#this having been previously liked by me despite no memory of it... hand to mouth

[freshxsturniolo]

4th July - Part 8 - chris sturniolo x femreader

pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4. pt5. pt6. pt7

the uber drive home is actually ... the nicest 10 minutes.

the way you rushed out of the bar like you were going to die if you didn't have him there and then, to the laughter and giggles in the uber was the switch up of the century.

but gods, you had a man.

you had chris sturniolo.

"promise you wont change your mind when you're sober?" he asks, his hand on your thigh as he leans in close to you now, only a short minute away from pulling up to your house.

"promise you won't change your mind." you laugh.

"not possible." he grinned at you, before leaning in to drop a gentle kiss on your lips.

but the minute you did get home, the minute the keys where in your lock and the comforting smell of your house hit your sense, you changed. there was hardly time to shut the front door before his hands where in your hair and he was pressing you against the wall.

"fuck, chris" you mutter into his mouth as you remove your hand from the door handle and allow your hands to come up to his shoulders. his mouth tasted of beer and your mind flows to the 4th july just days previously, and you smile into him as you take in the reality of you both now.

it was quick, you knew it was quick, but it felt right. nothing in your life felt more certain than chris in that moment, and he damn sure felt the same way about you.

you shove yourself off the wall now and force yourself to break apart, and he looks at you with heat in his eyes and a breathless rise in his chest.

"sorry" he mutters, and you smirk as you grab his hand, pulling him through your hallway and into the living room. there was a soft glow from the lamp in the corner that you always leave on so your home never looks empty, and one look at your couch is enough to bring back memories of the night before.

you spin on your heel, chris right behind you, and you lock your lips again immediacy. you were drunk and it was messy, your phone was vibrating in the back pocket of your jeans, likely from tara or jake to ask where you had gone, but you didn't care. you needed this man and you needed him now. you start to walk backwards at the same time his fingers come up to shoulders of your jacket, and he pulls away briefly to look at you.

"off" he says, tugging at the collar. you smirk, but you take it off immediately, throwing it onto the floor without a care. he looks down at you, your bare arms on display and your cleavage more visible than it had been the whole night and you wish for just a second, you could see hear his thoughts, but the smile that plays on his lips just a short while after is enough.

his lips are on yours again in seconds and his hands to come your his, guiding you backwards. you hold onto his shoulders to steady you both as your lips find each other. you know its messy, you know its heated, but you don't care. your calf hits the back of the couch and you break away again, only this time you spin him around.

"what are you doing?" he chuckles, as you hold onto his arms as you switch your positions. you look all the way over him, his black hoodie despite the scorching LA heat, his black jeans, his damn balenciaga belt, and when you look back up at him you catch him take a deep swallow, his adams apple bopping as he does so.

you slowly remove your hands from his arms, and you can hear his breath hitch as you move closer to his waist band, stopping at the line of his underwear that was peaking over the top of his jeans. your hands on his bare skin was sending shivers down his spine, despite the hoodie over his body, and he gulped. again.

"let me make you feel at home" you mutter, before your hands go to the clasp of his buckle, starting to unbuckle slowly.

"oh my god" he whispers, his eyes closing as he does so. but this time its your turn to tease.

"ah" you say, stopping just before you unbuckle him completely, and his eyes shoot open. "keep them eyes open" you say, and the most breathtaking smirk comes over his face, his blue eyes lighting up like you had never seen before,

but you continue to unbuckle, despite wanting to grab his face, keeping your eyes on him the entire time to enjoy the pleasure you can see sprinting across his eyes, and then you pull the belt out of the loops in a one quick motion. his eyes widen, and they finally leave yours as they look to his belt dangling from your grip, before you throw it onto the couch, landing with an expensive clunk.

"you have expensive taste" you say, as your hands now move to the button on his jeans.

he looks you up and down. taking in every inch of you. “yeah, i do” he says with a glaze to his voice.

gods, maybe it was just the alcohol talking or maybe you’d just never had a man make you feel this type of way.

with his button finally undone, you step back, your hands coming away from him now, and his eyes widen slightly. but you only smirk, moving to the hair tie on your wrist and pulling it into your hands before grabbing your hair.

“take them off, babe, and make yourself comfortable” you say, eyes boring into him as you slowly pull your hair into a ponytail on your top of your head. taking your time to rescrap at your scalp.

chris’ stomach was doing somersault as he realises what’s happening and he curses under his breath. his talk of wanting to be a gentleman and he’d fucked you on the first date, and you were now about to take him. on your couch. it went against everything he had planned for you but he couldn’t get enough.

he gets to work on pulling down his jeans as you finally wrap the hair tie into your hair, and when he stands back upright to take off his underwear, you see the outline of him. your pulse quickening as he finally pulls them down, his cock already hard.

and then he looks at you, his eyes so full of lust and desire before he slowly sits himself down on your couch, pushing himself back so he was slouched, and you finally make your way over to him.

you crouch down, using his knees as a support and he hisses as your nails scrap against his bear skin.

“already so sensitive, hmm?” you say.

“you might just be the death of me” he shakes out.

“we’ll see” you smirk, and then you finally reach out, taking his length in your hands before slowly leaning forward, lowering your head before you look up at him, staring straight into his eyes as you gather yourself, and spit straight onto his cock.

“fucking death of me” he grunts, and his hands on the back of your head within seconds, a giggle escaping your lips before you finally take him into your mouth.

there’s no point taking it slow, you’d teased him enough and the heat between your thighs was unbearable, you needed him sooner rather than later but you’re committed, as you move your mouth along the entire length of him. you can hear his ragged breath as his grip on your head becomes tighter, his fingers wrapping into your hair. and when you feel his legs start to shake, you run your tongue against his tip.

he whimpers. the man fucking whimpers.

you need him, and you need him quickly, but he’s already having the same idea as he pulls your head back, forcing you off of him. you don’t even have time to think before his free hand grabs your chin.

“i need you, now, pretty girl”

you smile, running your finger against your wet and swollen lips, before standing up.

“keep whimpering like that, pretty boy, and i fear i’ll not last long” you say, already pulling at your jeans.

he groans, his eyes closing as he goes to stand up, but you instantly put your hands on his chest.

“sit back down” you say, pushing at his chest. you’re in your house, on your couch, and you want to do the work. not the other way round. but on pushing him back down he manages to grab your hips and he’s pulling you down with him.

“i’ll whimper this entire house down if you’re not careful” his breath is raspy as you steady yourself, smirking as you bring your legs on either side of his, hands coming to his shoulders before you dip down, planting a kiss along his jawline before moving to his lips. as you press your lips against his, he bucks, his cock hitting your folds lighting but you're so sensitive you let out a raspy breath, and when you pull away he's smirking at you like a damn idiot. you roll your eyes, but with a smirk, before you position yourself above him.

"you'll be whimpering wether you want to or not" you say, grabbing his cock in your hands and positioning him just right, lowering yourself onto him. the groan that leaves your mouth at the exact same time is blissful as you sit yourself all the way down on him, and it takes you a second to adjust, but when your eyes look towards him again, you can't help but let out a genuine smile. this man was beautiful, so fucking beautiful.

and they you start to move your body, using your knees as a leverage to help you bounce on him perfectly, and it takes him no time to slam his head back on the couch, his hands on your hips as he squeezes down.

"jesus, fucking, christ" he groans out, and just the sound of his voice has you bouncing faster, taking every inch of him like you'd be starved for weeks.

"im gonna cum, pretty girl" he says, and then he whips his head up to look at you, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know there will be marks in the morning.

"hold out for me" you whisper, but you know its not going to be long, you can feel yourself tightening around him and you know he can feel it too, because he closes his eyes and he starts to buck up beneath you.

"chris" you moan you, unable to stop yourself as you learn forward, hands against the couch on either side of his head, and when he looks up at you those blue eyes pierce into your soul.

