#sipping from the fountain of hate

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On, Chapter 4 Part 2

masterpost (note that Caroline is not necessarily the best narrator about DID/OSSD, she's just trying explain her experience as she see is [in this story])

“He didn’t,” Caroline gasped, careful not to spill her wine as she leaned forward.

As soon as Dick realized that Caroline didn’t normally get to share and see the world through Tim’s eyes, he had been a fountain of stories about the family. “He did. There was a green tint to his skin for weeks. Sure, the distraction worked, I was able to slip away, but at what cost?”

“You ask that as if Bruce had any dignity left to lose,” Caroline pointed out with a raised brow. “I’m not sure there was even any to lose by the first time that I met him.”

“Oh, no, god no,” Dick said. He leaned forward to snag another piece of the dragon roll. “The cost wasn’t Bruce’s dignity, it was the fact that the fountains have never been dyed green for Saint Patty’s day again! We lost a great tradition that day.”

“A very noble one,” Caroline said somberly.

“Verily,” Dick agreed. He polled the piece of sushi in his mouth and leaned back to drape himself over the couch. He really could lounge. “How long have you known Bruce?”

“You mean you’re trying to figure out how long I’ve been around,” Caroline said.

Dick shrugged, looking only slightly cowed. “Yeah. Is that rude? I don’t want to offend you, but I can’t say that I’m not curious.”

“You’re a Bat, of course you’re curious,” Caroline allowed. She took a piece of sushi too, so that she had some time to think. “I haven’t always been around, just because I simply can’t have. Or I don’t think that I could have, because I think Tim was the first, but I don’t know when I haven’t been around. I have some unclear, fuzzy memories from before, but my first clear memory was when I was there to front for Tim’s first Gala. He was so scared about it. He didn’t want to upset his parents.”

“They weren’t your parents too?”

“No, never,” Caroline said with a vicious sort of certainty. She glanced up and caught Dick’s sympathetic look and gave a wry smile. “Do you know how badly it would have been if the Drakes knew that I existed? Or Alvin once he did? We would have been shipped off to some asylum disguised as a boarding school and they would have tried to fry me out of Tim’s brain. No, I was just there to perform admirably at galas. That was my first mission.”

Dick face was twisted up in a thoughtful little frown as he stared up at the ceiling. Caroline felt privileged that she got to see this side of Dick. She knew that he didn’t like to seem unhappy around many people.

“Didn’t Bruce pick the name Caroline Hill?”

“He did,” Caroline said.

“But…” Dick waved in her direction.

Caroline shifted and folded her legs up to her side as she thought how to explain. “I didn’t have a name. I was simply… the Woman. I think that I’m based a lot on Janet, even though she would have hated that, but also the other woman that we saw at galas. Calm, efficient, and in control. Tim knew I was there, but not… that I was? Or how much I was. I might have not even known. But when I was needed for his mission to be Caroline Hill… I don’t know. I suppose it’s a little like when Pinocchio became a real boy. Suddenly I had a name and a real mission, one for the life Tim loves. It was transformative.”

“And you’ve been… growing? Is that an okay word?”

Caroline shrugged. She didn’t mind the word at least.

“You’ve been growing ever since.”

“I suppose so,” Caroline agreed. She took a sip of her wine. She wondered how much Tim would hate her for explaining this, but someone needed to know. “After this injury, Tim hasn’t really been himself. I think maybe because he doesn’t know who he is without Robin. In all of that thinking… I don’t know how to explain it really, but I guess that there was some more room made for me and Alvin. Alvin might not much want it but God, Dick, I love being alive.”

Dick smiled. “Does that mean you’ll be around more.”

“I have been the last few weeks at least. But I promise that I’m not trying to take over from Tim,” Caroline said in a rush as it occurred to her that Dick might be worried about it. “I’m just enjoying some time out and about and some, ah, mutual interests and—”

“Caroline, calm down,” Dick interrupted. “I’m not worried about that. Whatever works for you and Tim is all that matters. And, well, Alvin. I just thought that if you’re going to be around more, we should make sure you have some things of your own.”

Caroline blinked, surprised. “Like clothing?”

“Definitely like clothing,” Dick agreed, “but also foods you like and even decor. Like, Tim has a spare bedroom, right? We could make it up as yours or at least a space that’s more your tastes.”

“Oh.” Caroline swallowed back the threat of tears. She wasn’t going to cry, damn it. “I—yes, I’d like that.”

“Shopping trip!” Dick said. His wine splashed on the floor as he threw his arms up in the air. “Oh, oh! What about inviting some of the other girls on the shopping trip?”

Caroline covered her smile with a delicate hand. “You’re not a girl.”

“Bitch, I can rock a skirt,” Dick said as he struck a pose.

“Fine, you wear a skirt for it and you can invite the other girls,” Caroline said before she could second guess it. “But you have to explain me to them before it and make sure that they… that they won’t mind me.’

“They won’t,” Dick promised, “and deal.”

[stevieschrodinger]

"Robs I've got to stop staring. Make me look away."

"Errr...no. I'm staring too."

"But why?"

"Trying to work out what the fascination is. He looks like the love child of Ozzy Osbourne and an Ann Rice vampire."

Steve sips his drink, "he's not even that good looking," he says, distressed, "I just can't look away...there's just...something."

"Is it how pathetic he is?"

"He does walk like a baby deer on ice." And it's true, the guy is so uncoordinated. He clearly doesn't know how long his arms are, and keeps nearly taking people out by accident. There's just something... fascinating about it. "Oh my god Rob, make me look away, I'm being a creeper. This is so inappropriate, he must be about twelve years old."

"Steve. He's holding a beer, so even if he is just 21, that actually means there's only ten years between you."

"Only," Steve snorts with derision, "only she says. Who is he anyway."

"Wayne Munson's plus one."

"Wayne Munson the engineer guy?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't know he swung that way-"

Robin hits him with her purse, "it's his nephew you fucking dingus. Didn't you pay any attention?"

"No. Not really, you know I hate this shit."

"You can get through one company BBQ Steve, you won't die. Maybe you'll get introduced to him."

Steve makes a noise. A noise he really shouldn't make and definitely not in public. Because he wants to do mean, awful, terrible things to that boy. He wants to make him come until it hurts. Until he's sore and red and begging and trying to cry but he can't because there's nothing left because Steve has removed every drop of moisture from the boys body via his dick and he has got to stop staring.

"Robin, walk me to the bar. Walk me to the bathroom. Walk me to my car. Walk me to the ornamental fucking fountain so I can ornamentally fucking drown myself but please I am begging you. I have got to stop staring."

"Okay," Robin grabs him by his arm and turns them fully in a circle, and then starts marching him across the lawn towards the Munson's.

"Robin. Please. No."

"Shut up you big baby. Besides, he needs help, there might be things living in his hair."

"I can definitely fix him."

"That's the spirit."

Part Two

FULL series ONLY on AO3

[paradise-dreams]

We are not a couple!...maybe

ᡣ𐭩 Summary: Ah love. A beauty and a curse to feel and to witness. But sometimes you and your crush is so convinced that you are not in love...its honestly very funny and endearing in a way

ᡣ𐭩Pair: Wriothesley x GN!Reader

ᡣ𐭩 Warnings: Fluff, idiots in denial, crack, and a happy ending

AN: For those who are wondering yes, I haven't write the duke himself and yes i love prompts like this. I just want to spice things up for a bit

The term Idiots in denial fits the relationship between you and Wriothesley.

You work for Chief Justice Neuvillette as his secretary and you love your job even though it’s kinda daunting. But nothing beats anything then your ‘hatred’ with Wriothesley, the Duke of Fortress of Meropide. You hated(love) his face, his personality and those muscles of his. Yet you just kept dying it but even everyone and their grandmothers can see it through the bullshit. You both are not slick with those actions of yours.

“Ugh!” You groaned while in the cafe with Clorinde. “This damn man and his tea obsession.” Clorinde calmly sips her coffee and glances at you. “What has the Duke done to infuriate you, (y/n)?” The Champion asked with a blank expression. You have to think for a moment. What did Wriothesley do to make you this mad? “He sassed me when I told him that Neuvillette is wanting a discussion with him.” You said, sipping your favorite beverage. “That damn smirk of his. I just want to kiss-I mean punch him.” Clorinde raises an eyebrow at you, a faint smirk appears on her face. “Punch him? Assault to an officer is illegal, (y/n).” Clorinde says with a teasing voice. “I do not want to have to duel you to prove your innocence.” You only groaned to yourself. “Fair point. I don’t want Monsieur Neuvillette to have a heart attack..”

Meanwhile at the Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley is sitting in his office looking through paperwork while sipping my tea. He can’t stop thinking about you. Your cute face, that stupid giggle and your eyes…that he desperately wanted to dr—wait what?! He choked on his tea while Sigewinne looked at him in shock. “Duke. Is everything okay?” She asked with worried eyes as said man clear his throat. “Yes. I am fine, Sigewinne. Just thinking about something.” The melusine nurse tilted her head and spoke. “Oh? You mean (y/n)?” She asks, putting her finger near her mouth. “Now that I mentioned it, you two make a cute couple.” The poor man had to spit out his tea and whips his head towards Sigewinne. “No! No no no no. I hate them.” He said with a sigh. “And besides they are so stupid, hardworking and so determined that it’s stupidly adorable.” After the moment of silence, Wriothesley found out that he is in love with you…and he is doomed.

The day at the Palais Mermonia, it was your day off but you wanted to work but Neuvillette had to force you to take a break. ‘That is a hypocritical move, Monsieur.’ You think to yourself as you stroll through the Fountain of Lucine bored out of your mind when you bump into a firm chest. “Oof!” You were about to fall on the ground when a strong arm wrapped around your waist to prevent you from falling on the ground. “Woah. Did not expect you to be this clumsy.” A familiar voice is heard and the one you dreaded(loved) to hear. “As Monsieur Neuvillette’s secretary, you need to watch where you are going.” You look up to see bluish- grey eyes staring down at you with a sly smile on his face. “Hmph.” You huffed as you crossed your arms and looked away. “Cut the act, Duke.” You spoke, not looking his way. “What do you want from me?” The duke chuckles as he thinks for a moment and shrugs. “Well if you want me to take you out on a date as an apology, just say the word.” Not knowing his subtle hit on asking you out, you took the bait. “Fine. I am willing to go out with you.” And that is when you realize what you did and your face turns a deep crimson, Wriothesley smiles in pride as he turns on his heel and walks off. “Okay, see you tonight babe.

Oh you want to the ground to swallow you up whole. But hey, at least Wriothesley bagged you.

~Taglist: @areislol @husky-studies @windblumewishes @thestarswhisper @dailypenpen @sundaysareformoshi @mikashisus @yuan4i @wystiix @bbasorexja @bibiddibobiddi-boo @purpleqilinwrites @yoghurtsan @ddivilove @zhengbobatw

[eriace]

the right blend ; nagumo yoichi

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which l/n y/n and nagumo yoichi fake a relationship for a mission, but somewhere in between shared coffee, late-night stakeouts, and quiet glances, pretending stops feeling like pretending. ↷ nagumo yoichi ; sakamoto days

↳ an order of cappuccino from anonymous in the comeback cafe event ! ( author's note: i already made something similar for the fake marriage so this is for the fake dating one.)

IT STARTED WITH a mission.

Fake dating. Simple enough—play the part, blend in, get close to the target who had a soft spot for couples. It was supposed to be easy. Calculated. Impersonal.

But that was before Y/n learned how fast pretending could start to feel real.

The JCC Academy’s south quad was nearly empty at dusk, the sky bruised with fading orange and violet, wind teasing at the edges of her jacket. She sat on the low stone bench near the training hall, foot tapping, trying not to look at her watch for the fifth time.

Nagumo Yoichi was late.

Again.

She was mentally composing the verbal slap he’d earn when his shadow stretched long over her shoes.

“Miss me?” His voice broke through the quiet—casual, teasing, infuriatingly smooth.

Y/n looked up. He wore his standard jacket slung off one shoulder and held two cups of vending machine coffee, steam curling from the rims. His hair was wind-tossed, and his smile was the kind that made people let their guard down.

Not her. Not today.

“Fifteen minutes late,” she said, voice flat. “You know we’re supposed to check in together.”

“I brought coffee as a peace treaty.” He held one cup out. “I even remembered—two sugars, no cream. Like a psychopath.”

She stared at it, then took it with a reluctant sigh. The cup was warm against her palms. Stupid, how small gestures still made her chest ache.

“You’re lucky that’s exactly how I like it,” she muttered.

He smirked, dropping beside her on the bench, thigh brushing hers just enough to make her heart lurch. She hated that he noticed.

“I always remember your coffee,” he said, more quietly this time, eyes flicking to hers. “Fake boyfriend duties. I’m a professional.”

“So professional you’re always late?”

“I like making you wait. Keeps things spicy.”

She rolled her eyes, sipping the too-hot coffee to hide her smile. The quad remained still around them, quiet enough to hear the fountain trickling nearby.

They should have gotten up. They were expected in the instructor’s office five minutes ago to report on their progress. Instead, neither of them moved.

Nagumo leaned back on his hands, gaze tilted toward the darkening sky.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve had real dates that felt less real than this.”

Y/n glanced at him, caught off guard. “This is just a mission.”

“Sure,” he said. “But you didn’t have to remember my favorite snack for the stakeout. Or patch up my hand when I cut it on the stairwell. Or stop me from saying something dumb to the teacher yesterday.”

She swallowed. “That’s just good teamwork.”

“You didn’t have to ask me how I take my coffee either.”

Her chest tightened.

Nagumo turned his head, met her eyes. There was no smirk now. No teasing curve to his mouth. Only that rare, steady look—the one that didn’t try to charm her, just see her.

“You’re not pretending anymore,” he said softly. “Are you?”

She opened her mouth. Paused. Closed it again.

It would’ve been easier to lie.

Instead, she said, “Not since the first time you held my hand without being told to.”

Nagumo was quiet for a moment.

Then, very gently, he set his coffee down, shifting to face her fully. His fingers found hers, slower than usual. No theatrics. No smirk.

Just skin to skin.

“Good,” he said. “Because I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror, before any of this started.”

Her breath caught.

“And if I wasn’t such a coward,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “I would’ve done it for real.”

She didn’t answer, and for the first time since the assignment started, Y/n didn’t feel like an undercover anything.

She just felt like a girl who was falling. And maybe—just maybe—he was falling too.

© eriace in tumblr ; don’t repost my works.

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 06 — something shifts

wc — 1.1k+

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You hated how quiet your room got at night. When the lights were off and the only sound left was the soft hum of your desk fan, your thoughts always found a way to get louder. And tonight was no different.

You were lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, blanket tangled around your legs. Your phone was resting on your chest, screen dimmed after you’d re read the last messages from your group chat for the tenth time.

Jay: “Movie night Friday?”

Jake: “Only if Y/N doesn’t make us watch some weird rom com again.”

Sunghoon: “She probably will.”

Jay: “It’s fine. She picks the snacks. It evens out.”

You smiled at the screen, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You didn’t know what this weird ache in your chest was. You didn’t know when your feelings started to get so… complicated. You’d always thought friendships had boundaries. Clear lines. But lately, those lines felt blurry. Messy. And no matter how many times you tried to shake it off, it lingered.

The thing was… you weren’t even sure who it was.

Jay had always been the comforting one. The steady hand, the soft gaze, the guy who always noticed when you were overwhelmed and offered quiet reassurance instead of loud concern.

Jake? He was warmth. Loud, chaotic, heart on his sleeve kind of warmth. He made things feel lighter, easier, even when nothing really was.

And Sunghoon… well, Sunghoon was the one you never fully figured out. Cold and guarded on the outside, but when he let you in, it felt like he was handing you something sacred. Something rare.

You sighed and rolled over onto your side.

Your gaze fell to the edge of your bed. You stared at the space underneath it for a second before slowly leaning over to lift the dust ruffle.

There it was.

The box.

Small, worn, and tucked into the far corner under your bed. It was barely visible unless you knew exactly where to look. You hesitated before sliding it out, fingers brushing against the cardboard edges like they might burn you.

You didn’t open it. Not yet.

Instead, you shoved it slightly back under and flopped onto your back again, hugging your pillow to your chest. You tried to pretend everything was still simple.

It wasn’t.

You and Lia met up the next morning before class. She was already seated at your usual bench near the campus fountain, sipping her iced coffee and scrolling through her phone.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said, not even looking up. “I didn’t,” you muttered, plopping down next to her. She glanced at you now, squinting. “Let me guess. Your thoughts are being dramatic again.” “I’m being serious.” “I know,” she said, giving you a sympathetic look. “But I’m still gonna tease you. It’s how I cope with your romantic crises.”

You groaned. “I don’t even know if it’s romantic.” “Y/N,” she said slowly, “you wrote letters to all three of them. If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.” You froze. “How do you—” “I guessed. But you just confirmed it.” You stared at her in horror. “Oh, relax. I’m not judging you,” Lia said, waving it off. “Honestly? I think it’s kind of beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” you scoffed. “It’s embarrassing.” “It’s honest,” she said softly. “And I think you needed to be honest with yourself more than anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything. Because she wasn’t wrong.

Lia nudged your shoulder. “Just… promise me something?” You turned to her.

“When this mess eventually explodes, and trust me, it will. Don’t shut yourself off. Don’t hide in your room and pretend you’re fine.” You hesitated. “Okay.”

“Good. Now come on. We’re going to be late.”

By the time Friday rolled around, you’d almost convinced yourself everything was fine again.

Almost.

You arrived at Jay’s apartment for movie night with a bag full of snacks and a smile that felt a little too practiced. Jake greeted you at the door, ruffling your hair like always.

“You better not have brought anything weird this time.” “Define weird.” He gave you a look. “If there’s seaweed chips in that bag, I’m walking out.” You laughed, brushing past him. “Then walk.”

Jay was already in the living room, setting up the projector. Sunghoon sat cross legged on the couch, scrolling through his phone, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. You sank into the couch beside him, tossing the snack bag on the coffee table.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey.”

And there it was again. That heavy, quiet energy between you. You didn’t know what it meant, but it wrapped around you like static.

Jake flopped onto the other side of the couch, tossing a pillow onto your lap. “I’m picking the first movie.”

“Like hell you are,” Jay said, grabbing the remote. “We’re watching something good for once.”

“I second that,” Sunghoon muttered.

You stayed quiet, letting their banter fill the room, trying to soak in the comfort of old routines. But even in the middle of the chaos, your mind wandered.

To the box.

To the letters.

To what would happen if one of them ever read what you wrote.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the pillow harder.

Halfway through the movie, Jay got up to refill drinks. Jake started rambling about a funny story from class. Sunghoon leaned closer to you, voice low.

“You’ve been quiet all night.” You turned to him. “Just tired.” He studied your face for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe you. Then he nodded. “You’re bad at lying.” You looked away.

“I meant what I said,” he added. You frowned. “When?” “Last week. About you always pretending you’re fine.”

You didn’t remember him saying that.

But maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe it was always there, in the way he looked at you. The way he noticed things others didn’t.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jay returned, tossing a soda can toward you. It landed perfectly in your lap. Jake cheered. “Ten points to Jay!”

You smiled faintly and leaned back against the couch, trying to ground yourself in the moment again.

But somewhere inside, a storm was brewing.

And you knew, deep down, you couldn’t keep holding it in much longer.

Back in your apartment, you stood by your bed, heart racing. You dropped to your knees and reached underneath, fingers brushing against the box again. The cardboard felt cool, familiar.

You pulled it out halfway and just stared at it.

Still sealed.

Still untouched.

But not for long.

Because secrets like these don’t stay buried forever.

And yours were dangerously close to the surface.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[nerdallwritey]

About to Strike (Part 1)

***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: ONCE AGAIN I've yapped too much and this chapter became longer than tumblr likes, so I've split it into two posts. It's the same drill as Cheeks All Flushed: The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip shenanigans and Get To Business. And that's valid! Part 2 is here and also linked down below. Apologies! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!

Summary: Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink.  He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?” “Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira. Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well.  “Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet. “You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms.  OR The gang finally makes their way into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.7k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 6 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SURPRISE! Part 6 is COMPLETE and she's A LOT. The back half is mainly smut and feelings and Astarion processing emotions a little which we LOVE to see. I hope to the gods that you guys find this to be a good followup to Worth the Peril, but I'm excited to FINALLY be in Act 2 and get into the big romantic scenes that happen there. Thank you all so much for sticking around and loving this goofy version of Astarion and his favorite bard :) You guys are the best and I adore and appreciate every single one of you! Please enjoy these silly little vignettes from the end of Act 1 and the start of Act 2! (Thank you as always to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading!) As a reminder, last time you got Mega Hurt in a fight and Astarion kind of took that personally.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

“Would you relax?” you whispered sharply to the vampire currently brooding to your right.

“How can I be when this… ancient woman just tried to murder you?” Astarion threw a dramatic hand forward, gesturing to Jaheira, who was walking in front of you towards the Last Light Inn. You all had just arrived at the well lit sanctuary in the Shadow Cursed Lands, only to be interrogated by the High Harper, and vouched for by Mol, who’d managed to find her way here as well.

“I handled it,” you hissed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“While I admire your optimism, darling, I still don’t trust her.”

Karlach buzzed behind you, clearly in disbelief. “Mate, you must be joking. That’s the Jaheira!”

Astarion slowed his pace a bit to meet Karlach’s eye. “And, I take it, you know the old crone?”

“Astarion!” Wyll sounded surprised. “You’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate longer than I have! And you don’t know the tales they tell of Jaheira and her party of adventurers?”

Your crew of seven came to a halt in front of a moss covered fountain to gawk at the elf.

He clicked his tongue. “Mmm… that’d be a no.”

“He’s lying,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

“I am not!”

Gale lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Come now, Astarion, surely you’ve heard passing tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate? Or perhaps read a book of their exploits?”

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “I do not know of this ‘Jah-hee-rah’ person. Her heroics must not be that impressive if I have never heard of her.”

“Nor I,” Halsin cut in.

“Yes, well, being freakish outsiders from the Astral Plane and the middle of the forest will deprive you of basic history lessons.” Astarion crossed his arms.

