their sister off, who will certainly be defending him.

“Oh, sweetheart, she isn’t going anywhere. They are still going to live in Monaco, and you race with her husband almost every weekend. If anything now that they are married you will see more of her.”

It was true. Even if the Leclerc brothers had a strict ban on dating drivers, they had to admit that their sister had found a good partner in Logan. A man who was driving alongside Charles, had been on the same team as Arthur in the past, and knew just how important and difficult the sport was on family.

Giving her boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek after wiping his tears from his face, Charles’ partner went on to try and fix the mess of hair that her lover was currently fighting.

The Leclerc’s had terrible bed heads, something that unfortunately had already been seen in the first grandson, even at just a month old his hair was thick and unmanageable.

Fortunately, Charles had calmed down enough that he was no longer a complete mess when his brothers entered the room. If Charles knew anything about his brother’s (and his sister) it was that such tears would have led to him being teased for the rest of his life about it.

“Have you seen her?” Charles asked Enzo, hoping for any indication on how their sister was doing, having been too busy setting up for the wedding and taking care of his son to check on the bride thoroughly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “When we tried to see her, Maman wouldn’t let us in.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Charles’ girlfriend asked, the same level of concern in her voice displayed accross Charles’ face.

“No, no, the bride said she wanted to have a little moment with the four of us before the wedding, so she didn’t want us to see anything before.” Enzo explained. He had understood her sentiment, Arthur… not so much.

Letting out a breath at the confirmation that nothing was wrong, Charles sat quietly while he got his hair tamed, his brothers playing with their nephew in the back.

It was a sight that almost brought tears to Pascale’s eyes, but she had already cried so much and she knew she needed to save the rest of her tears for the ceremony. Her three boys, all in different stages of their lives, all dressed up and ready to support their baby sister on her big day.

There was a sense of love and excitement in the air, reminding her of when her daughter had first been born, her older brothers hardly able to sit still while they waited in anticipation. Though everyone was calm now, having gotten most of their childish impatience out of their system, those feelings hadn’t changed.

“Someone wants to see you all.” She spoke up, getting the attention of her boys. Charles’ girlfriend pressed a kiss to his cheek and took their son from his uncles, wanting to give the Leclerc siblings a moment alone.

“My goodness, you look stunning.” She said to the bride as she walked through the doorway before leaving. This made all the brother’s perk up, losing the rest of their patience as they waited to see their baby sister.

The second she stepped into the room and tears welled up in everyone’s eyes, the Leclercs knew it was going to be a long day full of bittersweet melancholy, but also one so full of love.

Lando Norris

“Have I told you how wonderful you looked?” Lando asked, grabbing his girlfriend’s hand as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.

She rolled her eyes, “Only a thousand times since we got in the car. Not to mention when I was getting ready, when I was trying on dresses, or when I was simply speaking to you about what I was thinking of wearing.” She teased.

He knew it was overkill, but he also knew how stressed she was. Not about the wedding, she was excited to attend and celebrate, but of the fact she knew she’d finally be identified as Lando Norris’s “unremarkable” girlfriend the tabloids have talked about for a while.

The media knew he was dating not a model, or heir to a fortune, or an influencer, but a “simple” teacher, one who had a private instagram account with hardly 100 people on it. They had seen what pictures Lando posted of her, maybe a few posted by friends, but they never showed her face. They didn’t even know her name.

Even though their words were harsh, even though it hurt they thought she was undeserving of him when they didn’t know her, the anonymity at least came with the sentiment that all their judgements came from one simple fact, that she was a teacher. Now, they would have more to criticize, more to know, and she hated the thought.

Despite the public not knowing about her though, she had still been able to become good friends with many of Lando’s. Had been present for many arguments between Logan and Lando as they defended their individual titles of being “the best honorary uncle” to the Piastri twins and had been there to help watch the toddlers so Oscar’s fiancée could get a bit of a break during races.

She loved so many of the people there, and she knew they all had her back. Because of this, she felt more ready to face the music. She shouldn’t be ashamed of who she was, she loved everything about her life, and she wouldn’t be made to feel bad for loving Lando.

In the end, it was what the two of them thought and felt about their relationship that mattered.

Lando smiled as he watched her take a deep breath, ready for what was to come. He’d move heaven and the earth for her, and he for sure wasn’t going to let some idiots online ruin something so good.

Lance Stroll

“You must have the worst heartburn, huh?” A mutual friend of a friend, Marie, asked.