"i can't-" but he doesnt finish his sentence before his hands slid up your back, gripping you in a bug and pulling you against him, and then you're helpless. you can't move but chris has got you right where he wants you as he bucks up into you. once. twice. three times.

you drop your head to his shoulder and let out a muffle of moans against his hoodie, before one hand comes up to your ponytail and he tugs on it, pulling your head back so you're forced to look at him. your noses are so close they're almost bashing into each other but my god, you've never felt more attracted to him.

"keep those pretty eyes on me whilst i take you" he groans, crashing his lips on yours for a short second before pulling away again, his hands no longer on your hair as he pulls you tighter into him, bucking up into you faster then before.

"chris, fuck- chris"

"let go, pretty girl" he mutters, before one final buck has you done. you can't help but scream out his, your nose finally pressing against his as you do so, your legs shaking from your position as you finally reach your high, chris thrusts become sloppier as he struggles to keep his eyes on you.

but he does, the enter time, and when he finally stops as you both crash out, he places a soft kiss on your lips, his hands unwrapping from you to allow you to finally move back slightly, your hands coming to his cheeks as you kiss him deeper.

"you, are so fucking beautiful" he says when you finally part, and you're blushing. how on earth is this man real, and how on earth is this man yours?

"you're mine" you say, almost in disbelief, and he laughs. he laughs so deeply but so sincerely before he crashes his lips to yours again, softly and intently.

"and you're mine."

AGLIST : @spencerstits @chrissturnsss @slut4chriss @valkatriee @sturnsjtop @viiiwwwee @gwennysturniolo @melanch0lybby @sturnioloblues @mattstrombolii @sturnsbella @hearteyes4chris @le4hsblog @nervoussagittarius @chrissypook @sarosfilms @somegirlfromasgard @carringtonsgirlfriend @h3arts4harry @cherib3lla @rebelliousmuse @freshlovah0e @mattslovverr @melaniesturn

(if this tallest doesnt work AGAIN im so sorry)

[applestorms]

on another note. it genuinely kinda surprises me how many people interpret ivan to be the type of person to Repress and Deny his feelings when, from all the evidence we actually have, he actually seems to be quite open about it?

he does do the dumb stare and watch from afar thing that till does with mizi, yeah, but even there i don’t know if i would necessarily interpret that as ivan like. pushing his feelings away. compare the difference between how till and ivan are framed in these two shots:

in till's, we are pushed way farther back, seeing his full face and a good deal of his body as he slouches back. the colors are bright, fitting in with most of the happier mizisua angst memories, and you can read till's expression pretty clearly, even with his face beaten up. it's cute and mostly innocent, the kind of thing that makes you want to gently push him out from behind the wall to watch him stutter and get all embarrassed but reach out and play with his friends.

in ivan's... jesus. i mean, he looks like a freak (affectionate). you can't read his expression, despite the fact that we are zoomed in much more closely, only really seeing his eye as the placement of his hand covers his mouth. there is very little body language to convey the same type of sweet, childhood Yearning that till has in his staring shot. instead, for ivan, it all comes down to the Eye, how intently he stares as he watches till and mizi. it almost doesn't even feel like he wants to join in at that moment, or not yet, like watching alone is enough to feed the starvation.

don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of Yearning and Angst in that boy-- round 3 alone is enough to demonstrate that. but what i think people sometimes forget to account for is the fact that ivan acts like that specifically because he has already been rejected.

up until [whenever this moment happens in the timeline] ivan seemingly has absolutely no qualms about getting all up close and personal with till. we see this in plenty of the round 6 flashbacks:

he is plenty comfortable getting all up in till's personal space, whether it be to beat him up or just exist near him.

i also like how in this shot (below) we can see him specifically stand up and move seats, just so that he can bother till during lunch and have his little vampire weirdo moment (aww).

ivan's behavior only really shifts after till has already rejected him-- which, i'd also like to note, seems to genuinely catch ivan off guard. perhaps he genuinely didn't even consider the possibility that till would ever push him away?? i guess it's hard to know the specifics of what he was feeling or thinking in that exact moment, but at the very least this speaks to the ease with which they existed around each other previously.

thus: ivan doesn't begin with the belief that till could never love him. he only starts to doubt whether or not his feelings are requited after he has already been rejected, after he pushed too hard and too quick.

after the failed meteor shower date, his affections become a lot more subtle-- sneaking around to take care of till when he needs it, but only when his eyes are closed. the love and obsession and watchfulness is all still there, but he takes more care to hide it better now. until... well, y'know.

he lets the selfishness win. :]

[jujuscrolled]

last christmas

☆ pairing: ex! suguru x gn!reader (if i slipped up PLS let me know)

☆ synopsis: last year suguru had broken up with you claiming it’d be for the better but the year had progressed and everything was the same. did he think so to?

☆ content: angst/some comfort, mentions of drinking,

☆ word count: 3K

The cool air nipped at your cheeks, a slight shiver running down your spine.

You watched as children laughed, snowballs held tightly in their hands before getting flung at their friends. Across the street from them; the hazy, warm lighting from a small bakery illuminated the snowy ground. The town was busy, people finishing some last minute Christmas shopping or enjoying each other’s presence bundled up to keep warm despite the cruel chill that swirled around you.

You shivered again.

You’d only been gone for a year but it seemed like everything had changed. The shops were different and the people were older.

You sighed, tugging your sweater closer to your body before walking towards the bakery that Satoru had told you he’d meet you at; he had wanted to pick up some cinnamon rolls for his party and since you had denied his offer of picking you up at the airport you’d compromised on just meeting halfway there.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. It’s not like you hadn’t kept in contact the entire year but now he was here, in the flesh and inviting you to his annual Christmas party insisting that you’d never missed one before so why start now?

Truth be told, you did always enjoy his parties and it was always nice to see everyone together, but this would be the first year - the first party- after you and Suguru had broken up.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that day, having been sent off to Paris by your job and honestly, you hadn’t wanted to.

The memory had burned itself into the back of your mind; the muddy slush beneath your feet, the rain pelting your skin as you stood outside Suguru’s house and the aching in your chest as he ripped your heart out and stomped on it.

Despite that he had tried to cover you with an umbrella, insisting that you come in because you’d catch a cold. It had made you angry, the way he had talked to you so gently like he hadn’t just torn you to pieces minutes prior insisting that it’d be for the best if you spilt up.

You grit your teeth at the memory, hand hesitating in front the door before you fought through it and pushed it open. The bell above the door chimed loudly, alerting everyone in their of your presence including Satoru whose bright blue eyes had immediately lightened as they landed on your bundled up figure.

“Hey!” He greeted, enveloping you in a warm hug before guiding you over to where he had previously been standing in front of the wide display of treats the bakery had to offer.

Beautifully decorated cakes and stuffed croissants were lined up neatly next to other perfectly crafted sweets. Satoru’s heaven surely.

“How was your plane ride?” He asked, the arm that he’d swung over your shoulder squeezing you gently as he looked at you.

“So long. I think I’m gonna be jet lagged for months, honestly.” You sighed, watching as they packaged the pastries Satoru had chosen before you had gotten there.

“I thought you were just getting cinnamon rolls?” You asked, arching a brow as they packaged yet another flavor of kikufuku.

“I did! The rest is for me - you know I can’t help myself around kikufuku.” You couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Of course.”

Once the treats had been paid for you both walked to his car, him opening the door for you and entrusting you with his beloved sweets. The car ride was comfortable, spent talking about your Paris experiences and him catching you up on what you’d missed while eating a few of his kikufuku that you’d hand him.

“You’re gonna spoil your dinner, Toru.” You teased as he reached for another one, he only shrugged mouth full of the cream filled mochi.

“My stomach is an endless pit, don’t you worry.” He said through his mouthful.

“Thank you for helping me by the way. Everyone else was insisting they’re too busy to help me set up.” He huffed as you both walked through his front door, treats half eaten and cheeks burning from the snow despite only having been outside for mere minutes.