You snorted. “So what’s your excuse?” The others snickered. 

Astarion placed an annoyed hand on his hip. “Did you all forget that I was kept as a slave for two hundred years of pure misery and torture?”

The group remained silent for a moment before you stepped forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re still not over that?” 

He smirked. “Would you believe it’s taking me a little longer than one might expect?”

“Shame,” you pouted. Then you looked at Karlach who was angling her head around the fountain to track where Jaheira had gone. “You want to enlighten these three, Karlach?”

Karlach looked back at you all and her eyes lit up with glee. “Oh, yes please!” She rolled her shoulders and bounced on her feet as if she were preparing for battle, rather than recounting basic Baldur’s Gate history. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Years ago - over a century-”

You turned to Astarion and caught his eye. A century! your expression seemed to say.

Astarion shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and unwrapped one of his crossed arms to hold dramatically in front of himself. So what?

You rolled your eyes. So you should have been there!

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. I don’t know what to tell you.

You huffed some hair out of your eyes and tuned back in to what Karlach was saying.

“-Jaheira was part of a group that saved Baldur’s Gate from Seravok - a Bhaalspawn trying to plunge the city into war.”

Once again, you caught Astarion’s eye. “And you don’t recall any of this?”

He pursed his lips as the others turned to look at him. “Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall tensions being rather high around the city all those years ago.”

“Liar,” Shadowheart accused again. “It had to be more apparent than that. Why don’t you just admit you know who Jaheira is?”

Astarion’s response was venomous: “I was kept on a very tight leash, thank you, so apologies for not getting the names of the heroes who ‘saved’ the city that kept me enslaved for another hundred years.” 

You approached him quietly and took his hand. He scowled at Shadowheart but wrenched his gaze away to look at you. His expression softened mildly.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “I’m sure she would have come for you and your siblings had she known.”

“Yes, probably come to kill us for being abominations,” he muttered, but squeezed your hand anyway.

“Ah, don’t be like that, Astarion,” Wyll said cheerfully. “I’m sure she would have helped you! You’re quite fun once you get past all the prickly bits.”

“Gee, thanks,” Astarion said flatly. 

Karlach took the awkward silence that followed as an opportunity to keep fangirling. “My mum used to tell us stories all about them - the legends who protected the city from evil. She said Jaheira was a powerful druid. Adamant. Tough.”

“Probably a good ally to have on our side,” you said. Your companions nodded in agreement.

“I’ve told myself those stories thousands of times since,” Karlach continued. “I never thought I’d meet Jaheira. She’s a hero, and I was always… some Outer City kid.”

“Well, excellent news, Karlach,” Gale said. “Given our circumstances and the path we currently find ourselves on, it’s quite possible that we might be considered heroes one day.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel scoffed. “We don’t even know what we’re up against yet. It is likely some of you will perish before we are able to slay this unknown enemy.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Charming as always, Lae’zel.”

“I am not charming. I am merely stating fact.”

Halsin cleared his throat. “Another druid you say, Karlach?”

Karlach grinned and nodded. “She’s the best! Can’t believe she wants to talk to us about working together. What a day!”

And what a day it had been. 

Or, tenday, more like.

~~~~~

The day after you’d told Astarion’s sleeping form that you loved him, he’d been nothing but clingy. 

You awoke to find him still curled tightly into your side, but now he was fully awake, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was unnerving.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly before an easy grin rested on his lips. “Just making sure you still have a pulse, darling.”

You snorted. “Checking on your food supply, I see.”

Astarion angled his head to nuzzle his nose along your throat before kissing your pulse point. “What can I say,” he murmured against your skin, “we vampires have two instincts, as we learned from that book yesterday: ‘feed and make little vampires.’” He scrunched his face into a silent roar, baring his fangs and forming one of his hands into a claw. He slashed it through the air playfully.

“Yes well, the latter probably won’t be happening for a little while,” you said, shifting to sit up, but wincing in pain over the wound in your torso. 

Astarion was rolling off the pillows within seconds and coming around to help you sit up. His eyes were concerned, but he pouted and his voice was teasingly whiny when he said, “Pity.” He rested his forehead against your temple. “I do so miss being inside of you.”

You nearly choked on your own spit, which had him pulling away from you and laughing. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, watching as Astarion pulled his shirt over his head. 

“Hungry, my sweet?” he asked, still smiling.

“You’re really freaking me out,” you said, giving him a sideways look, “with how nice you’re being.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Fine. Starve.” With that, he exited your tent with a theatrical swoosh of the flaps that acted as a door.

You exhaled a disbelieving laugh, watching as the flaps swished back and forth before settling back into their closed position.

“SHE’S WHAT?!” you heard Karlach shriek, followed by loud, bounding footsteps approaching your tent. 

Astarion called after her in annoyance, “Don’t bother her!”

“Soldier!” Karlach’s head and shoulders popped their way into your tent. “So happy you’re awake!”

“Hi Karlach,” you laughed. “I’d get up but-”

Karlach shook her head. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m sure Shadowheart and Halsin will want to change your bandages and pump you full of potions but… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you said. “Thank you for helping while I was unconscious.”

“You’d do the same for any of us,” she said earnestly, still on her hands and knees in the entrance of your tent. 

You heard a dull thump outside that had Karlach yelping in surprise. 

“Out,” came Astarion’s sour tone, his tongue putting extra emphasis on the “t.”

Karlach looked back over her shoulder and then over to you. “He kicked my boot, the bastard! Proper hard, too!”

“I’d do a lot worse if you weren’t a walking furnace.” Another thump informed you that he kicked Karlach’s boot again.

Rather than retreat, however, Karlach settled her elbows into the dirt and rested her head in her hands. “Ask nicely.” She met your eye with a mischievous grin. 

You heard Astarion squawk incredulously. “Darling, tell her to move!”

Clearing your throat to keep from laughing, you said firmly, “Astarion. Be nice. That’s my dear friend, Karlach, you’re kicking.”

He muttered something you couldn’t make out, followed by a loud groan. 

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Dear, sweet, Karlach-” 

“Liking the sound of this,” Karlach nodded.

“-would you be so kind as to remove your humongous form from the entrance of my lovely bard’s tent?” It sounded as if the words were causing him physical pain.

Karlach looked back at you. “What do you think, Soldier?”

“He could probably do better,” you said with a smirk. But it was then that your stomach decided to growl loudly. 

“Woof,” Karlach said.

You could practically hear Astarion’s eye roll. “You know, if you let me in, I could remedy that little problem you’re experiencing.”

Karlach slanted her mouth to the side. “He’s probably right, Gale left behind a bunch of-” she waggled her fingers, “-magic-y warm food for you before he, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Wyll headed out this morning.”

You cocked your head to the side. “And you didn’t go with them?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “And miss you possibly waking up?”

You smiled at her fondly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Besides, I don’t trust myself around all the explodey mushrooms down here.”

Astarion cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, Fangs, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Karlach looked over her shoulder at him before looking back at you once more. “Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me.” She pointed to her temple, referring to the tadpole connection, and winked. She crawled backwards on her hands and knees, purposely taking her time, before she fully exited the tent. 

Astarion took her place instantly, crawling into the space with a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, bread, and a pair of healing potions. He placed the entire thing on your lap, along with a fork, before settling onto the ground next to you. 

You blinked at him. “Breakfast in bed?” 

He scoffed. “It isn’t as if you can join us at the breakfast table.”

Smiling softly, you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, my love. This is very kind of you.”

He still scowled, but his face softened when he took your hand from his cheek and kissed your palm. “I expect the same kind of pampering in return if I’m ever to practically die as foolishly as you.”

You laughed before picking up the fork and stabbing some egg. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

~~~~~

And for the first few days, it did feel like pampering: Astarion staying by your side at all times - reading to you, laying with you, changing your bandages… He only ever left to feed himself. He refused your blood, citing that you needed it more than him, even though your bleeding had slowed to a halt by the third day. 

It all felt very nice.

Until you felt well enough to get back on your feet.

The others had dutifully been wrapping things up in the Underdark; defeating monsters, freeing deep gnomes from their drow and duergar slavers, rescuing the halfling woman’s husband, and exploring an abandoned wizard’s tower and the temple to Shar, to name a few. Lae’zel had even gifted you a new longsword she’d found, Phalar Aluve - a sword with the ability to sing or shriek - claiming that this weapon would not have allowed you to be wounded as fatally, had you had it during the duergar battle in the decrepit village.

On the day they raided the Zhentarim cache Astarion had mentioned all those days ago, he’d remained dutifully by your side, much to your dismay and protests that you’d be fine without him for a few hours.

“Absolutely not,” he’d said, looking down his nose at you. “As if Halsin or Shadowheart could care for you as properly as I have.”

“You forget,” you’d responded, mildly annoyed, “that they’re the ones who taught you how to care for me.”

“And I’m the one who shall continue to care for you,” he huffed, finishing changing your bandages once again. By this time, you could sit up on your own with mild to no pain at all. You were perfectly capable of changing your own bandages, but Astarion had insisted on continuing to help you. 

You supposed it was nice that he wanted to take care of you, given how much he usually hated being responsible for anything, but he was taking the job a bit too seriously.

Luckily, Karlach and Lae’zel had lugged some chests they’d been unable to open at the Zhentarim storeroom back to camp, allowing your beloved rogue to take part in the raid, despite not attending himself, and thus allowing you a moment of peace to roll off your pillows and put on fresh clothes without his help.

You emerged from your tent to look at the spoils from the storeroom, standing up straight and walking on your own. Astarion hadn’t noticed at first, too busy fiddling with the lock of a particularly large chest, but the commotion created by your companions forced him to look in your direction. 

“You’re up!” Wyll exclaimed.

“Do you need any help?” Gale snapped the book he was reading closed.

“Give her some space,” Shadowheart said, assessing you with her eyes from a few feet away.

Astarion got up and hurried over to you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You smiled at him reassuringly. “I promise I feel well enough to be out here. I just wanted some fresh, Underdark air.” You looked over his shoulder at one of the open chests. “Find anything good?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing worth you getting out of bed for.” He looked you up and down and noticed your change of clothes. He sighed. “I could have helped-”

“I’m fine,” you maintained, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Halsin approached the two of you and nodded approvingly. “It is good for her to be up and moving around. It’ll stretch the healing muscles and allow her to join the fray again much more quickly than if she stays in bed all day.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know?”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart said in warning. “If she says she’s okay, let’s believe her. I’m sure she’ll tell you if something’s wrong this time around, right?” She made pointed eye contact with you. 

You held up your hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”

He watched you closely, narrowing his eyes and sniffing pompously. “Fine.” 

He made no move to leave your side.

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the chest he’d been working on, the thieves’ tools still stuck inside the lock. You patted the top of the chest and said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Astarion watched you carefully before he made his way back to the chest and sunk to his knees. 

Not far off, Lae’zel was polishing her greatsword. “Does this mean you are well enough to accompany us to the crèche?”

“Well, I-”

“No,” said every other person at camp at once.

“Chk,” Lae’zel thrust her greatsword into the dirt in front of her. “Heal faster.”

“Trying my best,” you said with a shrug. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes and returned to assessing her greatsword.

“If you’re going to be up and about,” Shadowheart said, “you should probably start packing up your belongings for when we need to enter the Mountain Pass.”

“Augh!” you exclaimed loudly, clutching your side. Astarion was up immediately and you leaned your weight on him, throwing your arms around his neck for support. “So sorry, Shadowheart,” you said in a fake strained tone, “my wound… it prevents me… from hard labor…” You flopped fully into Astarion’s side, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue as if you’d just perished on the spot.

“Oh good,” Astarion said blandly, “she’s finally dead and I can get on with my life.”

You kicked him.

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Such a shame she’ll never be able to annoy us again.”

“I’ll haunt you forever…” you murmured, wobbling your voice like a ghost.

 Shadowheart stepped forward and patted your arm. “I’ll ask for blessings from Lady Shar on behalf of your passing.”

“Thank you…” you murmured again.

Astarion bumped his hip into yours forcefully. “Would you get off of me?”

You pulled back and smiled at him. “See? I’m fine.”

He humphed and returned to unlocking the big chest, only to find it full of more thieves' tools. He sighed heavily and rested his forehead on the edge of the chest. You peered inside and laughed.

“Aw,” you said sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Let me-” 

“No,” you said firmly. “Keep going through your useless chests, my love. I’ll be right over here.” You walked over to the makeshift kitchen area Gale had set up. 

Astarion watched you go, and you felt his protective eyes remain on you for the remainder of the night. 

~~~~~

It was like that now: Astarion trying to do things for you while you insisted you could do them on your own. 

It had bewildered you when he actually helped you pack for your trip back to the surface. He had little to pack of his own, given that he’d more or less lived in your tent throughout your stay in the Underdark. He was relentlessly cautious with you, insisting that Gale cast Fly on you so that you didn’t have to ascend the impossibly long ladder back up into the Goblin camp. And he rarely let you out of his sight, even when safely surrounded by your other companions. 

The Mountain Pass was beautiful: bathed in what seemed like permanently golden light that had Astarion blooming in the sun’s glow once again. When your group accidentally stumbled into a hostile party of undead while looking for a place to camp, Astarion had taken your hand and pulled you behind him to shield you with his body. 

“I can help!” you’d pleaded, watching your friends sling spells and swords at the skeletons.

“Let us handle this,” Astarion had growled, slashing his daggers through a ghoul that came a little too close to you for comfort. He kept you both to the outskirts of the fight.

Try as you might to help, Astarion held you back, glaring at you for drawing the attention of a ghast when you cast Thunder Wave in its direction. You gave him an apologetic smile before he fatally stabbed the ghast in the chest. 

Bloodied and burnt out, you and your companions finally found a decent place to camp, close to the monastery that Lae’zel was sure housed the crèche. She took the lead on making a plan to enter the building and find the cure that had been promised to her all her life. You sat by the fire, listening idly to her plans, knowing full well that no one - except maybe Lae’zel herself - wanted you fighting so soon after your injury. You also knew that, should the cure be legitimate, your friends would happily accompany you back into the crèche where you could have the tadpole removed. You chose not to linger on the thought of your adventure possibly coming to an end so soon.

Unsurprisingly, Astarion sat by your side, mending a pair of pants. His knee was pressed lightly into your upper thigh as he hunched over the fabric to see his thread better. 

“You could be doing that in my tent, you know,” you said quietly, watching his fingers nimbly weave the fabric back together with needle and thread. “It’s probably easier to see what you’re doing surrounded by candles from all sides than just this fire. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“I’m quite skilled at seeing in darkness, thank you,” he said, not looking over at you.

You exhaled softly and leaned your head on his shoulder, effectively stretching your right side, which housed your wound. He paused momentarily, then kept going. 

“I’m okay,” you said softly, barely audible above the roaring fire and the heated discussion of possible battle strategy amongst your companions a few feet away. “I’m not going to get hurt like that again.”

Astarion sighed and halted his work on the pants. “You can’t promise that,” he said, sounding annoyed. He spoke his next words quickly, equal parts irritated and vulnerable: “You have no idea what’s coming and neither do I or any of us and I know you’re capable of protecting yourself but the least I can do right now is make sure you heal properly and don’t get hurt again because if I lost you… I wouldn’t know what to do.” He cleared his throat and looked back down at the fabric in his lap. “Or… whatever.” 

You smiled softly and lifted your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “I adore you.”

He exhaled an amused breath through his nose. “You’re fine, too.” 

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

He sighed dramatically. “It’s been dreadful.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to imagine the sacrifices you’ve made.”

He brought his hands up to count on his fingers. “I’ve barely slept, I’ve been drinking animal plonk as opposed to your delicious vintage, I’ve hardly killed anything in the last few days, and I haven’t been able to sleep with you for just as long, if not longer.”

You were glad he wasn’t looking right at you, otherwise he’d surely see the flush on your cheeks. “You’ve been sleeping with me nearly every night.”

He nudged your unwounded side with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

You smirked. “I miss you too,” you said. “And I’m sorry. You don’t need to be giving up all of that for me.”

He leaned his head on top of yours which had found its way back to his shoulder. “Just… heal, would you? You wretched thing.”

You reached your hand to rest on top of his knee. “You must be starving.”

“In more ways than one,” he growled teasingly in your ear. 

“I’m serious.”

“As am I. But your blood stays off limits until I’m sure you’re done bleeding.”

You made a frustrated noise. “I haven’t bled in days, you stubborn leech. And you nearly killed me the first time you drank from me, so really, what’s the difference?”

“Yes, but we weren’t us back then. You were just some bard that I crash landed on a horrid beach with.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed through pursed lips.

Now Astarion bent to kiss your cheek. “I’m just being extra careful, my sweet.” He moved his mouth to your ear. “And… it’ll be all the more exquisite when I finally taste you again.”

“Ah,” you said. “So you’re edging yourself.”

Astarion sputtered, “That’s not-” Then he smirked. “And what would you know about edging?”

You swallowed thickly. “Enough.”

He chuckled darkly. “Noted.”

It was quieter now, as your companions had dispersed to their own tents to prepare for tomorrow’s journey to the crèche. 

Still, Astarion kept his voice down. “I have an important question for you though, my darling.”

“And what would that be?”

“Whose belongings should we peruse first tomorrow while everyone’s gone?”

~~~~~

The only interesting items you’d found while snooping around camp the next day were cheap erotic novels hidden among both Shadowheart’s and Wyll’s possessions. 

Everyone, minus Halsin, who was sticking around the edge of camp planning a way through the Shadow Cursed Lands, had made their way to the crèche only a few hours before. 

“‘The Salty Mermaid,’” you’d said, waggling your eyebrows at Astarion who was rifling through Wyll’s tent. 

“You’ll never believe this, darling.” He turned to show you the same book, its illustrated cover even more worn than the copy you’d found in one of Shadowheart’s bags. 

“Shut up,” you said, leaning forward to snatch the book from his hand and holding the copies side by side. Both depicted a shirtless man gazing into the eyes of a beautiful, topless mermaid, her torso turned tastefully away from view. Their mouths were parted slightly in anticipation of a steaming kiss, ocean mist spraying over them and the rock they were perched on in the middle of the ocean. Wyll’s copy looked as though it had been read dozens of times over the span of many years, while Shadowheart’s was newer and gave the impression that it had been opened frequently, given the way the cover refused to rest against the first page.

“This is outrageous,” Astarion said, sitting behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at both books. 

You turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t take those two for naughty book lovers?”

“What? Oh, no, everyone in this camp is a deeply sad, depraved creature, that’s not it.”

You snorted. “Okay, so what-”

“It’s that they didn’t think to include us in their little book club!” His hand gestured wildly between the covers. “You and I read all the time!”

“We don’t know they’re reading them together,” you pointed out. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

Astarion looked at you skeptically. “Do you really believe that?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Your nights had been occupied spending time with the man currently wrapped delicately around your midsection. You couldn’t be sure that your companions hadn’t started a book club without you. It brought a small smile to your face, imagining your friends bonding with each other without your help.

Astarion didn’t wait for you to answer. “Let’s at least see what all the fuss is about.” He leaned forward slightly, careful not to jostle your right side and took Wyll’s book from your hand. He flipped open to a random page as you set Shadowheart’s book on your lap. You leaned your head against his, which was still resting on your shoulder, and read along with him. He tilted his head slightly to read slowly and seductively in your ear. 

“Fabian ran his calloused fingers along Allura’s scales. Her tail quivered in response.” He held out the “s,” as if hissing, and nipped at your ear.

You flinched in surprise and smacked him gently on the side of the head. 

He chuckled and continued. “‘Taste me,’ Allura pleaded. Fabian smashed his lips against hers and their tongues twisted together like two eels in the Sword Sea.”

You barely withheld a laugh. “Trying to seduce me with eels again, I see.” 

Astarion narrowed his eyes, rereading the passage in disbelief. “Oh, gods dammit.”

You nuzzled the side of his head with your own. “It’s working better this time,” you admitted.

“Oh?” Astarion pulled back and met you with a wicked grin. 

You nodded and watched his mouth as he leaned in to kiss you before pulling back just out of his reach. He opened his eyes and gave you a puzzled expression. 

“I didn’t say it worked completely.” You pushed his nose lightly to turn his face away from yours and back to the book in his hands. 

“Why you-” He dropped the book unceremoniously and brought both his hands to your cheeks to kiss you firmly. You laughed against his mouth before giving in and opening up for him.

“Astarion,” came Halsin’s voice from a few yards away. 

Astarion immediately disconnected the kiss and shot a deadly glare at the bear. 

Halsin hadn’t been looking. Instead he’d been focusing down at what he was holding - a half carved piece of wood, something that was beginning to look like a rabbit. When he finally looked up, he halted in his tracks. 

“My apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in a showing of peace, “I merely wanted to ask Astarion for a better knife. It appears my proper carving tools are lost somewhere within our wares.”

“Hi Halsin,” you said nonchalantly. 

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t mean to disturb your fun.”

“Fun? What fun? We never have fun.” You nudged Astarion who was still staring daggers at Halsin. 

Astarion sighed and settled his chin back on your shoulder. “Relax, darling, I’m sure Halsin knows all about the kind of fun we have together.” 

Halsin nodded. “Far be it from me to interrupt a spry couple preparing to partake in one of nature’s greatest gifts.”

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned in disgust and you felt your cheeks go red. “You make it sound awful.”

“It’s only natural-”

“Did you check our Traveler’s Chest for your carving tools?” you desperately tried to change the subject. “It’s possible one of us packed them in there by mistake.”

Halsin snapped his fingers. “Of course! And the Traveler’s Chest would be…”

You pointed in the direction of the chest, which was thankfully on the other side of camp. 

Halsin followed your gaze and nodded again. “I shall investigate the chest. Sorry once again.” He started to leave the two of you but turned back around.  “Remember to be careful of your wound.” He gestured to your right side and you absently held your hand to the tender area. “Nothing worse than an injury worsened in the throes of passion.”

“Goodbye, Halsin,” Astarion waved him off. 

Halsin chuckled once more, then left the area. You and Astarion remained silent for a moment, watching him go. 

You looked over at him. “Moment over?”