“Oh, well actually-”

“Ugh it was so bad! And the indigestion, that really sucked. Oh! Reminds me of this one awful stretch of time when I was pregnant. I was actually also at a wedding…” Marie started on a tangent about some pregnancy horror story. One the currently pregnant woman she was talking to, didn’t appreciate hearing at the moment.

Lance looked over at his wife, stuck in conversation looking pained. Fearing that something was wrong with her or the baby, he quickly made his way over with an excuse to whisk her away.

“Are you alright?” He asked once out of earshot of Marie.

His wife opened her mouth to answer, but was unable to when a choked sound made its way out first. The sound attracted the eyes of several wedding guests, who upon seeing that she was pregnant, turned back to their conversations, finding that as the excuse for such an outburst. While she was embarrassed when all eyes turned to her, the lack of interest in her wellbeing after seeing her belly just made her start to sob even more.

Knowing his wife was in distress and clearly the crowded room was adding to the discomfort, Lance led her to an unoccupied hallway.

“Come on, hun. How can I make this better?” Sweetness, with a bit of helplessness, in his tone.

“You-you can’t!” She cried. God, how was she ever supposed to explain what the hell was happening with her. Especially when each second, she felt differently.

Maybe that was the problem.

“I’m- I am so tired of being the pregnant lady.” She managed to get out.

Lance frowned at the confession. “I know, love. I can’t imagine what it's like to be pregnant, and I wish I could help. I know it sucks, but you can get through-”

“Stop! That's the problem. Every single issue I have is written off as something that just happens with pregnancy. Like they are just side effects that can’t be helped! Like I just need to deal with them alone because “I signed up for this”. Maybe it sounds stupid or childish but I don’t give a fuck anymore, Lance. I don’t want to be treated like some pregnant lady, I don't want to be treated as if every single emotion I have is just because of hormones or because all women are just expected to suffer through this! Marie just came up to me and started talking about her own horror stories from when she was pregnant! I don’t want to hear that, not when she isn’t giving actual advice, just trying to laugh about things I, as the currently pregnant person, don’t find funny! I don’t want to talk about how I am so hungry and have people laugh and say ‘oh that's just what happens’. I want to get food! I want to be able to be upset without people losing interest the second they realize it's just the pregnant lady crying. I want the things I'm going through to be taken seriously, Lance.”

A beat of silence as he took in her words.

As the silence stretched on though, she found herself with an apology forming on the tip of her tongue, feeling bad for yelling at her husband during her tangent when, even if he had contributed to the problem, he didn’t really do anything wrong.

Just as she opened her mouth though, he got on his phone.

She started to not feel as bad as she watched her husband seemingly ignore all she said.

“Are you-” She began, just to be cut off by him putting his phone in his pocket, and kissing her deeply.

Most of her anger seemed to disappear at that moment. He hadn’t kissed her like that in what felt like forever. Since she had told him she had been pregnant, he had been unsure of how to go about doing… well, anything.

After a few passionately blissful seconds, he pulled away, still holding her face between his hands and stroking her cheek with his thumbs. “I ordered a car to take us to a crappy fast food place.”

She stammered, “What do- why?”

“You said you are hungry, the ceremony hasn’t even begun yet, we are going to be here for a while before we can eat and while I’m sure the bride and groom have an amazing set up, there isn’t a point in making you suffer any longer when we can fix it.” he explained.

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to agree, but she also wanted to support their friends and knew she probably shouldn’t skip out on their wedding day. But she really needed something to eat and her feet were killing her already-

“No, Lance, we shouldn’t it- it would be rude.” She answered.

Lance laughed at her attempt at trying to convince both herself and him. “As much as I’d love to stay, I’d much rather watch you eat a disgusting amount of fast food in an impressively short amount of time all the while dressed to the nines. Plus, we both know the bride and groom would be understanding.” He said as he grabbed her purse and opened the door for her. “After you, my love.”

She sighed, realizing he was right.

“Oh how gentlemanly of you,” she teased in a posh accent. “Is it often you whisk away distressed damsels to fast food restaurants?”

“Only the gorgeous ones. I did earn my nickname of Sir Lancelot from my wife for a reason.” He teased back.

“It seems you have.” She replied with a kiss on the cheek.

Lewis Hamilton

“Oh, sweet pea. You look stunning!” Lewis said as he facetimed his daughter, currently at home with her mom.

The young girl giggled at the compliment, asking her dad about the wedding. She had been more than curious about weddings lately after hearing that her dad was attending one.

“-and the bride wears a beautiful white dress”

“Like the one mommy is wearing?” she asked her dad, pointing to the oversized t-shirt her mom was wearing with paint stains on it from when she and her partner had painted the nursery for the 1 year old currently asleep in said room. Lewis laughed at the image.

