#so to look in the mirror & be fine with how they look after a decade of cringing at them is really nice:)

[daforged]

one of the biggest pros of the surgery i just had was that im not allowed to wear makeup. not that i typically wear a ton but i have trichotillomania & it makes my eyebrows very patchy sometimes so i havent left the house without my eyebrows done since i was like. idk 14 maybe. and then today i looked in the mirror and was like Actually I Look Fine. like its fine. i have a normal human face with normal human eyebrows that look fine.

[pseudowho]

Yet Another Nanami Kento Sex Pollen Fic, Part One

Owing our Reader for pleasuring him after his prior drunk escapades, Kento allows himself to be thoroughly used after the Reader encounters some rather unusual pollen.

Read Part Two HERE!

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"Hey, darling. Home soon? I was going to run out and grab some wine."

You smiled warmly at Kento's voice over the phone, brushing your mission clothes off with one hand while you surveyed the wreck of your surroundings. The factory you were in seemed ancient, despite its abandonment in just the last decade. Its back wall, you noted, was formed of collapsed brickwork, opening out onto a patch of hazy woodland. You were curious to investigate.

"Soon," you promised Kento, "the main Curse body is gone. I'm just going to do a last sweep around. You know, I--"

"-- like to be thorough," Kento parroted you, knowing you so well. You rolled your eyes at him. Hearing him chuckle, he reassured you, "No, no, I like it. You're thorough. It's a turn-on, I promise." Laughing lightly as you stepped over damp brickwork and ivy, you heard the jangle of Kento's keys over the phone.

"Well, Sir, if I'm that much of a turn-on, you'd best get that wine. I'm ready for our evening." Kento gave you an approving hum, and bid you get home soon.

Hanging up, you stepped into the humidity of what appeared to be a totally enclosed patch of woodland, sprung like an oasis, half-in and half-out of the crumbled factory walls. Beautiful flowers, wild with a heady scent, sprouted from beds of moss and ivy, and low-hanging trees dropped jewels of dew onto the springy floor. You felt yourself becoming heavy-headed and warm. Bending down to inspect a particularly beautiful pink-budded succulent, you squeaked in shock when the buds puffed open into a surprising shade of yellow, coating you in a fine mist of pollen.

Sneezing, you backed away. Bumping against the residual wall, you noticed the forest starting to crumble away from the edges, disintegrating in the same way as the main Curse-body had. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you recognised you had nearly been so foolish as to walk straight into the remains of its dying belly. Telling yourself off for your gullibility, you watched from the factory as the forest faded away, leaves rising like ashes into the mist.

You felt flushed, heart thumping behind your breasts as you left the factory, finding Ijichi waiting patiently for you outside the veil. Ijichi smiled to you, bowing, thanking you for your services. He held the car door open for you, and you climbed in, grateful for the chance to sit down.

Except, as the car rumbled to life, every small vibration, every graze of the cool leather against your flushed skin, every time you caught the smell of Ijichi's shampoo, you felt the agonising thud of arousal between your legs. You mentally shook yourself when catching yourself looking Ijichi up and down from the back seat, admiring how his hands managed the steering wheel so smoothly, and you were appalled that this wonderful, kind, gorgeous man didn't have a girlfriend yet. Maybe you could be his girlfriend, you thought fleetingly, you'd know how to treat him right--

"Everything okay?" Ijichi caught your eyes in the mirror, full of concern as you gasped at yourself and slapped your own cheeks. Cheeks pink, breasts heaving with deep breaths and underwear increasingly wet, you knew you needed to get home to Kento. There was absolutely nobody else you needed right now, and surely this would wear off, surely he would help you deal with your desire as you had helped with his, in the shower that night--

"I'm okay, Ijichi, I'm fine!" You babbled, arms folded across your chest to hide your pebbled nipples, "Just tired! You know how it is. Busy day." You laughed nervously, hiding your face in shame as Ijichi politely bowed his head and continued to drive you home.

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Kento dropped his keys onto the shelf, slipping out of his shoes and into house slippers as he leaned back against the door, shutting it with a click.

His heart gave a happy leap when he heard you rummaging around the bathroom; you were home. Rolling the wine bottle in his broad palm, he fetched two glasses. In the process of uncorking the bottle, he pretended not to notice as you walked up behind him. He regretted feigning ignorance when he felt sharp teeth nip into the back of his shoulder.

Kento spun, startled, and barely had time to save the open bottle of wine when he was pushed with surprising force back against the table. All thoughts and blood rushed straight to his cock as he felt your body, insistent and hot press against his. Kento offered no resistance at first as you grabbed the back of his neck, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him down for a kiss, but stopped immediately at the feverish and desperate look in your eyes.

Kento gripped your shoulders and held you at arm's length, scowling deeply as he appraised you. Still in mission-wear. Flushed. Eyes glazed. Heat radiating off you.

"You're...hurt? What happened? Tell me." Kento ordered, already moving to grab his keys- you needed Shoko's attention. You moved instantly to block Kento's path, eyes fixed on him and pupils dilated as you panted, arousal thrumming through you in waves, your blood rushing in your ears and between your legs. Not swayed, and firm in his decision, Kento restrained you effortlessly, one arm trapping both of yours behind your back, and another arm diagonally across your breasts.

As Kento's arms pressed your body firmly against his own, you moaned and Kento short-circuited. Not letting go, breath tickling the side of your face, Kento stared at you.

"What happened?" he repeated. You pressed your head back against his shoulder, whimpering in frustration.

"The Curse was very plant-like I suppose, and it had a garden, and these pollen pods just exploded all over me, and since then I've just...I just...god Kento please just fuck me, I'm begging you."

With a blush, it finally clicked for Kento-  you weren't hurt, you were uncontrollably horny. He gulped, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and cock hardening against his thigh. In a measured voice, Kento replied.

"You're in no fit state to demand I fuck you. You're under the influence of that curse, and I won't take advantage of you like that."

"Who said anything about you taking advantage?" You whined, rubbing your arse back against his hardening cock, "I'm asking if you'll let me take advantage of you." You squirmed against Kento, one of your pinned hands sneaking between the buttons of his shirt to rub his V-line. Your head turned sharply and you bit Kento's neck hard enough to draw blood. Kento yelped in alarm, now moving you swiftly forwards and pressing you into the wall, using one arm and one knee between your legs to pin you there.

"You minx," he gasped. Wiping at his neck with one hand and holding your wrists in another, Kento watched as you squirmed against the wall, thighs clamped furiously together for relief, blush creeping down your breasts.

"Kento, please," you begged, "I helped you. When you came home, drunk. And you promised you wouldn't refuse me."

"You and I both know that was--"

"It was no different!" Kento let his silence hang in the air. He knew as soon as he let you go, you'd be undressing him in seconds. He was furious to find himself thrilled at the thought. Being used as your toy sounded absolutely delicious.

"If I let you use me for some relief, but it doesn't work, I'll be taking you to Shoko immediately. Understood?" You nodded frantically, hands clenching and unclenching desperately in Kento's grasp. Kento walked you slowly back to the table, and you heard him knock back his glass of wine. You felt a glass placed to your lips, and Kento's smooth voice in your ear, "Bottoms up," as you gulped the wine, the alcohol hitting your heightened senses immediately, and your need for Kento to be buried inside you was suddenly furious and burning.

Kento let go of your wrists, and you jumped him, quite literally, arms locked behind his neck and legs around his waist. Kento grunted in surprise as your lips crashed against his with bruising force, the taste of blood and red wine on his tongue as you forced yours into his mouth, immediately dominant in a way that aroused him to his very core. Kento's hands cupped your arse perfectly, and you shifted your weight so Kento slammed back onto the table, feet on the floor as you straddled him, clothed pussy grinding against his cock.

Kento groaned at the contact, and submitted fully when you pinned his wrists to the table, leaning forward to bite and suck his neck. Kento shivered with pleasure, feeling every mark that he would see in the mirror the next morning. Drunk on the novelty of being so used, Kento offered absolutely no resistance as your hand slipped to his groin, squeezing his clothed erection almost too hard through the thin material. Kento shuddered, coughing in surprise and bucking into your hand.

Your hand left his cock far too soon, and you moved up Kento's body, now pinning his wrists with your knees as you began to undo his tie. Kento watched you with absolute focus as you then began to undress yourself, clothes being flung off at speed, until you were bare breasted on top of him, nipples hard as bullets, and you absent-mindedly draped Kento's tie around your neck as you surveyed him like your favourite meal.

"Oh, fuck," Kento intoned, as you ripped open his shirt, hearing buttons skitter away across the table. Moving down to grind against him again, and replacing your knees on his wrists with your hands, you bit his nipple, leaving lovebites across his heaving chest. Kento's head swam with arousal and anticipation, hands eager to reach you, to give you your own way, to be inside you.

You were focused, predatory in your need, and closed your eyes as you kicked your trousers and underwear off, pussy now totally naked and glistening with your arousal, leaving a wet patch on Kento's groin as you humped his clothed cock fervently. Kento was completely pinned, moaning and gasping as his cock twitched with need. You felt like you were on fire, your clit throbbing as you felt your first orgasm approaching, almost there but not close enough, body and mind still feeling too empty to climax. Your torso leaned closer to Kento's as you tried to increase the pressure and he quickly freed his arms from under yours.

Sliding one hand between your legs, he hurriedly pressed his two middle fingers upwards, deep into the heat and wetness of your pussy, his thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles on it. You cried out and bucked, riding his hand, and Kento nearly came from the feeling of your pussy clenching his fingers alone. You had reached down, both hands holding Kento's wrist, grasping his hand in place as your cunt fluttered around it, wet and needy, your cries becoming higher and louder, desperate to abate the burning arousal that had turned your skin electric.

Kento felt your desperation, watching you, near tears, trying to cum on his fingers. Reaching down, he swiftly unbuttoned his trousers and freed his leaking cock, pressing it up into you without warning, not even removing his fingers, and pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger.

Your orgasm hit you in hot waves, tears streaming down your cheeks as you called Kento's name over and over, feeling stretched and overfull with his fingers and cock still inside you. Feeling next to no relief post-orgasm, you slammed your hips down on Kento's, chasing the fullness his hand and straining erection gave you.

Kento clenched his teeth as you rode him, refusing to cum until you'd had your fill of him, vision and heart full of you clad in nothing but his tie. One hand remaining between your legs, and the other providing aggressive attention to your breasts and nipples, Kento felt your sweat and cum drip down his balls, groin now soaked with the intoxicating smell of you. He continued rubbing circles on your clit and squeezed his fingers forward against your internal walls, feeling your cervix bump his fingertips, as you shook and shuddered your way through a second orgasm.

Kento removed his hands to grasp your hips, your wetness dropping along his hand. Lifting you up and ramming you back down onto his cock, you slumped forwards onto him, a ragdoll.

Determined to pleasure you until you could barely stand, Kento tilted your hips against his until his cock pumped in and out of you at the perfect angle, his eyes fixed on where his fingers sank into the plush fat of your arse, jiggling as he slammed you down onto him. He hissed as your nails dug crescents into his shoulders, and you pleaded against his chest-- "please please please cum inside me, don't stop, don't stop" -- while his hips bucked you upwards, feet cramping as his toes pressed hard onto the floor, lights in his eyes as he felt his balls and abdomen clench, his approaching orgasm about to overwhelm his stamina. He felt your teeth and hot little pants against his chest.

Your hips couldn't keep up with his pace, hearing his moans rumble through his chest with every thrust, until you felt his cock jump and spurt hot seed inside you, cervix wet and belly warm and full. You lay on top of him, shuddering, feeling the heat in your body gradually dissipate. Kento stroked your hair, strong arms holding you to him, planting soft kisses on top of your head.

"Better?" he inquired, toying with the tie around your neck. You blushed, bashful after your performance, nodding and humming against his neck. "Much," you reassured him. He tapped your bum playfully, "You go shower and get cleaned up. I'll tidy up out here."