“So incredibly over,” Astarion lifted his chin from your shoulder and crawled around to sit next to you. “But the druid’s right. You’re still hurt.”

You huffed some hair out of your face. “And you’re still a drama queen.”

Astarion gasped and held a hand to his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. “Watch this!” 

You stood and leaned your body to the left, stretching your right side and lifting your right arm over your head.

“See?”

Astarion cocked his head to the side. “Impressive. Now stretch the other way.”

You remained upright and ramrod straight. “I don’t want to.”

“Because…?”

“Because…” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, fuck you! You know why.”

“Because you’re still sore-”

“Yes, because I’m still sore.” You sat beside him again and muttered, “killjoy.”

Astarion stood and reached for your hands, holding them in both of his own. “Call me whatever names you like, it won’t change my mind.” He leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

You frowned at him. “Asshole.”

Kiss. “Darling.” 

“Bat brain.”

Kiss. “Beautiful.” 

“Priss.”

Kiss. “My- hey.” He pulled himself back to look down his nose at you. “I’m not a priss,  I’m simply surrounded by frumps. And Shadowheart.”

You scoffed and reached up to brush your hand through his curls, mussing them ever so slightly. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing you away and reaching up to fix his hair. 

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him. 

He glared back and rolled his eyes. “Did I not just call you ‘beautiful?’”

“One of your frequent pet names,” you waved him off playfully and went to pick up Shadowheart and Wyll’s discarded books. “It means next to nothing.”

Astarion turned to watch you. “That’s not true.”

You laughed. “You call everyone ‘darling.’” 

“That’s different.” 

“How so?”

If he were still alive, you’d be able to feel his body heat as he stepped closer to you. He looked up towards the sky and moved his hands around as if searching for the correct words. 

“‘Darling’ has always been a lovely blanket term of endearment for victims whose names I didn’t bother to learn but needed to entice.”

You stiffened, thrown off by his honest answer. “Oh.”

He met your eye. “People like feeling seen, and ‘darling’ does the job quite nicely. Call it a habit now, I suppose.”

You smirked at him. “You know my name, right?”

He smiled sideways in return. “Who are you again?”

“Good answer.”

“Honestly though, darling,” he said, before shaking his head and saying your name instead. “‘Darling’ isn’t anything special to me, that’s true,” he placed his hands firmly on your upper arms, just below your shoulders, “but you are.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying but failing not to shrink under his intense gaze. “Another good answer.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Look at me, please.” 

You met his eye again and saw his features soften. 

“I’ve never called someone ‘beautiful’ and not meant it.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really. In all the times you had to seduce people, you never called someone you weren’t attracted to ‘beautiful’ just to make things go faster?”

Astarion rubbed absent minded circles into your arms with his thumbs. “In those instances, I preferred referring to them as, ‘striking.’”

You snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I could say ‘dead serious,’ but that would be atrocious, so I won’t.”

“‘Striking,’” you repeated, laughing a little at the vagueness of it. “I guess that could mean anything.”

Astarion nodded. “Exactly.” He shifted his hands up to your shoulders. “But you, my sweet, are exquisite.” 

You smiled shyly. “I could say ‘aw shucks,’ but then you’d kill me, so I won’t.”

He pushed himself away from you again. “You are infuriating.”

Dropping the books once more, you reached for his wrist as he backed away. “No, no, I’m sorry,” you said as you brought his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me more about how beautiful I am.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before his features settled into a seductive grin. He reached forward and pulled you closer by the waist. His voice was low and flirtatious when he said, “I told you on that first night I had my way with you that you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He shifted his head to nip at your ear, “I meant that.”

A shiver went through your body and you closed your eyes. “Really?”

Astarion scoffed. “I wouldn’t willingly attach myself to just anyone, darling.” He kissed your neck. “For one thing, there’s this gorgeous neck of yours.”

You let out an amused sigh. “Go on…”

“Your eyes,” he said, shifting up to bear his crimson gaze into yours, “they sparkle like anything. I can’t say I’ve ever seen eyes more lovely.” You blinked at him, unsure of what to say. He continued, “Especially when you’re laughing. Preferably at something clever I’ve said.”

That made you laugh. “You’re not always as clever as you think.”

He smiled back at you. “So long as I keep seeing that dazzling smile, I shall make a fool of myself.” After a beat, he clarified, “But only for you.”

If you weren’t careful, you might cry. “You sweet, stupid man.”

“Speaking of that smile; that mouth of yours. I could eat you right up.” 

He bent to kiss you deeply but you pulled away to giggle. “And you have!”

“And I have,” he agreed, succeeding in kissing you this time. 

Your mouth moved against his slowly, keeping in time with him, and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. As the kiss became more intense, his tongue licking into your mouth, your heart picked up speed, which sent Astarion groaning against your lips.

“That delicious heartbeat,” he said dreamily, breaking the kiss. “It’s as sweet as any song you’ve ever played, my love.”

Your eyes shot open as he brought his face down to your throat again to kiss your pulse point. Based on his body language and the sensual way he continually kissed your neck, you had a feeling he didn’t realize what he’d said. He kept talking.

“Your heartbeat means you're alive,” he placed a kiss on your collarbone. “And that you’re here,” a kiss to your chest. “With me,” a kiss atop your clothed left breast, above your pounding heart. “Not to mention it’s the source of my favorite meal,” he pulled back to look at you with a goofy grin that he quickly morphed into one of seduction. When he saw your bewildered expression, his face fell into one of concern. “What is it?”

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, attempting to keep your composure. “Astarion,” you said, your voice full of adoration, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s wrong?” His tone was instantly serious and stern. “Did something happen?” He inspected your right side as if you may have started bleeding again. 

Laughter bubbled out of your chest at his sudden shift in demeanor. This man cared for you so deeply it almost hurt. And it was so blatantly obvious to everyone but himself.

“There’s nothing wrong, dummy,” you said, tapping the tip of his nose to bring his attention back to you. 

He looked at you questioningly and saw nothing but affection in your eyes. “Then…” he leaned in closer, drawn in by the softness of your features, “what is it?”

You leaned in as well, watching his mouth and subconsciously wetting your lips in preparation for what you were about to say. “I…” you eyes began to close, “lo-”

“Tsk'va!”

You and Astarion froze, your mouths inches apart. 

“That wasn’t you, was it?” he muttered. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, swatting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

Lae’zel was standing not too far off, covered in blood, staring at the two of you with an intense ire that had you both nearly jumping away from each other. “You feeble wretches are delighting in intercourse whilst the Lich Queen lies to her kin about purification and I nearly lose my life as a result.”

Astarion straightened and looked at his nails, bored. “Oh, is that all?”

You gave him a look before stepping forward to offer comfort. “What happened?”

Lae’zel looked between you and Astarion before furrowing her brows and marching off to her tent. “She may yet purify me!” she called angrily, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

The rest of your party stumbled into camp not far behind. They, too, were drenched in blood and looking worse for wear. You approached them immediately, Astarion reluctantly on your heels. 

“Is everyone okay?” you quickly looked over everyone and didn’t note any major injuries.

“We’re alright,” Wyll assured and nodded to Shadowheart, “no thanks to Shadowheart.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she groaned. “Let’s see if we survive the night.” She gestured towards Lae’zel who was angrily shedding her armor and shrieking frustratedly with each discarded piece.

You looked back at the others and repeated, “What happened?”

“Our little dream visitor had some rather enlightening news for our githyanki friend,” Gale sighed, wiping his brow. 

“Well hang on now,” Karlach said. “Her people, or rather, some random doctor lady, tried to kill her first!”

Wyll nodded solemnly. “Not to mention that fearsome god of hers threatened our lives.”

You inhaled sharply. Even Astarion looked surprised. “What?”

“Why do the gods favor you people?” Astarion crossed his arms. “They never answered me when I called.”

“Now, now, Astarion,” Gale said, “this was not a meeting on the most benevolent of terms.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “So were you able to kill her or something? Is that why you’re all drenched in what smells like an absurd amount of gith blood?”

“Kill a god?” Wyll laughed lightly. “Be serious, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know what you lot are capable of, we just met.”

“‘Just met?!’” Shadowheart scoffed incredulously. “And you think you could have taken on a god? You and what? Those sharp teeth of yours?”

“If you’d like to see what they’re capable of, darling, you need only ask.” He flashed her a malicious grin. 

“Astarion,” you caught his eye and shook your head slightly. 

“If killing that overgrown creep were an option, I gladly would have taken it,” Karlach punched at her open palm. “I can’t stand bullies.”

Halsin now entered the fray. “Peace,” he said calmly. “Everyone should get cleaned up and inspected for injuries, then we can discuss the events of the créche.”

You turned to look for Lae’zel, but her tent was empty. You assumed she’d gotten a jumpstart on the cleaning process. 

“Why is my book in the dirt?!” Shadowheart exclaimed. “Astarion!”

“I think it’s time I go for a hunt,” Astarion kissed you swiftly. “You can handle this, can’t you darling?” Then he took off at a brisk pace down the side of the mountain. 

~~~~~

After Lae’zel and the others had cleaned themselves up and bandaged their shallow wounds, you’d all sat around the fire to discuss what had occurred at the crèche and what the dream visitor had told Lae’zel of Vlaakith’s deception towards the purification process.

That night, Kith’rak Voss and his group of rebel githyanki warriors had visited you and your companions, telling you all that the Astral Prism held the key to Vlaakith’s undoing. He’d also promised to explain more and provide help once you reached Baldur’s Gate. 

“Why must they always be so cryptic,” Astarion had muttered to you from where you stood behind Lae’zel, allowing her to take the lead on this. “If the Prism is a source of unnamed power, then I think we have a right to know about it.” He pouted and you elbowed him lightly. 

As you were preparing to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands the next day, Elminster appeared, bearing a message for Gale from Mystra. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you’d steamed after the old wizard left, “you’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.”

“She’s right,” Astarion agreed. You turned and gave him a surprised look. He shrugged. “Sacrificing Gale to the Absolute is a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.” When you rolled your eyes, he amended, “And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.”

“I am touched, Astarion,” Gale said before turning his attention back on you. “Let’s save such certainty about my fate for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against.” 

Thus your party kept packing up in preparation to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands, which Halsin had discovered an entrance to, not far from your camp. 

Upon entering, the suffocating nature of the dark hit you instantly, and you felt a shift in your party the more you shuffled into the area. 

Astarion held out an arm to stop you from going any further, away from the lit fire you’d found near the entrance. “Can you feel that?” 

“You mean the impending sense of doom?” Karlach asked. “Yeah, I feel it.”

Astarion ignored her. “The dark, it’s… hungry. Best watch the shadows.”

Lae’zel scoffed. “How can darkness feel anything, let alone require sustenance?”

“That’s not-” Astarion sighed. “Oh, nevermind. Just… stay close to the light.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Wyll said, grabbing a torch from the lit fire near the entrance. 

Shadowheart gazed into the distance, straining her eyes to see into the dark. “This place… there’s power in these shadows, I can sense it.”

Astarion snorted. “Shadowheart feeling one with the shadows. A little on the nose there, darling.”

Shadowheart shot him a deathly glare that had him look over at you for protection. You patted his shoulder in response.

“She’s right, though,” Gale agreed. “I’ve never seen such a concentration of shadow magic. We must forge on, but carefully. It will corrupt any who lack the power to control it.”

“Best get a move on, then,” Halsin siad, grabbing a torch in one hand and your party’s ox cart with the other. 

Wyll took the lead with his torch, while the rest of you grabbed your own. You and Astarion brought up the rear as you all made your way through the darkness. He was uncharacteristically quiet as you went. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him quietly, making sure the others wouldn’t be able to hear you. 

Astarion’s eyes were darting around, on high alert, but he looked over at you when you reached for his free hand with your own. “It feels like we’re being watched,” he said, returning his eyes to scanning your surroundings. “Hunted, even. But there’s nothing out there,” he looked in your direction but was focusing on the darkness behind you, “only more darkness.”

You nodded, and joined him in scanning the surrounding area. 

“I much prefer it when I’m the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike.”

“Ooh,” you said, shaking your voice as if telling a scary story, “scaaaary.”

Astarion looked at you with a scowl that you could see was concealing a laugh. “Sorry, did you want something?” He stepped closer to you, bringing his face inches away from yours. “Or just looking for a distraction?” He looked down at your lips. 

“I-” you looked at his lips as well and watched as his mouth formed into a grin. 

“Look alive, lovebirds,” Karlach turned back to face you two. “Movement up ahead.”

Instinctively, Astarion pulled you to him, shielding your right side with his body from possible attacks.

It was then that your party came across a group of Absolute worshippers, seeking passage across the Shadow Cursed Lands to Moonrise Towers with the help of a drider named Kar’niss, who brandished a magical lantern of some kind. You all played along, brandishing your True Soul statuses in order to gain favor and join the cultists on their journey deeper into the shadows. You even offered to play the Spider's Lyre, which Wyll had found and given to you in the Underdark, in order to summon the drider. 

Astarion made it a point of keeping you close, despite the cultists giving you no trouble.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, bumping his hip with your own.

He scoffed. “Oh, so you trust the arachnid is totally sane and won’t turn on us at any given moment?”

“Well-” He made a good point. While Kar’niss had done nothing to prove he was an imminent danger to you, his words were erratic and he’d snapped at you earlier for offering to carry his lantern.

“Wait…” Kar’niss hissed suddenly, holding his lantern aloft in front of what appeared to be a long abandoned house. “Something’s wrong, Majesty.”

“He’s right,” Astarion said quietly, drawing his daggers, “I can sense blood pumping in that building.”

“Should we do something?” Wyll asked.

“Shhh,” Shadowheart hushed. “We don’t know where they are, exactly. Do you want them to spring out at us while they still have the element of surprise?”

“Not particularly,” said Wyll, just as Lae’zel said “Yes,” and drew her greatsword from her back.

“Who’s there?” Kar’niss called. “Show yourself!”

From within the house came a male voice, shouting, “Harpers, attack!” 

“Harpers?” Karlach repeated.

The man continued yelling orders. “Kill the cultists… and get that lantern!”

“HERETICS!” Kar’niss shrieked. “VILLAINS IN THE DARK!”

“Soldier,” Karlach turned to you, a frantic look in her eyes, “Those are Harpers!”

Your own eyes widened. Harpers were known for protecting the innocent from evils across the realms. It made sense why they would want to attack cultists of the Absolute. 

“Wait!” you shouted and ran forward as Astarion called your name, trying to stop you. “We can help!” You spoke to the man leading this gang of Harpers.

The man looked you up and down as Astarion approached you with his knives still drawn, ready to pounce. “Hurt her, and you die,” he growled, dropping into a low stance.

You exhaled. “Sorry about the guard dog.”

“Careful,” Astarion said lowly, “I bite.” He gnashed his teeth at the group of Harpers surveying you closely. 

A woman with long curly hair stepped forward. “Prove we can trust you.”

You nodded and took your lute off your back, strumming a quick tune that had the deep purple magic of Shatter sparking at your fingertips. You turned back towards the cultists, who were now sandwiched between the Harpers and your party. You friends took the hint and drew their own weapons. 

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss eclaimed. “We thought they were True Souls! Traitors! Heathens!”

“Darling, are you sure about this?” Astarion asked, watching you carefully, checking for any signs that you weren’t ready to fight. 

You looked over at him and winked, casting a powerful Shatter that sent the cultists flying in every direction. 

The battle that followed was thankfully not as bad as it could have been, thanks to the help from the Harpers. Astarion had remained by your side the whole time, maneuvering the two of you out of the way whenever an attack landed closeby. He dutifully shielded your right side, stabbing the hobgoblin rather brutally when he lunged at you. 

When the battle ended and it was clear that no one had been injured too severely, you approached Kar’niss’ lantern and picked it up. Its chilly glow appeared to protect you all far better from the Shadow Curse than your long since discarded torches. 

The male Harper who you’d pleaded to at the start of the battle now approached you. “Incredible magic,” he said, indicating the lantern. “I can feel the light lifting the shadows - even those within me.”

Astarion laughed quietly at his remark, and you kicked the vampire in the shin. 

“Find us at the Last Light Inn,” the Harper said, pulling out a map and pointing to a small building by the river. 

“Thank you,” you said, marking the location on your own map.

“Be safe,” he said with a nod. “And be brave. We expect no less. Thank you for your help.” With that, he and his other Harpers made their way deeper into the shadows, accompanied by their own torches. 

“Could we not have gone with them?” Karlach asked.

“Probably had other Harperly duties to take care of,” Gale reasoned. 

“We should probably start heading that way anyway,” you said. “My magic’s depleted and I could use some sleep.”

“Agreed,” Halsin said, stretching his arms above his head and grabbing the ox cart once again. “It will be a relief to rest these weary bones upon a mattress for once.”

“Hmm,” Shadowheart mused, “is grass not cutting it for you anymore?”

“Far from it,” Halsin said. “But even I can appreciate the pleasures of a warm bed every once in a while.”

~~~~~

“Unfortunately, there is only one room available,” Jaheira said flatly when you all entered the inn and approached her at her desk.

Astarion scoffed. “Didn’t you just say outside that there were beds, plural, if we needed rest?” 

“It would seem I lied,” she said, looking through a book that you assumed showed current room assignments. “Oops.” She didn’t sound remorseful. “Looks like you’ll have to decide amongst yourselves who gets the room. The rest of you can make camp in the back. There’s plenty of room under Isobel’s light to keep you sheltered from the Curse.”

“Thank you, Jaheira!” Karlach said excitedly.

Jaheira smiled at Karlach’s enthusiasm and held out a goblet of wine to her. “Please,” she said, her tone suddenly very kind, “be welcome.” She handed a goblet to you as well. “Have a drink.”

“Oh my gods,” Karlach muttered, sharing an excited look with you. 

“To your very good health,” Jaheira said, raising her own cup towards all of you. 

Karlach was practically vibrating with excitement next to you. 

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, Karlach,” you said with a smile. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Tsh. Yeah.” Her face fell just then, as if realizing she wasn’t being formal enough with her hero. She stooped into a low bow. “I mean… It's an honor. M’lady.”

“I will gladly drink to your health as well, Karlach.” Jaheira’s eyes sparkled with amusement. 

You raised your goblet to mimic Jaheira’s and went to take a sip, but were instead met with the back of Astarion’s hand. Your mouth crushed against his skin.

“You did not seriously just take a sip from a drink given to you by a stranger,” he said in horrified disbelief. 

“I was trying to,” you offered Jaheira an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to kiss the back of your hand,” you said through clenched teeth. 

Astarion took the goblet from you. “Give me that.”

Karlach had been just about to take a sip, but thought better of it and watched Astarion. 

He sniffed the contents of the goblet. “Klauthgrass,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose. 

“It doesn’t spoil the taste,” Jaheira offered, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and shoved the goblet back into your hand, training his own hands above his sheathed daggers. “She’s trying to feed you a truth serum.”

“Astarion,” you said calmly, as if soothing a startled animal, “it’s okay.” You set the goblet down and reached for both of his hands, pulling them away from his daggers. “She just wants to protect her people. You can respect that, can’t you, my love?”

“Ah,” Jaheira nodded. “‘My love.’ It is admirable that the cub wants to protect his mate.” 

“She’s not-” Astarion sputtered. “We’re just-” He groaned loudly. “I don’t trust you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the Harper. 

“Oh no,” her tone was flat again. “How ever shall I sleep tonight.”

Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink. 

He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira.

Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well. 

“Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet.

“You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms. 

Shadowheart laughed. “Isn’t the whole reason you’re being so dramatic because your mate almost died?”

“Watch yourself, cleric,” his words were icy, but Shadowheart couldn’t contain her snort.

Jaheira took another sip. “Well over a century old and yet it hasn’t lost a hint of its flavor.”

“Let’s have a taste, then,” Wyll pushed his way forward and took the goblet from you.

“I must see for myself if Astarion’s suspicions are warranted,” Lae’zel took Karlach’s goblet, “and if the wine is as good as this woman says.”

“No, no,” Astarion said sarcastically, “let’s all partake in the poison! Shadowheart? Gale? Halsin? What’s stopping you?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms. “I’ve packed my own wine that I don’t plan on sharing with you all, thank you very much.”

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be reading a book he’d found discarded somewhere in the bar. “Pardon? Is something the matter?”

Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to Halsin who held up his hands in surrender.

“I rarely imbibe, the stuff goes right to my head. I doubt anyone wants to see that.”

“Mmm, yes, save it.” Astarion turned back to you and the others. “So we’re all going to tell the truth now, that’s great. Go ahead, Jaheira, ask away.”

“There’s an air about you,” she said, addressing you instead of the seething vampire to your right. “Something… alien.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Astarion muttered.

“Answer me true and do not lie,” she didn’t flinch when Astarion scoffed, and pressed on. “The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

You could feel the effects of the serum willing your mouth to form a truthful answer. You let it. “It’s trying to change me. To win me over. But I’m resisting its temptations.”

Jaheira looked you up and down. “And you’re certain you will continue to resist?” 

You nodded. “Yes.” The truth.

“Good,” you saw Jaheira’s shoulders relax. “I will take your word for it. And hold you to it, too.”

You looked over at Astarion, whose arms were still crossed. He scowled at Jaheira who turned to address him this time.

“I have every reason to be cautious.” She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’ve traced people like you.”

“Oh, have you.” Astarion rolled his eyes for what was likely the tenth time this evening.

Jaheira tilted her head. “People with parasites in their brains. All the way here from Baldur’s Gate.”

“A long journey, indeed,” Gale said.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “Good of you to finally join us, Gale.”

Wyll cleared his throat. “And what of the city?” 

Jaheira turned to him this time. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the Gate. Quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation.” 

“Gods…” Wyll breathed. “My father…” Gale patted his arm reassuringly.

“We tracked them to this ancient village,” Jaheira looked down at a map in front of her displaying the entirety of the Shadow Cursed Lands, and pointed to a village not far off, “only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.” 

“Who was - is - he?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

Jaheira paused briefly when she saw Karlach yawn. “General Ketheric Thorm. Remember that name. He’s the leader of the Absolutists.”

“How can we help?” you stepped forward, determined.

“Ugh,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, my sweet, is now the time to be playing hero?”