“No problem, happy to spend time with you.” You replied, allowing him to remove your jacket only for him to fling it onto the couch. He didn’t own a coat rack, you don’t know why you assumed he’d keep your jacket safe.

The two of you decorated his living room, stringing lights across every surface and sticking candy canes in random places. The tree in the corner had clearly been decorated by children; you assumed Satoru had let the neighbor’s kids help him since their father hardly ever had enough time to do things like that with them. You cleaned up the coloring books and crayons that they had left too, placing them in their designated corner.

After about an hour the place looked like a Christmas store had thrown up in it, even going the extra mile to place mistletoe on each doorway as a little gag for whoever ended up under it.

“Shoko said she’s on her way with Kento and Haibara.” Satoru shouted from his bedroom as you finished up the last of the details on the dining table. You glanced over at him, watching as he made him way to the living room, clicking on the television and pulling up one of those fake fireplace videos despite the fact that he had a real fireplace. (“The cleanup is annoying, plus Megumi likes playing around there and I don’t want to be responsible for any mishaps!” he’d say whenever you reminded him.”

Soon after you heard some knocks on the door before it flung open. Shoko had a bottle of wine in her hand, comically large and clearly hard to carry seeing as she had both arms wrapped around it.

“Y/n! You’re back!” She said, making her way straight towards you and pulling you into a side hug to avoid the wine bottle getting in the way.

“Got back this morning, Toru wanted me to help with the decor.” You replied. Kento and Haibara hugged you too, placing their things on the table. Haibara had brought a bucket of fried chicken and Kento had brought some homemade rolls saying he’d gotten the recipe from a bakery that he often visited.

The four of you mingled as you waited for Utahime and Suguru to arrive, your stomach in knots as the time passed. You weren’t sure what to expect, despite knowing that with everyone around it wouldn’t be likely that it’d be awkward but the awkwardness was the least of your worries.

You hadn’t seen him in an entire year and despite having mostly healed from the breakup, having little to no hard feelings, you still had a tiny ache in your chest whenever you remembered the look on his face when you told him you hated him. The both of you knew it wasn’t true, it had been words spat out during high tension - words meant to wound.

The doorbell rang and Satoru made his way over, welcoming Utahime with a one-sided hug before she ran to you, pulling you into a hug and asking you about your trip.

“Suguru said he’s running late because the girls refuse to go to bed.” Satoru said as he typed on his phone, presumably replying to the message.

“Shall I serve us some wine then?” Shoko asked already making her way to the kitchen.

As everyone drank their wine and chatted you got lost within your mind again, unable to stop replaying the memory you’d tried so hard to get rid of. It was strange really, you’d hardly had time to think about anything other than your job your entire year in Paris but being back had clearly reopened the wound you’d thought you’d fully healed. Seeing everyone again had your mind reeling.

Biting your lip you contemplated just going home and avoiding facing your fears. You were back for good, what was the rush?

As you opened your mouth to excuse yourself, a loud knock on the door had everyone cheering, knowing it could only be Suguru.

Your world spun as the door opened revealing Suguru, looking gorgeous as ever. Inky black hair tucked neatly into a bun. He wore a white knitted sweater and black dress pants, gauges still in his ears and purple eyes immediately landing on your figure nestled between Shoko and Haibara.

You quickly looked away, fingers tugging on the fabric of your shirt in attempts to soothe yourself. You definitely weren’t ready for this.

“Hell yeah! Let’s get to eating!” Satoru cheered, arm around Suguru’s shoulder as he led him to the table, the rest of you following suit.

As everyone served themselves, you stood idly behind Shoko waiting your turn and thanking the heavens above for Satoru distracting Suguru. You knew he’d want to talk to you and you weren’t even ready to see him so talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do.

Despite that fact, you could feel his lingering gazes on you and it only made you drink your wine quickly in attempts at easing the growing anxiety.

Shoko and Utahime made it their mission to distract you and they did a fairly good job at it, telling you stories about things they’d done while you were gone.

Unfortunately, the fuzzier your mind got the less you paid attention, only seeming to notice the way Suguru’s eyes stayed on you. Every time he had sensed a lull in your conversation with anyone he would try to get your attention but you wouldn’t let him - quickly engaging in different topics with whoever would listen. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to him, you just didn’t know if you were strong enough to get through a conversation without crying. And you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself like that your first night back in Tokyo.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened.

You had excused yourself about two hours into drinking, your hazy mind amplifying every sound, every conversation and ultimately overwhelming you.

You’d never been much of a sociable person, limiting yourself to your small group of friends but after being isolated for most of the year, being so busy with your workload that socializing was the least of your worries, it seemed like you’d lost the ability to handle so many interactions all at once.

As you leaned over the bathroom sink, taking in deep breaths to cool yourself down, a knock sounded at the door. Thinking it would be Shoko or Utahime checking on you, you opened the door only to be face to face with the last person you’d want to be alone with.

“Please don’t close the door on me.” He said, raising his hands as you gripped the door tightly. You only frowned at him, glancing around to see if anyone else was coming to your rescue.

Only an empty hallway greeted your vision.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me so you don’t have to. I just… I know it’s not my place anymore but I could tell you were getting overwhelmed so I couldn’t help but come and check on you.” He said, eyes taking in your every feature and successfully rendering you speechless.

“I’m fine. Just…” You stopped, not needing to elaborate since you knew he could still read you like a book. It made you uneasy.

“Here, let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” He said, moving to the side so you could exit the bathroom. You could only hesitate.

“Promise I won’t talk to you if you don’t want me to.” He said, eyes begging you to follow him.

Letting out the breath you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding, you flicked off the light and exited the bathroom, allowing him to lead you to Satoru’s room and out onto his balcony.

The cool air felt good on your overheating body, Christmas lights from the houses around you twinkling under the night sky. Suguru handed you a throw blanket before leaning on the railing to look down at the snowy landscape.

“How was Paris?” Suguru asked. You glanced over at him but his gaze only stayed on the scenery below you so you relaxed a bit.

“It was fine.” You replied, feeling a bit awkward.

“Just fine? You do realize you were in Paris, right?” He mused arching a brow at you causing you to bite back a smile.

“Uhm.. Well, yeah but I didn’t exactly have time to sight-see.” You said, letting out a breathy laugh. He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head, “can’t say I’m surprised… Did you at least see the Eiffel tower?” He asked.

“It’s insane in the night time when it lights up and everything.” You mused. Suguru watched as your eyes brightened with the memory.

You don’t know how long you two just stood outside, admiring the scenery and recounting stories here and there before he cleared his throat during one of your silent moments causing you to flinch at the sudden noise.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, not meeting your gaze. You looked away from him, throat tightening as your heart rate sped up. You felt like throwing up, an apology was the last thing you needed right now.

He sighed at your silence. “I needed to apologize but I couldn’t find the right time to do so before you left and texting you an apology seemed like a shitty move.”

You blinked at his words, brows furrowing as you tugged your blanket closer.

“I know this is selfish of me but I mis-“

“Stop. Please. Just stop…” You whispered, vision blurring with tears.

“Y/n.”

“No, Geto.” You reiterated, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Please don’t cry over me.” He murmured, hand hovering over your hand that had been gripping the railing so tightly in attempts at grounding yourself, but ultimately he pulled his hand away leaving you your space.

You sniffled, turning to glare at him. “Then either stop making me cry or look away.” You hissed causing him to frown.

“I never meant to make you cry…” He said, “then why do it?” You scoffed, wiping at your tears angry that they’d been stubborn enough to fall.

“I-“ he paused, reaching for you again but stopping himself when you leaned away from him.

“Because i’m an idiot. That’s clearly the only right answer. I’m not worth your tears, Y/n.” He said. You bit sniffled, letting out a small scoff.

“And yet here we are again, Geto.”