“While I am sure your mommy could wear that and still be the most beautiful girl in the world. A wedding dress is a little… different.” Lewis answered.

“Mommy! Can I see your wedding dress?” her daughter asked.

Both parents froze at the question, realizing they might have not told their child a pretty important detail about her parents.

“Oh- honey. Daddy and I never got married.” She answered. Her daughter looked back at the phone, at her dad, confused.

“Dad? Why didn’t you marry mommy? Don’t you love her?”

Harsh. Lewis didn’t know how to answer such a question, but he eventually found the words.

“Sweetheart, you know I love your mom very much. You are all my most favorite girls. Some people just don’t get married, they don’t feel the need to.” He answered. It wasn’t that the two of them didn’t want to, they had planned on it. But their first daughter had been unplanned, then their second had been too, and eventually, as they became everything to one another, they didn’t have a wedding so high on their priority list, knowing the proof of their love was evident in the two girls they were raising, in the life they had built together despite many unwanted opinions trying to ruin it.

“Let me talk to your dad sweetie. Can you grab my water from the living room?” His girlfriend asked as her daughter handed her the phone and jumped off the bed.

After the sound of the young girl’s footsteps softened in the background, she spoke up, “Sorry about that, Lew, she saw a photo of some celebrity wedding today and her interest in the topic was reignited.”

“She is a curious kid, I get it. She is a smart one too, she gets it from her mother.” He watched his girlfriend blush at the compliment. Even while tired having to take care of the two young children alone, she seemed to be glowing. “We never did get around to marriage, did we?”

She sighed, “I guess we got too busy. I hadn’t even thought about it in a while- not that I don’t want to marry you still!”

He laughed at her realization she may have chosen her words wrong, “No, I haven’t either. Two kids is a lot, and we both know how we feel about each other. But I will always be ready to marry you, the second you say so.”

“Well, I’ll always be ready to marry you, after you properly propose. You already got two kids out of me, I at least deserve a big flashy ring.” She teased.

“And you shall have it my love.” Lewis suddenly heard his daughter coming back. He spoke up when he saw her pop back up on screen, “What do you think, love bug? Should mommy and daddy get married? I think your mom would look beautiful in a big white dress, right?”

The little girl perked up at that, “Yes! But, will it be hard for mommy to wear a dress with the baby in her tummy?” She asked, pointing to her mom’s stomach.

Both adults froze.

Slowly, Lewis’ girlfriend let out a deep sigh. “Baby, I told you not to talk about that with daddy till we could tell him…”

If his eyes opened any wider, they would have popped out of his head. “She’s serious? We are having another baby?”

“Surprise? I wanted to keep it a secret till you came back and make it all special but she was so sad when you left I told her to cheer her up.”

Lewis’ heart softened at the thought, “Well, I guess a wedding might have to be postponed for the time being” He amused.

They’d get around to it, maybe after this next kid, maybe after the next few.

Part 2 coming soon featuring: Alex Albon x reader, Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Its 1 am and I have work in a few hours)

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #alex albon x reader #lance stroll x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine

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antimonyandthyme · 3 days ago

Text

2k, paul/carlos

(written after the c2 / paul vid, and this post came out with the brilliant @formulahs suggesting an auction LMAO)

He goes without the expectation of buying anything. He looks forward to a good time, even with all the cameras around. The shoes his stylist wants him to go in are fanciful, shiny monstrosities, and he nearly insists for the sneakers to stay on. Then he remembers that he’s technically there for Ferrari, and dutifully swaps them out.

Technically. Paul can go for other reasons too. Charles is lovely, if a little vacant around him. Carlos is. Carlos is, he’s—

It’s early days and Paul isn’t one for poetry, and yet here he is. He hopes to god he isn’t being obvious. Not to the staff when he spots Carlos and lights up like a schoolboy with a crush. Not to Charles, when he holds on to Carlos for a handshake that’s a little longer than necessary. Definitely not obvious to whoever watches these videos, when he mouths all of the answers to Carlos.

Can’t deny having a favourite. He can turn his nose up all he wants at the reputation that follows any young actor these days, but he can’t deny his appreciation for nice things. There are no trophies in his world—yet, just good food, good drink, good people. Beautiful people. For the third time since they rolled cameras, Paul is caught staring. Carlos always looks slightly lost, staring back, like he’s trying to figure Paul out, before he ducks his head and curls up. Large hands clasped in his lap. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little pleased.