“The vampire is right,” said Jaheira. “We can save this discussion for the morning.”

“Vampire?” Astarion repeated, laughing lightly. “What do you- I’m not-” He slumped. “What gave it away?”

She smirked. “Nearly everything about you. And I have experience with your kind.”

You and your companions snickered, and Astarion shot you all death glares. 

“Yes well… it’s been such a delight chatting with you, Jaheira, but I think now’s the time to discuss the room situation.” Astarion turned around so that his back faced Jaheira, effectively cutting her out of the conversation. 

She laughed. “When you decide who gets the room, it’s next to the bar, on the right.” Just as she was about to leave and take care of other matters, she turned back. “Do keep it down if it’s you two who get the room,” she gestured to you and Astarion. “The walls aren’t as thick here as you think they are. Those sitting around the bar will hear you and tell me all about it and I’d… prefer to remain in the dark if it’s all the same to you.”

“Jaheira!” Astarion scoffed. “What do you think of me?”

“Prove me wrong, vampling,” she winked at you and went on her way.

Shadowheart placed her hands on her hips. “Go on, Astarion. Make a case for why the two of you are in desperate need of the room.”

Astarion looked at his nails. “Well, darling, it’s just that we’ve had such little time to ourselves-”

Halsin interrupted. “I’m… going to set up camp outside. I yield my claim to the room and will gladly sleep under the stars. Or… I suppose there are no stars here. Regardless-” he turned on his heel and walked out the front door to reunite with your ox cart full of camp supplies.

“I’ll join him,” said Wyll.

“Right behind you,” Karlach agreed.

“Okay,” Gale looked around at those remaining. “That leaves four of us, considering you two as a unit.” He pointed between you and Astarion, the latter of which looked offended, but you grabbed his hand and squeezed it before he had a chance to argue.

Lae’zel adjusted her greatsword in her arms. “It is tradition among githyanki that those who performed best in battle should have the most comfortable sleeping chambers.”

Gale furrowed his brow. “Is that true? I’ve yet to read anything about that in my extended research on the githyanki people.”

Lae’zel shrugged.

Shadowheart spoke next. “It’s just that I drained so much of my magic healing everyone on the battlefield today. I think I deserve to sleep in comfort to replenish my power since we have no clue what tomorrow brings.” Then she quickly added, “Since we’re in her domain, I’d say it’s as if Lady Shar herself wills it.”

Astarion snorted. “Like hells she does.” He turned to Gale. “And what’s your excuse?”

“The knees,” Gale said, bending his knees for you all to hear an audible crack. “Too many nights on the ground will do no favors for one’s aching joints.”

You could see where this was going. There would be a constant back and forth until a loud argument inevitably broke out in the middle of the inn. You knew it was a bit devious, but you decided to get the jumpstart on ending the argument. 

You took Astarion’s hand. “Come on, Astarion,” you said with a sigh, “we can rough it outside for another night.”

He didn’t budge. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“I am serious- Oh.” you paused in trying to get Astarion to follow you and reached for your right side. “Ow,” you said slowly.

Astarion said your name, his voice laced with worry.

“Oh gods,” you blinked your eyes several times, tears filling your vision.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Astarion brushed hair out of your face and placed his hands on your cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” you said shakily. “I suddenly got a sharp pain in my side. I think my wound may have opened again.” 

“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes and held out her hand to scan you for injuries with her magic. “You know what, if it’s that important to you, you can have it.” With that, she left after the others.

“Are you alright?” Gale asked. 

“I know what would make her feel better,” Astarion said, catching on to your ruse. 

“Do not say the room,” Lae’zel glowered at him.

“The room,” Astarion said anyway. 

“Chk,” she spat. “Fine. Have your precious alone time. But when they kick you out for pleasuring each other too loudly, I get the room in your stead.”

“Uh… if that’s the case, she can have it after you two.” Gale smiled painfully. “I shall concede as well. If only so I can grab some shut eye without your loud-”

“Ooowww,” you moaned.

“Good gods, man!” Astarion exclaimed, clutching you to his chest as if you were made of glass. “How can you think of sex at a time like this! My precious treasure is wounded!”

“I mean, Lae’zel alluded to it first-” Gale pointed to where Lae’zel had been standing, only to see that she had already left. “Ah. I guess I’ll take my leave as well.”

“Ow! Gods, it hurts!” you wailed.

“Get out of here!” Astarion practically yelled at the wizard.

Gale sighed. “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight Gale!” you called after him sweetly.

When he turned back to look at you, you were limp in Astarion’s arms, one of your own arms thrown dramatically over your eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done!” It was Astarion’s turn to wail. 

“Alright!” Gale turned and held up his hands in frustration. “I’m going!”

When he was finally gone, Astarion pulled you into him for a long, passionate kiss. “You are the perfect woman,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll have to remind you of that the next time I annoy you,” you laughed and took his hand, leading him to the room.

Jaheira’s voice sounded from the second floor, “I would appreciate it if you did not yell while my Harpers and our guests are trying to sleep.” Despite her stern tone, her expression revealed mild amusement. 

“Sorry, Jaheira,” you whispered loud enough for her to hear you from the railing she bent over. 

“Good night, cubs.” She waved her hand and left you and Astarion to settle into your room.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unfortunately tumblr thought this piece was too long (WHOOPS!) so I had to split it into two parts. The second part can be found here.

[camficdiner]

Hi!! Can I pleage request for:

[𝟷.2] [𝟸.4] [𝟹.3] [𝟺.3]

Thank you !! <3

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner – Order 008 ✨

Thank you to the chaotic soul who wanted fake dating, enemies-to-lovers, and a wedding table absolutely desecrated — you’re the reason the kitchen’s still open at 3AM.

also, this is my personal fave, what can i say? i love a dom Quinny

Enjoy your meal, love

-your favorite server

Tip your server if you came for the smut and stayed for the angst:💌🍒

💬“Hard to Love, Easy to Ruin”

✨ Description & Prompt:

• Character: Quinn Hughes

• Prompt: fake dating at a wedding

• WC: ~1.7

• Type: smut · enemies to lovers · dom/sub · brat-taming · wedding setting · bittersweet ending

✨🛼🍒🧁

It all starts with a lie.

You told your family you had a boyfriend. A real one. The kind that would show up at your sister’s wedding in a pressed suit and call your mother ma’am.

You said it to shut them up. Said it with such casual confidence that no one even questioned it.

Except now the wedding is this weekend, and you’re two days out and boyfriend-less.

Which is why you call Luke Hughes, your best friend and reliable backup in this kind of mess.

Except he answers the phone with a groan and, “I can’t come. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I wish I weren’t. But I have to stay here. Quinn said he owes me a favor though, and he can—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just ask him. One weekend.”

One weekend.

With Quinn fucking Hughes.

Your least favorite of the Hughes trio. Smug. Distant. Condescending. Polite in the most maddening way possible.

You’ve never gotten along. Ever.

And now he’s your plus-one.

⸻

The drive is silent, filled only by the buzz of his music and the occasional clench of his jaw when you tap your nails on the console.

“You nervous about seeing your family?” he asks at one point.

You shoot him a look. “Don’t pretend to care.”

He exhales a sharp laugh. “Trust me, I don’t. Just trying to be convincing.”

“You’re doing a great job,” you bite. “Very warm and supportive. Definitely boyfriend material.”

“Keep that bratty attitude up,” he mutters, “and they’ll believe we’ve been together for years.”

Your stomach flips. Not from nerves.

From something else.

⸻

The ceremony is elegant. Soft lights, white roses, string quartet.

You hold Quinn’s hand like it’s a dare.

You smile at guests like it doesn’t kill you.

You laugh a little too hard when he leans in to whisper, “You’re squeezing my fingers like you want to break them.”

“You’ll live,” you whisper back.

He rolls his eyes. “If I survive the day without throwing you in a fountain, it’ll be a miracle.”

You smirk. “Only because you know I’d pull you in with me.”

⸻

At the reception, you’re in full performance mode. Arms linked, lips near his ear when you lean in to speak, all sugar and gloss. Until it’s not.

Until he starts doing it back.

The way he presses a hand to your lower back a little too firmly.

The way he says “sweetheart” with an edge, knowing you hate it.

“You enjoying yourself?” he murmurs as you sip champagne.

You smile tightly. “Ecstatic.”

“You look good when you fake it.”

You cock your head. “You’d know all about faking it, wouldn’t you?”

His jaw twitches.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks dryly.

“Only after I rinse off the taste of disappointment — and whatever overpriced cologne you bathed in.”

Quinn leans in close. “Keep talking like that and you won’t like what happens next.”

You down your drink. “Promise?”

⸻

You poke. You prod. You call him darling with venom.

You steal bites of his cake, roll your eyes when he talks to guests, call him a bad kisser under your breath when your sister passes by.

He responds with touches that linger just a second too long.

You’re on your third glass of champagne when he leans in and growls, “You think you’re funny?”

You blink innocently. “Not as funny as your dead-eyed smile. Lighten up, Quinn. You’re supposed to be my loving boyfriend.”

He smiles — sharp, cold.

Then grabs your wrist.

“Come with me.”

“What—”

But you don’t finish. He’s already dragging you through the crowd, down a hallway, past soft laughter and clinking glasses.

You don’t protest.

Not really.

Because your pulse is already pounding.

⸻

The room is empty. Some kind of parlor, all vintage decor and a heavy oak table.

He slams the door shut.

You open your mouth — and his hand wraps around your throat.

Not tight. Not choking.

Just present.

Quinn’s eyes are dark. “I’m done playing pretend.”

Your breath hitches.

“I’ve been waiting all night for an excuse to shut you up.”

You swallow hard. “Then do it.”

He grins.

“On your knees first.”

⸻

He doesn’t ask again.

Just pushes your shoulders down, watching you sink.

“You’ve got such a smart mouth,” he growls, unbuckling his belt. “Let’s see if it’s good for anything else.”

He’s already hard when you take him in. His hand settles in your hair, firm, guiding.

“Don’t tease,” he warns.

You swirl your tongue, smirk in your eyes.

“I said don’t.”

He pushes deeper. You gag softly. He groans.

“That’s it. Look at you now. Not so mouthy like this, huh?”

You hum around him, eyes watering as he rocks into your throat.

His grip tightens. Your mascara starts to run.

“Such a brat,” he pants. “But you take me so well.”

He pulls out suddenly, chest rising. “Get on the table.”

You scramble up.

⸻

Your dress bunches at your thighs. His hands roam — rough, controlled.

“Such a fucking brat,” he growls again. “All night. Begging to be put in your place.”

“You couldn’t handle me,” you snap.

His hand finds your hair. Pulls.

You gasp.

“Oh, I’ll handle you.”

His mouth crashes against yours — teeth, tongue, dominance. You moan, clutching his shirt, legs wrapping around his hips.

He drags your underwear down with one hand, not even bothering to remove the dress.

Frees himself with the other.

“Beg,” he says.

You smirk. “Make me.”

His hand lands on your thigh — a warning slap.

Then another on your ass.

Then one more across your cheek — firm but controlled, enough to make you gasp and grip his arm tighter.

“You are so fucked.”

And then he is.

Fast. Deep. One hard thrust and you’re gasping, the table creaking under you.

He sets the pace. Brutal. Focused. Hands everywhere — squeezing, pinning, claiming.

Your hands scramble for purchase. He catches both wrists in one hand and holds them above your head.

The other goes back to your throat.

“You wanna keep pushing me?” he pants.

You moan something incoherent.

He slows — just enough to make you whimper.

“Answer me.”

“N-no,” you gasp.

“No what?”

“No, sir.”

He groans. “That’s better.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“You love this. Being ruined by someone you can’t stand.”

You can’t speak.

Because he’s right.

And he doesn’t stop until you’re a mess beneath him — trembling, whimpering, wrecked.

⸻

You sit in stunned silence after.

Your back against the table. Dress still bunched. Hair ruined. Knees still raw.

Quinn’s breathing hard beside you. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

You glance over. “Regret it already?”

He laughs — low, bitter.

“No.”

He looks at you.

Eyes soft now.

“I’m just tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

You freeze.

He shrugs. “Been faking that a lot longer than this wedding.”

You don’t say anything.

You just reach over and lace your fingers with his.

And for once — you don’t push.

He leans in and kisses your shoulder, then your cheek. It’s softer this time. Sweeter.

When he pulls back, he says it again, quieter:

“I want you.”

You meet his eyes. “Then stop pretending we can’t have this.”

[cheynovak]

Madrid - The crystal palace

CHARACTERS: Mark Meachum, YN (original character)

SETTING: First mission for YN

SPOILERS: Loosely set after Countdown on Amazon prime.

Warnings: Sexual tension, kidnapping, drugging, human trafficking, ...

Story takes place before: Holdover

The Palacio de Cristal looked like something out of a fever dream — glass archways blooming with soft amber light, fountains bubbling with champagne instead of water, and the sounds of a chamber quartet drifting through the air like perfume. It was the kind of party only monsters threw: beautiful, elegant, and deeply rotten beneath the surface.

YN adjusted her diamond earring — fake, of course — and tried not to look like she was holding her breath.

Mark Meachum stood beside her like he belonged here. Custom-tailored tux, top two buttons open like he hadn’t bothered to try too hard, that easy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. God, he was so relaxed. Like he was walking into a cocktail lounge, not the lair of an alleged international trafficker.

She’d heard the stories. Everyone in the Bureau had. Meachum was the guy who made danger look sexy — the charmer, the flirt, the one who could make arms dealers laugh and assassins lower their guard.

And yeah — half her female coworkers had crushed on him.

But standing next to him now, YN only felt... tense. Sharp. Like she had too much skin on.

“You good?” Mark asked, voice smooth as velvet and just as warm. He leaned in close, under the pretense of adjusting the back of her necklace. “Necklace was off-center. We can’t have that. You're my trophy wife, remember?”

“Fake trophy,” she muttered, dry.

He chuckled. “Mm. Don’t say that. You wear money well.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I’ve never done undercover.”

“You’re doing great,” he said easily. “You walk like you own the place. Chin up, shoulders back, ten percent bitch energy. Just enough to make men nervous and women hate you.”

“That’s comforting,” she said, scanning the room

“Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

She did.

Mark’s eyes were piercing, far steadier than his easygoing tone ever suggested.

“This guy—The Sheik—likes power. But he only trusts people who are owned by it. So you’re the prize. I’m the buyer. That’s what we’re selling. You just let him look at you like he wants to, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Her breath caught. “That’s disgusting.”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” he replied. “But I’m not gonna let him get near you. You’re not alone.”

And for a second — just a second — something softened in her chest.

Then his hand slid around her lower back, and he leaned in like they were newly engaged, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he whispered. “The bastard’s coming this way.”

YN was floating.

Not from the champagne — she barely sipped it. No, it was the surreal feeling of being someone else entirely.

Her gown was deep emerald, custom-tailored by some contact from Interpol who owed Mark a favor. Her hair was swept up. Her smile practiced. She was on the arm of one of the most notoriously untouchable agents in the Bureau, and all eyes were on her.

Including his.

The Sheik — real name Hamid Al-Sayid — stood near the far fountain, surrounded by sycophants. But when his eyes landed on YN, everything around him seemed to blur.

Mark noticed it too. His hand on her waist tightened.

“He’s watching,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna get asked to dance.”

She tensed. “What do I say?”

“You say yes. You smile. You pretend I don’t matter.”

Beat.

“But don’t forget I’m ten steps behind you the whole time."

YN swallowed hard. Then, sure enough—

Al-Sayid made his way over with the oily grace of someone who thought the world was his plaything.

“May I?” he asked, not looking at Mark at all.

YN smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

Mark let go. Too easily.

As Al-Sayid led her to the dance floor, she glanced back — and saw Mark, standing still, drink untouched, jaw tight. His eyes locked with hers.

And in that moment—

God. She saw it. Jealousy.

Dark. Hot. Needy.

It hit her like a punch. Not because she wanted him to care — at least, that’s what she told herself — but because it meant the façade was already cracking.

And the night had barely begun.

--

The lounge was soaked in gold.

Golden light, golden drapes, golden laughter. Even the champagne bubbles in YN's glass sparkled like precious metal. But none of it could mask the fact that the air was thick with danger.

The Sheik sat sprawled across a velvet settee, the picture of opulence and smug confidence. His three-piece suit looked like it cost more than her rent. He hadn’t stopped talking since they sat down — about power, his businesses, his "generous" contributions to Madrid’s elite. It was all noise. Empty, self-congratulatory noise.

Mark, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word in ten minutes.

He sat next to YN, elbow on the armrest, two fingers pressed to his temple as if fighting off a headache. She could feel the tension radiating off him, sharp and hot. His jaw was tight. His fingers kept twitching against his leg.

Meanwhile, the Sheik had taken every opportunity to lean into her space. A hand on her shoulder. A touch to her lower back. He laughed too loudly, looked too long.

YN kept her smile neutral, eyes kind, just like she’d practiced.

"And your husband," the Sheik said, flashing a smile toward Mark, "he must be very lucky."

Mark finally looked up.

"He is," he said evenly. "But he doesn’t share."

The Sheik just laughed.

"We all share, eventually."

YN felt Mark tense beside her.

Then the Sheik leaned in, brushing her arm with his fingers. "Have you ever been on a yacht, bella? The Mediterranean is made for women like you."

That was it.

Mark reached across the table, took her hand, and stood.

"We should go," he said tightly. "It's late." The Sheik raised a brow. "So soon? The night is just starting."

Mark didn’t look back. He helped YN to her feet, his grip firm. "Thank you for the hospitality."

--

Palacio de Cristal – Private Lounge, Later That Night

The moment the door closed behind them, YN spun around.

"What the hell was that, Mark?" she snapped. "He was just starting to talk to me. You pulled me out like I was some toddler at a school dance."

He threw his keys on the table, turning toward her. "Because that was already going too far. The man was practically drooling on you."

"That's the point! That's the whole mission, or did you forget what we're doing here?"

Mark's eyes flared. "This was a terrible idea. Taking a rookie into an op like this? You're not ready for this kind of undercover. You're too naive."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to handle it from here," he said, voice firm. "You're done."

"The hell I am! You really think he's going to talk to you? You're not his type. He barely looked at you. I'm the reason he opened up in the first place."

"You're not going alone to that creep's mansion to squeeze intel out of him. No way in hell."

"You don't get to decide that."

"Like hell I don't," he said, stepping closer. "You think I trust him? That I trust you not to get in over your head?"

"This is my job, Mark. You don't think I know what he is? That I haven't read his file inside out?"

Their voices had risen, anger sparking off every word. They were standing just feet apart now, the air between them practically vibrating.

Then his gaze dropped to her lips.

The silence hit like a thud. The tension turned. Warmer. Thicker.

His phone buzzed.

She looked down. An unknown number. One message.

Message:

> Private gathering. My estate. Tomorrow night. I want your fiancée to join us. Just her. Details attached.

Her stomach flipped.

Mark read the change on her face instantly. "What is it?"

She handed him the phone.

He read the message. Went completely still.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Mark—"

"I said no! You're not going alone to some private party with that bastard. We don’t know what kind of setup he’s planning."

"This is our chance. He wants me there. He trusts me. That’s our in. You know it."

"And what if he doesn’t just want to talk? What if you get hurt?"

She softened, just slightly. "Then you come get me."

"How? He’ll have eyes everywhere. If you’re off the grid—"

"We'll set a code word. If I say it, it means I'm not safe. That you need to come now."

He looked at her, hard.

"What word?

"Madrid."

His jaw clenched. After a long beat, he gave a tight nod. "Madrid it is."

But his eyes told her he was already planning ten different ways to burn that mansion down.

--

The motor‑court of Al‑Sayid’s city villa glittered with imported lanterns and overpriced cars. Women stepped from limousines in couture gowns, greeted by uniformed footmen who bore silver trays of rosé champagne. YN counted eight guests besides herself — all wives, fiancées, or girlfriends of invisible men who, curiously, were not invited.

Inside, the ballroom felt wrong. Too many bodies, not enough chaperones. Al‑Sayid was the lone rooster in a room full of clipped wings, his smile stretching wider each time a woman laughed too loudly at his jokes.

YN played soft, quiet, detached. And it worked. His gaze kept drifting back to her, lingering as the others angled for attention.

Al‑Sayid smiled when he got closer to her. Leaning in while his lips traced her neck. “You look bored, bella. Perhaps a change of scenery?”

She answered with a modest shrug, heartbeat steady. “New scenery sounds nice.” He clapped once and the music stopped. “Ladies, a private cruise. Bring your glasses.”

A murmur of delight—and unease—spread through the group.

---

Two black SUVs whisked them away. YN’s stomach tightened as they left Madrid’s lights behind. Inside the vehicle, champagne circulated again. The road blurred by; the chatter dulled. One woman slumped against another, lashes fluttering.

YN pretended to sip. Something’s in the bottle.

Her head remained clear, but her pulse spiked.

---

Moonlit water, a sleek launch, and staff who never spoke. The drowsy women giggled, stumbling aboard of his fancy yacht, YN felt the first hint of fog behind her eyes—whatever drug he’d used was slow but relentless.

Al‑Sayid hovered at her elbow, guiding her toward plush seats at the stern. His hand slid too low on her back.

“Soon you’ll feel wonderful,” he purred.

She smiled thinly. “Already do.”

Mark, hear this, she thought, knowing the wire remained hidden in her dress lining.

Once aboard, the women were ushered below to a salon dripping with crystal. Soft music, dim lights. They sank into couches like dolls set aside.

YN took three careful bites of caviar toast, two sips of water. Still lucid—but her limbs hummed with lethargy.

Al‑Sayid’s touch grew possessive. Fingers at her throat adjusting a necklace that didn’t need adjusting, lips grazing her ear as he described turquoise seas and private islands.

She excused herself—bathroom, she said.

Lock.

Deep breath.

“Mark, it’s bad. He’s drugging them. I’m still clear but fading.” Her voice wavered. “Repeat, I am not safe.”

Static—then a clipped reply she could barely make out.

Al‑Sayid’s fist crashed against the door. It flew inward, splintering the latch. He filled the frame, smile gone.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, stepping inside. “We’re going on a very long vacation together. You’ll be perfect on my arm.”