You climbed off him with a sigh, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as he slipped out of you, and you padded away to the bathroom.

In a few minutes, sated, sleepy, and feeling the hot water tumble over you, you were struck with a thought. Opening the shower door, you called out to Kento.

"I was just thinking, maybe you shouldn't touch those clothes? There's probably still loads of--" You paused, hearing Kento sneeze and swear in the next room.

A few tense moments passed, the time coiling up in your tummy like snakes, and the bathroom door creaked open slowly. Kento filled the doorway, shoulders tense as he stared you down like you were prey, slowly stroking his rapidly hardening cock.

"Oh shit," you breathed, naked and helpless under the hot water as he approached you, eyes burning with intent.

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REQUEST #1 COMPLETE!

And just think, Kento never even took off his slippers. Get you a man who can rail you like that with his house slippers on.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”  

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.  

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”  

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.  

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.   

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”  

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”  

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.  

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing? 

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.  

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss. 

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button.  Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

[junowritings]

Hi! Can I rqs for a platonic Malleus x Fem!reader imagine please? During their NRC days,reader jokingly asked Malleus to be her maid of honour if she ever got married. Then,years later, on her wedding day, Malleus shows up,fully intending to keep his promise.

Thx!

I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Listen this started off jokey but ended up kinda wholesome like he would be so touched??? and take it so seriously???

Also I'm thinking about the whole Fae living longer than humans but this didn't fit into the drabble so can I just say you can absolutely bet that decades/centuries after your wedding he is telling EVERYONE he meets about his fav child of man and that whole thing bc he'd think the world would be poorer off if he didn't tell everybody about his friend and the happiness they wanted him to play such an important part in.

BUT YEAH I hope you enjoy how this turned out!

=====

“If I ever get married, you’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you, Mal?”

Such a simple request, spoken so boldly from one he considered his true confidant. How could he have ever refused?

To you it was made in jest, on a quiet walk out on your dorm’s grounds as you had done for so many months now. It was easy to fill the silence with idle chatter on the nights where you found Daisomnia’s dorm leader meandering through Ramshackle’s old bones; a comforting routine that had fallen into place merely by being in the right place, at the right time. Often you would coax the odd memory from the fae of his life before Night Raven College; but Malleus was far more interested to learn of your affairs. Of friends, of family, of the many wonderful experiences crammed into such a short existence as your mortal life. 

You had become such an invaluable part of his life, it would be only natural to bask in your every word and commit it to memory, would it not? If only to ensure that not a single memory of his dear friend became lost to the flow of time that followed after you. 

So when you had turned to him, expression alight with a grin that made your eyes sparkle and the corners of your mouth crinkle with well-meant mischief, your question gave Malleus pause. 

To anyone else, your joke would have earned a playful nudge or a flat out refusal. But to Malleus, the man who you so earnestly called your friend even after everything that had transpired since your arrival? 

That small request is bound to his heart, with every intention to see it through simply because you asked. 

The days from that single night trickle into months, and then years. Faces change and friends part ways between that time, though the close bond is never lost.. A blink of an eye for your fae friend, but almost a lifetime for yourself. The moment is lost within the recesses of your fond memories, as you find a life of your own and find a love who makes your heart race and brightens the very world in their wake. Lost, but always lingering somewhere in the peripheral of your mind each time you’d looked down at your hand, now decorated with an engagement ring - a promise for the life to come.

Even as you stand now before your mirror, donned in fine fabrics of beautiful colors that makes your smile shine and your heart feel full you reminisce. It brings a chuckle to your lips, shaking your head at how easily you had joked back then about getting married, only to find yourself now doing what seemed like a distant ‘what if’ scenario just years ago. Your eyes close for a moment, your wedding attire bunched in your hands as the memory flickers briefly through your mind.

And then your eyes open, and suddenly that very memory is standing in the reflection of your mirror.

But it’s not just a reflection. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you know that it’s real as you spin around to face your old friend, face breaking out into that same telltale grin Malleus had seen such a short time ago.

“Malleus!”

The years have changed Malleus so very little, but you see it in his face. His smile is softer at the edges as he regards you with a warmness once shielded behind the result of decades of isolation. It’s a welcome sight, and you’re only pulled away when you spot the envelope in his free hand, your own writing scrawled on the cover. You recognize it immediately, and your heart swells with relief.

He’d received your invitation. He’d actually made it.

There is no hesitation as you throw your arms around the fae’s shoulders, no doubt making a mess of the pristine finery he’s wearing but too elated to care. You can’t resist a joke about how Sebek would have your hide for almost bringing the ruler of Briar Valley crashing down into the bridal suite mirror. The comment is met with a hearty chuckle from Malleus who returns your embrace eagerly, though unlike you he is careful to avoid creasing your clothes; he wouldn’t want it to impede on one of the happiest days of your life, after all.

There are so many things to catch up on. So much time to fill in on every little detail that couldn’t be expressed through letters and calls. But that will have to wait, especially as a knock at the door just moments later brings you back to the present, the wedding planner peeking their head in to ask if you and your maid of honor are ready for the ceremony. Now that gets your attention, and Malleus fails to hide the amusement that glints in his eyes watching your eyes widen, eyebrows raised in surprise as your gaze darts from the planner to your friend. 

He can see the gears turning in your head, piecing together that carefully hidden fragment that Malleus had kept close to his thoughts all of these years. And then he sees that smile again, now wobbly at the corners as your misty eyes blink back the emotions you feel welling up in your chest, and he feels pride in knowing just what his presence here on your wedding day now means to you.

Standing tall, Malleus moves to stand by your side and offers his arm. Today he is not the king of Briar valley. Today, he is your friend, confidant, and the best maid of honor you could have asked for on one of the happiest days of your life.

“Come now, I Believe I made a promise to you, child of man.” he speaks warmly as you hook your arm over his. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forget so soon.”

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 2

Future Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual situations alluded to. Okay y'all were super interactive on the first chapter so I figured I'd give you an early chapter as a treat. Lol.

A full week had passed, another one full of overbearing work, handling the slight squabbling from the team while also dealing with constant badgering from the higher ups and Emily was over it. She scooped the final bite of linguine out of the pan, chewing it down while she moved the dish into the dishwasher thankful at least that she didn’t have to hand wash things tonight. It had been an annoying week and the bottle of wine on the counter had been calling her name since about two in the afternoon, the thought of an orgasm to relieve some stress on her mind from the moment she got home. However it wasn’t close enough to shower or bed time yet so the wine would have to do for now.

Emily refilled her glass, picked up her phone and opened the door to the patio, figuring at the very least she could enjoy the warm evening and actually get some fresh air after being cooped up in the office all week. Settling into one of the chairs she swiped open her phone and immediately had to resist the temptation to check her email, reminding herself she wouldn’t be so frustrated if she left work at work unless it was completely urgent. So she scrolled through a couple of social media apps, wasting time looking at pictures posted by friends, which in turn made her feel even more like she was missing out on something. She closed Instagram and her thumb hovered over the screen while she tried to figure out what to doom-scroll on next, finding herself staring at the little red apps Heather had installed. She took a breath, a large sip of wine and bit the bullet, opening the first one and she was pleasantly surprised she could scroll through a handful of profiles without setting one up for herself first.

‘Caitlin. 21.’

“Okay well you’re barely legal.” Emily muttered to herself, scrolling down further.

‘Steven. 32.’

A better age, but still a step in the wrong direction.

‘Kyla. 38.’

Better. But she could only see the main picture, age and location. Pulling her lip into her mouth she flicked around through a couple of pages until she found the how to tips and realized she would have to make a profile after all, even if it was just to see more information. She let out a huff, closing the app, hesitating only a minute before she opened up her text conversation with Heather.

‘Are you SURE this is a good idea?’

Her phone buzzed only a few seconds later.

‘The apps are fine. I’m assuming you haven’t even made a profile yet and it’s just pushing out what it thinks people want to see. You can curate your own experience once you put in your preferences.’

‘And if it still sucks?’

‘Oh come on, what’s the harm in one date? At the very least it’ll keep you entertained.’

‘Who said I’m not entertained?’

‘It’s Friday night and you’re texting me instead of being out somewhere.’

‘And you’re answering.’

‘I’m waiting for Rob to pull the car around; you just caught me at a convenient time.’  ‘Make a profile. There’s no harm in seeing what’s out there. You can blame me if it’s terrible.’

‘Add on a free lunch.’

‘Tell you what, this doesn’t work, I’ll bump it up to dinner and show you a couple of the discreet clubs around the city.’

‘Mark me down as intrigued. Deal.’

Emily let out a huff, swigging back a mouthful of wine before finally reopening the first app to start to put together her own profile. Maybe there really was a chance that this could work out.

*

Carly. 35.

Emily was almost late, one work call turning into another, turning into getting put on hold meant she didn’t have time to go change after work, arriving at Smoke and Mirrors still in her business casual. She was just in the nick of time and instantly found her date nestled into a cozy table on the patio overlooking the river, martini already in front of her.

It wasn’t necessarily that she slipped back into work mode, but her job did help her meet and interact with new people on a regular basis fairly easily. A warm smile and greeting, unsure how awkward something like a handshake would be considering the situation. A few rounds of drinks, a couple of split appetizers, and a decent enough time. While Carly could hold a perfectly good conversation and Emily could see them perhaps being friendly in the future, it wasn’t the right vibe. It certainly wasn’t helping that Emily could practically feel every set of eyes in the lounge on them throughout the night and that you didn’t have to be a profiler to put it together what kind of a situation was going on. It made Emily uncomfortable, like everyone was judging them, more specifically, her. If the two of them had been more friendly to each other right off the bat you might have been able to tell that it wasn’t a date, that they were colleagues or friends but that simply wasn’t the case. Her mind wandered to the thought that there was someone in the room that likely just assumed they were mother, daughter and that made her skin absolutely crawl and instantly ask if they could get the check. She at least felt a little bit better when Carly offered to split it, offering her a small smile that meant she was about on the same page.  

*

Alice. 36.

This time Emily gave herself more than enough time to get home, have a glass of wine to help her relax and change into something more date appropriate. Alice had recommended Fiola and Emily had simply gone along with it, not realizing just how high end it actually was, her eyes widening at the fact that a single cocktail could set you back twenty-five to almost thirty dollars much less the food menu. At the very least, it seemed like the restaurant’s lounge was the place to be for date night on a Thursday, couples scattered throughout the place in various levels of dress. She noticed something on the menu advertising it being the place to be prior to theatre events and their server asked if they were attending a show tonight.

Emily had a little bit more faith in this one, feeling more comfortable considering the setting, actually relaxing as she laughed over her very expensive drink. It didn’t take long for the conversation to roll around to what one did when not out on the town and she let it slip that she worked for the government, a few more carefully worded questions and Alice had enough to figure out she was a fed, excusing herself to use the bathroom. When the room started to clear and Emily realized the other woman’s purse was gone from the back of her chair she let out a soft groan, realizing she was definitely stuck with the pricey cheque.

*

Lily 31.

Emily knew going in this one could be risky based off age alone. Lily’s profile seemed like she did this full time and she already wasn’t sure about things by the time she set foot into 1798. Her suspicions were confirmed when her phone went off with an urgent call she had to take, letting out a sigh as she returned to the table explaining that she had to leave for work and likely wouldn’t be back for a few days at least. In return Lily let out a huff and a whine like she was a toddler, crossing her arms over her chest and demanded that Emily pay for a three course dinner and send her roses each day she was going to be gone since she had wasted her time. Emily outwardly laughed, saying drinks were the only thing she’d even agreed to have, much less pay for and left as fast as she came in.

*

Kimberly. 39.