“Please don’t call me by my last name. We may have broken up but I still want to be in your life. Even if it’s only as friends.” He said. You were growing frustrated with your traitorous tears; every time you’d wipe them away they were replaced with fresh ones.

“I don’t want to be your friend. Can’t you understand that? You broke up with me - I think I deserve some space.” You said, swallowing the sob that wanted so desperately to escape.

“I don’t want to be friends either… I made a mistake letting you go.” He said causing you to furrow your brows and look over at him. He was already looking at you, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears that he had also been trying to blink away. It made your stomach twist into knots, bile rising in your throat.

“What kinda sick game are you playing at, Geto?” You hissed.

“It’s not a game, I swear. Breaking up with you was a mistake. I thought it would be for the better - we were both getting so busy and I wanted to you have someone that could be there for you whenever you needed. Instead of trying to be better I gave you up and I’ve regretted it every day. You’re all I’ve thought about this entire year…” He said. You felt hot tendrils of anger wrap around your chest, tears now flowing freely as you’d given up on wiping them away.

“Screw you.” You spat, turning away to leave but he only grabbed your wrist, tugging you gently towards him.

“Let me go, jerk.” You said, pushing away from him but he only held you tighter within his embrace. “Please just hear me out.”

“No! Dammit, Suguru. You can’t just come in to my life again after what you did to me.” You sobbed, struggling against his embrace but it never faltered.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a selfish idiot.” He said, holding you as you broke apart in his arms. “I hate you.” You cried.

“I love you. Always will. Even if you leave me again.” He murmured.

You hated how easy it was for him to snake his way into your heart again, but you guess he had never really left. There had always been a Suguru sized hole in your heart and you hated it.

“Is there any chance at all for us again? I promise I won’t make the same mistake again.” He practically begged, pulling back to look at you.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore because you didn’t want to give in. But you knew it was helpless. You’d never hated him. You could never hate him because you would have to stop loving him first. You couldn't give up on him despite your best efforts. But now that the opportunity was here again, you were scared. You didnt think you'd be able to handle a second break up with him.

“Suguru…”

“Please. We don't have to jump back in all at once.”

You let out a sob, allowing him to wipe away your tears as your body slumped in his embrace, you were tired of fighting.

“We’d have to start from zero, Suguru.” You mumbled shakily. He nodded, holding you tight.

“We’ll go as slow as you need me to go.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[tj-dragonblade]

for the make me write! see, it would be dreadfully predictable of me to submit the 🎓

so I'll offer you a choice, depending on which you deem needs your attention more: 🍪 or 🎓

Oh you know me, if you send me two I'm going to do both. 💖 These follow on directly from the last snippet in their wip tags.

For 🍪:

= "Is this a recipe of your own devising?" Dream is eager, he finds, to hear more of this story of Hob's traditions.

"Oh no, no, this is Oma Franziska's gingerbread recipe." Hob has that fondly-nostalgic look again. "She insisted we call her that, me and Jim. She'd lost contact with her own grandkids when she left Germany, you see, and she sort of adopted us when we moved in next to her. She knew Jim's truth, too, and it was nice to have a neighbor who he could be himself with."

Hob has told Dream of Jim previously. Jim, who had been Hob's wife Peg to the rest of the world but Hob's husband in safe company; Jim, who had loved the sea, who sang bawdy pub songs with the loveliest voice, who left Hob with many fond memories and stories to carry with him as he continued living.

"She looked after us both, in a fashion. Knew her way around the kitchen blindfolded and backwards—I'm very sure food was her love language. Always made sure the neighbors were fed if they needed and was just—she was really something, y'know? I'm glad I got to know her." Hob gives the dough a final roll with a flourish. "Stayed put until she passed, even though I was kind of pushing it for that lifetime. I didn't want to leave her behind when she had so little time left, especially when she'd been there for me after Jim died."

"Your kindness does you credit." Dream is warmed by the tale, by yet another glimpse of the man Hob had worked to become in the past century.

"Heh." Hob beams at him, and something low in Dream's stomach tightens marginally. "Anyway, Oma Franziska was always sharing recipes with us—sending her traditions forward, she called it—and I've kept 'em alive for her. This gingerbread is based on an older recipe, but she tinkered with it quite a lot and clearly she knew what she was about; these biscuits always get rave reviews." He turns, plucks two of the biscuit cutters from the jumble on the counter and presents them to Dream. "Here you go."

And for 🎓:

Dream shivers, makes that sound again, and leans back further on Hob's desk. His feet move from Hob's knees up to his shoulders, the sharp edges of the chunky heels digging in just a bit despite the thick wool of Hob's waistcoat. His knees fall wide and he scoots his arse that much closer to the edge of the desk, angling his crotch up so Hob can get at it better.

And Hob is not about to waste the opportunity.

He buries his face in Dream's knickers, mouthing at Dream through the lace with a happy little groan, warm breath and warm lips gently teasing his 'student'. "Tell me what you'd like," he murmurs, after running the tip of his tongue along the length of Dream's cock, kissing the head. "Tell me what you want me to do for you?"

He glances up to see Dream biting his lip, eyes half closed as he leans back, immersing himself in the part. "I sometimes open myself up with my favorite toy," he says, hesitantly, "then sit on it and pretend that I am. Speared, in your lap, while I jerk myself off."

"Then let's start with that," Hob breathes, dick twitching in his slacks. "Nice and easy, get you open and relaxed before we do anything else." He kisses Dream's cock through the lace again, one last time, then guides Dream's feet down from his shoulders and takes his hand to pull him upright and back to standing. He slides both hands up under Dream's skirt, hooks them in the waistband of his knickers, meets his eyes as Dream braces himself on Hob's shoulders.

"These will have to come off," he says, half-apologetically; it's a sin to lose them so soon.

But Dream, bless him, bites his ruby-red bottom lip and squeezes Hob's shoulders. "Can I suck you first, Professor?"

Make me write!

[billybob598]

Everything is Going to Be Okay (Sydney Lohmann x Reader)

Well hello there! Here is the long awaited (not really) part 2 to How Many People. On a completely unrelated note, school is kicking my ass. But whatever. Also, I just want to note that I am NOT a medical professional. I have no idea if what happens in this fic is actually possible or medically correct. Either way, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Enjoy!

Part 1 here

Word Count: 5K (can we all just pause and acknowledge this? like guys come on now)

1 Year Ago

“She’s stable, for now. We’re going to be monitoring her carefully for the next few days. Again, we’re confident she’ll recover as much as she can.” You can hear a voice coming from above you, but your mind seems hazy, almost like a fog clouding your thoughts. Something wet lands on your exposed wrist, it feels like water but who would pour water on your arm? 

“Okay, thank you, doctor,” a German accent breaks your line of thinking. Wait, you know that voice, Sydney? What was she doing here? What were you doing here? The last thing you remember you were sitting in the middle of the track, about to switch the car off and get out. Now that you think about it, it did sound as if something was getting closer to you. Oh God, had you been hit by another car? Well, that’s not good. A door closed shut, presumably the doctor, leaving just you and Sydney alone. She started to cry, like full-on sobbing. How badly you wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but you couldn’t. Your body was betraying you. Luckily, Sydney slipped her hand into yours and squeezed tightly. “You scared me for a sec, Y/N/N. Wake up, please. Then, everything will be okay, liebe.” Her voice was cracking as she begged you to open your eyes. You couldn’t. You couldn’t reach up and tuck the hair behind her ear, you couldn’t open your mouth and tell her everything was going to be okay. You were useless. Well, you could just try and squeeze her hand. What’s the harm in trying? So, you focused completely on getting your fingers to tighten around hers. Sydney’s head shoots up. The sadness she was previously feeling almost disappeared altogether. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” She gets a squeeze in response, “Oh my God, oh my God.” She clings onto your hand as if it were a lifeline, “I’m going to go get the doctor, okay?” Another squeeze.