She backed against the sink, vision tunneling. “You’re insane.”

He caught her wrist. “Say goodbye to you're boyfriend, bella.”

Rage flared, giving her one last surge of clarity. She yanked her arm free and screamed, voice ringing down the corridor

“GET ME THE HELL BACK TO MADRID!”

The code word punched through the mic. Al‑Sayid’s eyes widened while he caught her again. “What did you—?”

But blackness folded over her like a curtain.

--

She couldn’t tell how long she’d been there. Time had blurred into a damp, colorless cycle of pain, thirst, and sleeplessness. The room stank of mildew and motor oil. Chains rattled whenever she moved. Her wrists were raw, her ribs ached with every breath. The dress—the same one from Madrid—was torn at the hem and stained with dried blood.

Al-Sayid’s rage had become less about questions and more about punishment. Once he discovered she wasn’t who she said she was, the pretense ended. The last thing he called her was rat.

YN was barely conscious when the chaos erupted.

Shouts. Explosions of light. Gunfire.

She heard boots, metal doors crashing open, shouting in Portuguese, and then—

“YN!”

Her head lolled upward. Her vision blurred and sharpened, blurred again. But she saw him—his outline, then his face.

“Mark…” she whispered.

Tears slipped down her cheek as he rushed toward her, breaking the chains with a single sweep of bolt cutters. Her arms collapsed at her sides. She wanted to hold onto him, but her body refused.

Mark caught her before she hit the floor. He was cursing under his breath, holding her close.

“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you.”

Wrapped in a thick blanket in the back seat of a blacked-out SUV, she leaned weakly against his side. Her skin was clammy, bruises spread across her jaw, shoulder, and collarbone. Dried blood had matted her hair

Mark passed her a water bottle, steadying her hand so she could sip.

She tried to smile. “At least… the dress still looks good." His jaw clenched. He didn’t look at the driver. He didn’t look away.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered, “The only thing I see that’s beautiful is you, baby girl.”

He kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes. Safe. Finally. Her breath slowed.

She fell asleep with her head on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

White sheets. Beeping monitors. Warmth.

Mark never missed a day.

He brought her decent coffee instead of hospital sludge. Sometimes flowers, sometimes her favorite chocolate, sometimes nothing at all—just him, parked in the chair by her bed, watching her with eyes that were far softer than she remembered.

“You really didn’t have to come every day,” she told him one afternoon, voice still raspy.

He smirked. “Noticed you didn’t ask me to leave, though.”

She smiled. “Shut up.”

He leaned forward. “Glad you made it back to me.”

That was how it began. Not with fireworks. But with shared silence. Daily coffee. A stubborn agent who refused to die. And a partner who refused to let her go.

She sat across from two senior field directors, a steaming coffee in hand. Mark stood just behind her, leaning casually against the glass wall, arms crossed.

“We’ve reviewed the Madrid operation thoroughly,” one of the directors said. “Despite the complications, you performed with remarkable resilience.”

“She saved the op,” Mark cut in smoothly. “I just drove the damn boat.”

The director cracked a faint smile. “We’re offering a permanent placement. Field pairing. Agent YN if you're willing of course.”

YN glanced back at Mark, then turned forward again.

“If I’m up for having him constantly as my wingman?” she said with a small, knowing smile. “I’d love nothing more. He’s got my back—and I’ve got his.”

Mark grinned. “Never had such a hot co-worker.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mark— not gonna happen."

“I know, I know,” he said, hands raised. “Just good to know that I’ll at least have a perfect, smoking hot pretend wife at my side. That’s better than having nothing.”

She looked at him with amused exasperation, a hint of softness in her gaze. “You know what? Having you as a co-worker won’t be as bad as I thought it would be.”

They exchanged a look.

And the new partnership was sealed.

--

TaglJensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn @cevansbaby-dove @deanswifeyy

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 19

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Sexual Tension

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 19

“Four books by the end of the week. Four,” you emphasized as you shouldered through the door that led out of the student center, “And they’re not novellas either. I’m talking easily 600 pages each. It’s like my professors want me to go rogue.”

Second semester came at you hard and fast.

Classes were bound to get harder the further you progressed, but you didn’t expect it to happen this quickly. You could feel the imminent late-night breakdown creeping up, and it was only February.

“If I go rogue, which novel should I base my crimes on?”

Steph sucked her smoothie with dead eyes. If you were at your wit’s end, it was a miracle she was still standing. Pre-med at Gotham University had a reputation of raking its students through the coal. There was a reason half its graduates ended up in Arkham at some point, but you hoped Steph would be the half that came out unscathed.

She smacked her lips. “Anything written by Roald Dahl.”

“Horrifying,” you agreed.

She nodded solemnly. “Honestly, I would respect it. You’d rock the top hat and coat tails. Shit, the Bats might even leave you alone if you do it with enough flair.”

You snorted. Unlikely. “Are you done for the day?”

“I have a lab tonight. I hate that I have another night class, but it was the only course available this semester, and it’s a prerequisite for like everything else. Maybe Tim and Cass had the right idea when they chose to skip going to college.”

“We can’t all be nepo babies with trust funds.”

“Well, I mean.” Steph shot you a knowing look as she sipped her smoothie. “Some of us can reap the benefits of billionaires. How’s Brucie?”

“Brucie?”

“It’s what everyone calls him. He’s Gotham’s favorite himbo.”

You shuddered to think about it. You liked Bruce Wayne in theory. In your mind, he loomed over your head, slightly out of focus with harsh shadows contouring his face. It was easier to stomach than picturing the man who tripped and fell headfirst into a fountain… twice in one night.

“Bruce is doing whatever billionaires do, not that he responds to my letters. I imagine when you have that much money, I’m sure he gets on fine.”

You sent your first letter of the semester a few days ago. It may have come off a little unhinged as you outlined everything your professors asked you to complete, but Bruce couldn’t blame you for being overwhelmed. Between balancing your new schedule, work, and all the homework that came with it, you struggled to stay afloat.

“You could ask him yourself. I’m sure Cass would love to have us over for dinner sometime.”

“Absolutely not.”

You had nothing to show Bruce. No proof that his investment had paid off. Until that day, you were content to maintain this weird boundary that separated him from you.

Steph chuckled. “Just a thought. Did you want to head back to my place and work on some homework before my lab?”

Steph lived near campus. It made going home between classes convenient. You weren’t as lucky. “I’m done with classes for the day, and I have to work another party this evening.”

“We can hang out until you have to leave.”

“I would, but I promised to get there early so I could look over one of my coworker’s assignments.”

After a few gigs with Evan, he brought up his desire to finish high school. You had no idea where it came from, and honestly, you didn’t want to ask for fear of jinxing things. If he wanted to better himself, you weren’t about to squash those ambitions. He even mentioned going out for track in the spring the last time you talked.

Is this how parents felt when they saw their kids succeed?

Did you just consider yourself a parent?

You looked away to hide your horror. That was a secret you’d take to your grave.

“It’ll be easier to head to my place and work there.”

Steph pouted. “When are you not working?”

“Any time before 2 p.m. and after 2 a.m.”

“Lame, but again, I have to respect the hustle,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “Let’s find some time to study next week. My horoscope said that I need to surround myself with friends and family to overcome the hurdles life throws at me.”

“How poetic. What did mine say?”

Steph memorized your astrological chart within the first month of getting to know you. She also read all her friend’s horoscopes too.

“Take a chance and open your heart.”

“Frustratingly vague. I hate it.”

“Maybe, but now you’ll manifest it. Just wait and see.” She winked, lips curving into an impish smile. “I’m gonna head back to my place. Same time next week?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

You parted ways with a wave and headed toward the gate that led toward the subway station. A glacial wind sliced the air, stinging your skin. You shoved your nose beneath your knit scarf and pressed on, knowing it would be better once you made it below ground.

As you pulled up to the archway that led off campus, you noticed a tall figure leaning against the sleek stone column. His Wonder Woman ball cap hid the streak in his hair, but you knew it was Jacob.

Though it was odd to see him out during the day.

“Well, well. Look who’s out in broad daylight,” you teased as you pulled up next to him, “I always assumed direct sunlight would kill you.”

“Ha, ha. You know I’m not a vampire, right?”

“Obviously not. I watched you devour a box of garlic bread sticks the other night. You give me more of a spooky ghost vibe since you have a habit of appearing and disappearing like one.”

He mumbled under his breath.

You arched an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I said I’m more like a zombie. It was a bad joke. Forget it. Here.” He shoved the to-go cup in his hand at you, thin wisps of steam curling from its lid. “I had a feeling the start of the semester would be rough, so I thought you could use a little pick me up.”

“You know my drink order?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I saw an old receipt the last time I was over and, uh, memorized it.”

“I don’t know whether to be creeped out or flattered.”

“The latter, hopefully.”

You sipped the drink, delighted to find it was made exactly how you liked it. “Flattered it is.” You licked your lips. “So, is that the only reason why you’re here? I expected to see you later.”

He fell into step beside you as you headed for the station. “I thought I’d surprise you after class for a change.”

“Is that all?”

“And maybe I didn’t want to wait until later.”

A pleasant zing rippled under your skin. Sometimes he said things that made you want to grab him by the collar and pepper kisses over his scars until he was a blushing mess. You smothered the urge with another sip of your drink. “I was heading back to my place to do some homework before my shift. While it’s not the most exciting afternoon, you’re welcome to join me.”

“There’s enough going on in my life that mundane sounds amazing, especially if I’m with you.”

He made self-restraint difficult.

Together, you headed down the stairs that emptied onto a platform. It was fairly crowded given several class blocks had just let out, students and professors alike huddled between the pillars as they waited for the next train. You stepped closer to Jacob, making room as more people arrived. His hand settled on the small of your back, drawing you into his side.

A few weeks ago, this would have only happened in your dreams, but he seemed more inclined to touch you. His hands never strayed far, often taking roost on your shoulder or knee. His personal favorite seemed to be your back, be it tracing small circles idly in your skin or providing a sturdy presence like he was now—tantalizingly close to your ass.

Anyway.

The subway pulled up to the platform and people shuffled onto it. You and Jacob found space in the last car near the back, people shoving you flat against the chilly glass. He angled his body toward the door, one arm braced over your head to shield you from the rest of the car. The brim of his hat created harsh shadows across his face as he peered down at you. You swore that his eyes almost glowed in the dim light.

“Is this alright?”

“No complaints here,” you assured him as you clutched your cup to your chest, ensuring it didn’t spill.

The car pulled away from the platform, your bodies swaying with its momentum. His hand fell to your hip, steadying you. Ten stops to Park Row. Approximately thirty minutes, give or take any unseen delays. You could survive that long.

Jacob though?

He appeared to struggle with your proximity.

He chewed the skin from his lower lip as he looked anywhere but your face, a soft flush turning his cheeks pink. You were about to tell him he didn’t have to stand so close when his thump dipped beneath the hem of your sweatshirt to rub small circles over your hip bone.

It seemed unintentional on his part like when he flexed his fingers to self-soothe, except now you were his personal fidget toy. Every muscle in your body pulled taut as you fought the involuntary shudder tingling at the base of your spine. You felt hot, feverish even, with him this close. There wasn’t enough self-restraint in the world. Not for this, not for him.

“Jacob,” you breathed.

His hand slipped fully under your sweatshirt, his palm ghosting up and down your side before settling back on your hip.

Your grip tightened around your cup. That felt more intentional than nervous fidgeting. He trained his gaze over your head as his hand drifted up once more, his thumb and forefinger teased the band of your bra, just shy of the swell of your breast. This time, he just… stayed there.

On the cusp of scandalous, but not quite.

A gasp snagged in your throat.

He peered down at you again with heavy eyes. “And this? Is this alright?” His voice barely crested a whisper.

You nodded, cheeks burning. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. It might ruin this moment. You never imagined he would muster the courage to touch you like this, let alone on a crowded subway. Sometimes, you wondered if he had sexual urges. Or he was just a gentleman. That thought had also crossed your mind, but now your mind had gone a little fuzzy as you wrangled with this new development.

This was good.

Better than good.

After months of push and pull, progress gained and progress lost, this was what you’d been working toward. And now that you had it… it still wasn’t enough. You wanted, no, you needed more. With a move this bold, it had to be a sign he was ready to take things to the next level.

Right?

You angled your chin more purposefully toward him, allowing him to make that choice. Pupils blown wide, he wet his lips and ducked his head, nearly closing the distance. Your eyes fluttered close as his lips grazed—

Your phone buzzed loudly in your back pocket.

Jacob extracted himself as onlookers shot you a dirty look because God forbid you disrupt their luxurious subway ride to the shittiest end of the city. You scrambled for your phone as he hid his face in his hand, though it did nothing to hide his ragged breaths or the noticeable bulge that pressed against the seam of his pants.

Your gaze flicked between his pants and your phone, torn. On the one hand, the embarrassment of popping a boner on the subway might just kill him, but on the other, knowing you’d riled him up enough to make him hard weighed heavy between your thighs.

So much for self-restraint.

Through means that should be classified as metahuman, you managed to look away from Jacob and focus on your phone. It wasn’t a number you recognized, but you pressed it to your ear anyway, hoping to alleviate the sexual tension that threatened to smother you.

“Hello?”

“—llo—icki Vale with the Goth—zette. I’m calling on behalf of our annual writing com—Is this—who submitted the short story Through My Eyes?” You straightened, pressing your phone closer to your ear as if that would fix the shitty service.

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Wonderful. I am de—finalist in our competition.”

“Are you joking?” You fell into Jacob as the subway slowed to a stop. He caught you loosely by the shoulder, muffling a soft grunt in his hand.

“I only report the truth Miss—offended by anyone—otherwise.”

You needed better service for this conversation. Your gaze flicked to Jacob who was red enough to match his helmet. Fresh air too. Shoving your drink into one of his hands and grabbing the other, you dragged him off the subway before the doors slid closed and headed up the stairs to get above ground. Vicki continued speaking, her voice cutting in and out.

“Excerpt—winner—I put you down?”

That last part sounded less like it was traveling through water. “Can you repeat that?”

Vicki heaved a sigh and said, “We’re holding a showcase at the end of March to recognize our finalists. There, you’ll read an excerpt from your submission, and we’ll announce the winner. Can I put down as attending?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there. I’m so—thank you so much.”

“Fantastic. We’ll send formal invitations in the next week or so, but we wanted to inform our finalists ahead of time. This event is an exclusive showcase, space is limited. You’ll be allowed to bring two guests. We look forward to seeing you at the end of March. Be in touch.”

The line went dead before you could say anything more, but you were too stunned to speak. This couldn’t be real.

“Who was that?”

You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk outside the station, one hand still gripping Jacob’s like a vice. People moved around you because you two were very much in the way. He still looked a little pink, but the tent in his pants was less noticeable now that you’d left the crammed subway car. Residual embarrassment still looming, you pocketed your phone and guided him into a recessed alcove that led into an apartment complex. It was as ‘private’ as you would get out here.

“I just got off the phone with Vicki Vale.” You paused a beat before adding, “From the Gotham Gazette.”

He flashed a small smile, revealing his pronounced canines. “I’ve heard of her.”

“Well, hear this. I’m a finalist in the writing competition I entered in December. Me. I can’t believe it?” You struggled to hide your excitement. “My advisor suggested I enter, but I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m a little rusty, more than a little if I’m being honest, and it was far from my best work seeing as I was—”

The to-go cup hit the ground as Jacob scooped you up, twirling you around. You bit back a yelp of surprise as you clutched his shoulders. His wide smile faltered once he slowed, his flush darkening again. “Sorry. You were talking shit about yourself, and I wanted you to stop.” He cleared his throat. “For the record, I never doubted you for a second.”

Your chest tightened. “You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it,” he said in earnest, “I always knew you had what it took to be a great writer. That’s why I—”

He hesitated.

Your fingers bunched in his collar. “That’s why?”

He lowered you so that your eyes were level. “That’s why I admire your passion.”

That heaviness from before returned. You lifted his cap to see his face, steely eyes softened with affection. Cupping him loosely by the jaw seemed like simultaneously too much and not enough. He pressed his face into your palm, a low, inaudible groan rumbling in his chest. You might have missed it if he didn’t have you pressed flush against him.

Take a chance and open your heart.

Damn it. Steph was right.

“I’d like you to come to the showcase.”

He dragged his face away from your hand and blinked. “You want me there?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

He averted his gaze, reverting to the shy man you found all the more endearing. “Trust me, I’m flattered, but wouldn’t you rather invite someone who matt—”

You took his face in both hands and forced him to look at you. “I’d rather invite you. End of discussion.”

His expression turned inexplicably soft. “Yes, ma’am. If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

You believed him.

You had no reason to believe otherwise.

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

A/N: I promise I will stop teasing you guys *very* soon. I read it in your horoscopes.

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

Tag List

Let me know if you want to be added!

@bungunz @emu-lumberjack @goldendistrict @qardasngan @rues-lovely-memoir @sawendel @banana-lol

[witchyverse]

Your Order's Ready

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Setting: London, late summer, fancy little coffee shop tucked away from the main streets AU Premise: After the Triwizard Tournament, Draco is forced by Narcissa to "get real-world experience." You’re a broke uni student just trying to survive summer. You two meet at a place neither of you really belong. Word count: ~4,300 Warnings: Fluff, sarcasm, slow-burn tension, class difference, hidden magic, light emotional vulnerability, Draco being a disaster with feelings, aged up Draco to around the age of an uni student. Muggle tolerant

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

The bell over the door let out the softest chime you’d ever heard. Like it was embarrassed to be working retail.

Which, honestly, same.

You paused just inside, awkwardly clutching your tote bag and pretending you weren’t immediately out of place.

Gold lettering on the window had read “Théorème” in swooping cursive. There was no menu posted outside. No prices listed. And the interior? Cozy, but in a way that screamed money. Like old money. Like “my grandfather invented clocks” kind of money.

There were velvet chairs. Actual velvet. And a chandelier, which seemed highly unnecessary for a café.

Still, it was hot outside, and your feet hurt from walking everywhere, and you were desperate for caffeine and a place to read where no one would kick you out.

You just had to act like you belonged.

Unfortunately, that plan unraveled the second the guy behind the counter looked up.

He was tall. Too pretty. Platinum-blond hair styled like he didn’t care (but you could tell he did), pale skin, and the kind of bone structure that either came from divine intervention or a dark ritual.

He glanced at you.

And then immediately looked again.

Not like he recognized you—more like you were a car crash in slow motion.

You stepped forward, trying to smile. “Hi, sorry—uh, do you have, like… plain coffee?”

His face didn’t move. “Define ‘plain.’”

You blinked. “Like… filtered? Black? Cheap?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ask if we have oat milk?”

“I mean, do you?”

“Of course we do,” he said, like it was a personal offense. “But you seem like the type to live dangerously.”

You stared at him. “I’m not sure if you just insulted me.”

He handed you a black ceramic menu—one page, handwritten in fountain pen. No prices.

You glanced at it. Everything had names like Soleil and Nocturne and Gaspard’s Reserve. One just said “Velvet Fog.”

You whispered, “I definitely can’t afford this.”

He leaned on the counter, not even pretending not to listen. “You probably can’t.”

You looked up, ready to glare—but then he smirked, just a little, and somehow you hated him less.

He sighed. “Fine. Sit down. I’ll make you something plain.”

You opened your mouth to protest. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

He waved you off, already turning. “You’re clearly about five seconds from collapsing. It’s on the house.”

Your stomach turned. “I don’t need charity—”

“And I don’t want a scene,” he called over his shoulder. “So do us both a favor and sit your tragic student self in that chair before I change my mind.”

You stared.

Then, reluctantly, obeyed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You came back three days later.

You weren’t planning to.

But you’d been walking past and smelled that same warm, toasty, vanilla-something air drifting out the door, and your body had turned before your brain could stop it.

He was behind the counter again.

Of course.

He looked up—and to your horror—smirked.

“Back already?” he asked. “Desperate? Addicted?”

You rolled your eyes. “Your ego’s showing.”

He slid a cup across the counter. “I made this before you walked in. Figured you’d come back eventually.”

You stared at it.

Then him.

“…Thanks,” you muttered, taking it.

He watched you sip. His arms were crossed, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Well?” he asked. “Still taste like charity?”

You swallowed. “Still tastes like I can’t afford it.”

He actually laughed. A low, surprised thing, like he didn’t mean to.

You blinked.

“…What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“What, honesty?”

“Humor.”

You raised your cup. “It’s early. Give it time.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You kept coming back.

It became routine.

You never ordered off the menu—just took whatever he made you. Sometimes it was sweet. Sometimes it tasted like burnt chocolate and revenge. You never knew what mood you were getting, and for some reason, you liked that.

He never asked your name.

You never asked his.

But every day, he had a drink waiting.

And every day, you sat at the window table with your worn books and your too-loud highlighters and pretended not to look at him.

And he pretended not to look back. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One day, a customer tried flirting with him.

Blonde. Tall. Designer bag. Definitely had money.

She leaned on the counter, smiling, saying something that made him tense his jaw.

You didn’t mean to notice.

You also didn’t mean to stare as she reached out and touched his hand.

He recoiled instantly, pulling back like she’d burned him. Gave her some clipped, cold response.

She looked offended.

You looked back at your book.

Your coffee arrived five minutes later—stronger than usual, darker, and a tiny bit bitter.

It made you smile. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually, you asked.

“You work here full-time?”

He snorted. “God, no.”

You raised a brow. “Then…?”

“Punishment.”

“…What kind of punishment involves latte art?”

He tilted his head. “The kind where your mother’s rich and manipulative.”

You stared.

He blinked. “Too honest?”

“No, just… wasn’t expecting all that.”

He shrugged. “Most people don’t ask.”

You sipped your drink. “Most people don’t make me free coffee every day for two weeks.”

He watched you for a long beat.

Then, quietly: “Draco.”

You tilted your head.

“My name,” he said. “It’s Draco.”

You smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” you said. “I’m—”

“I know,” he cut in. “I checked the name on your receipt the first day.”

You blinked.

He turned back to the espresso machine. “Thought it suited you.”

[livewithyura]

Hey, there baby girl....~ how are you doing?