This one got postponed immediately as a case kept them out of town longer than anticipated. They were still only chatting back and fourth on the app and Emily was venting about being the one in charge and how her team were agents and you’d think they could handle certain things themselves but apparently not. She woke up the next morning to find a couple of messages that insinuated Kimberly might have been doing other things for money that weren’t exactly legal and thought it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with a cop. After Emily sent a reply agreeing, the match disappeared.

*

Emma. 34.

This one started off slow, a match, Emily shot off a message and waited a while to hear back. She was pleasantly surprised when her phone pinged with the reply she’d been hoping to get for a few days. They got along wonderfully, everything seemed to be falling right into place, their opinions, expectations, they shared a handful of the same favourite movies, foods, for once it seemed like things would be perfect. Emily opened the app when she got home from work that night to ask her out for drinks that weekend to find that she’d been completely ghosted, unmatched and no way to find Emma again.

*

Kori. 40.

The second match that had gone off without a hitch and a plan to meet at Blue Duck Tavern that coming Thursday night. Emily arrived a little bit early thanks to a complete lack of traffic and figured she would just grab a drink at the bar while waiting. You could only imagine her confusion when she was tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see an older than middle aged man with a timid smile introducing himself, apologizing that he didn’t look like his pictures.

That one earned an eye roll and a ‘yeah, right’ before Emily was heading for the door.

*

The week had finally come to a close and Emily had dismissed the BAU shortly after lunch, telling the team to get out of there while they still had the chance and everyone was quick to leave the building, herself included. Construction rerouted her normal commute home and when she ended up in the same neighbourhood as Heather’s office her mind wandered back to how unsuccessful her past two weeks had been and before she even really realized it, she was pulling into the parking lot.

“I’m being serious Heather, it’s fucking terrible.” She groaned, dropping down into a chair across from the other woman’s desk. “This is almost as bad as dating men was.”

“From what I heard some of them are men.” Heather replied with a tease and Emily shot her a glare.

“I just thought this would be easier.”

“Finding the right fit is the hard part, it’ll smooth over once you do.” Heather flipped the book in front of her closed, standing from her chair and crossing over to the liquor cart, filling up two glasses of scotch.

“I didn’t want to deal with the hard part though.” Emily continued to mope, thanking her for the glass.

“Drink. You’re too pent up.” She settled back at her desk, “you really do need to get laid.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying!?” She sucked back a mouthful of the liquor, stewing in her thoughts for a moment. “Please tell me you’re having more success in this than I am, how’s your bartender doing?”

“Are you kidding?” Heather laughed, “you saw her. She’s practically pathetic. She was pretty enough, but my god the level of insecurity? The constant whining and worrying? Don’t get me wrong, I love a good brat but there was no way she wouldn’t have been crying on my doorstep begging me to leave my husband in a week’s time.”

“Have you had that happen before?” Her eyes widened at the sheer thought of it as Heather nodded.

“Best piece of advice I can give you, don’t let them know where you live. Stick to hotels.”

“Noted.”

“What are you having the biggest trouble with? Maybe I can help.”

Emily sighed softly, swirling her cup as she stared into it, sorting through the string of failed dates, “honestly I don’t even know. Maybe I just need to play around with the age range…. Would probably help to bump it up a little it.”

“Anything under thirty-five does usually end up getting messy.”

“I want someone who has their life a little bit more put together; you know?”

“Mmhmm.” Heather replied over the rim of her drink, “you need to make sure that this isn’t their only source of income, that they have something else going on to fill their time and bank account up. Maybe someone who has an actual partner.”

“I don’t know about that.” Her nose crinkled, “would feel wrong. But someone who has a full time job and wouldn’t be completely dependant on me certainly would be nice. I don’t have the time or energy for that.”

“You need a gorgeous, ambitious girl who knows how to be discreet in public and likes get her brains fucked out in private.”

“Exactly.” She laughed, taking another sip of her drink as Heather tilted her phone screen towards her, hitting a couple of buttons before returning her attention to the other woman, “you know, if you ever think of changing career paths…”

“Become a matchmaker for sugar babies?” She chuckled, “there would likely be a market for that, maybe after retirement.”

Emily laughed, shaking her head as she watched the wheels start turning in the other woman’s head. She heard a brief knock on the door behind her before it swung open,

“I didn’t realize you needed this by the end of the day, sorry.” You swung through the office, coming to perch on the side of Heather’s desk as you handed her the file.

“It’s alright, it slipped my mind too.” Heather replied as she opened the file, skimming through it.

Her eyes flicked over to Emily briefly, watching the way her gaze drifted from the designer heels on your feet all the way to the necklace laying against your collarbone. You were dressed professionally yet incredibly stylish, dark pencil skirt, a peach sleeveless blouse tucked into it, blazer no doubt laying over the back of your desk chair. A delicate silver watch around one wrist, perfectly manicured nails and eyes that were suddenly set on her.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt. You’re FBI, right? Prentiss?” Your words jolted her out of her trance and she caught herself scrambling over the fact that you knew her name, wondering if she’d left her ID badge on after work.

“Well now I feel bad.” She laughed.

“Don’t.” Heather cut in, her eyes back on the file, “she just does checks on anyone that comes in here.”

“Ignore her.” You replied with a grin, sticking out your hand to introduce yourself, “y/n Walton.”

“And you’re what? Secret security?” Emily asked with a tease and you laughed as Heather tucked the file away into her desk.

“She’s the head of my PR team, does incredible work.”

“I should hope so, you practically groomed me into the assistant you needed.”

“I did not—” Heather scoffed, “you’re a horrible tease.”

“I do my job and then some, and I do it phenomenally.” You showboated for a second, grinning over at Emily before looking up at your boss, “which is why I’m double checking it’s still okay to duck out early tonight?”

“Why?” The other woman asked with a smirk, “you have a hot date or something?”

“Heather, please.” You barked out a laugh, “you’re a slave driver! You know I don’t have time to properly date with my schedule.”

“So why the need to play hooky?”

“A new Netflix special drops at six and I have a frozen pizza, a pint of ice cream and that bottle of Bordeaux screaming my name.” You slipped off the side of her desk, “besides, you still owe me the OT for putting together the gift baskets and flower arrangements for Senator Reeves. You do remember you have an assistant for that kind of shit, right?”

“Oh but sweetheart you’re so much better than them.”

“I know.” You grinned at her, “which is why I’m leaving early.”

She laughed, shaking her head, “keep your phone on.”

“Of course.” You turned, smiling across at Emily, “nice to meet you Agent Prentiss.”

Emily couldn’t help the way her eyes followed you out of the room before she finally turned back to Heather who was grinning like the cheshire cat over the rim of her drink.

“What?” She asked, feigning confusion and Heather chuckled.

“You liked what you saw.”

“Hard not to.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drool like that over someone before.”

“I—I was not drooling!”

“Maybe not from your mouth.”

“Heather!” Emily felt her cheeks begin to burn, attempting to hide behind her glass as the brunette let out a dark laugh.

“Here, at least take her phone number.” Picking up a pen she scrawled the digits out onto a post it note, handing it to Emily.

“I don’t have time to date, you know this.”

“And you heard her.” She gestured toward the door, “she doesn’t either. You wanted someone with their head on straight who is comfortable occupying themselves when you’re working. I make her schedule; I guarantee she works as many hours as you do. Besides… she’s done this a couple of times before.”

That caught Emily’s attention, looking up from the yellow paper in her hand with her brow furrowed, “really?”

“Yes.”

“With women?”

“She needed some help through college, I was bored.” Heather shrugged, “worked out for both of us and now she’s on my actual payroll.”

“She’s been working for you that long?”

“Mmhm.” Heather nodded.

“So you really did groom her?” Emily teased and it was Heather’s turn to scoff, rolling her eyes.

“Just call her.” She half glared, “god knows she could use a night out, and one where she doesn’t have to rub elbows with politicians the entire time. She deserves a break and likely needs a good fuck, both of which I’m sure you can give to her.”

“We really don’t need to have that conversation.” She laughed, tucking the post it into her pocket, “but thank you. I will think about it.”

“Don’t think too long.” Heather smiled as Emily got up from her chair, scooping up her jacket from the back of it. “If you come back here in two weeks complaining about the shitty apps and you haven’t called her yet I’ll start feeding her lies about how much you suck.”

“Okay, okay.” She laughed, “I’ll call. And I’ll see you later.”

_________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen

[mrsparrasblog]

Speak now

You and Simon were an unusual pair, at least that's what everyone said about you. You remember how Gaz and Soap laughed for an hour straight when you told them the news that you and Simon were together. You saved people, he killed people; that’s what people saw.

But you saw something different in Simon. He wasn’t tough or aggressive or anything that people told you around the base. In fact, you never had a boyfriend who was so gentle towards you, always afraid to hurt you by accident.

His fear was what finally broke you apart all those years ago. He was afraid to hurt you, to corrupt you with his sins, or even worse, to get you killed like everyone else who cared about him. It was just over.

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

Three years later...

The day finally came: your wedding day, the day you waited more than a decade for. You remembered how you always planned your wedding since you were four. Over the years, the planning became only more intense. You wanted a big wedding cake, peonies everywhere, and no roses in sight; that was too ordinary for you. A dress that embraced your body type instead of hiding it, and definitely a winter wedding since you hated summer; too hot for a wedding, imagine getting sunburned on your wedding day? Terrible.

Your ex-boyfriend Simon always laughed about it, telling you this was the most incredibly dumb thought when it came to a wedding. But he promised you if you tied the knot, you’d get a winter wedding, maybe even a few days before Christmas with a hot chocolate bar, a Christmas tree with signed ornaments from every guest, and a honeymoon in NYC to see Christmas and New Year's Eve there.

So, how did you end up here? It was July, 32 degrees Celsius, and you were sweating your makeup off, which was the worst case since you hid your sunburn under it. Simon would laugh at the irony; of course he would. Then he would tell you some stupid dad joke about sunburns, and you would roll your eyes at him, trying to hide your laughter because it was too embarrassing to admit that you loved every one of his jokes.

But you were here in the church right now, and Simon was only a guest, not your groom, and it was better this way. Simon wasn’t ready to settle down with you; he didn't want kids and everything you wanted, and he was always afraid of committing to you. You just never knew why.

A few months after your breakup, you met James. He was one of the lawyers working for the military and, finally a non-soldier, someone who wanted to settle down with you. He proposed only after a year, and it was magical, at least you thought so.

How didn’t you recognize the signs? How have you never gone out with Price, who was like a Dad to you since your engagement? How you stopped singing and dancing in the shower? How you lost weight only to please him, and how you were stuck in a nightmare wedding?

Well, you should cut him some slack, you thought. It wasn’t that horrible; it was only horrible for you. Other women would love the pile of roses, the tent of a dress you wore, the summer wedding; everything was fine��just from a different perspective.

"This will be the happiest day of your life," you mumbled between your breaths as you looked into the mirror, finalizing the last bits of makeup.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," John hummed, giving you an approving look. You couldn’t contain yourself from hugging him. John was only 10 years older than you, but he grew into a father figure for you. He almost cried when you asked him to walk you down the aisle.

"Thank you, John."

"If you don’t want this, say the word, and I will drive you home."

"John, I want this."

The church was filled to the brim with his and your friends, well, mostly his friends and family. Most of your friends avoided you since your engagement. At least Kyle, Soap, and John were there. You asked Simon if he’d come too; he wasn’t sure at first, but he said he'd come. You needed him there; he was your best friend after all - well, he was before you broke up.

John took your hand, and with him, you walked towards James. Everyone looked at you, and despite everything you didn’t like, you were indeed the most beautiful bride there ever was. Your bridesmaids stood at the altar in their maroon-shaded dresses, smiling towards you. James smiled at you; he didn’t cry, but that's okay; you knew he was more than happy to be here today, with you. But your eyes searched for him; was Simon there?