9 Months Ago

You had fully woken up four or five hours ago. For a couple of weeks you were just squeezing your girlfriend's hand, today was the day you were finally able to open your eyes. When you woke, Sydney immediately pulled you into a hug, being mindful of your injuries. The nurses did a few checks on you such as checking if you remembered what happened, who you were, and who Sydney was. They were happy to confirm you didn’t suffer any memory loss despite your head trauma. They then left you alone to rest for a couple of hours. Sydney telling you everything that has occurred over the last month. It shook you, how much you had missed and how long you’d been unconscious for. Around six o’clock the doctor came in. He watched the numbers on the machines you were hooked up to, occasionally writing something down on his clipboard. When he was satisfied, he walked to the foot of your bed and carefully removed the bed sheets covering your legs.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’m not sure if anyone has told you yet, but during your accident, you suffered damage to your spinal cord. I just want to make sure that everything is okay down here,” he explains. He takes out a pen from his pocket and gently pushes it into your foot, “Can you feel this?” You shake your head no. He hums quietly then, he moves it onto your shin, “This?” Nothing. You unknowingly tense, this wasn’t good. He continues to move it further and further up your legs until he gets to just above your hip. Poking it softly he raises his eyebrows to you in question. Finally, you can feel the tip of the pen dig into your skin, 

“Yeah, yeah, I can feel that.” He nods curtly.

“Could you try wiggling your toes for me?” Focusing your entire body on getting just one of your toes to move, you groan when you can’t. The doctor mumbles something to himself. He then asks Sydney if he could talk to her outside. Sydney gets up, squeezing your shoulder as she walks past you. You watch them carefully, trying to see if you can lip-read. Spoiler alert: you can’t. As they walk back into the room, Sydney has a sombre look on her face. When she sees you staring she tries to force a smile, but you already knew what was coming. 

“So, Y/N-”

“I’m paralyzed, right?” Your question catches both of them off guard. They share a look before Sydney turns to you with a sad look in her eyes. That’s all the confirmation you need. The tears start to flow thick and fast. In an instant Sydney is beside you, comforting you in whatever way she can. She whispers sweet nothings into your ear, trying her best to calm you and reassure you.

“I know it seems like the end of the world, meine liebe. But, you’ll come back better than ever. Everything will be okay,” she whispers sweetly as the sobs coming out of your mouth begin to slow.

7 Months Ago

“Seriously, Y/N?” Sydney’s voice sounds incredulous. She harshly spins your wheelchair around, taking you by surprise. When you meet her eyes you're taken aback to see such fury and frustration in them. 

“What? What I’d do?” You ask, not liking the way Sydney looks like she could tear you apart limb by limb.

She scoffs, “Oh please, you know what you did.” It’s when she says those words that you realize what she’s talking about. A frown forms on your face, preparing to defend yourself, but she cuts you off, “Like, seriously, Y/N? What the fuck? You don’t get to say or decide those things.” Her words set you off.

“Oh, I don’t get to make those decisions? Of course, I do! You know who doesn’t get to decide those things? Someone who has no fucking clue what it’s like!” Your voice rises word by word. 

Sydney, however, refuses to give up, “Maybe I don’t get to make the decisions, but I get a say in it. They affect me as well. Not everything in this world revolves around you!” At this point, tears are starting to form in her eyes, your fists are clenched, and the words being said are much harsher than originally intended.

“Whatever. I’m a grown fucking adult and I’ll do what I want.” Any hope either of you had for a civil, calm conversation had been thrown out of the window a while ago. The German’s hands fly to her hair, tugging at it. 

“Really? Cause right now you’re acting like a child. God, you’re so frustrating! I’ve been doing everything I possibly can for you these last three or four months. I understand that you’re frustrated and that you’re heartbroken, but that doesn’t mean you get to shut me out, okay? I’ve tried to show that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, but what do you do? You bottle it up and then it makes you make stupid decisions like telling your therapist to piss off when she asks about Formula 1 and saying that you don’t ever want to see her again!” She releases a deep breath after her mini-ramble. All of her worries and frustrations from the past few months let out. You stare at her in shock and regret. 

With a look of concession you speak quietly, “You’re right, Syd. I shouldn’t have done that, I’ll call her and apologize. I’m sorry, I am, babe.” Blinking, Sydney couldn’t believe it, you had apologized. 

“And?” She prompts.

“And I promise I’ll try to talk to you more about those things,” a smile appears across your girlfriend's face. 

“See? Wasn’t that hard was it?” You roll your eyes, a playful grin etching itself on your face, “Everything will be okay, right?”

“Yeah, everything will be okay.”

6 Months Ago

“Fuck!” Your swear startles Sydney out of an email she was writing.

“Everything okay, schatz?” She asks, peering out of the office. You had moved to Germany so she could help you with your recovery. Your trainer and physiotherapist had both moved as well. That way everyone you needed to help you was right there. Sydney hated to leave you alone, especially in your current state. So, whenever she had to leave for away games or international duty she would get her mom and dad to come over and watch you. No matter how many times you insisted you were fine alone, they stayed however long they needed to and helped you do everything. Dinner? They made it. Shower? Momma Lohmann is helping you. It embarrassed you to no end. To have your girlfriend's parents look after you as if you were a toddler. It was the topic of many arguments with her, she just never understood why you were so stubborn to the offer of help. To be honest, you didn’t know either. There was just something degrading about it. You were once a role model, a trailblazer in motorsport, a standard for those to come. Now, you couldn’t even make it up one flight of stairs by yourself. 

“I spilled my tea. Don’t worry I’ll clean it up,” you call back from the living room.

“No, don’t. It’s okay, you’ve got physio soon. I’ll clean it up when I get back,” your girlfriend walks into the room. You huff slightly and mumble a quiet “okay.”

 Arriving at your physio, Sydney waves you goodbye as one of the desk ladies wheels you through the doors and into the main lobby. Your physiotherapist, Emma, smiles at you and takes over pushing your wheelchair towards the back.

“So, how are you feeling today?” She asks happily.

“Same as two days ago,”

“Woah there grumpy pants. It was just a question,” she jokes. Sighing heavily, you give her a more honest answer,

“Em, come on. It’s been what three months? I’m still nowhere near being able to walk again,” Now it’s her turn to sigh,

“Don’t say that. You are making progress. You may not see it, but I can. And I think you’re closer to walking again than you think.” She ignores your scoff and parks you near a massage bed. After a few warm-up exercises, (What you were warming up you had no idea. You couldn’t feel shit.) you maneuver onto the treadmill. However, on this treadmill, there was a harness with two braces that wrapped around your legs. This forces them to move. Emma helps you put the harness on, she turns the treadmill on, starting at an extremely slow speed. Slowly, she increases the speed little by little. When she feels you’ve had enough she stops it and sits you back in your wheelchair. The two of you continue to plow through exercises, everything seems to be going decent until you try to walk by yourself. You had been left unsupervised for no more than two minutes, but your impatient self decided to try and go get your wheelchair that was situated only six feet away from you. You willed your right leg to move forward and take a step, leaning forward slightly, instead, you toppled over face first having to break your fall with your arms. Emma and others had rushed over when they heard you thump against the floor. She, with the assistance of others, helped you into the wheelchair, the chain of curse words that left your mouth conveying just how pissed you were. What was shaping up to be a rare positive session ended instead with you being inconsolably furious. You weren’t mad at anyone, no, you were mad with yourself. In your mind, you were pathetic. How could you not even take one stupid step? You continued to mentally bash yourself, not realizing that Sydney and Emma had sat you in the car. Now, they stood behind the vehicle, Emma filling your girlfriend in on everything. After bidding your friend and physiotherapist goodbye, Sydney got into the car and started the drive home. When she took a peek at you she could tell how in your head you were. Doing the only thing she could think of, she reached across the centre console and intertwined her hand with yours. Your head snapped in her direction, you were confused but you didn’t move your hand away. Stopping at a red light, Sydney turned her head towards you. She spoke quietly,

“I know you’re frustrated, liebe. I would be too. But you have to try and be patient with yourself. It’s a long road and I’m almost positive that one day you’ll reap the rewards.” You smiled at her words, a genuine smile, something Syndey hadn’t seen in a long time. You brought your interlocked hands towards your mouth and planted a kiss on her hand. “Everything will be okay, okay?”