Before that I want to apologize because I often make requests with lots of characters 🥺🥲

Since your request is still open, may i've a reaquest for jin kazama ( Because I'm so obsessed with this guy😩 ), Lee chaolan and lars Anderson x elegant,wife reader Who is very insensitive to her own feelings and is also very workaholic, to the point of forgetting her wedding anniversary. And their children are annoyed because wife elegan fem reader forgot all that and have to tell her that their father was trying to give them a surprise but, wife elegan fem reader found it instead 🤣...

This is going to be so funny ... Please, i've begging you 🙏🙏🍓🍓🍓🍓

Jin , Lee and Lars x Workaholic fem Reader | “Meet me in the afterglow”

Answer : It’s okay gurl!! . I’m actually working on all of your cute requests and I love how you keep sending me new ideas for this fandom 🤍. Since you just hit me with a new request, guess I will work on this one hehe .

Context : She works 12-hour days in heels, forgets to eat, and sometimes forgets she’s married to a man who worships the ground she walks on.

Side note : Tap the #yura’s tekkenreader for more tekken imagines ! This is SFW fic btw

Lee Chaolan

𐙚˙The meet cuteᡣ𐭩

You met at a high-profile gala. You were cornered by some exes , sipping bad champagne. Lee swooped in like a soap opera character.

“You look like someone who hates this.” You replied, You replied, “I hate weak liquor” He laughed. You didn’t. But you stayed.

You didn’t give your number. You gave your card. That didn’t stop him from sending flowers and a brunch invite the next day.

Lee made you laugh when you hadn’t laughed in months. Not because he was funny , because he paid attention to your interest . Dating him was like being swept into a tornado of velvet, sarcasm, and too many gifts.

He proposed dramatically in front of a fountain. You looked at the ring and said, “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

He married you anyway. Said it was the most “on brand” thing you could’ve said.

𐙚˙ Life with them . 🤍

Married life with Lee is dramatic vs. deadpan . He plans surprise weekend getaways, you pack work files. He gives you rose petals, you give him a 10-year investment plan.

Mornings with Lee are either chaos or indulgent. No in-between. He either oversleeps and steals your lipstick or makes you a five-star breakfast in bed.

He tries to get you to take coffee breaks with him like it’s a date. You almost never agree , but the one time you do, he brags about it for a week.

Evening routine? You’re at your desk, he’s draped across the couch dramatically sighing, “I’m a widower by spreadsheet ~”

Leaves sticky notes on your laptop to get your attention : “Eat something, gorgeous 🌹”

Makes you drink water. Stands there until you do. Puts his hand on his hip and everything.

Will absolutely guilt-trip you into self-care. “Do you want our children to grow up motherless because you forgot to sleep?”

Flirts like it’s a full-time job to get your attention , Slides into your home office wearing only a robe and a smirk.

Threatens to send embarrassing photos to your coworkers if you don’t take a break.

Also just whines affectionately. Lays in your lap until you finally sigh, close the laptop, and say, “What do you want?” “Your love and attention, obviously , honey ~”

𐙚˙Anniversary day ! . 🤍

Lee had plans. Big ones. He had a rooftop dinner catered, candles, live string quartet, your favorite wine flown in from Italy.

He even dressed up. And you? Logged into a Zoom meeting and told him, “I’ll be done in an hour.” Four hours later, he was drinking alone under fairy lights.

You didn’t mean to forget. But you did. The string quartet. The rooftop dinner. The champagne chilling in an ice bucket. All of it untouched.

You were in your office, answering emails. Lee waited four hours. In a white suit. Hair perfectly done. The candle wax melted all the way down.

When you finally stepped out tired, unaware , he smiled . That too-big, too-perfect smile he wears when he’s dying inside.

“Oh, you’re done. I thought maybe you’d died at your desk.” You blink, confused. “What?” Then you see the flowers. The food. The faint music.

You put it together. Too late.“I… forgot,” you say, hollow. Lee just shrugs. Still smiling. “Don’t worry, darling. It’s only the day we promised to love each other forever. Not like that matters, right?”

Your kids walks in just in time to hear that. Deadpan. “Mom. You cooked his soul.”

The kids were scandalized. Your daughter drew a picture of “Mommy breaking Daddy’s heart” and left it on your keyboard.

Your son said, “If you wanted a divorce, you could’ve just said it.”

Lee? Still smiling. Still in love. “It’s okay, darling. I’ve only waited 364 days for this. No big deal.”

The next day , You try to fix it . You change your lifestyle . That night , You light a candle. You sit at the table and pour him wine with shaky hands.

And you say something you never say “I messed up. I’m sorry. I love you, Lee.”

His expression falters , He laughs but it’s quieter now. Honest. “God, you really know how to break a man. Do you know how long I practiced saying ‘I love you’ in French for this year? …. Just to impress you”

He lets you pull him close. Lets you kiss his hand. You’ve never been good at big emotions. But that night, you sit on the floor with him, barefoot and apologizing in whispers.

Your daughter walks past the room and mutters, “I guess Mom does have feelings. Mark your calendars.”

Lee looks at you like he just won the lottery. “Well, well. My icy wife melts after all.”

LARS ALEXANDERSSON

𐙚˙The meet cuteᡣ𐭩

Met you during a classified summit. You were all business , precise words, power suit, clipboard. He was a guest speaker.

You didn’t speak to him at first. Just raised an eyebrow when he challenged a statistic in your presentation.

Later, he approached you in private “You were right. I looked into it.” You nodded. “I know.” He smiled. “I’d like to learn more.” You paused. “About economics?” “About you.”

You married him after months of slow-burning connection. He never rushed you. Just walked beside you until one day, you let him hold your hand.

𐙚˙ Life with them

Domestic life with Lars is peaceful and low-pressure. He does the chores you forget , Notices when you’re stressed before you realize it.

Lars is structured, but not rigid. He starts his day early, makes breakfast, and leaves your plate covered if you’re in a meeting.

He checks in during the day , not to hover, just a quick “how are you , my love?” text.

You usually work into the night. He brings tea around 9PM and sits nearby, reading or working on his own stuff. No pressure. Just presence.

Keeps track of your schedule better than you do. Lars always reeminds you of important dates gently but firmly.

Keeps fresh flowers in your office because he knows you like beauty even if you never say it out loud.

If you’re spiraling from stress, he grounds you with one hand on your back and says quietly: “You’re doing your best. It’s enough.”

How does he gets your attention? hmm he doesn’t demand it. But when he really needs your focus, he stands in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze steady.

You feel his presence before you even look up “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

When you give in, he uses those five minutes to hold your hand and ask how you are. Somehow that always makes you stay longer.

His love language is quiet patience and somehow, it works every time.

𐙚˙Anniversary day ! . 🤍

Lars is the type who doesn’t expect much , but he hopes. So when he baked your favorite cake, made dinner, and the kids helped decorate , he was quietly excited.

He even wore that one sweater you once said made him look “unfairly handsome.” You were in the next room. On a video call.

When the cake came out, you didn’t even look up. He said nothing. Just smiled, blew out the candle by himself, and told the kids, “Mom’s busy. We’ll do something next week.”

The kids weren’t okay . Your son wrote “Happy Anniversary” on a napkin and left it on your desk . Your daughter asked, “Does Mom still love us? Or just the stock market?”

When you finally noticed, Lars just said “It’s alright. I know you’re tired.” But he looked exhausted. Not physically , but emotionally.

That’s when you really saw it . The quiet disappointment , Lars still made sure the night was gentle, even if it hurt.

The next morning , You walked up behind him in the kitchen. Wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressed your forehead into his back. And for once, your voice cracked.“I forgot something important. I don’t want to forget you.”

He turned around slowly, like he wasn’t sure you were real.Held your face and said with zero bitterness , “I just miss you. Even when you’re here.” You cried for the first time in years. He held you like he’d been waiting.

The kids walked in, saw you two holding each other in the middle of the kitchen, and quietly walked back out like “Okay… maybe she does love him. Crisis averted.”

That night, you took your laptop and locked it in a drawer . For the first time in months, you fell asleep in his arms, not your inbox. He whispered, “This is all I ever wanted.”

JIN KAZAMA

You don’t do clubs. You’re a high-functioning, designer-clad menace who negotiates with billionaires before breakfast.

But your chaotic best friend begged. “Loosen up, wear something tight, live a little.” You compromised with a backless black dress and four-inch heels. As soon you reached the bar , You already regret your decision .

Jin’s only at the club because he lost a bet against Hwoarang and Hwoarang dragged him there.

Forty minutes in, your friend vanishes into the crowd with some guy named Bradley or Brandon or Whatever. Your phone’s dead. The bar’s packed. Every man who tries to hit on you smells like vape juice and regret.

Jin sees you flawless, pissed off, looking like you could ruin a man’s life with one eyebrow raised. You catch him looking.

You don’t have a choice so you march right over , with desperation you say “Hey. I know this is insane but… can you please pretend you know me?”

You don’t do this. Ever. But you’re surrounded by creeps and he’s the least annoying thing in the room . Jin blinks silently , Then nods once. “Sure.”

The drunk guy kept bothering you , Jin hit him with a simple word “Babe, you good?” he adds with zero inflection but just enough threat ,

You slide your arm through his. “Perfect” The drunk guy stalking you backs off. Jin doesn’t even look at him. He’s too busy side-eyeing you.

You offer him your number not because you’re desperate, but because something about him feel safe.

He doesn’t text for three days. Then “Next time someone loses you in a club, call me first.” You save his number under Kazama // Last Resort

Two years later, he’s still the one you call first. You married him after a long stretch of late nights and silent support. No ring pic, no public announcement. Just vows exchanged in private.

𐙚˙ Life with Jin

Married life with Jin is quite stable. He notices when you’re burning out before you do. If you forget to eat? He leaves a tray near your desk without a word.

He handles your emotional distance like it’s second nature. He doesn’t need you to cry or confess. He just wants you to rest.

Jin’s mornings start at 5AM . Meditation , tea, silence. Yours start with phone calls and three overlapping meetings.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just leaves a hot cup of tea and a protein bar on your desk before he heads out.

Dinner is often cold by the time you remember to come downstairs, but Jin keeps it warm anyway.

How does Jin take care of you? He often Notices your burnout signs before you do. Tense shoulders? He’ll wordlessly rub them.

When you’re working too late, he turns off the lights in the office so you have to stop. Refuses to argue about it. Just say, “You need rest.” and carries you to bed if necessary.

How Does He Gets Your Attention? Doesn’t compete with your work. Instead, he waits. Quietly.

But sometimes he’ll drop a soft, deadly line like: “You’ve been working for 12 hours. I’m starting to think you love your laptop more than me.”

One sharp look from him and suddenly you’re paying attention. Also he often wear : black v-neck, sweatpants, low voice to get your eyes stick to his body . Jin knows how to weaponize subtlety.

𐙚˙Anniversary day ! . 🤍

Jin didn’t even flinch when you forgot. He had a quiet dinner planned, candles lit, he’s the one who set the table and the kids just watching .

You didn’t show. Still working. He just sighed, boxed the food, and said, “Let her finish.”

But the kids? No. They were DONE. Your daughter literally walked into your home office with a plate of cold food and dropped it in front of you.“Happy anniversary, Mom. Dad only cooked for four hours.”

Your son just shook his head and whispered, “Tragic.”

You were too shocked to react. You didn’t even realize what day it was , you ran to him leaving your job and hit him with the “I’m so sorry Jin…” Jin kissed your cheek later and said, “You’re still my favorite person. Even if you forgot.”

The next morning, you noticed. The leftover cake. The wine still corked. Your kid watching you like you were a criminal. You tried to act normal. Kissed Jin’s cheek. “Morning.”

He nodded. “Morning.” That was it. You hated how still he was. Not cold. Not angry. Just quiet.

That night, you tried. Wore the dress he liked. Put your phone away. Said, “Let’s have dinner. Just us.”

He agreed. Sat with you. Ate politely. But there was a distance you couldn’t name. So you touched his hand halfway through the meal, stared into his eyes, and said, “I’m sorry. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

He gave a small nod. Didn’t pull away from the grasp of your hand . “You’ve been busy.” He said , simply . For you It wasn’t enough. You felt it. For once, you were chasing him.

The next day, you tried harder. Made breakfast. Tried to joke like old times. Even offered to take a day off (which you never do).

Jin was kind and soft -spoken but he still don’t give you the ‘loving’ side of him . It drove you insane. You were used to him being quiet but not unreachable. Not like this.

That night, you cornered him in the kitchen.“Do you still love me?” you asked, trying not to sound scared.

He blinked. Finally looked at you , really looked.“Of course I do.” then the silent fill the kitchen once again ,

Then he gently touched your cheek. “It’s okay, my love… I… still love you.” And just as that emotional bomb dropped ,

Your son walked in with cereal, paused in the doorway, and muttered, “Wow. That was so dramatic. Are you guys okay now?” ( literally kazuya junior helpppp )

Jin smirked slightly. You burst out laughing and finally relaxed for the first time in days. That night, you curled into him in bed. No laptop. No meetings. Just his heartbeat.

He kissed your forehead and whispered ,“Just… don’t forget me, alright?” You didn’t say anything. You just held on tighter.

🪄 Writtenbylivewithyura , reblogs are appreciated !

[mj-iza-writer]

I don’t really know if you like this type of whump but i gathered up the courage

Human caretaker who has a rough backstory with vampires (maybe their whole family got killed or they almost died to vampires in the past?) saving vampire whumpee from vampire hunter whumpers

Sorry this took so long to post back. I absolutely love vampire stories, and I love this idea so much. I hope you never feel nervous about asking me for a request, I absolutely love doing them. Thankyou so much, I hope you enjoy.

Caretaker sat by the fire, the only noises were their occasional sip from their tea, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

Caretaker had been reading a book their father had written before he died. It was titled **How to Kill Vampires**.

Caretaker read the book, feeling as though their father was telling the stories in person. Unfortunately, their father had gotten to cocky in a fight with a stronger than average vampire. They died from their injuries soon after.

Caretaker hated vampires. They only wished they had enough courage to hunt them. They could never follow in their families foot steps. Every member had met tragic ends.

The next morning Caretaker stepped outside to enjoy a leisure walk around their gardens.

The home they lived in had been in their family for generations. It still had remnants of the families' past. Caretaker had tried to make it more inviting now. They seemed to be ending the families' traditions.

Caretaker turned a corner and almost had a heart attack.

A body lay against one of the fountains. It was mostly in the shade of the statue, but the fingers was sticking out in the sun. Black smoke rose from the fingers.

"Vamp...vampire", Caretaker stepped back in fear and aww.

Tiny weak whimpers came from the body.

Caretaker inched cautiously to get a closer look. From a few feet, they could see a wooden spike laying in the limp hand of the vampire.

The vampire made a grimaced face and weakly pulled their body in from the sun. They didn't have long until the sun would fully envelope them.

Caretaker slowly turned and walked away, "the sun will take care of them soon and finish the job of whoever stabbed them. No need for me to get my hands dirty."

"Ple....", the vampire pleaded, "ple....", they gasped in pain.

"You dare beg me for mercy... you slime. Allow the sun to do the honor of killing you", Caretaker growled, "your kind killed plenty of my family. Why should I show you mercy?"

"I pro... protected yo.. your father Gerald", the vampire panted, "I'm Whum... Whumpee... the... they promised me a safe place if I-I ever needed it. He said I was th.. the only one he... he'd show mercy to", the vampire frowned, "I just ne..need to reco.."

"Whumpee?", Caretaker stepped back to get a closer look.

The vampire squinted their eyes open and nodded weakly.

That was a story Caretaker's father purposely left out of their books. They didn't want anyone to know they had been saved by a vampire, then showed them mercy.

"Is Ger..Gerald around?", Whumpee sighed as they felt the sun come close to their foot.

"He died a while ago", Caretaker knelt down, "how did you know about me?"

Whumpee groaned as they tried to pull their body in tighter.

"Oh right... give me a second", Caretaker got up and ran for a nearby shed.

They pulled out a tarp and hurried to the vampire.

"I allow you into my home", Caretaker stated loudly before running inside of the house and down to the dungeon.

"I'm sorry, but I still don't know if I trust you", Caretaker laid the vampire on the floor and reached for some shackles hanging on the wall.

"I don't care", Whumpee winced as they felt the cuff tighten around their wrist and click, "just as long as you let me lay like this, I don't care what you do to me."

Caretaker knelt down a few feet away, "how did you know about me and where this house was?"

"While Gerald was healing from his wounds, he told me stories and showed me a few pictures of his family. I brought him here when he had enough strength", Whumpee whimpered as they moved their hand.

It was the first time Caretaker had seen the wound.

"They got you good, huh?", Caretaker frowned.

"Ymph", Whumpee grunted, "that's what I get for taking blood so close to the road. It wasn't even worth it either. The blood was dead already."

Caretaker made a terrified face.

"Relax. It was from a dead animal that had just gotten run over", Whumpee whispered, "I don't take from humans unless I'm desperate. They consent most of the time for me to do it."

"May.... may I rest for a while", Whumpee whispered, "I'll answer more questions later if you want."

Caretaker nodded and got up to leave.

"Thankyou for giving me sanctuary. I will be out of your hair soon", Whumpee mumbled into the floor.

Caretaker nodded, then left.

"I don't have the heart to tell them they are staying. I may not be able to kill them, but I can keep them here. I can protect people in that way at least", Caretaker crept up the stairs, "in a way I will be protecting them too... right? Maybe I can honor my father by protecting them and others."

Just before Caretaker decided to go down to the dungeon to break the news to Whumpee that they were being kept as a prisoner a knock came to the door.

Caretaker hurried to answer it.

"Hello" a person in heavy equipment greeted, "I was hunting vampires last night and I seemed to have lost one. A witness said they were seen on your property."

"Yes I found them this morning. They have been taken care of", Caretaker smiled, "I'm from a family of hunters myself. Thankyou for what you are doing though."

"I need to check to ensure they are gone?", the person grinned with fire in their eyes.

"I let them fade into the sun, all that's left is the stake that was stabbed into them", Caretaker watched the judgemental look, "how many vampires do you know that can survive the sun?"

"Not many, but I know you aren't one for killing them. That's why I started to do it", they smirked, "so where are they then?"

"Fine, you caught me. In my families dungeon, where they will remain for good", Caretaker frowned, "you may not go check on them. Matter of factly, you can get off of this property."

"No need to be so testy. I'm only doing what you wouldn't. You're a shame to your father and your family", they frowned.

"I mean you're fresh meat... a newbie, you probably have markings all over your back. A vampire is just waiting to take your life force", Caretaker sighed, "I don't need you coming in here with targets on your back. You'd be allowing vampires in without them being invited into my home. I don't need that."

The hunter made a confused face.

"You really didn't research, did you?", Caretaker frowned, "not all vampires survive soly on blood. There are other ways they take your life force as well. Have you been blessed by a priest to protect against that."

"You're speaking nonsense", the hunter forced themself in and overpowered Caretaker, "lead me to the dungeon."

A dagger was poked into Caretaker's back.

"You don't know what you're doing", Caretaker started to walk.

"Shut up, you don't know what you talking about", the hunter warned.

"Right, the rightful descendent of a family of vampire hunters doesn't know what they're talking about", Caretaker frowned.

"I said shut up", Caretaker received a slap on the back of their head.

They followed Caretaker into the dungeon and down the steps.

Whumpee had sat up now. When they saw who was coming, they lifted their knees to their chest and frowned.

"You again?", Whumpee frowned, "not much in way of sanctuary if you deliver the killer to their prey", Whumpee looked at Caretaker.

"I tried. There's a dagger pointed in my back. What do you want from me?", Caretaker argued.

"You've left me quite defenseless even. Chained to the wall. What is a vampire to do?", Whumpee grinned, revealing their fangs.

Caretaker was thrown to the side, and they fell to the floor.

Whumpee looked at the hunter angrily, "you're weak. You can't call yourself a hunter if you haven't had the right training."

"And yet, I'm about to kill you", the hunter laughed, "they are about to keep you a prisoner here. I'm only saving you from permanent imprisonment."

Whumpee frowned at Caretaker.

"I was coming to tel...

"Oh shut up", Whumpee snapped their fingers at the hunter.

The hunter automatically froze in place.

"You did mark them?", Caretaker frowned, "so you take life force as much as you take blood?"

Whumpee nodded, "I need to feed from them, I can't heal my wounds completely without it."

"I can't let you", Caretaker frowned.

Whumpee stood up weakly and limped to the hunter, "you don't get a say in this. My mark is on them. I'm not taking it away. I have to save myself too."

Caretaker got up and stood in front of Whumpee to block them, "I won't allow it."

"Look, I gave up a lot of things after I protected and healed your father. That included drinking human blood unless I absolutely have to. Animal blood will not heal me", Whumpee limped forward, ignoring Caretaker. The chains jingled at their movements.

"Why would you do that?", Caretaker frowned, "vampires are monsters?"

"I use to think the same about hunters until I met Gerald. Not all hunters are bad and not all vampires are bad. At first they were as uncertain as I was, but they allowed me to do what needed to be done to heal them", Whumpee gulped down a knot, "I'm staring at the one who killed them. Am I not?", Whumpee looked past Caretaker at the hunter.

Caretaker turned to see the hunter nodding with tears running down their face.

"Your father allowed me to mark him as mine. They were my special human. They couldn't be killed by vampires, I do hold some respect for actual hunters. Your family was always respectful. There was no way your father was killed by one of us. A human did it."

Whumpee frowned, "the stake they used on me had your father's markings on them. I looked after I pulled it out."

Caretaker looked at Whumpee sadly, tears threatened to fall.

"I need you to allow me to avenge their death. Your father was dear to me, let me have this", Whumpee pleaded, "you don't have to watch. Your father always said you were sensitive to these things. He always said you would amount to so much because you were not wanting to follow in the family business. Let me avenge Gerald for you."

Caretaker turned to the hunter.

"Did you really kill my father?"

"Answer them", Whumpee knelt down weakly, "tell us what you did", they ordered.