As everyone stood up, you noticed him, looking down at you with a faint smile. He wore a suit, something you had never seen him wear before. The fabric was stretched across his broad shoulders; the suit trousers were too short for his full height, so his ankles were visible. But despite this, he looked incredible, and without a mask, just for you - he left it at home for you. He was the only one not smiling at you - not important right now. John gave you to James, being the best actor anyone had seen; he hid his despise towards James so well.

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

"Th' bride looks absolutely bonny, dinnae ye think sae, Lt.?"

"Go fuck yourself, Johnny."

"Would dae it, bit it wid be a tad disrespectful oan a bridle," Johnny chuckled with a boyish grin while Garrick shot him a death stare, clearly annoyed by Johnny's unableness to behave.

Simon didn’t want to go to the fucking wedding, as if it wasn’t worse enough to know how much he fucked up by breaking up with you. No, he needed to watch that shit now; it was worse than all the torture he endured in his life. He would have said no; he really should have if you hadn’t looked at him with your dear eyes. How could he say no to you? He was just a man after all.

And now he was punished, watching the love of his life marry a bloody wanker. A lawyer, as if you would be happy with that suit-wearing superficial idiot. No, you always wanted and deserved a real man, someone who’d kill for you, someone like him, someone who wouldn’t mind getting dirty for you, someone who respected your wishes. Someone who knew how much you hated summer weddings, roses, and this dress.

Well, you still looked like the most beautiful woman on earth, he thought, but he couldn’t shake the thoughts away that this was not like you; this wasn’t you. That's not what he could give you if he hadn’t been such a bloody coward.

He looked at you and tried to smile; that's the least he could do after giving you up. "Dear friends, and family, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love between the two of them. If you are willing to support the love between the two, then please answer, 'Yes, we will.'"

"Yes, we will," was chanted from the various people at the church, just not from him and Price, who looked more stern than usual.

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

(Three years ago...)

"Why do you think this is romantic? She left a poor bloke at the altar," Simon looked at you confused at your choice of movie for Netflix and chill.

"If you know, you know, Simon. Just thinking, if you love someone so much, you can be egotistical, you know."

"You’re weird, love," he chuckled while pulling you closer into his embrace.

"If I ever marry, I want a winter wedding with Christmas trees and hot cocoa and snow, lots of snow."

"You'll freeze to death in the dress, love."

"At least no sunburn."

"I've been taking Viagra for my sunburn. It doesn’t cure it, but it keeps the sheets off my legs."

"You're not funny, Simon Riley."

This is not right; everything feels wrong about this for him. And when he looked at you, noticing your eyes were focused on him instead of James, the doubt was gone. He stood up, ignoring the glances from everyone in the room; only you were important now. Who cares if he fucks up, as long as he has you back?

"I love you. I know I'm a fucking bastard for not telling you this ages ago, but I always loved you since the day you bloody screamed at me in the hospital. I love your craziness, your messy hair in the morning, and how you always sing in the shower even if you can't fucking sing. I love you, and I know this isn’t your thing; everything comes with me. Let me be the man you deserve."

Silence. Everyone in the room was torn between anger, silence, and somehow happiness. You knew what you were about to do was the most selfish thing in your life. You gave James an apologetic glance, and much to Simon's surprise, you ran towards him, or more of waddled, which made the whole situation awkward; you really should have trained to walk in your wedding heels. Of course, he scooped you up, running with you out of the church like a madman, putting you in the front seat of his trashy SUV.

"I didn't think you’d agree."

"Me neither."

"I'm glad you did."

"So what now, Simon?"

"Marry me, love; make an honest man out of me. I'll give you everything you want: kids, a corgi, even though shepherds are superior, and I'll build a damn house for you with a bloody wrap-around porch, everything for you, just be Mrs. Riley."

You couldn’t contain your happiness anymore, so you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. "Yes, yes, Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you too, always."

[obxone]

Midsummer's Mingle

edited-ish. ~1.8k words.

Midsummers is here. It is the one night that allows all the kooks to compete with each other despite Hurricane Agatha nearly destroying the island and leaving the other side of the island without power. Normally you stayed at home or hung out with John B. and maybe JJ if he did not have to work the event, but this year Kie has managed to drag you with her. You had been reluctant but caved after serious begging from her. 

“Ready?” Kie asks, looking up after she secures the strap of her heel. “To go mingle with the kooks?”

“Almost,” you murmur, looking down at the dress you have spent way too much of your tips on. It is beautiful, and you feel like a goddess in it despite the weight of tonight’s event. Kiara has convinced her parents to let you tag along with the promise of not being a complete thorn in their side. You all know it will not last. Not based on her temperament all day. 

“How are my girls?” Anna asks as you enter her parents’ bedroom with Kie. She smiles taking you both in. "Stunning."

“This is disgusting,” Kie says, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her hands press against her dress, smoothing out the silk dress. 

“I know. It’s just horrible,” Anna comments while adjusting the flower crown on your head. “You look stunning, Sweetheart,” she murmurs to you and you smile back at her before you both turn to Kie. Kie’s purple silk gown hangs from her like a waterfall. “I’m asking you to relax and go to a fun party.”

“We look like bourgeoisie pigs,” Kiara says, turning to look at you both. You bite your lip, and she frowns at you. “I know you aren’t.”

You laugh then, pressing your fingers to your lips before looking away. Anna frowns at you both while she puts in her earrings. 

“Will you please not worry about socioeconomic injustice for one night?”

“Mom, people not three miles from here have no power, no running water, and we’re going to Midsummers.” She moved closer to her mom. “That’s so tone-deaf.”

You agree, but would not speak on it out loud since you were only a guest on their behalf tonight. 

“Kie!” Anna sighs, looking at her daughter as she grows irritated. “We made a deal. You can have a friend, and I don’t have to hear this all night.”

“Fine!” Kie snaps, crossing her arms over her waist. “You win.”

You study them, wary of an explosive argument starting before the event even took place, but it seems to dissolve as Anna shakes her head and leaves the room. 

— — — — 

You arrive and follow Kiara out onto the deck. People look and smile kindly, probably not realizing you are not one of them. “There’s Pope.” She grins and squeezes your arm before going as you are stopped by an older woman, who compliments your gown. You thank her before moving to the others. 

“Pope!” You grin as you get closer. 

“Wow,” he comments, and you spin before moving to Kie’s side. You all take in the crowd together, aware that none of you really belong. 

Your hand presses to your stomach to quiet the nerves as you mutter. “This is a lot.”

“Hey,” Pope starts while looking at Kie. “Have you heard from JJ?”

She looks down at the ground between you. “No.” She looks up, relaxing the wrinkles on her forehead. “He’ll be all right. He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach.”

“It’s all my fault.” He sighs. 

“Uh- - you didn’t do this, Pope.” She says, turning to him, and you frown at him, but he does not look at either of you. “Topper almost killed you. Remember?”

“Please stay away from that asshole tonight,” you input and he nods, looking at you then. “I spent a lot of my tip money on this dress and don’t want to ruin it so soon.”

“Okay,” he agrees, a flit of a smile on his lips, leaning back against the table they are prepping oysters on. You look ahead as claps echo from around the deck. The Camerons make their grand entrance with all smiles and dripping in decadence. 

“Here come Lord Capital and the Exploiters,” Kie mutters and you giggle but try to bite it back as Pope grins. Kiara’s description is accurate. 

“She’s definitely gonna poke somebody’s eye out with that,” Pope comments and it makes you laugh over Rose’s headdress. Your gaze, however, follows Rafe, who is being pulled to the side by Kelce. Kelce leans in, whispering to him before he turns back to the crowd. His gaze searches over everyone until he lands on you. He takes you in, his eyes scanning down the length of you before he whistles and turns away, clapping Kelce on the back. You glance at Kie and thank your lucky stars that she has not noticed Rafe’s reaction. 

“We should dance,” you say, hand grabbing hers. “Before your parents kick me out.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” she says but goes with you willingly. You both dance around each other to music and sip from glasses of champagne until it is gone. The bubbles make you giggle as you spin around one another. 

After a few songs, Kie goes to get more champagne and to check in with her parents while you step off the floor in search of a place to catch your breath. An area near the deck is empty and has a small table. It did not have any chairs and was too tall to sit at anyways, but it is tucked out of the way. You lean against it, watching the others dance and talk. 

“Hey,” Rafe moves to stand next to you. His blue eyes are brilliant against his powder blue suit. His hand brushes your exposed shoulder lightly. “Who are you here with?”

“Kiara.”

He nods, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip. “I would have brought you, you know that.”

“I would have said no,” you respond, before starting to walk away, but he is much quicker and prevents you from passing him. 

“That dress is stunning. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks, Rafe,” you respond, tipping your head back to look at him. “You look dashing in your suit.”

He smiles, hand touching the exposed skin of your back now. “We could have matched if you were my date.”

You sigh, shaking your head before looking out at the crowd. Your gaze lands on someone you had not expected. JJ. “I have to go.” You slip past him then and hurry down the steps to your friend. 

He grins at you as you near. His gaze drags over the length of you. “Fuck me, Princess, you are beautiful.”

“Oh stop,” you blush and touch his forearms after Sarah moves away from him. “What was that?”

“Nothing to worry about tonight. Now come dance with me.”

“JJ,” you scold lightly, and he chuckles before spinning you in a small circle and pulling you back to him. “Are you even supposed to be here?”

“No,” he responds, glancing around. “I should probably leave soon. But I want one dance with my favorite girl.”

You frown, studying the damage done to his face. You reach out. Your fingertips are gentle as they skate over his injuries. “Is that from your dad?”

He nods, a distant look taking over his face. “Nothing new. Don’t concern yourself about it, okay?”

“I’m going to concern myself,” you say right before he spins you in another circle. He grins at you when you come back to him. “JJ, please talk to me.”

“Later tonight, okay?” He asks, and you nod once. “Great, okay.” He leans in and presses his lips to your cheek, nearly against the corner of your mouth. “You look beautiful tonight. I’m glad I got to my dance.”

You blush and watch him go before turning to see Kie making her way to you. A questioning look on her face. 

“Was that-?”

“Yep,” you confirm before turning back, and a frown immediately takes over when you see Rafe and his friends going after JJ. “Kie?”

“I see it.”

You start to go after them, but she catches your hand, pulling you back. 

“Wait, let me get my dad to help.”

“Okay,” you respond, and she leaves you to go find her parents, and you watch as JJ starts to get away from them. They follow him inside, and you exhale, turning to find Kie and Pope. You spot Pope and move through the clusters of people to him. Your hand is on his arm, and he looks up. “Rafe and the others are going after JJ.”

“What?” He asks, looking behind you towards the party. “I don’t see anything.”

“They chased him inside.”

He surveys the deck and back of the Island Club, before pointing off to the side. “There is a security guy right there. Can he help?”

“I got it,” you rush out before gathering your skirt and hurrying over to the security guard. You explain, and he nods before going inside without a word, already noticing the commotion coming from the area around the inside bar. You return to Pope’s side and wait, eyes searching the party for any sign of JJ, Kie, or Rafe. 

It does not take long before the security guard is shoving JJ out onto the deck. You watch, fingers finding Pope’s arm and squeezing as you crane to see what is happening. JJ struggles with him, and you spot Kie nearby as she moves forward to claim him as a guest despite her parents' wishes. 

JJ shoves the security guard and moves closer to you. “Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie!” He says, pointing at her. He looks over his shoulder at Pope and you. “Pope. Sweetheart. You as well, all right?” He flashes a dimpled smile at you. “Rixon’s Cove. Let’s roll.”

You move towards him, ignoring the hushed whispers of alarm from other guests. You are a pogue, and you would choose JJ over their classist bullshit always. 

“All right,” he grins once he sees you coming. “Kie, come on!” He looks back towards the deck where she still is. He reaches up wrapping his hand around his wrist. “Workers of the world unite. Throw off your chains!” 