 5 Months Ago

“Come on Y/N! You got this!” Emma’s words spur you on. In the past month, you had made significant progress and today was the day you were going to try taking a step. So here you were, on your fourth attempt and while you were beginning to lose confidence, Emma was determined not to let you give up. Taking a deep breath, you will your leg forward. To your and Emma’s amazement, you take a step. 

“Holy shit I did it!” You exclaim happily.

“You did it!” Emma screams, bringing you into a tight hug. Before Sydney comes to pick you up you make Emma promise not to tell your girlfriend about your progress, stating that you wanted to surprise her when you can walk more. 

Two weeks later, you texted Sydney asking her to come inside because Emma wanted to show her something. So, as the two of them talk about God knows what, you slowly but surely make your way over to her. Emma looks excitedly over your girlfriend's shoulder, continuing to talk to keep her distracted. When you finally get close enough, you reach out and lay your hand on her shoulder. Sydney turns around, her jaw drops when she sees you standing there, your wheelchair far behind you. 

“Di-Did you…?” She stutters, extending her hand to hold you. You nod with a stupid grin on your face. 

“I did,” you say tears appearing in your eyes. Sydney pulls you into a hug, crying into your neck. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Y/N,” she mutters, still against your neck. 

“Thank you, love. And thank you for staying with me,” you say before pulling her into a soft kiss. After a few seconds, you pull away. 

“Everything is going to be okay, liebe,” she says into your ear.

3 Months Ago

“You nervous?” You can practically hear the grin on Alex’s face as he speaks up from behind you. His hand lands on your shoulder, bringing a sense of comfort to you. Alex had always been one of your best friends, a friendship that only got stronger when you became teammates. Both of you had done your best to keep in touch throughout your recovery, something that proved difficult. Mostly due to you not wanting anything to do with F1. Some might see it as a terrible coping system, but you saw it as a well-deserved break to mentally reset. Now, after months and months of rehab and hard work, you were finally back where you belonged, in an F1 garage. Williams’ was giving you a test day around Silverstone. On one hand, you were ecstatic to be back, on the other, you and Syndey were scared as hell. While the conditions were perfect, the sun predicted all day with no clouds, and there were no other cars on track, It’s hard to get past those types of things, especially when they hurt you and everyone close to you. One of the main things you were concerned about was Syndey. You weren’t sure if you could, God forbid anything similar happened to you, put her through that again. She was your rock and you had no idea if she could take something as emotionally and physically taxing as that ever again.

“Nah, mate. I’m not nervous at all,” you say sarcastically before moving away from him.

As you walk around the garage you take a good long look at your car. God, your car. Something you hadn’t been able to say in forever. Someone walks up from behind you and snakes their arms around your waist. You lean back into your girlfriend's arms as she leans forward slightly and talks into your ear,

“You’re gonna do great, I just know it.” Turning around so you’re facing her, the bright smile that Syndey and the world love so much tugs at your lips. 

“Yeah I know, I’m more worried about you,” you joke lightly. She feigns offence at your words.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m always as cool as a cucumber when you’re racing.” A laugh escapes from you and you kiss the underside of her jaw sweetly. 

“Y/L/N! We’re ready, wanna get in?” An engineer shouts at you, breaking the two of you out of your trance. You nod, the soft look you had instantly replaced with one of pure determination. Pulling away from your girlfriend, you look at her,

“Everything will be okay, Syd.” She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she presses one last kiss on your forehead and moves to put some headphones on, leaving you alone. Taking a deep breath, you begin to put your earplugs in, then you tuck your hair in as you put your balaclava on. Finally, you slip the custom-designed crash helmet over your head and connect the HANS device to your neck. Approaching your car, a few of the mechanics give you fist bumps and words of encouragement. There are a few cameras located inside and outside of the garage, one of them being the social media manager. You give a thumbs up and wink at her, something that you’re sure will end up all over TikTok and Instagram later, but whatever. You step over the halo, your eyes squint due to the big smile under your helmet. After taking a few breaths in and out, you slide down into the cockpit. Someone helps you with the seatbelts and headrest, they give you a quick thumbs up before retracting their hand from the cockpit. Your engineer gives you the go-ahead to start the engine, and when you switch it on the entire car rumbles to life. It’s a surreal feeling, the way your entire world vibrates with its power. The front jackman signals for you to pull out of the garage. When you press the throttle, everything goes silent. As you pull out of the pit lane and head onto the actual track, the rest of the world falls away, It’s just you and your car. Nothing else in the world matters right now. For the first time in months, you’re doing what you do best, driving at crazy speeds like a madman. When you come across the start/finish line to complete your first lap in an F1 car in over nine months the entire garage breaks out in applause. Sydney can feel the tears flowing down her cheeks, but unlike the last time you were in an F1 car, they were happy tears. The world and your lives were somewhat going back to normal. Finally.

2 Weeks Ago

“Here we are for the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix! And Martin, the biggest story of the week, Y/N Y/L/N is making her long-awaited return to Formula 1 after her horrific accident last year in Spa,” Crofty’s cheery voice crackles through the TV speakers in your driver room. 

“That’s right, Crofty. She has had to endure one of the most challenging journeys we’ve ever seen. And I think everyone inside of the F1 community is rooting for her this weekend. So far, everything has been smooth sailing for her. She put in a mighty performance in qualifying, only three spots back from her teammate, Alex Albon, who qualified a magnificent P2. And that Williams has looked quite speedy around this track and I’m sure both drivers are hoping to make the podium, at least.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your girlfriend's sweet voice brings you back to reality. 

“Good, yeah great, good,” you say very unconvincingly. She just laughs at you, but before she can say anything in response, a series of loud splats hitting the window makes you both look at it. To both your dismay and worry, the heavens decide to open up there and then. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about that. You’ve been doing so well, a little rain isn’t going to change that,” Sydney takes a seat beside you and cradles your face in her hands. 

“I can’t do it, Syd. I can’t,” You feel yourself start to hyperventilate. Your mind races, thinking about all the bad outcomes, thinking about what happened last time.

“Look at me, liebe. You can do it and you will. I know you, nothing ever stops you and this definitely won’t. You’ve worked so frickin’ hard for this. I’ve watched it, I’ve watched how you never gave up. This is your time. Show them just how amazing you are, schatz. Show them.” Her pep talk has its desired effect, it eases your worries and helps you prepare for the race. 

Walking around the grid, you take it all in. A year of pain and hard work finally paid off. Multiple people come up to you before the race and wish you luck, something you appreciate but don’t care for. As you sit inside the car with your helmet on, everything seems quiet. All weekend everyone wanted to talk to you and they always asked the same questions. At first, you didn’t mind it, just happy to be back. But, after a bit, it got annoying having someone try to follow you every minute. Inside your car, however, it was just you, you couldn’t hear anyone else, everyone just left you alone. 

“Thirty seconds until the green light,” your engineer, Gaetan, spoke through your earpiece. You run through your final preparations before the formation lap was started. When the green light is given, you weave around the track attempting to warm up your tyres while Gaetan confirms the race strategy. Parking in your grid spot, you ready yourself with the clutch. 

“It’s five red lights and away we go for the Hungarian Grand Prix!”

At the end of lap 1, you’re up to P4 after starting fifth. Alex had dropped down to P3, putting you right behind him. A few more laps pass by and you begin to get frustrated behind your teammate,

“Guys, come on. I’m faster than him.” Sydney and Lily watch anxiously from the garage.