“He’s a little expensive,” Charles says, “but you should be able to afford him.”

Paul attempts to tamper his face into something palatable. Ungracious of Charles to lay out his desires so plainly. And then in the same breath insinuate that his ability to pay might not stack up. Somewhere past Paul’s eyeline, Carlos is returning his mic to the staff with a relieved smile. Unpacking his spine into something looser, now that the cameras are off. He tips his head at Paul, eyes inquisitive, as if guessing that they were discussing him.

Paul has to look away, guilty.

“I didn’t plan on buying,” he says. It’s the truth. Mostly. In his defense, it wasn’t like Ferrari were being subtle about shoving them in a room together, especially after they made this tradition known. It’s like asking someone not to think of elephants. On command, a safari blooms open in Paul’s mind.

Charles shrugs. “We’ll have another event later. Someone else probably will.”

The flippant way Charles speaks about it grates against Paul’s skin. He can’t tell if Charles is trying to rile him up. The thought of Carlos having to hang off a faceless person’s arm makes distaste churn so violently in his belly that it manifests into an ache.

“Carlos wouldn’t mind, if it’s you.”

“How would you know,” Paul grits out. The mental fidget spinner he has for Charles keeps going around in circles, flickering from Empty to Dickhead to Helpful, maybe?

“Ah, he’s used to it no? People looking at him like that.” Charles’s voice dips low, like he’s sharing a secret. Paul’s an actor for fuck’s sake. He knows when someone’s selling him something, a mediocre contract, a shitty line. Still, he can’t help leaning in closer, puts his ear right next to Charles’s mouth.

Further away, Carlos’s mouth twists down, his gaze shutters. Just a minute, baby, Paul wants to tell him. Just—give me a minute.

“He looks back, when it’s you,” Charles says, and Paul’s done convincing himself otherwise.

They tell him, in one of the most bewildering conversations Paul’s ever had, that Carlos will be delivered in the evening, at whatever time suits Paul best. Delivered, like he’s some kind of package. What the fuck, sings one part of his brain. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what have you just done. The other part, the part that’s mostly primitive and hedonistic, somehow takes charge and sends him off on multiple errands. He gets his hair trimmed, just a little at the sides. He buys some wine. He changes into the sneakers. He considers getting another tattoo, before he snaps himself out of it.

Poetry and tattoos. Paul’s lost his mind.

The time in between gives him room to vacillate between wanting to feed the open maw within him and growing shamefully aware about the shape of his yearning. He hadn’t realized he had enough space within his ribcage to stuff another man entire. There are so many other ways he could have gone about this. But he doesn’t have Carlos’s number. He can’t text. Even if he could, Paul wouldn’t know what to say.

Tick tock, tick tock. Paul rearranges furniture, door dashes some flowers, after spending half an hour reading up on flower language, interspersed with vapid scrolling of his socials. Tick tock.

By the time Carlos arrives, he’s in a bit of a wreck. People who move in Carlos’s world would certainly be familiar with Ferrari’s clauses, and would know how to act. The muted greeting Carlos gives doesn’t help either. He’s dressed up but down, in a plain, almost translucent shirt that leaves little to imagination. He toes off his shoes with an unconscious gracefulness, and comes to stand in front of Paul. He’s waxed, which Paul knows, just from being so close to him this afternoon, had to have happened in that space where Paul was questioning all his life choices. He looks wonderful, except for the fact that he looks so visibly uncomfortable.

“Do you,” Paul starts. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

Carlos fidgets. “If you’d like,” he says.

That’s, ow.

They’d assured him, again and again, that Carlos always had the final say, but his teeth are buried in his lower lip, hard enough to blanch, and his toes dig into the carpet like a lifeline. It’s not like Paul’s hung out with Carlos more than a handful of times, but it’s hard to ever picture him in such distress. Carlos is—larger, than what he’d ever seen on screen. You have to witness him in person, to understand.

Faced with this shrunken version of Carlos, Paul can’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I really am. I assumed you’d want—I’m sorry.”

Carlos flinches, jerks his head up. “Wait.”

“It’s alright,” Paul says. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You could just leave. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait,” Carlos says, more urgently. “I don’t want to—” His voice grows small. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” Paul nearly yelps. “But you’re. You’re…”

Carlos’s cheeks are very pink. His toes tap an erratic beat on the floor. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost in supplication.

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes!” Carlos blurts out, before looking very mortified. “I’m. Ah, fuck. Paul, I’m never. Never like this.”