You laugh and look back at Pope, and then at Kie, she leaves her parents behind and heads your way. You notice Rafe standing there, smirking until his gaze finds yours. The smirk is wiped away, and he shakes his head, telling you not to go, but you already crossing the rest of the way to JJ. After turning back to JJ, you spot John B standing just behind him. 

“John B!” A wide grin breaks out on your face.

“Hey, Gorgeous!” He grins, hugging you after saluting JJ. You laugh, leaning into his side. Pope abandons his dad and moves forward to hug John B as Kie comes jogging after the group. She hugs John B next, spinning in a circle and nearly coming off her feet before clasping Pope’s hand.

“We got the hottest girls in the OBX,” JJ speaks loudly, blue eyes raking over you as he pulls you against him. You all head towards the HSM that is waiting nearby. You blush, hand finding his.  

[madameaug]

What is it, the Braids?!

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette

Synopsis: Jennette starts feeling herself with her new summer hair do.

Get it sexy.

Get it sexy.

Get it sexy.

Boy you know this ass super fat.

"I ain't lying, though." Jennette bounced excitedly in the driver's seat. Six long hours in the hair salon were finally over. It was summertime and it was perfect for her to get her favorite summer hairstyle. Boxbraids. Her trusty stylist was getting ready to have her baby, and Jennette knew she would be more than a little occupied.

Sexyy Red's smash hit was just the icing to the latest hairstyle. It was the perfect hype-song. Sun was out, Jennette had her rooftop done, speakers vibrating the car. She caught glances at herself in the rear view mirror.

Bustdown middle part and I got it black (I'm a big fine ho)

Walkin' through the club lookin' like a snack (but you knew that though)

The song was taking her back to her undergrad years. Jennette wouldn't label herself as 'ho' or anything. But she definitely participated in hoodrat activities more than once, wearing low-waisted jeans and getting her belly button pierced after one night of too many shots. Getting pulled into the center of twerk circle, throwing it back flawlessly on her friends. Never tying herself down so she could flirt shamelessly with the different guys on and off campus.

Maybe it was a good thing, this song didn't come out a decade ago. Pulling up at a stop light, Jennette adjusted her braids, looking over at the car beside her. Two young men, probably college students themselves. The one is the passenger initiated a friendly wave.

Jennette returned the favor. Her body still grooving to the music. Looking at her playlist for another hype song to add to the queue. The same passenger made a 'call me' motion, doing his best to silently flirt.

Jennette shook her head no, pressing her foot on the gas. Driving to her familiar neighborhood. Driving slowly to her house, she saw Peanut chasing her dad in in the freshly cut grass. Quickly her little legs stopped chasing as she watched the familiar sedan park.

Jennette, still feeling the music, locked the car door before stooping low and opening her arms. Regaining her speed, Peanut collided her body into her mother's arms. Littering her face in kisses, Jennette bounced the toddler.

Joining his family Jungkook kissed Jennette on her forehead, avoiding the freshly laid baby hairs.

"You look good."

"I know." Jennette posed, twisting her hips to look behind her. Doing a gentle shake of her hips. The tips of her braids swaying past the crack of her behind.

"This might be one of my favorite looks." Jennette put down Peanut. She's been so used to having her hair in its signature twist-out that she almost forgot how much she loved braids. All she had to do was slip on her satin scarf and bonnet and sleep peacefully. A temporary break from her frequently twisting sessions.

"It definitely brings out a new side of you."

"You like it?" Jennette flirted her acrylic nail in the corner of her mouth.

"Abso-fucking-tly" Scooping her up in his arms, Jennette instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her, Jungkook walked back over to where Peanut was playing.

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?

Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?

Word count: 3726

ao3 link will be added

Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"

TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)

summary:

Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.

It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind. 

For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.

Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.

Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology. 

But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.

Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse. 

Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.

“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”

“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly.  “Is Charles here?”

“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”

“He is not home either, has he said anything?”

Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”

Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“Doesn’t seem any different, right?” 

The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone. 

“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.” 

They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out. 

This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him. 

It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.

The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.

Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her. 

Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.

“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”

And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.

He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.

“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”

“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.

“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”

This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.

“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”

“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.

If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.

Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides. 

Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.

“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour. 

Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.

They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery. 

It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound. 

He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility. 

Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival. 

“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”

“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”

Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”

“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.

“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.” 

“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”

Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same. 

Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.

The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it. 

Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.

Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room. 

“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer. 

Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.

“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.” 

Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse. 

“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.

“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”

That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?” 

“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.” 

“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”

But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.

There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.

Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”

With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.

Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere. 

Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them. 

Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”

Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”

True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.

“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”

Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”

They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away. 

Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.

Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph. 

When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night. 

Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.

“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.

He pressed Charles closer to him.

He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.

Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.

It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.

He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again. 

Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.

One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut. 

Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.

Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.

Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.

Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.

“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips. 

Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees. 

Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.

“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.

They hugged once more.

“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”

“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”

“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”

“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”

Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.

[phoxey]

I can't help you.

Bada Lee x fem!reader

CW: hurt/comfort ANGST!!!! Big triggerwarning bc of Selfharm. Please do not read this if you are currently stuggling with (thoughts of) self harming.

AN: I wrote this for an ANON request, which i got a week ago. Sorry anon that im only doing it now, i was really busy. I hope you are okay, Anon. Remember you are so loved.

Bada was your safe place. Has always been. She knew you had been struggling with depression since you were a child, due to trauma from your childhood home. Your father died after a decade of him struggling with substance abuse and depression since you were born. Your mother just told you to suck it up and to not be weak. She refused to get you therapy.

You met Bada in middle school. You immediately became best friends, after she sat down next to you on the first day of school and said: “We are friends now.”

Since then, you two became inseparable. People knew if they invite Bada, you were coming too. You even slept at Bada’s house more often than at your own home. And as soon as both of you graduated you moved in with each other.

The only thing that Bada ever did without you was dancing. Bada called dancing her second greatest love after you. She always ran her choreography drafts by you, to get your feedback. It was her trying to involve you in her passion so you wouldn’t feel left out, and you loved it.

When you were with Bada, the demons in your head were quiet. They only came out whenever you were separated from Bada.

Since Street Woman Fighter 2 began she had spent most of her time at the studio. In the beginning you were fine, since the two of you still texted throughout the day. But the more the season progressed, the shorter her messages became. Bada was just stressed and busy, you knew that. But what if…?

What if she was growing apart from you?

What if she wasn’t busy, but just annoyed by you?

What if she didn’t love you anymore?

What if, she was just holding out with you?

What if she realized that you were just a burden to her?

What if she would be more successful if you weren’t there?

What if she was happier if you weren’t there?

What if she hated you?

You didn’t know how but the next time you opened your eyes again, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror. The cold bright lights hurting your tired eyes. You barely remembered the past few days. You only remembered sitting in front of your phone praying for a message from her, neither sleeping, nor eating. You could barely recognize yourself in the mirror. Pale and with dark circles around your eyes.

Crying didn’t help letting the darkness out of you body anymore. Neither did journalling. You had tried distracting yourself, but you couldn’t watch more than thirty seconds of a movie before your brain started to run the demons’ voices again. Nothing helped anymore.

Except…

Your eyes briefly fell to your own razor before your eyes shot back up to your reflection. Your eyes pleaded with yourself.

“Please don’t do it… “, you whispered to yourself. “Please, Please…”

You kept begging yourself to not do it, but your hands moved on their own.

When Bada actually did come home that night, she found the entire apartment in darkness, even the shutters were closed. She put down her bag on the kitchen counter and noticed how the state of the kitchen and the unwashed dishes hadn’t changed since she was here a few days ago. She heard sobbing from the bedroom and immediately rushed there. The bedroom was empty as well but the door to the bathroom was opened a crack and the cold, sterile light streamed into the bedroom.

She swung the door open and there you were. Sitting on the tiles, holding your arms, your white shirt now red. You were sobbing but your eyes were dry.

Slowly you looked up at her.

“Babe… what is this? “, Bada asked slowly. Her heart was racing and aching when she saw your arms and the razor next to you on the floor.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I really tried…”, you muttered between sobs.

Bada briefly left the bathroom, and you were afraid that she was leaving you for good now, but just a minute later she returned.

“Wash it with cold water. Rinse it off.”, She said calmly but sternly.

Was she angry with you? She had to be. You obediently did as she said and got up, washing your arms with ice cold water. She bent down and took the razor in the meantime and threw it away. But she watched your every move.

When she saw that you were done, she handed you two bandages. “Wrap those around your arms.”

You did that as well. In silence Bada watched you, but also guided you as you two walked into the bedroom. Gently she sat you down on the bed.

“Wait here.”

Bada went into the bathroom again and closed the door. You sat there in the dark for a while, pulling your knees to your chest.

You wondered if Bada was really angry at you. Would she leave you now? You shouldn’t have put such a burden on her. Why did you do that? Bada was already stressed enough and now you only added to it. Or did you? Did she even care?

You felt the mattress sink in next to you and that snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked at her. Only to meet her intense eyes, which made you immediately look down.

You opened your mouth to say something, but not a sound came out and so you closed it again.

“I don’t hate you.”, she broke the silence.

“Why were you so cold just now?”, you asked softly.

“I read that it’s best to not react too much to self-harm, and for the person to wrap the wounds themselves. Also, I wanted to radiate calmness, for you and for myself too.”, Bada explained.

You nodded. “Ah… makes sense.”

Bada’s gaze softened and out the corner of your eye you saw her turning to you and opening her arms. Slowly you sank into her embrace and hid your face in her chest. Wordless she rubbed your back. The two of you stayed like that for a while. Bada’s heartbeat wasn’t exactly calm, but it soothed you nevertheless.

“Why?”, she whispered into the dark.

“You were gone for so long… and the thoughts got so loud…”, you mumbled ashamed.

“I’m sorry…“

„Don’t be please. Please. It’s my fault. Not yours. You were busy being so great and successful. I love that for you, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“It’s not your fault either.”

“But it is… I promised you that I would never do it again… and here I am.”, you whispered.

Bada was silent for another moment.

“It wasn’t your fault. You are not those evil thoughts. They are there in your head but they don’t define you. Got it?”

You nodded slowly.

“We have to do something against them.”, Bada said then. “I would hate if this or worse happens again. I can’t promise to be with you at all times. And I want you to be safe and happy even when I am gone.”

“I don’t know what to do though…”, you said.

“Go to therapy.“

“What?”

Bada looked at you. Her stern gaze was gone, now her beautiful eyes were sad and filled with tears.

“I can’t help you.”, she said, her voice cracking. “As much as I want to. I see you suffering daily and I hate that, I feel so helpless. And when I am gone, I know you suffer even more. But I can’t change it… it’s my job. So please…”

“Bada, I-… I wouldn’t even know where to start.”, you admitted.

“You don’t have to. I am still by your side. I will help you. I will look with you for therapists, I will call them with you, I will go to them with you.”, she said immediately.

You were silent. In all those years you never looked into getting therapy. The taunting voice of your mother in your head. That you should be strong and get over yourself. You waited for it to come… but today, your mothers voice remained silent. Confused you blinked. The voice had been there just five minutes ago. Why was it silent now?

“Babe? “, Bada pulled you out of your thoughts again.

You met her gentle eyes, her beautiful face, her beautiful soul behind all that. Your heart felt oddly light all of a sudden.

“Okay.”

[calcifiedunderland]

Let Them Eat Cake

Food Fight Ending I

You swiftly unlocked your phone, seeing you had a missed message from Trey. You sighed, scanning the message.

Trey: Hey (Name)! It was great seeing you at the Unbirthday Party, glad you could make it. And I’m glad you like the sweets and pastries, the secret ingredient is love!

Trey: If you’re available tomorrow, I’d like to thank you for your help. I have something important to tell you, that is better done in person.

Hmm…

Admittedly, you began to let your imagination run as you flopped back onto your bed with a silly grin on your face. You really couldn’t deny that you liked Trey a lot. Objectively, he was a very good upperclassman - always patient with you, polite, and helpful. But if you were being honest, he was just so easy to talk to - and was just so kind. And after all those Unbirthday Parties, Ace and Deuce shenanigans, and baking days, how could you not catch feelings?