"I surprised Gerald from behind while they were hiking in the forest. I attacked them and killed them. Then staged it to look like a vampire attack. I stole what was left of their equipment", the hunter still looked like they were in a trance, "after taking their things to my home, I led the police to the scene. The story was retold and retold until it became the truth. No one would ever know it was staged. I would fall in line as the next great hunter."

"Though you're an idiot who did it all wrong?", Whumpee frowned, "nod your head to agree."

The hunter had more tears as their body obeyed the vampire.

"That's why hunters get blessed by priest so they don't become mindless puppets", Caretaker stated.

"Give me a while to feed", Whumpee frowned, "they killed my friend. Gerald's blood screams for vengeance, and they almost killed his legacy."

Caretaker's legs felt like lead as they started to walk away from them.

"Come, kneel before me" Caretaker heard Whumpee order. They didn't dare turn and look.

Whumpee sank their teeth into the hunter's neck and snapped their fingers.

Caretaker heard the person scream then gargle cry as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.

They waited until late evening before going back down into the dungeon. They didn't want to see anything, and they dreaded the knowledge that the body was still down their.

They came closer to where Whumpee was.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come back down here again", Whumpee smirked.

"Where is the body?", Caretaker frowned. There wasn't any sign of them.

"You hit the nail on the head when you asked if I took life forces. I don't leave anything behind when I feed", Whumpee frowned.

Their was silence between the both of them.

"So you want a vampire prisoner huh?", Whumpee snickered.

"Th-that was before I knew all of this", Caretaker frowned, "I'm sorry I've spent so long hating all of you because I didn't know. I almost let you die because of it. I'm sorry."

"It's alright", Whumpee grinned, "I can be a prisoner if you want. As long as a few rules are followed. I think you could use a vampire roaming the house, keeping you safe. You don't exactly carry the same presence your father carried. Plus, that idiot burnt my hideout down last night."

"Oh so you need a place to stay is what you're saying", Caretaker grinned.

"It will be perfect for the both of us", Whumpee grinned, "you can keep me in shackles if you want, I don't care. I'm old enough, I've had my fun. I guess I could use a change. I enjoy letting humans think these things can keep me controlled."

Caretaker frowned.

"I mean, oh no chains", Whumpee stated sarcastically, "I won't injure a descendent of Gerald though. I will protect you."

"As comforting as that sounds. I-I don't know about this. It kind of defeats the purpose of this building", Caretaker sighed.

"You defeated the purpose of this place a long time ago. You refused to hunt vampires. Now you have gardens growing where blood was once shed", Whumpee frowned.

Caretaker looked down shamefully.

"I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. My point is things can change, this place your family. You don't have to hold onto those traditions so tightly. Your father was proud of the person you were becoming", Whumpee looked around, "you could use some protection though."

Caretaker agreed, "can you tell me about those days when you healed him? I feel like he didn't tell us everything."

"They probably didn't. It would go against the hunter's code" Whumpee laughed.

Caretaker sat down, "and how were you able to mark them."

"As long as your father allowed me to, I could break through the seal the priest set. I am very old, I've learned to do a lot of things", Whumpee sat for a minute to think, "okay I'll tell you the story."

"It was cold that night", Whumpee started, "I had been following Gerald for a few miles. I knew who they were, and I kept my distance, but I was still curious. They had gotten attacked by a bear. Their camp was destroyed, and they were badly injured. Their blood was actually what got my attention."

"They were trying to get home or to safety. They collapsed and kept mumbling that they needed to get home. I showed myself after they collapsed."

Whumpee laughed, "they were startled when they saw me. 'Typical bloodsucker like vultures. I won't let you eat me'. I only rolled my eyes. I wanted to see the great hunter up close, I told Gerald. Leave it to a bear to do you in."

Caretaker listened curiously. It sounded just like their father. This was a different story though, not how their father told it.

"After a few minutes of watching them fail to kill me and cursing at me, I offered them a hand after they fell face first into the snow."

"They asked why I would help them. I told them I needed to have some fun. Plus they helped keep the vampire population low. I knew they planned on killing me at some point, but that was the fun of it. I got them to my hideout and into my bed. Cleaned and dressed the wounds, fed and hydrated. It took forever to get Gerald to rest though. They were so tired by the time they fell alseep."

Whumpee smiled, "I had that pain in the butt for a good month or more. I carried many messages between Gerald and your mother. That is the true reason why I knew where this house was. Finally, they had enough strength for me to get them down the mountain and here. They allowed me to leave my mark on them to keep them safe after that. I could check in occasionally, but I've been gone for a long time apparently."

"Yes its been a while", Caretaker nodded.

They sat in silence for a while again.

"I'll let you have this dungeon for your own space... if that's alright. The other rooms have windows", Caretaker sighed, "be careful if you go up there during the day. It's very sunny. You'll be safe down here. It's not like this is being used anymore."

"Thankyou", Whumpee grinned, "so I take it the Madame has passed as well. She tried to kill me the first time I came here as well. She was very kind after that. She would occasionally offer the neck of a prisoner to feed me", Whumpee chuckled.

"That sounds like my mom", Caretaker laughed, "she passed a little after my father."

Whumpee nodded, "I see."

In the night Caretaker found themself awake staring at the ceiling. Many thoughts on their mind.

They heard the floors creak outside of their room.

"Oh right, on top of everything I've allowed a vampire into my home", Caretaker sat up as they heard the creaking go down the hall, "where are they going?"

Caretaker quietly wandered down the hall until they heard Whumpee whispering.

They peaked around the corner to see Whumpee sitting on the floor looking at a painting of Gerald and the Madame.

Whumpee turned to see Caretaker.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I was just, uh, talking to my old friend."

"I do that occasionally. You didn't wake me, I have a lot of things going through my mind. My world feels like it was turned upside-down today", Caretaker came closer.

"I know the feeling", Whumpee nodded.

"So what's next?", Caretaker frowned.

"I don't know. That's for you to decide. I'm not limited by time anymore", Whumpee stood up, "I'll be here to protect you now. I promise Gerald that much."

"Thankyou", Caretaker watched Whumpee take another glance at the picture before they walked away.

"Dawn is approaching. You should get some rest', Whumpee spoke over their shoulder.

Caretaker nodded in agreement.

They went to bed after that. Mind still racing.

"What a turn of events. The descendent of vampire hunters is now being protected by a vampire", Caretaker smiled as they rolled over to fall asleep.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinx

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

[keelt9]

OP-2

Masterlist // Y/N POV 2

Oscar and Lando keep hearing all the talk about plans and projects around Altamira Cocoa, nod every time the team needs it.

His mind distracted on other things until the owner of the house state introduced his twins.

Since they arrived, every time the twin topic pops out, all praise the twins and especially how similar they are. 

That cloud of mind turns white when in front of him the girl it's been on his mind, standing beautiful in a black dress.

They politely greet, by the way the talking develops it's clearly the famous twins are against this deal.

He takes quick glimpses of her during all the short talk until another man calls for the twins, they excuse before leaving.

“Have you already met her?” Lando discreetly whispers to Oscar.

“Why?” Oscar replied in the middle of the dinner. 

“Well, you look like that.” Lando takes a sip of his wine.

Oscar nods seeing the table in front where the girl is laughing with the man they shout their last names, calling them. “Yes, I do.” 

The toast leaves any open question; the twins hate this deal, seeing them clapping seems like they do it with a weight in their hands.

It was until Oscar saw her standing next to the fountain with a glass in her hand, smiling that made him walk to her.

“Do you mind if I stand here?” Oscar is surprised for the way he’s gripping the glass of wine. 

Even when she didn’t bother to turn around the way she smiled at his twin, that spark lights on one more time.

“You’re genuinely almost identical.” Oscar takes a detailed look at the man who was surrendered by girls. “I mean, we heard that you’re identical but I thought it’s just something you say after you know people for so long but you are.”

Every time the twin topic appears all praise about the lovely person they are and the insane way they look alike. 

“That’s why we’re twins.” Finally her eyes on him, pointing to his brother. “Boy.” Then to her. “Girl.” Oscar smirks. “But twins.”

“You’re pretty though.” The words came without a filter, he realized by the way she choked with her drink, so he rushed himself to make a clarification. “I mean, please don’t offend but you are.”

“You had a peculiar way of giving compliments.” There it is, the smile. “Am, no, I’m not offended. I will if you said my brother is prettier than me.”

Oscar laughs, turning his face around a little bit shy for how easily she made him laugh.

When he gets control of himself one more time he introduces himself. “Oscar Piastri.” Extending his hand.

“Y/N Esco.” She shakes his hand softly, making him feel a curious sensation.

“I want to introduce myself properly without the tense atmosphere around there.” Oscar has to leave his hand for the way some engineers observe him through the crowd. “I think we're not your favorite partnership.”

“Long story, nothing against you, I mean, you’re drowning here too.” The tension that felt and the way the directors kept their eyes on the young twins along her answer confirmed his theory.

What he definitely didn’t expect is how easily it’s visible they were forced to come here. “It’s ok, for the way my horse acts around you, I bet you’re a good one…of the few.”

Is that a perceptible double face that environment could be?

Oscar expected to talk a little bit longer with her but apparently she had things to do, want it or not.

“Well, I have to go.” As she stands the way she scrunched her nose and closed her eyes calling one more time for his attention. “Keep having a good night Oscar.”

Even if he nods, he wonders if she's hurt.

From that moment he could see her from time to time talking with people along with his brother and the other man, until close to midnight all of them definitely disappeared.

Around 2 am, he finally collapses in the room he took with Lando, both of them buzzy for the alcohol, so as soon their head touches the bed they fall asleep. 

Oscar could swear he heard Lando asking if he wants to come but the bed was so comfy and the lack of noise it was a lullaby for him, by the time he finally gets to wake up Lando’s bed is arrange, quickly change his clothes running to the main floor but he finds no one. 

“It's like sleeping on clouds, right?” Oscar turns around to find the same old woman that called for Y/N last night, carrying a basket with oranges. 

Oscar tilted his head, making the woman laugh. “The bed is like sleeping on the clouds.”

“Oh, yeah, a little bit.” She smiles and points with her head to the kitchen. 

“Let’s go, you must be hungry, I’ll make you breakfast.” Oscar blushed but extended his arms.

“Please, let me help.” The woman smiles and gives the basket, making Oscar take air out.

The basket is definitely heavy.

He spends the time practically hearing her talking about the house and how much of the fruits are growing there in her small vegetable garden, which makes her very proud. 

The voice of a sleepy Y/N distracts them from the talk. “Morning.” 

In the moment she finds him, this time she jumps backwards, as the woman explains to her the full sequence of the morning she heard her confused but taking a glimpse at him; after she suggests that her brother came for her she observes at him, kind of guilty for leaving him alone. 

“Please don’t worry about me, I’ll be in the living room, reading, if you don’t mind.” He moves his eyes to his phone, and tries to say it’s ok; after all Lando tries to wake him up earlier in the morning.

The tension that was growing up was cut for the small little girl running into the kitchen with a curious request. 

A sandwich for a horse, this is definitely something new for him, as Y/N explained to her why isn’t the best idea, the girl lobsever her with a spark in her eyes, as she clicks her tongue acceding that yes, it isn’t that brilliant idea. 

The moment Oscar felt those small eyes on him she recognized him. “Hey! Honey boy.” 

Y/N coke with her juice, honestly he would do the same just he isn't drinking anything, Kaila approaches him with her tiny hand raised for a high five.

Honey boy?  

“Y/N called you yesterday like that.” He didn’t have to ask, because Kaila answered. 

“Kaila!” Y/N breathless looks at the girl with open eyes hitting softly her chest.

Oscar with a soft smile high five with her. “I see you find a way to come here.” But like he just witnessed, this girl can talk all the time. “I’m Kaila, the pupil of Y/N.”

Pupil?

“Oscar.” He introduces himself, stealing a glance to Y/N who is closing her eyes tight. “The honey boy.”

After he pronounces the words honey boy, she closes it tight and slides in the chair.

It’s clear Y/N savior is Nanny, she walks away with Kaila after making sure they don’t need anything, that spark after knowing he got a new nickname became a small fire, Oscar smirks seeing Y/N refuse to lift her eyes from her plate, but he didn’t want o make her uncomfortable so he stands for going to the living room and let her have breakfast calmly.

“Oscar, have you ever ridden a horse?” Her words make him turn around, hands in his pocket.

“No.” He's fighting, not smiling.

“Do you want to?” Until she speaks one more time, this time a smirk scape. 

Y/N told him she will meet him in the office next to the living room, in a hour, giving him enough time for a quick bath and changing his clothes, like he has a considerable amount of clothes, he extends all his t-shirt and jeans on the bed changing and changing 3 times until he like the combination of clothes. 

Anything white on him.

Standing in front of the door, he tries to keep his hair in his place before softly knocking the door and opening it, finding her spinning in the chair, mumbling something he can’t identify.

“Ready.” Oscar couldn't help it, he feels very excited for this opportunity. 

The same path, however early morning, all around the place had a lot of movement, by the time he noticed the stables open he’s amazed at how big they were.

“Have you ever been with a horse?” Y/N asks him as she keeps waving her hand to the people in charge of cleaning it.

“Of course.” It wasn't a lie, honestly he’s too distracting for thinking twice before saying “Yesterday.”

That definitely made her smile. “I mean, yeah, but besides yesterday.”

“Oh, no, never.” After passing the fencing area, he can see green grass with 7 big horses walking and some of them running freely under the observation of careful eyes. The missing horse has a little girl over her back as she hugs her by the neck saying something that made the adults laugh.

“Oh my.” Oscar has his mind white si he just said random words until she described them perfectly. “This is…”

“Beautiful.” She smiles, relaxing her shoulders looking at all the horses. 

“That is quite short.” He praised the place again. “Asthonign.” The last one he said looking at her eyes, that one wasn’t for the place, for being honest.

Y/N smiles, moving her hand as they walk and introduce the people there too. “Let’s go, Marcus and James will help you.” 

“Wait, you don’t ride one?” The way she stops and gets down her head makes him feel he just pronounces cursing words to her. 

Even though she tried to excuse her, Oscar understands something, he must be patient and wait, patting her shoulder he allows himself acting cocky causing a soft smile to appear one more time, the wink is a bonus that makes her blush.

“You want me to be the focus of the attention, I got it.” Oscar even wonders if he actually just wink at her?

The fact of having a big horse in front of him making him jump one more time, a gray horse, the fact it got down gently her head left him confused and kind of scared. 

Y/N introduced her to him. “Oscar met the oldest of all, Nebula.” He mumbled something, taking another step back. 

“You know if you want to ride one, you must be close to one.” He nods, eyes stuck on the horse that keeps her head down, eyes on him.

That thrilling feeling came back the moment Y/N grabs her hand giving him a few indications. Nebula carefully smelt his hand then let his snout lean on him, taking a deep breath. 

“Hi Nebula.” Oscar shutter, then she walks away.

Thinking for now it's all, he was mistaken, almost all the horses came right to them, Y/N introduced them one by one, just one of the black ones kept observing him from a distance, raising his head when Azabache walked in front of him.

“He didn’t like me at all, huh?” Oscar said, patting Azabache back feeling two big eyes following every movement he does.

“I guess you must win him day by day.” She put a new goal in his mind.

He met James, one of the boys that helps with all the care of the horses, as she explained to him for what they come, his eyes turn back to the black horse, how Azabache approaches for both of them to walk away one more time.

“You choose between Nebula and Koa.” His mind brings back when, wait… he actually has to choose?

Trying to decide who he should ride, they keep their options open. Nebula or a male brown horse, called Koa.

Nebula seems truthful but he's kind of intrigued by the brown horse, probably his height passed 1.80, so his pick was done.

He observed carefully how all the came and how tenderly and with so much love put one by one all the things he will need over Koa's back. James gives him specific indications of what to do as Y/N take distance, but by the moment he actually gets up, he trembles, needing to grip though the rein, even when the horse is still in his place.

He can feel the way his legs hold tight the back of Koa and even the man around him told the only thing he has to do is relax he couldn't.

“These horses are trained for this, they weekly get involved with people who have a specific type of characteristics.” James mentions patting Koa's head.

“The other boys.” He points to the big black horses running around the place. “That, boys and girl are trained for adrenaline.”

Oscar nods but his grip tightens, making Y/N approaches with a soft smirk on her face.

“That's bad, huh?” He didn't need an answer.

“To be a guy who drives a car so fracking fast, yeah.” She laughs, but isn't even close, he drives the car how he likes, here he's pretty sure it isn't the same.

Having her close made him relax his grip, still wasn't enough, she carefully led his hand to Koa's heart, he noticed James was right, the only one who's afraid is him.

Trust is all he has to do, trust in a horse of 1.80 and more than 500 kilograms but feeling his heartbeat strangely combined with his help, by the time he opened his eyes, he didn't even realise Y/N was taken away.

She smiles patting his back with a relaxed body, Koa starts to walk around, like he knows something he keeps away from Pharaoh but lets the other ones come closer.

After he goes down, he can't avoid wanting to know more, so he keeps asking until the horses must go back to the stable.

They were random questions, but all answered with pleasure. He saw how they put big blankets over their backs, blue and black, that keeps them covered from the cold. As they walked away he was totally amazed by such a new world.

Even Koa before leaving the green field, approaches like Nebula did, he goes down waiting for Oscar's hand; he apologised for giving him a hard time but feels thankful for letting him live this experience.

“And thanks to you.” He turns around with a wide smile to Y/N. “And thanks to you too, I have an amazing day.”

Even though she had a calm face, she kept shivering. It wasn't that cold and even though she had a waist jacket she looked frozen.

He didn’t shutter, he took his jacket, after all he has thermal clothes under his shirt, and he got it, probably she isn't used to spending so much time outside. ”Sorry, you must be tired and I keep you…”

“It’s not you.” The peculiar fragrance in the air is really strong. “I had an accident a couple of years ago.”

I didn't even dare to ask, but she just let it out, like in every word she removes a huge weight over her shoulder.

The memory of her horse puts a smile, a pure one that as she told him the accident turns into a twisted smile full of pain.

In the moment she mentioned her accident she closed her eyes and her breathing cuts, like she's reliving the moment.

A tear slips, Oscar feels her pain as she told him the fact she couldn't even move for days, when she couldn't say her name he did it for her.

“About Cocoa.” Oscar grabs her hand tight, he doesn't know why, but feels useless just sitting on the top of the hill as she trusts him. Every memory makes her grip tight around his hand, when the tears were unable to stop he just waited holding her, giving her something that made her stay here in the moment.

She left him breathless when lift Oscar's jacket, and her clothes so he could see the bump magenta scar at the side of my ribs.

Two surgeries make Oscar shiver and understand the reason why she takes so much care of doing a lot of basic things, he helps her to set her clothes back again. 

“And?” The fact she could have hopes makes him feel the same way, he's connecting with someone he barely knows but trusts like they know for years.

It's like she's scared of knowing her diagnosis but there is a hope, why don't fight for that small hope? Why doesn't she keep trying?

“What if you actually could?!” Oscar’s mind starts to travel around the multiple options she could have and don't even try. “I mean what if their letter has the words you need.”

“What if I don't?” The back home seems longer and tiring as he actually realized how personal things she just said to him. “I probably me…why did you tell me this?” 

Her smirk is full of tiredness; still she answered honestly. “Why not?” He sees the soft lights of the kitchen pre announcing the end of the day. “You listen and I'm thankful for that besides I haven't anything to lose.”

“You're a formula one driver, probably would forget this in 3-4 days, and it's ok, I'm ok with that.” Those were the words he needed to get back to reality.

Y/N Is right, she is just a girl and he is a boy who spends most part of his time out of his own home.

“Oscar, leaving at 20.” One of the girls from PR said walking with bags in her hand.

When he turns around to face her, she extends her hands giving him his jacket. “Thanks Oscar, thank you so much.”

Y/N gives him a quick peck in his cheek before walking to the door as it opens, finding Ford walking in.

No, she isn't just a girl.

[happyk44]

The thing was Percy didn't like being a bad kid. Every time he got kicked out of a school or wound up in the counselor's office over some incident he wasn't completely blameless for, his mom's brows would pinch. The line on her lip dipped. He knew what she was thinking each time: lost wages, job risk, who was going to watch him if he got suspended, where would she send him if he got kicked out, and so on.

He hated that he did that to her. Being a bad kid meant being a bad son. He refused to be a bad son - not on purpose anyway.

Well, he used to. She wasn't here anymore. Her brows weren't going to furrow. Her lips wouldn't thin. Her shoulders wouldn't draw up and tense before the principal even opened their mouth. It was over.

He didn't have anyone anymore. Nobody at cabin eleven would look at him. Other cabins steered around him like he was carrying the plague. Grover was off doing whatever satyrs did - probably getting ready to infiltrate some new school, befriend some new kid, save their lives. He didn't need Percy. It’d only been a few days but they'd barely interacted. Older satyrs would yank him along into the wood before Percy could get close or even open his mouth. Even Annabeth just eyed Percy with scrutinizing eyes - like she was assessing him for something. But every time he tried to approach her outside of their lessons, she brushed him off.

No one wanted Percy around.

What was the point of being a good kid anymore? There wasn't anything or anyone forcing him to keep his head above water. He was tired of the murmurs. He was tired of the avoidance. Tired of the glares from the Ares cabin. Tired of trying to keep the quake in his stomach tamped down.

He was just tired.

He thumbed along the flat edge of his sword. His new best friend was the pervasive feeling of loneliness. With a miserable sigh, he tucked the sword into the holster on his hip. People barely wanted to spar with him now so he was stuck to sweating it out on the dummies by himself. At least only when Luke wasn't pushing him as hard as possible.

But even with Luke there seemed to be pause. The first time Percy felt his gut yank after being claimed had been in training with Luke, and as soon as the feeling caught him, Luke begged off. Like he'd seen something in Percy that unnerved him. Sometimes when Percy looked in the mirror, he saw something in his eyes that unnerved him. A foreign thing - like a contact lens put in the wrong way.

No amount of poking or prodding at his eyes was going to get it out though. It was inside him - in his blood. He was sure of it.

He was starting to worry that it was the very thing he'd been keeping back, the very thing his mom was trying to keep him safe from.

The clang of metal against metal was loud as he walked past other trainees. There were a couple people leaning against the wall near the water fountain. As expected, they shifted away as he neared. Mistrust was bright in their eyes.