“We’ll give it one more lap, Y/N. If he doesn’t improve we will switch the cars,” Gaetan responds. When Alex doesn’t improve the next lap, he lets you by and sets you free. Now, you had clean air and lots of time to make up. Over the next twenty laps, you gradually close the gap between you and the top two, Carlos Sainz and Max Verstappen. When the three of you come in for your pit stops, you were just under two seconds back from them. Alex had pitted a few laps before, trying to pull off the undercut on you guys.

“And what’s this? Oh no, Martin, Sainz has had a slow stop! Oh goodness, the tyres weren’t ready! This might just play into Y/N Y/L/N and Williams’ hands.” After a smooth stop from your guys, you rejoin the track ahead of Sainz and into P2. 

“So we’re P2 and Alex is P3,” your engineer tells you.

“Really? Oh, wow. Good job guys,” your surprised tone makes a few people chuckle. The race progresses and try as you might, you just can’t get close enough to get by Verstappen. By the time the second pit stops comes around you are 1.2 seconds behind him, only getting near enough to attempt one or two overtakes. With less than twenty laps to go, a sense of urgency overcomes you. You start to push a little harder. Eventually, you get DRS on Max, you draw closer and closer on the main straight, but not quite close enough to make a dive bomb. After a few more laps of getting closer but still being too far, on lap sixty-one of seventy you stick close to his gearbox the entire lap. Following close through the corners and gaining the slipstream on the limited straights around the Hungaroring. When the two of you arrive on the main straight you open your rear wing and tuck in behind him for the slipstream. Getting closer and closer, you pull to the inside and draw alongside him. Heading into the first turn, you have the inside line, but leave enough room for him on the outside. He keeps his foot in and stays level with you then, heading into turn two, the sweeping left-hander, you keep your nose in front of him. And you hit the throttle quicker letting you pull in front of him. Verstappen has to concede the position and you take the lead of the Grand Prix. The Williams garage erupts, everyone is losing their shit. For the first time in forever, one of their cars is leading a race. Sydney has the biggest grin on her face, she has no chance of hiding how proud she is. For the last nine laps you defend like your life depends on it. Max throws everything at you, but each time you turn him away skillfully.

“As she rounds the final bend, it’s a fairytale story for Y/N Y/L/N and Williams. Almost a year since one of the worst accidents the F1 community has seen, she returns and in her first race back, 

Y/N Y/L/N WINS THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX!”

When you cross the line you put your head in your hands and cry. The darkest time of your life had ended and you had come through, better than ever. 

“Oh my God, mate! You did it! You’ve won a Grand Prix, congratulations!” Gaetan sounds elated over the radio and you can’t blame him. 

“Holy shit, guys. I’m crying, stop. Thank you everyone so, so much for all your hard work and for supporting me throughout everything. I couldn’t ask for a more amazing team, thank you.” Your stifled sobs break up your words, but the words still get out. Stopping in front of the first place sign, you take a moment inside of the cockpit to just calm down. Unbuckling and removing the headrest, you step out of the car and stand on top of it raising your arms in triumph. Everyone cheers for you as you wave at the crowd. You rush to your team and jump into they’re awaiting arms. After celebrating with your team for a few seconds, you look for your girlfriend. She waves to get your attention, you grin and make your way over to her. She pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. Pulling away, she tilts her forehead against your helmet-covered one. 

“Everything’s okay,” she mumbles to you. A stupid smile appears on your face as you reply,

“Yeah, everything is okay, love.”

Present Day

“Liebe? Are you sure you want to do this?” Your girlfriend appears in front of you, a concern clear upon her features. Sighing, your hand runs over the scar on the side of your head, a nervous habit you developed during your recovery. Sydney gently takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with hers. Her heart breaks when she looks into your eyes and finds them glossed over with tears. “You know you don’t have to do this, Tom will understand if you back out,” she tries to reassure you. You shake your head,

“No, no. I want to do this. It’s time.” She looks at you warily before releasing your hand from hers. Tom Clarkson, the host of the F1: Beyond the Grid podcast, had come to you a few weeks ago asking if you would like to come onto the podcast and share your story. You, of course, had said yes, not hesitating much about it, Sydney on the other hand was much more cautious about it. It took you months and months before you were able to express your feelings to her, now you were just supposed to share your insane story to the entire world? She was praying that everything would go smoothly and that you wouldn’t close off after. As you sat down and adjusted the mic on the desk to sit closer to you, Tom quickly ran through some of the topics he was going to question you about. While most of them were touch subjects, you felt comfortable enough to talk about them. Especially with Sydney sitting not too far away. 

“After one of the most terrifying incidents the F1 world has seen in recent memory, she’s completed one of the most outstanding comebacks we’ve ever seen,” Tom introduces you into the podcast and you guys fall into a relaxed conversation for a few minutes. “Now, Y/N, today marks exactly one year since your accident. How are you feeling about that?” You gulp. It was odd to think that it only happened a year ago.

“Um, yeah, definitely crazy. I feel I’ve come so far and had to overcome so many obstacles. I don’t think I would’ve been able to return if not for the many people around me who helped me during my recovery.” 

He nods, “Anyone specifically who made a big difference?”

“My girlfriend. She was and is my rock, looking back at it I realize how much of an asshole I was to her and how much she looked out for me when she didn’t have to,” you explain, a love-struck smile on your face. Tom chuckles at your expression before asking the next question,

“So, was there any mantra or saying that inspired you over the last year?” Your smile gets wider and you nod excitedly. “There was? What was it?” You look over at Sydney before answering.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

[toytoriyadorm]

 CHAPTER 19: daeH otatoP

Despite his own concern over the blonde’s disposition, Pat still let Ramshackle’s leader follow him. “When are we getting to the Coliseum’s hall?”

“Soon enough… how did you know I needed to go there?” Pat looked at him with suspicion.

“Aha, just saw other students heading that way!” Yuukei lied. 

“Sure…” Pat muttered, eyebrows now furrowed. They made it to the corridor, just as the blonde remembered. And just as he predicted, a scream tore through the small chitter-chatter of the coliseum backstage.

“--LET GO OF ME!!!”

The two students stood still at the sound. Yet as Pat soon moved to run over to the distressed student, Yuukei remained frozen, his vision slowly tilting.

“Everything’s repeating! Every time–! I’M GOING TO GET STUCK AGAIN!” The student repeated, pulling out his wand in the same fashion. But instead of coming to the rescue, he slowly backed away from the scene. With memories he shouldn’t have filled his head, the prefect turned his heel and ran. 

“Why-Why is this happening?!” He thought, stumbling into a familiar brunette. 

“Yuu? Hey, where are you going?!” Winston called to no response. Yuukei continued to dash through the crowd, confusion and fear eating away at his mind. Suddenly, his head hit the soft cloth of a magenta suit. 

He looked up to see Lotsie in front of him, eyes filled with concern. And he didn’t look to be alone either.  “Henchman?? What happened? You look terrible…” He heard Grim’s voice, the beast munching on a snack behind the warden. 

“I-I can’t–” He breathed.

“Hey! It’s ok!” Lotsie consoled the teen like he was a child. “Let’s go to Toytoriya’s dorm, it’s better if you’re somewhere quieter to calm down.” The older student led him away from the busy scene.

—-

Lotsie opened the door to his previously unforeseen office. Toys, pictures and papers littered the walls and floor, yet it all fit in with the dorm’s chaotic theme. Yuukei remained standing as Lotsie sat at his chair, the scene reminiscent of a principal calling a student to explain himself.

Thankfully, Lotsie wasn’t a principal, and while Yuukei was a student, he hadn’t committed anything too evil as of late. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened earlier? It looked like you had a big scare.”

Feeling comforted by the older teen, everything the blonde experienced flew out of his mouth. “I don’t know how, or why or anything, but I swear to god I’ve experienced this entire festival before. And I don’t mean I’ve just been to one similar, I remember the entirety of the Festival of Memories and how it all plays out.”