It may be nothing, you thought to yourself as you responded back to Trey with a sure! You sighed, unable to stop smiling, but I hope its something.

Back in the dorm, Trey poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling when he saw Cater and Ace on the couch talking to themselves. Then his eyes narrowed, they’re not talking. They’re…Arguing? Snickering? He overheard them say No don’t say that, that’s cheesy! and It’s fine! They’ll think its cute, #TrustMeBro!

Trey walked over quietly, saying “Everything alright? Cater, Ace?”

Ace flinched, while Cater grinned at Trey. “Hey hey Trey~ thought you might need help with bagging our Ramshackle frosh!” He showed Trey the phone, and Trey’s face dropped when he saw the message. And the little string of dots, showing you were responding.

“-Before you say anything!” Ace cut in before Trey could truly panic, “We thought if we didn’t do anything now, you an’ (Name) would probably never make a move! And they won’t turn you down, I swear!” Cater nodded quickly, “They def like you back, Trey! All you need to do is tell ‘em!”

Trey looked at the two of them, and a chill went down their backs. Then he sighed, and said, “you’re probably right.” He looked back at the kitchens, deep in thought. “I will need to prep a few things, but it can be done by tomorrow… since I can’t back out now, I do hope it goes well.” Ace cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn’t regret this.

“And! If they turn you down, I’ll- uh…” Ace steeled himself, “I’ll do flamingo duty for a month. Promise!” He put his arm on Cater’s shoulder, “we both will!” Cater looked like he wanted to protest, but Trey nodded firmly, “deal.”

—💚♣️✨—

The next day, you got dressed and headed out, leaving Grim sleeping on the pillow next to yours. That morning, you gravitated towards eating a slice of tart for breakfast, the pleasant fruity sweetness of the strawberries still on your tongue as you walked through the crisp dewy air. It was surprisingly early, but Trey picked the time and to be honest, you could hardly sleep. You felt jittery, like you ate a pound of buttercream frosting.

You stepped through the Heartslabyul mirror, and walked through the Rose Maze until you reached a clearing where Trey had a round table set up. On it, sat a teapot with two cups in saucers, and a large platter with different pastries and desserts. You noticed that some were not from the Party yesterday. Did he make new desserts? Your heart skipped a beat, for me?

Usually Heartslabyul was busy in the daytime. But now, as the sun rose, it was perfectly serene.

“(Name),” Trey breathed, smiling at you. He pulled out a chair for you, and you sat down. As per the dorm custom, he poured you some tea. You matched his smile, and the two of you chatted, speaking quietly as if to keep everything to yourselves. Even though the maze was large enough, where no one would really hear you in the dorms.

You ate your dessert that Trey cut for you - a deliciously moist slice of cake, decadently garnished with a slice of strawberry you knew that Trey grew himself. At the top of it, sat a small white clover flower. You let out a small laugh, spearing a bite of cake with your fork, “the desserts look beautiful, Trey.” You smiled teasingly at him as you ate, “it’s even better that the secret ingredient is love!”

Trey let out a nervous chuckle, turning pink. “I- well, Cater and Ace thought it was a good idea,” he said, glad that you didn’t seem offput by the pun.

He was glad he’d stayed up late to put a few extra things to bake. He was able to make some desserts for you, and the act of baking helped clear his head. While he was happy Ace and Cater pushed him to finally tell you how he felt, it hadn’t been a cakewalk to prepare for this. It had taken him all night to work up the courage. And now, sitting here with you in the early dawn, it suddenly hit him, but now it didn’t feel as daunting because it was you. He swallowed a bite of cake, here goes nothing.

“(Name),” Trey began, setting down his fork, “We’ve known each other for a while, and I… wanted to thank you for helping me with everything.” You smiled, a bit confused but still happy, “Of course Trey, I like helping you.” He smiled, and continued, “I’m glad, because I like when you help me. Its… different than when the rest of the dorm helps me.”

You smiled at that. Helping Trey in the kitchen didn’t feel so much like a chore when you wanted to go. It felt good that he liked your company as much as you did his. And in a huge, busy dorm like Heartslabyul? That comment made you feel fuzzy inside.

Trey continued, adjusting his glasses nervously. “And I realized that its because its you. (Name), I… well, I really like you.”

You felt your face grow warm, and you couldn’t stop the sweet, saccharine smile from spreading on your face. You watched Trey grin, his golden eyes becoming warmer than the rising sun as you leaned over to hug his shoulders, laughing happily and feeling like a massive weight was lifted off your chest. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to the black clover beneath his eye, nudging his glasses. You laughed as a blush spread on his cheeks, voice echoing through the maze, “I like you too!” Your laughter was cut off as he captured your lips with his, and the two of you stayed there until the rest of the dorm woke up.

Ace fistpumped as he spied you two laughing outside his dorm window. Deuce looked at him with a confused look, as Ace smirked, “looks like I don’t have flamingo duty after all.”

💚♣️✨

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Tiger Club (part 2)

Steddie || ~1.6k words || rating: M || tags: single-dad steve harrington, teacher eddie munson, teacher chrissy cunningham, eddie and chrissy are best friends, steve harrington is dustin and max's dad, dustin and max are twins, meet cute, humor and fluff