Tension bleeds out of him. Something so relieved escapes out of Paul’s mouth in an embarrassing giggle. “Carlos. You should have just said.”

“I don’t know why…” Carlos trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck vigorously. “With you, I’m like this. I don’t know. I want.” His toes tap some more. “I want to.”

“Want to?” Paul says, coming closer, watching Carlos sway in eagerly.

“Make it worth it,” Carlos mutters. “What you paid.”

Paul groans. He wants to shake Carlos. Then decides, hey, he actually can shake Carlos. Gentle hands around his shoulders, shaking him like a beloved ragdoll. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Carlos protests, but the corners of his mouth are turned up now.

“Shut up, you’re ridiculous. Do you think I would have even paid that if, if I. Oh my god, Carlos. You have to know, right?”

“Know what,” Carlos says, enjoying being a little shit now that they’re joking.

“Can’t take my eyes off you, when you’re in the room,” Paul says. “I thought I was being obvious.”

“You were,” Carlos says brightly. “I thought I was obvious right back.”

“Okay, so. So why are you—?”

Carlos’s face twists. “This season has been. Ah.” He shakes his head reluctantly. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“Go on,” Paul says. “Come on, tell me. Twelve hours of your time, remember?”

“Been hard to live up to expectations, this year,” Carlos says. “I didn’t want that with you.”

“You are so.” Stupid. Hot. Stupidly hot. “I’m going to shake you some more,” Paul says. “I cannot believe you.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. He goes along with the shaking, in a way that shows exactly how much of his body he’s putting into Paul’s hands. A neck as thick as that and he’s somehow limp under Paul’s touch. That’s, well. That’s a lot. “Then maybe, maybe. You could kiss me?”

Yes, yes. Yesssssssss, sings both parts of Paul’s brain. Yes.

Carlos is still now, expectant. A long, lean line of muscle, rooted to the ground, that Paul can trace hungrily with his eyes. He could pull at Carlos with all his strength and Carlos would not move, if he did not want to. But when Paul nudges a finger under his jaw, Carlos goes, looks up, right at him. Leans in.

He’s a greedy little thing, isn’t he. Swallows Paul with ease, every which way. He makes insane noises, deep, and guttural when Paul fucks him hard, high, and breathless when Paul thumbs at his nipples. Carlos clutches at Paul like it’d physically hurt to let go. Everything he’s meant to do, he does and is wonderful at it. And somehow, he’d managed to assume he wouldn’t live up.

“Unbelievable,” Paul says to the ceiling, some time after he’d come so viciously it felt like he’d been wrung out like a dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Are you still mad at me,” Carlos says, amused.

“Yes.”

“Ay, don’t be,” Carlos says, softly. “I really was nervous.”

Paul turns on his side, hand supporting his head as he gazes at Carlos. Crazy intimate. Terrible, the way he’s setting himself up for the worst time. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re allowed to stay the night?”

“Twelve hours,” Carlos says. “You can ask me to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Carlos confirms. “Sleep at the foot of the bed, if you want.”

Why would he even say such a—Paul is going to shake him again. If he can unpretzel himself from all that easy comfort following an earth-shattering orgasm. He nudges at Carlos’s hip instead. It’s the closest body part he can find.

“I kick in my sleep,” Paul says seriously, delighting in the way that makes Carlos giggle. He pats the scant space next to him. “I’d rather you be right here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Carlos says, then clears his throat. He probably was just parroting Paul, didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a promise.

But Paul… is also a greedy little thing, isn’t he? So greedy he paid for it, and so greedy he wants more now that he’s had a taste.

“And after?” Paul says. Will you be…?

“After,” Carlos says, “after Las Vegas is Qatar. Then Abu Dhabi.”

“Fine,” Paul says. As let downs go, this is pretty devastating, but he’ll live. It’s not like he had expected—never mind.

Carlos shifts. His jaw unlocks, then clicks back. “You get discounts, after, did you know that? Very good discounts.”

“Oh,” Paul says, a little wobbly. “Do I?”

“Yes. And after Abu Dhabi, it’s. It’s free.”

“Ah.” His chest is squeezing tighter than a fist. The space in his ribcage! Expanding and contracting to accommodate whatever Carlos sees fit. He lets himself imagine pressing up close to Carlos in a quiet apartment, pulling out every sound in Carlos's vocabulary with time, unlimited, on his hands. Buying flowers he knows for sure Carlos likes.

“I guess I need to stick around."

“Guess so,” Carlos says, smiles. “Make it worth your while.”

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #paulos #this is the most self-indulgent thing #ahahaha #oh dear. oh. dear

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