He did his best to ignore it. Not the first time people had stared at him like they thought he was dangerous. Or beneath them.

The water sprayed for a moment before he lowered his head. It was clarifying. He'd noticed it before, a burst of energy with every sip whenever he was tired, but ever since being claimed, he'd noticed the alertness more and more.

As he let go of the button, he caught the tail end of the muttering nearby. His stomach dropped.

“... should've ditched him sooner,” one boy grumbled. His friend snorted. “Maybe then she wouldn't have died.”

“What did you say?” The two startled. Percy understood why. He barely recognized his own voice, the eerie coldness to it frosty on his own tongue. Still, he repeated as he twisted on his heels to face them. “What. Did you just say?”

Panic besot them. For a second, the barest of a second, he could feel it kick in - be a good boy for me, Percy, be a good kid for Mom.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't here.

So what was the point?

He took a step forward. “What,” he snarled, saliva coating his tongue like froth, “did you say?”

The others shifted away but he just crept forward. “Nothing, man,” one of them finally bit out, but they were lying. He could see it in their eyes, hear in their voice, feel it in their veins.

“You're lying,” he said. A bitten off laugh echoed from his lips. “You were talking about my mom.” Another choked laugh. “You think it's my fault?”

One of them raised his hands - a mock surrender. “Hey, dude-”

“You think I wanted her to die?” A sharp sensation coiled through Percy's chest. It thrummed hot and heavy, piling, piling, piling on his lungs. “You think I asked for ANY OF THIS?”

Someone's hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was like the crashing of the waves against his bare feet. Cold, clarifying, clear.

Freeing.

His fist drove straight into the jaw of whoever was behind him. He could barely tell who he was seeing - it might've been Luke, or any other tall blonde guy. But as soon as whoever it was stumbled back, he whirled around and punched whichever kid was closest in the stomach. They went down and he clambered on top to wail. Fist and fist upon whatever body part he could reach. He wasn't the most elegant hand-to-hand fighter but there was something to be said for the voracious and vicious energy boiling through him.

Distantly he was aware of yelling around him, aware of people pulling at him, aware of the person beneath him crying, arms over their face, arms Percy was tired of hitting. He needed to get their face, get their tongue, rip his mom from their mouth. How dare they speak about her.

How dare anyone talk about her.

A dozen hands finally yanked him back. He screamed. Bodies toppled. He grabbed the closest one by their hair, driving his knee upwards over and over again until hands ripped him away again. Swung blindly and caught someone. The two of them fell. His stomach pulled back. They choked. They weakened. He swung himself over until he was on top.

I want you all to drown, he thought, grabbing at their jaw. Don't ever speak of her again.

Saliva smeared across his fingers. His stomach pulled back even more. What was that - blood, water? On his hands, on his knees, on their skin, on their faces, in their veins.

His free hand drew out. He wanted it. It was his. Didn't they get that? She was his, and she was gone, so he would take and take all else that belonged to him until the hole in his chest was gone. Until the water they had coursing inside them filled him up.

“Percy,” someone whispered.

Their voice was familiar, breath hot against Percy's ear. He twitched. The feeling of nearby water, nearby fluid, was clenched tight in his fist. He just had to pull back. Yank it. Make it his.

The voice turned pleading. “Percy.”

He froze as two hot hands came to clasp his cheeks, dark brown eyes and curly hair blurring into view. Grover's face.

“Grover,” he breathed. For the first time since he'd ended up at camp, he relaxed.

Grover's thumbs stroked his skin. “Yeah, it's me.” He leaned in closer. “Percy, you need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“You're hurting people," he said. “You have to stop.”

Why? Percy thought. He didn't care. He didn't care if they hurt, didn't care if they drowned where they laid choking, didn't care if they suffered. It didn't mean anything to him. They didn't mean anything to him.

But this was Grover.

And with his mom gone, Grover meant the world.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes,” Grover said. His breath was warm, his skin hot, his body close. Distantly Percy remembered nights at school like this - Grover tucked up next to him, trying his best to help Percy study when most people would've bailed. “I want you to stop.”

His lips were wobbling. His eyes were thick with wetness. His voice was unsteady - trying to be calm and rapidly failing. Even his hands shook.

Percy grabbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he whispered as he clung. His stomach relaxed slowly, the crash turning into a tickle. “I'm good, I'm good.”

Shakily, Grover exhaled, pressed his forehead to Percy's, and murmured, “I know, I know.”

His hands pulled away from Percy's face, but not away from him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. Percy's breathing wobbled as he tucked his face into the crook of Grover's neck. He clung tight and desperate. Pleading.

No, he couldn't be a good son anymore. He didn't have to bother keeping in check to avoid the thin line of his mom's lips. But he could be a good friend. To keep the tears out of Grover's eyes, the tremble from his skin.

“I can be good,” he promised quietly, for Grover's ears only. “I promise I can be good.”

“I know,” Grover said. His cheek pressed against Percy's. “I believe you.”

-

The fountain nearby trickled quietly. The steady flow soothed the unease between Percy's shoulders. Still, he squeezed the pillow in his grip tighter to his chest as he watched Grover flit around the bunk closest to him. He snapped the final end of the sheet around the mattress. Hooves clopped quietly against the tile as he stepped back. His gaze flickered between Percy's bed and his own.

Then he grunted and began pushing it closer.

Percy hopped up. The discarded pillow slipped from his fingers and onto the floor. He nearly tripped over it trying to get to Grover's side. They pushed the other bunk over until it was pressed into Percy's.

While Grover unfurled his blanket, Percy stepped back. Awkwardness choked him. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he picked the pillow off from the floor and pressed it into his chest. Grover didn't spare him many glances as he worked to make up the bed. Leaning across his bunk, he yanked Percy's blanket from between the seam where the two bed frames connected and began tying the edges of both blankets together. It was shoddy work, no way it wasn't coming apart just from them lying on the sheets, much less sleeping.

But Grover did it anyway.

As he shifted back, hooves scraping the floor, Percy held out the pillow. Grover dusted off the top then laid it against the headboard. With both hands on his hips, he admired his work. Percy stared at it too. It was nice. Joined bed. Grover within direct reach.

His palms itched.

“Are you scared of me?”

Grover twisted around. His brows furrowed, but the edges of his lips were quirked upwards. It was reminiscent of school - Percy stumbling over something he read and Grover, lost but amused, over why Percy thought it was a man-of-war that Theseus fought.

He was partially grateful Grover cut him off before he could finish what he actually thought the sentence was trying to say. It certainly wasn't fight.

“I mean,” Grover started and Percy's stomach drew back. Behind him the trickle of the fountain silenced. Like the water was holding its breath too. “I'm scared for other people, but I'm not scared of you.” He punched Percy's arm with a quiet smile. “I know you're not going to hurt me, Percy. That's why I stopped you.”

The fountain began to trickle again. “And that-” He faltered. The ghost Grover's touched goosed up his bicep and across his shoulder. “-that doesn't worry you?”

That you might have to stop me again went unspoken but Grover was always good at understanding Percy's unspoken words, at knowing his unspoken feelings - even the ones Percy wasn't even aware he felt.

He sighed. “It worries me. But not because it's you.” He shook his head. “And definitely not because I'm scared of you hurting me.”

His eyes scanted away, brows furrowing deeper. Then he relaxed into the bed. After teetering on his heels for a couple seconds, Percy joined him. He gripped the edge of his shorts so tight his palms burned. Grover reached over to stroke along the back of his hand.

He exhaled slowly and let go.

“You remember Pan?” Grover asked.

Percy paused. “The satyr god, right?”

“Yeah.” Grover pulled away to tug at his fingers. “He's been missing for a while. Ever since the industrial age took off. And no one knows where he is. It's the dream of every satyr to find him, so that nature can return to the way it was.”

“That your dream?”

He nodded solemnly. “You have to be a Protector first, before you can get your Searcher’s license. But I'm not like the others.” His gaze fell down. His hands sat in his lap, cupped around nothing but air. “I don't want him just so we can bring nature back to its peak.” He sighed. “We were a lot different when Pan was still around. More free. More wild. I want satyrs and nymphs - all of us to be us again!”

Percy leaned into him. “What's stopping you?”

Grover snorted. “People forgot. We were more than just Pan's disciples. We fought to protect the wild from mankind. We didn't just sit around waiting for him to tell us what to do. But nobody wants to do anything.” He scowled. “They think when Pan returns he'll fix it all and I-” He bit his lip, then shook his head. “The world has changed. And gods don't get involved like that. Not to the extent they want him to. It's not in their nature. But if he comes back then maybe…”

He faced Percy. His eyes were watery, darkening the already dark brown of his eyes into shots of black. The welled tears glistened ever so slightly. Like the night sky, free of pollution.

His lips wobbled into a gentle smile. “But that's why I'm not afraid. You’re like nature at its purest form - chaotic, wild, unburdened.”

Normally those words wouldn't hit Percy as compliments. Insults, degradation - things that would deflate him and make his mom frown. But Grover sounded so earnest, his heart swelled.

“You can't tell, but I can feel it.” He swung his arm over Percy's shoulders and tugged him in close. “Your demigod essence, this sense of the wild that I've been searching for my whole life.” He gestured loosely. “Even the Demeter kids don't have that. Their mom is all agriculture and farming and that's great and all, but it's not pure nature, it's not the wild.” He squeezed Percy's shoulder as best he could with one hand. “You remind me of home, Percy.”

The frog Percy hadn't noticed in his throat jumped out with a burst sob-laugh. He tried to tile away, but Grover just tugged him close, bringing around his other arm to keep Percy pinned. Nonetheless his hold was fairly loose, like Percy was a stray cat he didn't want scratching him if he felt like running.

Or like he knew that Percy was the ocean through and through, unwilling to be contained, wanting to flow wherever he saw fit.

Percy practically crawled into his lap, sniffling into Grover's shoulder. Warm hands stroked up and down his back. He laughed quietly - a half-distressed noise marrying the sound, but managed a breathy wheeze of, “You remind me of home too.”

Grover kissed the top of his head. For the first time since arriving, he shattered. All his twisted up emotions committed out in a tidal wave of tears and broken gasps. All the while Grover held him. As tight as Percy clung to him, he didn't complain. Just held on even tighter. Wetness from Grover's own tears smeared across Percy's skin.

Ever the empathetic. Like his mom.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don't leave without saying goodbye,” he begged in a hollow, hoarse whisper.

“I won't,” Grover promised.

They held onto each other even as tears and cries faded away. Grover kept stroking his back with both hands. Percy continued to cling.

Shoulders shaking, Percy wound the fabric of Grover's shirt over his fingers. After a few minutes of toiling silence, he whispered. “I think I'm changing.” He pressed his forehead to Grover's collarbone. “I'm scared.” He pulled back and stared into Grover's eyes. “What do I do?”

“Be my best friend,” Grover said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. And as soon as the words fell off his tongue, it did. How silly was Percy not to think of it before? “My best friend is a good person, the best kind of wild.”

“I can do that,” Percy promised. “I swear, I can do that.”

“I know,” Grover said, squeezing Percy's cheek. His thumb swiped away at a still wet tear under Percy's eye. The stroke was soft, gentle. Kind. “I believe you.”

[tanjiromenon]

last christmas.

(sora x reader)

warnings: hurt no comfort, mentions of character death, sora being a cutie, NOT PROOFREAD-ish

i wrote this LAST christmas, which is really ironic. also, i hate this. it’s really bad, sorry lol

“hey,” sora waved a hand in front of your face, his bright blue eyes searching for any sign of life from you.

“you alive?”.

grumbling, you turned away from him, pulling the blanket over your head with the slight mumble of “go away-” sora laughed and tugged the blanked back away, leaning over you with a wide grin.

“you don’t wanna see your presents, y/n?” his bright blue eyes burned into yours - usually you wouldn’t have minded at all, but now? his eyes seemed like large flashlights illuminating to the back of your skull.

“i didn’t sleep..”

sora’s smile wavered, tilting his head. “oh,” looking away nervously, he tilted back and forth on the balls of his feet with an awkward laugh. “were we too loud? sorry”

you hummed as he scratched the back of his neck, turning red from the embarrassment.

you weren’t lying. donald, goofy and sora are never discreet when it comes to wrapping presents. the crinkling of the wrapping and the bang of heavy boxes that were mostly likely dropped by goofy, drove you crazy the entire night. most christmas eves, you’d join them in the festivities, usually on wrapping duty, but not this year; you needed to catch up on sleep as much as possible.

the king had been putting you on way more assignments with sora than usual for reasons you didn’t understand or care to know. all you knew is that sora was doing great - you were not. maybe you just weren’t as used to the whole - saving worlds lifestyle like him.

“it’s fine, sora.” you sat up and rubbed your eyes, yawning. “well,” he found his grin once again. “merry christmas my love! i’ll make you some breakfast whilst you get ready for that party, sleepyhead.”

“merry christmas, sora.” you smiled.

the room was filled with people, the music was bordering on deafening and you couldn’t hear a single thing kairi was saying to you. the only words you really made out were, ‘he’s so… i don’t understand…annoying’. you laughed and silently hoped it would be enough to satisfy her, sipping your juice. kairi raised an eyebrow, shaking her head in amusement.

she knew you couldn’t hear her. it was just funny to see you try to guess what reaction to give. “you’re funny, y/n.”

you looked at her with a small smile, bringing your drink to your lips once more-

“excuse me, sorry!” sora raced past the both of you, followed by riku, who somehow managed to knock you over like bowling pins. “ah!” you and kairi yelled as you fell on top of her, the drink spilling all over your stomach and her back.

getting up, you groaned at the state of your outfits that took hours to put together. “jeez, what’s got him in such a hurry?”

kairi shrugged and brushed herself off before gesturing for you to follow her.

once outside, you questioned her as to where you’re both going, to which she simply said, “gotta change clothes, silly.” yeah, she’s right. the smell of apple juice was starting to overwhelm your sinuses, anyways.

suddenly, kairi stopped right outside the courtyard, whipping her head around until breathing out a sigh of relief and turning to you. “damn, i must’ve left my phone on the floor in there!”

“wait- i can see it in your pock-“ she ran past you shouting for you to wait for a second, causing you to laugh as you watched her figure retreat into the distance.

‘i’ll wait here then, i guess.’ you thought to yourself, walking further into the courtyard and sitting on the bench, letting your fingers play with the water in the fountain.

you heard the voices of riku and sora behind the bush, bickering over something. you tilted your head up, trying to listen, but it was useless.

“wait-shh!”. you guessed they caught onto the fact that they were being too loud; in the corner of your eye, you saw the white haired boy peek ever so slightly around the corner of the bush to look at you, before sneakily retreating and pushing sora into the overgrown entrance way. giggling, you looked down, pretending you didn’t see anything.

“never thought i’d see you out here, party bee.” he cringed as he said it, briefly peering at the bush with a ‘what did i just say?’ look, before walking closer to you.

you turned to see sora, wearing a very unflattering christmas jumper and a small santa hat. “oh, hi sora!”

“hi, y/n.” he waved at you, smiling softly. “i-uh- i have a little something for you.”

he sat down by you and offered a small brown box wrapped in a red bow.

ah.

“this was planned, wasn’t it?”

sora turned bright red, stumbling over his words and fidgeting with his hands. “ah- no- maybe! ..yes…” he looked down, feeling his ears and nose heating up. he thought he was being sneakier than that, not expecting you to figure it out that easily.

“for the record, it wasn’t part of the plan to spill your-“

you giggled and leant into him, “i figured, you love this dress on me too much.” sora chuckled, looking down at it, “still looks great, maybe just a little more see-through now. sorry”. you gasped, lifting his chin with your finger, “eyes up here, knucklehead!”.

he laughed, grinning from ear to ear. “oops.”

a big smile graced your face as you took the box he nudged toward you once again, opening it.

a shiny, heart-shaped, diamond necklace. both of your initials engraved in the middle.

“sora!” you almost screamed, holding it up - about to cry. “i love it, thank you.” you hugged him, rocking back and forth and sniffling. “hey, don’t get your snot on my fantastic jumper!” he joked- eh, half-joked as he caressed your face. “i love you, so, so much.”

“i love you too, sora.” you leaned into his touch, feeling his thumb wipe away a stray tear.

sora swore you were the best thing to ever happen to him, sending a silent thank you to the world for bringing you into his life. he shook his head, coming back into the moment. “let’s put this thing on before we get too distracted, shall we?”

as he clasped it around your neck, you fiddled with it in your hands. “see, i’m not going anywhere as long as i’ve got this.” you whispered excitedly, turning your head to see him ever so slightly.

“don’t jinx it now, y/n!” he joked, setting down the now fixed chain, standing up and offering his hand.

“care to dance?”

“i’d love to.”

sora sighed as he sat down at your grave, reminiscing about last christmas. his tears ran down his face like a river as he began to sob, covering his face with his hand.

his throat hurt from how dry it was, his chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath, inconsolable.

his voice broke, looking down to your necklace in his hand.

the day you died, it felt like he had died along with you. life had become dull and void of colour, the only thing keeping him afloat being his friends.

he never imagined a world where he would have to be without you. never thought it’d be a possibility for fate to be so cruel.

the day would replay in his mind over and over like a broken cassette, regrets and thoughts of ‘what could’ve been’ haunting- defining, the very person he had turned into afterwards.

memories of your laughter brought pain instead of happiness. thoughts of the warmth of your body when he hugged you made him claw at his clothes - he should’ve held you tighter.

it should’ve been him.

laying down on the soft yet sharp- biting blanket of snow, he realised he didn’t care about the pain of the cold on his skin, instead placing his hand on the dirt above where your cold body lay six feet under.

your body.

cold, dead and alone.

part of him wishes to be buried with you, the pain of suffocation being worth a few more minutes - or seconds - by your side.

death would be a miracle that he’d welcome with open arms if it meant being with you again.

“merry christmas, y/n.”

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 8.3 - Conspiracies of the Nether Regions

MIKO

“What kind of place is this?” Miko demands, panic building as she looks around the posh setting. 

“A coffee shop,” Emmett holds her hand and refuses to stop walking, forcing her to follow along. 

“This is not a coffee shop,” she murmurs as they walk through another set of doors. 

Plants and string lights stretched from floor to ceiling, fountains bubble, and a few sims talk to each other in low voices. She glances back at the honest-to-Watcher grand piano they just passed. 

“They serve coffee,” Emmett insists with a chuckle, “That makes it a coffee shop. Although in the evenings, they open the bar. I come here with my friends.”

He says it like it’s no big deal, telling Miko everything she needs to know about Emmett and his financial status. Numbly, she follows him, croaking out her order when asked, and waits for the voice in her head to say something.

Anything.

Any-fucking-thing at all.

But nothing happens, and of course, it doesn’t. That’s the thing about being crazy, it’s unpredictable. Maybe now is a good time to freak out about losing her wits. She can just get up and—

"Relax. You’re not crazy," the voice says.

“Oh, that’s so comforting,” Miko scowls, forgetting to talk in her head.

Emmett doesn’t respond at first. But once he settles them at a table, he tilts his head, a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth. It’s not unkind, exactly, just amused. “So, what’s your deal? And I’m not trying to be a smart ass, I’m genuinely asking.”

"Go on," the voice encourages, "Tell him."

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Miko sniffs, ignoring the voice. She takes a sip of her coffee. “I don’t have a deal.”

Emmett blows out a breath. “Miko, you definitely have a deal. You’re hard to get a read on. And that’s probably understating it. You hate Hande and me, but you want our help. Or you don’t want it, I guess, since you complained but then volunteered to do it all yourself. I mean, you said yes to coffee, but you’re not even paying attention.”

At that, Miko makes a mental note to be kinder to Alice next time she zones out. Although, to be fair, Alice isn’t zoning out because she hears a voice in her head and is having a breakdown. She’s just flighty. 

“You’re clearly stressed,” his eyes soften, “And you won’t talk about it.”

There are no alarm bells, not like there were with Walsh. And Emmett has been trying to be nice to her since the beginning of the semester. Alice was her best friend, yes, but she couldn’t handle Miko falling apart. Not when she was so vulnerable. 

Hell, she’d probably ask Vladislaus for help.

“You look like you just had a thousand thoughts.”

“I did. I…I am a little stressed out," Miko admits. When Emmett laughs, she relaxes. “Ok, I’m a lot stressed out. My grandma just informed me we need a new water heater, but I don’t have a job this semester because I was hoping to get an internship. I’m graduating, but I can’t even focus on my shit because my best friend is on the verge of failing out. I’m tired, and I don’t trust anyone, which is why I’m such a bitch, and I do everything myself.”

“You’re not a bitch,” he says, “And that sounds like a lot. No wonder you’re stressed out.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“I wasn’t expecting that. Usually, when I talk about everything I have going on, my friends try to minimize it. Or tell me that I’m worrying about shit that ain't my problem.”

Emmett shrugs, “I don’t know you or your problems well enough to say that. They seem legit to me. Home appliance repairs are expensive. I guess the question is, do you want help?”

The word makes Miko cringe. “I’m not trying to offend you when I say this,” she begins.

“I hope not. You don’t even know what I’m going to offer.”

The speech she planned evaporates. “Uh…okay. Fair. What are you offering?”

“I’ll convince Hande to lower her pitchfork and work on the submission system training together.”

“And I have a lead on a job. Honestly, it would be a favor to get a family friend off my back. She owns an apothecary shop in Glimmerbrook and needs some part-time staff. It would be a lot of selling expensive gems and fake potions to sims who want to heal their energy or mend a broken heart or whatever,” he rolls his eyes playfully.

Miko suppresses a giggle. “I could do that. I’m very convincing.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. You know, if we hang around for another forty-five minutes, Happy Hour will start. You in?”

She worries about the cost of drinks, and when she realizes that Emmett will probably pay for everything, she worries about using him. But outside her circle of worry is a feeling from the voice in her head that maybe just this once, she should relax. 

“Sounds good,” Miko says. “What’s your favorite drink?”

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(Part 4 of 5)

(NGL @herecirmsims saved this entire scene with those bar table poses. I was afraid I would be stuck raising everyone with WW or the tool Mod 😭)