Part 1 || Part 2 (you are here!) || Part 3 || ao3

~~~

Weeks go by, and Eddie always seems to miss Steve’s pick up days. Chrissy’s only seen him a few times, but both her and Eddie have been privileged with the presence of almost every other adult family member in the twins’ lives.

Aunt Robin picks them up most days. She always feigns exasperation at Dustin’s boundless energy and Max’s sassy jokes, but laughs every time they tackle her to the ground. Eddie was surprised to find out she actually lives with the kids and their mysterious father. He considered asking her more about the situation, but decided it wasn’t his business. 

However, he did find out from Chrissy that Robin and Steve went to the same high school but ran in different crowds. The two reconnected working at Hawkins Hospital, Robin as an interpreter and Steve as a paramedic. They bonded over a particularly difficult patient who’d come in through Emergency and didn’t want someone like Robin working with him, not realizing– as Robin had joked– that Steve was someone like Robin too. 

The more Eddie learns about the duo, the more it reminds him of his relationship with Chrissy. It’s at least a small comfort to know they’re not alone in this backwards town.

Aunt Nancy and Uncle Jonathan are the next most frequent visitors. He learned Nancy is a journalist at the Hawkins Post, but is looking to get hired working remotely at a bigger paper like The Chicago Times or Indianapolis Journal. Jonathan is a free-lance photographer, sometimes working for Nancy or the Post, but mostly shoots weddings and family photos. They seem nice enough, although he once caught Jonathan checking him out in the same way Robin had, glancing between Eddie and his own wife with a smirk on his face. 

The nerve of these people checking him out, leaving him flushed and spluttering when they aren’t even interested.

Hell, he even got to meet Dustin and Max’s grandparents before meeting their mysterious and elusive dad.

“Munson,” Jim Hopper, Hawkins Chief of Police, the twins’ adopted grandfather, scowled at him. He looked about the same as the last time Eddie had seen him, maybe a few more greys in his mustache and lines around his eyes. Easier to see the fine details when Eddie’s not cuffed in the backseat making faces at him in the rearview mirror.

Jesus Christ, is he lucky Hopper only ever brought him back home to Wayne for dealing instead of throwing him in a jail cell for the weekend. Eddie was twenty the last time the Chief picked him up, almost a decade ago now. He practically tossed Eddie in the backseat, drove them both out to the quarry, sat him down, handed him a beer, and explained in fine detail the differences between being a juvenile delinquent and an actual felon. Needless to say Eddie quit dealing and decided his calling was more educational.

“Oh Hop, leave the poor boy alone.” The small woman next to them playfully back-hands the Chief’s beer belly to get him to back off. “I’m Joyce, the kids’ grandma. And you must be Mr. Munson! We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hopper,” he says, unsure of how to navigate this extremely awkward interaction. The Chief’s stern glare hasn’t left Eddie’s face since he stepped out of the car. “I, uhh, wasn’t aware that you had family, Chief?”

The man grunts, but uncrosses his arms, shoving one hand in his front pocket and wrapping the other around his wife. “Steve’s not my son, but I’ve been looking after that boy since I picked him up for his first speeding ticket. Just a few years before the kids, back when he was dating Nancy.”

“Wait, wait, wait a second,” Eddie interrupts, shocked “Nancy, as in Auntie Nancy and Uncle Jonathan?”

“Jonathan’s my boy,” Joyce answers Eddie’s slack-jawed confusion. “Nancy and Jonathan met just after her and Steve broke up, but they’re all still good friends, obviously.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Eddie zones out a bit, trying to connect the dots in the tangled web of Max and Dustin Harrington’s family life. “Wait, wouldn’t that make Steve my age? And if you raised him–” he points to Hopper accusingly– “then that means he went to school here. With me. So why don’t I know him?”

But Hopper’s already shaking his head. “Kid went to the private school two towns over. Parents have an estate on the opposite side of town from Forest Hills, just barely inside my jurisdiction. I’m not surprised you two didn’t cross paths, he was only ever here for sports, which–” he gestures at Eddie’s everything, and yeah, Eddie gets it. But an estate?

This is the most information he’s been able to dig up so far. He looks back to the playground where Chrissy is still trying to rally the twins’ spilled bags. It’s an opportunity Eddie refuses to pass on.

“And the twins?” He turns back and just catches the end of a silent conversation between the couple, eyeing each other while glancing at Eddie. They stop when they notice him watching, and Hop sighs.

“Dustin and Max came around just after his senior year. The kid was set up for a full-ride to Indy on a swim scholarship his dad paid for. The mom was a girl he met at a party, and he didn’t see her again until she dropped them off on his doorstep. Parents kicked him out, then I took them in. Same week I picked you up for the last time,” Hop adds on with a laugh, like this entire conversation is chock full of cosmic coincidence. “What a hell of a week.”

Eddie tumbles the new information in his head over and over throughout the next few days. He feels himself growing bitter that someone like Steve Harrington exists. Someone who sounds too good to be true. Fake, like the many charming princes and noble knights he’s woven into his campaigns over the years. Except it’s hard to deny when it’s not just the kids, and Auntie Robin, Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Nancy, or hell, even the grandparents. 

It’s Chrissy. Every time Chrissy gets to talk to Steve, she raves about him until Eddie starts fake gagging just to get her to stop. She typically rolls her eyes, but he’s sick of hearing about how great this guy is and at this point, he’s not even sure if he wants to meet him. No one’s this great.

“Don’t you think it’s weird,” Eddie rants, like he has been for the past ten minutes, “that he can’t even be bothered to pick up his own children? And it’s like you’ve said, Chris, even when he does pick them up he’s always late! What kind of father is that, really?”

He’s halfway through his second margarita, and he’s lost track of the conversation entirely, not sure how they transitioned from Chrissy’s hinge matches to Steve fucking Harrington. Again.

Chrissy frowns at him, and yeah, he might’ve went a bit too far there. Maybe he’s a little sensitive about topics revolving around bad dads.

“Just because you’re hungry doesn’t mean you get to be a dick, Eddie,” she shoots back, pushing the basket of chips closer to him as they wait for their food. “It’s not my fault you decided to switch to detention yesterday and missed him because you were cold. I told you it was going to be chilly out and you still didn’t wear a jacket.”

“I was wearing a jacket, Chris,” he pouts.

“An actual, warm jacket. Not that threadbare, leather monstrosity you got from Goodwill for ten dollars. Just because you cover the holes with patches doesn’t mean the holes aren’t there.” 

He lets out an undignified shriek, but she continues on to the actual conversation, used to ignoring his dramatics. “You know it’s not the same as with your dad, or mine. Steve really is a great guy, even if you refuse to admit it. I think you’re just jealous you haven’t met him yet.”

“Of course I want to meet him,” he snaps back, but Chrissy just grins in response. “I have to listen to everyone talk about how great he is, and I’m just supposed to believe it all on face-value? Honestly, I’m sick of hearing about him, and if we keep talking about this it’s gonna ruin my buzz.”

Eddie refuses to believe a former trust-fund kid who hosted parties at his estate just to act like a fuck-boy actually leveled up to become a loving single father who’s adored by his family and friends, saves literal lives every day, and is one of the only queer people in this god forsaken town. 

Not that he spends his free time thinking about a random guy he’s gathered enough general information on to build a well-rounded NPC. A disowned nobleman cast out from his kingdom into squalor. With the help of the lonely prince’s new found family, he redeems himself by serving as Hawkins’ most beloved Paladin. 

Again, not that he’s actually building this character for next year’s campaign or anything, it just goes to show how much people won’t stop bragging about this guy, and Eddie’s over it.

“You’d really like him,” Chrissy says, putting an end to his stewing. She’s smiling like maybe she knows something he doesn’t, and it reminds him of the same smiles he’s gotten from Robin and Nanna Joyce.

“Yeah, well I’d actually have to meet him to like him.”

[djevelbl]

PぇあせたーLSぼいTくPぢっRSぎおなーふぇあろFへーっPぇあぜPーえあZDーえっせ I forgot to change language but, PLEASE talk about cups irrational fear of help/therapy, I love your long ass essays plz🔥🔥

This is the thing - IM!Cup is very closed-minded when it comes to new things; change has never been a benevolent mistress to him, after all. Which is understandable - you close off from the things that hurt you so they can't happen again, and while that's a survival tactic and fine on its own, the goal of therapy is to work on yourself and find a way to live life the best you can manage. And Cuphead is not living, but surviving. There's a difference. He's constantly paranoid, looking over his shoulder in case him and Mugs need to run immediately, he's in vigil 24/7 (does this man fucking sleep? Maybe, remains to be seen) so nobody can sneak up on them, even if they have money from the Devil (and it doesn't sound like a negligible amount either) he doesn't seem keen on spending it - probably 'cuz that's all they have in terms of monetary gain. He's been trained into these instincts and second-nature acts that he performs like a ritual every day - have you seen him relaxed? - and these things take a toll on you; there's a reason being on "survival mode" for prolonged periods of time is fucking dangerous - our bodies ain't made for that. He's also just. Scared of spilling his guts out, of being vulnerable and being taken advantage of - "that's happened already three times, who's to say it won't happen many more?" - as he seeks help; this is a learning curve, understanding that one needs help and that they're in a comfortable enough position to seek it out and get it ain't gonna come naturally to a lotta folks, especially if they've been doing the shit he's been doing for the past decade.

When he looks in the mirror he doesn't see what we see: in our eyes, Cuphead is a victim of sorts - a victim turned victimizer, but a victim nonetheless - who's hand has been forced for a decade into all sorts of nefarious acts and activities, who wakes up only to try and keep on going for his brother's sake. We think of Cuphead as a brave yet vulnerable man, somebody who's been beaten to the ground day in and day out, loyal to a fault, a golden heart who, given the chance, wouldn't hurt anybody who didn't raise their hand against him first. When he looks in the mirror, all he sees is a monster. And typically, people don't like monsters.

People don't help monsters, the undesirables, the unworthy - in his mind therapy isn't for "somebody like him" and it ain't hard to see what that means to him: a villain, a monster, a killer and maybe, just maybe, someone worse than the Devil. He doesn't think himself worthy of help, because all he sees in his eyes is the flash of demon-blood red, in his hands the blood he's spilled, in his face a perpetually furrowed brow and pursed lip - and he's forgotten that those features are a mask. When he looks in the mirror he sees what the Devil has sharpened him into, and not what he actually is. Everybody is deserving of help and improvement, yet Cup doesn't want it because for it he needs to be vulnerable - he isn't that, not anymore. He's quick on the uptake and knows how to learn his lessons, so he wouldn't let himself be deconstructed like a frog on science class - he isn't some shrink's little lab rat, he won't be metaphorically (but it ain't gonna feel all that metaphorical) vivisected for what he would probably percieve as the entertainment of anybody. He's not stupid, he's not blind - yet he is paranoid and overly carefull, he needs to be, and these things get in the way of him getting help. He doesn't fully recognize that he's got people on his corner - for the longest time it had been only him and Mugs, and he's the protector, the muscle of their little duo. He's the one to defend Mugs, to keep his hands as clean from the carnage as their situation would allow; he's the intimidating one, the brother willing to be the villain so the other can sleep semi-peacefully at night - after all, if Mugs isn't happy, is Cup doing his job correctly?

He's never had somebody go to bat for him, so therapy is an even stranger concept - and y'know that paranoia has people seeing demons in the bushes and witches in the trees.

[boyfridged]

in which bruce time travels and does not hold baby jay. (853)

But the sudden weep tugs at Bruce’s heart so violently that he has to stop himself from burgling in through the window. He is close to doing it, even, the acute awareness that the infant is Jason– That this is his boy there, needy and lonely, overshadowing any logical thought.

Then there’s another sound, a low groan, and the room lightens up with the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Bruce takes a step back; perhaps to hide in the darkness of the corner, or maybe out of sheer surprise, confronted with a forgotten presence. 

Willis Todd’s face is uncanny in its familiarity– In its similarity to that of his– In his similarity to adult Jason’s. The only difference must be the serene darkness of his eyes, otherwise every feature so eerily mirroring that of Bruce’s son. There’s the sharp profile and yet the unexpected softness of the cheekbones, the fine arch of eyebrows, the smooth curl of hair. There’s that weariness that looks shocking when displayed on a face that young; because he is young, decades stretching between him and Bruce, dually literal.

Willis rubs his face and stumbles out of the bed, murmuring something that is incomprehensible because of the idiosyncrasy of his speech, or maybe in a language different altogether. He moves to the crib in a quick motion, stomping over a plushy and a pile of clothes abandoned on the floor, something he can clearly do even with his eyes half open, and picks up the baby– Bruce ignores the odd feeling curdling in his stomach, these ugly knots, focusing on the baby, the baby with huge grey eyes and a little face reddened with distress, despite the mellowness of the cry.

“You need to grow yourself some stronger lungs, huh, Jaybaby?” Willis Todd whispers. “How will daddy hear you when you’re so quiet?” His voice is still rough with sleep, and familiar too, even though Bruce Wayne has never met this man before in his life.

As if replying to the complaint, the infant wails loudly. It’s a short, piercing cry that is almost immediately remedied with gentle rocking.

“Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about. A great start to your opera career too.” Willis chuckles and pokes the tiny button nose.  Another whimper and he’s walking out of the bedroom, urging Bruce to move to the other side of the balcony, to peek into the window of the living room. If it can be called that, since it seems to also fulfill the purpose of a kitchen, storage and laundry rooms all at once. There’s a rusty bike next to the door, leaning onto the textured wall, and three different colourful rugs on the wooden floor. The sofa is mostly neatly covered with a floral blanket, but there are scratches visible at the sides, and there is the perpetrator, an orange cat curled on top of it. It stirs awake and jumps to follow the man into the kitchenette area, fawning at his legs as he moves the cheese grater and a stack of the other dishes aside to find a bottle. 

It is a mess, but it is no worse than a mess Bruce would expect from any single dad. No dirt in the corners, just clutter and one too many empty cups on the counter. Willis starts moving them to the sink while the bottle is heating, the baby still safely tucked, but now held only with one arm. His mouth is moving, but Bruce cannot make out any words.

It is when the man moves back to the bedroom, where the window remains open, that he realises why his attempts at lip reading came to nothing. The constant, soothing chatter is Vietnamese. The monologue does not stop even though Jason seems pacified enough, latching on the milk with eyes half-open. 

“Enough?” Willis asks, switching to English, when the tiny fingers push the bottle away. “Mhm, not that hungry after all?” He sets it away and moves to the crib. But the moment Jason is settled on the soft blankets, he cries out fiercely. It does not take Willis even a split second to pick him up again, the sobbing stopping instantly. 

“So this is what it is about, huh,” he whispers, seemingly giving up on any other arrangement and simply collapsing on the armchair, the bed forsaken. “‘S a good note though. Just don’t forget your dad when you’re rich and famous,” he adds, before reverting to hushed Vietnamese. 

The foreign words heave uncomfortably at Bruce’s mind, reminding him that he should not be there. And as if in agreement, the comms spark to life, the static in his ears quickly replaced with quiet: “Batman, do you copy?” 

For a moment, he does not reply.

Inside, the infant sighs, unexpectedly loudly, eyes still intent on the father. 

“Tough life, huh, Jaybaby?” Willis says and mimics the sigh, overexaggerated. He smiles tiredly and rubs the round cheeks affectionately. And the baby laughs. The baby laughs and the sound is as loud and unrestrained as the cry before. It's unmistakable.

On the balcony, a cape flutters. 

[emofrogboy79]

A Decadent Bath (Reader x Astarion)

Reader (Tav) gives Astarion a much needed spa day.

• Gender Neutral! Reader

• Mild Hurt/Comfort

• Inspired by the “cried (/pos) during a non-sexual bath with gf” reddit post

• Words - 2,061

Astarion was noticeably different after you got out of that crypt.

He was unusually quiet, staring off into space when you were with the others. It wasn’t unusual for him to slink off and for you to find him all by himself, wrapping his arms around himself.

When he hadn’t noticed you yet, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glazed over. He tried so hard to keep up appearances, like he always did. He was good at it—the others scarcely noticed. But you did. You noticed him.

When you approached him, your heart ached. The way he was always so alert, you had barely gotten him to relax around you only for him to regress.

“Astarion?” You called. He already knew you were there. You knew that he knew, too.

“Yes my dear?” He smiled wide for you, a mirror to the first time you met. How his smile never reached his eyes, so keen to please.

“Care for a bath? I’ve got it all ready for you.”

He laughed, “Darling…” His voice dips in that seductive mask he doned to protect himself, “If you wanted to bed me, you could have just asked.“

Concern laces your expression, “No, I mean it Astarion. Just a bath.”

His face fell immediately, examining your face for any hint of deceit, any ulterior motives to getting him undressed and pliable in your hands. Yet, all he saw as he peered into your eyes was a deep sadness.

Another smile—smaller, more hesitant, curled at his lips, “Then how could I say no?”

You huff, “You’re certainly welcome to,” You remind him.

You lead him into the Elfsong suite’s bathroom, where you had set up a decadent bath just for him. A marble tub, filled with that sweet bergamot and rosemary scent he was oh so known for. A towel and robe was set aside for him, candles decorating any dark corners of the room. It was romantic in every sense of the word, ripe for sensual activity…

“How could I, after all you’ve gone through for me?” His eyes once again search yours for any hint of deception. His tone was teasing but you knew his words always had more weight to it. For 200 years, affection was a transaction to him. A thing to be used to his advantage. There was no such thing as kindness out of your own heart to him—only a debt that needed to be repaid. It was one he could never truly fulfill, either—because how do you pay someone back for giving you freedom?

“You know my answer.”

Astarion pouts for only the briefest of moments, “Very well,” He smirks, slipping past you and deeper into the bathroom, “Don’t peak now~”

You turn your whole body away to let him undress, hearing his clothes drop to the floor and him dip into the pool of warm water, and lastly, a relaxed sigh as he slips further into the tub.

“May I?” You call, only turning your head slightly towards your lover, eyes shut obediently.

“Yes, yes, come here already you boring sod,” He sighs with a laugh, resting on the edge of the tub as he watches you saunter over, “Moonlighting as a butler now, are we?” He reaches for your hand, and you take his. You bow down and kiss his knuckles tenderly, “You look like you need pampering tonight, that’s all.”

“Darling… I always need pampering,” He giggles, cheeks flushing just the faintest as you kiss his hand. He watches you grab the bucket full of soaps and brushes, sitting by his side, fully clothed in your camp gear.

“A little more pampering than usual then,” You smile, “I’m going to pour some water on you, alright?”

“Not going to join me?” He pouts, and it’s genuine. He wants to feel more of you, more of your touch, the sensation of warm safety he had been missing all these centuries.

“Do you want me to?”

“Please,” He bats his eyelashes at you. You laugh, “Okay, fine. Scoot over.”

Astarion does as he’s told and makes room for you as you rip off your clothes, placing yourself behind him as you bring the bucket of supplies into reaching distance.

He purrs happily, “There you are my sweet.”

You snort, taking a small pail from your bucket. You dunk it into the warm water and let it cascade over his white curls, letting the less stubborn of the blood covering him wash into the pool, staining it a light pink.

“Lean back for me,” You hold his head in your hands as you massage in the soaps, letting it sud up into a lovely cloud of bubbles, careful to not let it fall into his eyes. He sighs with every scratch, his pink ears twitching happily under your touch as you hum a sweet melody. It takes everything in him to not fall asleep right there.

“Rinsing…” You murmur, once again using the pail to rinse Astarion’s hair. As you coat your hands in conditioner, you make sure to not to pull or tug as you detangle the soft curls in your hands. They spill into your fingers like sea foam on the shore, whispering a soft apology when he flinches at a particularly stubborn knot.

“Enjoying yourself?” He mumbles, eyebrows not so knitted together than before. You look down at him, the slope of his nose, the light wrinkles and imperfections of his skin, faint freckles dotting his cheeks from exposure to the sun. His eyelashes, long and soft like the mop on his head. If Dame Aylin was an angel, perhaps he had just lost his wings.

“Very,” You chuckle, “Now sit up for me, I’m going to wash your body.”

“Oh finally,” He grins, and you gently tug at his cheek, “No naughty business, mister,” You whisper in his ear, body flushed with his. Little did you know that this action made his body light up in a flame, every part you touched him burning as hot as the sun.

That would be a very tall order from you, but one he would obey happily nonetheless.

You pull away from him to coat your hands in the next viscous liquid in your bucket, acquired from a lovely aromatherapist down by the market. You massaged it over his back, taking extra care to ease the tenseness in his shoulders as you brush over the scars on his back. You move to coat his torso, relishing in the way his heart beats so strongly under your touch as you ghost over his pecs, smoothly gliding down the soapy ambrosia to his hips. You ignore the way he shivers at the way you gently knead at his upper thighs, and you do not linger—much to his dismay—as you grab a sponge and suds over where you touched him, head resting on his shoulder as you individually scrub his dainty fingers. A warmth blooms in his lungs, a gnawing, awful, retching feeling—like his heart was going to swell out his chest. He blinks away tears as you run over his pulse. It was faint, but oh so much stronger when he was with you.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” He turns to you, caressing your jaw to make you look at him. You see him eyeing your lips, and you give in— planting the smallest kiss on his lovely lips.

“Better?” You smile as you see him pout, “Hardly,” he whines. You chuckle as you kiss his cheek, “Must I massage you as well?”

“Perhaps,” He huffs, “Anything to keep your hands on me, love.”

“Are you that starved of touch?” You motion for him to turn around and face you, taking one of his legs and repeating the cleaning process. It’s hard for you to keep your concentration on just soaping his legs— it was a simple task, but the temptation to stare at Astarion’s flushed face, hair slicked back and curled to frame his jaw, deep ruby eyes filled with a fondness you never would have expected to see when you first met him—was a greater desire than reading than trying to read that book of Thay.

“You underestimate how much I crave you my dear,” He laughs, “It rivals even my hunger for blood, you know.”

“Really?” You smirk, “Then am I to assume your love me more than your taste for blood?”

Astarion leans back against the rim of the tub, admiring you as you rinse his raised leg with such gentleness.

“Just barely.”

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised, before you melt into a shy smile, “Careful now, you can’t exactly eat my love for you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t dare. You’ve given me too much already.”

You splash him and he yelps, “That’s for implying you don’t deserve it.”

Astarion gasps, his exaggerated faux offense had grown on you, “Oh whatever do you mean, darling? Of course I deserve it, only a fool would deny himself the pleasure of your company.”

Yet behind that pompous smirk was a whirlpool of mixed emotions. Guilt. Gratitude. Shame. Fear. A deep terror of this respite in his cruel life coming back to bite him. You knew it all too well, he would always have trouble accepting that you loved him just for him. To accept that you wanted nothing more than to love and care for him just as much as he cared for you.

“Mhm, says the elf who punishes himself by isolating himself away from me.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “It’s not so much a punishment as more of…” He tries to find the words to bullshit his way out of this one, “an insurance. I don’t want you getting sick of me already.”

“Rather bold of you to assume I’d ever tire of your presence,” You retorted softly, setting down his leg to rinse in the bath.

He snorts, “And I thought I was a liar,” He teases, and that earns him another splash.

“Come on, let’s get you out of this bath before it gets cold.”

He frowns as you leave the tub, resting his chin in his arms as he rakes in the visage of your soaking wet body. You use the robe initially meant for him for yourself, grabbing another from the garment heater beside the sink.

“Ugh, do we have to?”

You raise a brow, “Do you want to get pruny?”

Astarion grimaces and relents, letting you help him out of the bath. His legs already felt like jelly from being submerged for so long, and the warm, fuzzy robe you put around him doesn’t help the feeling of his knees buckling in.

You wrap a towel around his head and begin drying his hair, smiling as he laughs in surprise.

“I’m not completely useless, darling,” He says, head still bowed down for you to dry. No attempt to stop you was ever made.

“I said I’d pamper you. That includes drying you off too.”

Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. You laugh, stopping your assault on his hair to look him in the eyes with the towel flopped on his head like a hood. A deep pool of ebony stared back at you, the red of his irises merely a thin ring around his pupils as he gazed at you like you were sent from the heavens itself.

A small smirk curls at his lips, “The gods made you to ruin me,” He kisses your cheek, inhaling your scent as he nuzzles into your neck. It was muted under his own, the one you now both shared thanks to that bath, but he can't help but find that small sliver of you more comforting.

You play with the silver curls between your fingers, petting him softly at the nape of his neck, “You’re rather fond of that line, aren’t you?” You kiss his neck, just a touch away from those puncture scars.

“It’s factual, is it not?”

“Not when you’re standing right here.”

He chuckles, the tips of his ears staining an even deeper red.

“You flatter me.”

Astarion leaves the sanctuary of your scent to look into your eyes once again, kissing you deeply with all the tenderness the both of you could physically muster.

“Let’s head to bed, shall we?”

[sorceresssundries]

Oh, What A Circus!

Pairing: Gale x gn Tav - SFW

Word Count: 900

Summary: The spawn of the God of murder and their Wizard boyfriend have a day out at the circus!

A/N: I've been writing a lot of smut/romance/angst and wanted to try my hand at something a little more light-hearted.

I hope you enjoy it!

“You look ridiculous.” Gale muttered with his arms folded.

Tav stood in front of the unimpressed wizard, towering above him at almost seven feet of rippling muscle, with eyes as red as bloodstone and tattoos that looked like carved, ancient curses. They were a trained, hulking barbarian whose blood-drenched origin had, until recently, been lost to tampered memory. They were the flesh of Bhaal himself, spawn of the God of Murder, flayer of innocents, and inspirer of savagery. Condemned to forever be whipped and tormented by the whispered urges that pulsed through their blood and haunted their dreams.

They glared at Gale from beneath their freshly applied clown face paint and waved their candyfloss at him. 

“You look ridiculous!” Tav snapped back. “We’re at a circus and you look like someone has pissed in your porridge.”

Their tiff was punctuated by squeals and laughter of children, and Karlach, revelling in the nearby circus games. Even Astarion seemed to be enjoying himself, hurling particularly cutting insults at a mime. It was hard to tell whether the mime was exceptionally talented at their craft or if Astarion had actually driven them into a silent breakdown.

Tav turned towards the merchant with whom Gale had been conversing. The small mephit, previously engaged in lighthearted banter, was now cowering in the shadow of the clown-faced elf.

“You buying something?” Tav asked Gale with a mouth full of candyfloss.

“Well!” Gale raised his finger and Tav mentally prepared themselves for an unnecessarily long explanation “This fine fellow here”, he gestured towards the now trembling mephit, “And his delightful wife are exceptionally talented artists and dealers of the finest, bespoke sculptures in all Faerûn! Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“Erm, yes absolutely.” replied the mephit, still not taking their eyes off Tav, “I was just explaining to your….”

“Boyfriend.” cut in Tav.

“Oh…right…” The mephit’s eyes flicked between the two adventurers, as though the pairing of the wizard and the barbarian was completely ridiculous. The tiny mephit looked over to his huge, hulking, earth elemental of a wife in disbelief. “For a reasonable fee, we can provide you with a completely bespoke creation in whomever's likeness you desire!”

“I was thinking…” Said Gale, who thought a bit too much for Tav sometimes, “We have enough coin to make a considered purchase, perhaps it would be a kind gesture to gift a statue to our brave, vampiric friend?” 

Tav glanced over to Astarion who was now in hysterics at the mime having to be comforted by some of the other circus performers.

“Right...”

“He has, after all, been through a tremendous amount of suffering, and throughout his decades of torture and islolation, has forgotten what he looks like.” Gale looked genuinely downcast at the thought of his friend’s ongoing trauma. “How poetic would it be, to gift him with a statue of himself. As pale and marbled as his own alabaster skin - complete with a face he will be able to gaze upon in place of the cruel void of an empty mirror.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Said Tav who had only been half listening. “I love poetry.”

“Excellent!” Gale clapped his hands together, evidently proud of himself for his empathetic use of wisdom “I’ll leave the coin with you, you are after all, a much more skilled negotiator than I!” He raised himself on his tiptoes and quickly pecked a kiss on the tip of Tav’s clown-red nose, before heading in the direction of an unimpressed looking Djinn. 

Tav waited until he was out of earshot before turning back to the merchant. “So, you’ll make me a statue.. Of whatever I want?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect.” Grinned Tav, in what they hoped was a friendly expression. In reality, their stretched, clown-painted smile was more intimidating than if they had offered their most murderous scowl. As such, they unintentionally managed to get a hefty discount and priority delivery as part of the deal. 

Tav handed over the coin, finished their candyfloss, and went over to join in the mime-baiting with Astarion. They were having an excellent day.

“TAV!” Gale’s voice was sharp with anger as it bounced off the walls of their quarters in the Elfsong Tavern.

“Yep!” said Tav, bounding over to where he was standing, where a delivery had just arrived.

“What in the hells is this?” Gale hissed.

“Oh great! It's here! They weren’t kidding when they said it would be quick” Tav’s eyes were wide with artistic appreciation. The statue was beautiful, crafted with such delicate intricacy it looked as though it was draped from silk rather than carved from rock. Tav could hardly believe that something sculpted from the unforgiving, stubborn hardness of marble could appear so soft. Looking at it, glowing in the gentle candlelight, they felt they could finally understand the deep, personal connection and enrichment of artistic skill and mortal interpretation. 

“Why is it of me?!”

“Oh, right.” Tav had forgotten they had completely ignored Gale's original plan. “Erm, I guess there must have been a mix-up” 

“Why is it nude?!!”

Tav grinned at him, delighting in the furious way his brow furrowed and lines of his face deepened. 

“All the most famous statues are, right?” Tav sighed in adoration as they looked back at the statue. “I like it.”

“Is that an accurate representation of the wizard’s penis?” Asked Lae’zel who had quietly appeared between them and made Gale jump. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely” Tav said with a grin, taking in Lae’zel’s impressed expression. “I love the circus.”