Grim was surprisingly quiet, listening just as intently as Lotsie appeared to. “I know when Saturn’s firework testing is, how Zackery scratches Winston on the face during their performance and- and…” 

Yuukei’s voice trailed off as he noticed something that made his heart drop. Lotsie’s cane sat near the desk, like the rest of the small, scattered trinkets around the room. It looked the same as always, if not for the near-pitch black gem encased within the bright sun of the handle.

“...And I remember the spell you cast on the entire school.”

 CHAPTER 20: kcirT cigaM A

The silence in the room was deafening, as Yuukei gazed at the shocked dorm leader. But before either could speak, a laugh from the man broke the silence. Lotsie wiped a lone tear from his cheek before rising from his chair.

“Ahahaha! Oh Eight, I can’t believe I forgot to hide that.” He grabbed the cane, looking over the dulled gem. “Thanks for calling that out, Yuu, or the whole school could have realized my spell.”

“...What?”

“Oh, you know! The time loop! The one you say you’re in, and the reason you can still remember having memories that haven't occurred yet.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “How annoying, the mind is still able to recognize time’s passage just like those annoying cameras.”

“Hey! Start explaining what the heck is happening or I’ll set your smirk on fire!” Grim threatened. 

“No need for violence! See, I thought the festival should be extended, not until next week, or even next month. I wanted an eternal Festival of Memories, where everyone can be happy and not be burdened by adult life trying to claw at them. So I activated my unique magic, Caterpillar’s Playroom, so it really can all be forever!” 

“And I thought it would have worked this time too, but it looks like there are still quite a few issues in the spell. Well, at least it’s not too bad compared to what I’ve been through.” He laughed. “My first attempt took me what, 50 years to understand? So this isn’t too bad at all.”

Yuukei’s knees felt weak as Lotsie continued his borderline-mad rambling. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why..? “ He thought, “Because I love everyone, I suppose. I love them and don’t want anyone to be sad, or miserable, or feel like they can’t follow their dreams. But the adult world…it’s cruel like that, so why not do this? Why not allow them to stay in this wonderful memory?”

“This is what you call love?” Yuukei cried. “This is keeping everyone in a cage because you want to! I'll tell everyone what you’re doing!”

The dorm warden laughed before his smile suddenly dropped. He spoke in an unfamiliar, sadistic tone. “I’d love to see you try, because you and everyone else won’t remember anything once I fix things up and the loop restarts again. Maybe in their nightmares, it’ll appear, but only buffoons and those weak-hearted students would panic as they remember it.”

Yuukei remembered the tearful-eyed student’s look, a feeling of rage beginning to fill his heart.

[castellankurze]

Final Fantasy XIV: A Warrior's Ideal

A Varis zos Galvus backstory fic, spinning off from the Tales From the Shadows story 'Through His Eyes.' What does a young Varis yae Galvus do with his grandfather's cryptic remark that what disappoints him most about his grandson is "your body?"

[ao3 version]

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

It all came out in a rush, an uncharacteristically impulsive act.

Other nineteen-year-olds might have a history of asking impulsive questions of their grandfather. Other nineteen-year-olds, however, were not a Crown Prince of Garlemald. Still, the words came so quickly that they were out of his mouth before he even realized that he had spoken.

"What is it about me that displeases you so?"

It was a petulant outburst, as good as the stamping of a foot by a child, and Varis' sense of dignity regretted the lapse the instant it passed. Even at the same time, however, a part of him was secretly pleased by the demand. No matter how foolishly asked, perhaps now that the words had been spoken aloud he could finally receive some clarity. He had excelled in his training. He had performed admirably in his first command, minor though it was. His mistakes had been few in number and well within the bounds of acceptable oversights by the standards of the Garlean army. Here, perhaps, was finally his chance to learn what facet of his behavior had garnered the Emperor's disapproval, what error he had committed-

"Your body," came the grumbled response.

Varis tottered briefly on his feet as if a sudden gale-force wind had struck him in his chest. He might even have uttered a plaintive "what...?" in his confusion. Of all responses, he had not, could not have expected... He suddenly felt his face flush as he realized he had indeed spoken aloud once more, the second uncontrolled outburst in as many minutes, and without further hesitation he turned on his heel and fairly fled the presence of his sovereign without so much as a by-your-leave, surely the most hideous of his errors yet. The Emperor said nothing more, however, and let the young man go without further comment.

Varis blinked. He was standing at the balcony of the palace's central tower, his hands gripped tightly at the railing. He had only a dim memory of how he'd gotten there - striding with almost military purpose through the halls and out the doorway to the exterior retreat. His lungs filled themselves with the cold air of the coming autumn, and something about the sensation made it easier to loosen his hands, merely resting them atop the rail rather than clutching it like some manner of lifeline. The sky outside was blue, dotted with a mere few patchwork clouds, and the capitol stretched out before him, glinting in the sunlight. Beyond the city itself could be seen the snow-capped peaks in the distance, shining pristine white.

Despite the beauty of the day, the sight of Garlemald in all her glory brought little comfort to the young man. A part of him could not help but wonder, suddenly, if there was some flaw in it that he had not previously thought upon. That there might not be some hidden weakness. For surely if he himself were subject to such an oversight-

"I did not expect to find you here of all people, Varis," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Varis turned his head a little too quickly to be casual in reaction to the sudden intrusion. A moment later he stood up a little straighter and offered a nod of greeting. "Senator."

Titus yae Galvus came onto the balcony more slowly than his nephew had done, a concession to the way his movement was restricted by his lame right leg, upon which side he leaned on his cane. Despite being only a single remove from one another, Varis and his uncle did not look much alike. The young man had taken much from his mother, most strikingly her fair hair, but had inherited the golden eyes of his father, and by extension, his grandfather the Emperor. Titus was a near reversal, receiving from Solus zos Galvus a head of thick, black hair, but had his mother's blue eyes. Were it not for a bit of the shape of the face, perhaps, they would never have been mistaken for family.

"It's good to see you, nephew," Titus said as he joined Varis at the railing. "Though I expected you to be at that audience about Tchita."

Varis felt the frown grow once more, and turned his head away to look out over the city once more. "I chose to...forego attending," he said, knowing his avoidance was a childish act, piled atop his other childish behaviors of the day.

There was a long moment in which the only sounds were the wind and the stirring of the two mens' clothes. "You present the expression of a man with deep concerns," Titus said finally.

Varis tightened his lower lip. "It is nothing to trouble any besides myself, Senator."

"Varis," Titus said a bit sharply, and when Varis turned his head his uncle had tilted his head slightly, looking at the younger man with disapproval in a way that mimicked the Emperor's own expression. "There are no others in attendance for whom you must maintain imperturbability." The older man's face softened slightly and he leaned atop his cane, the shifting of his posture giving Varis a few more inches between them. "Talk to me," he urged.

Varis tapped one canine tooth against the other, and became vaguely aware that he had to stop himself scraping a thumb against the railing in idle motions. "I was...considering something that the Emperor said to me, earlier," he finally admitted.

"What happened?"

"I..." Varis took a breath, sighed it out. "I grew short with him. I asked him what it was about me that so disappointed him."

He was treated to the sight of his uncle's brows shooting skyward. "And what did he say?"

Varis tightened his hands on the railing once more, forcing the words out of him. "He said to me 'your body.' And I do not know what he means."

Another moment of nothing more than wind and rustling fabric. Then Titus let out an unguarded snort, huffing out a breath that was plainly the prelude to a laugh which had been aborted. "He said that to you, did he?"

Varis turned his head to regard his uncle directly, golden eyes narrowed. Though he was near two decades younger than Titus, such a response was not a thing to be passed over without comment. "Begging your pardon, Senator, at the risk of bruising my own ego, is there some obvious deficiency about me that all my family has seen and I have not?"

Titus hurriedly waved a hand and shook his head as he gathered his breath. "No, no Varis, it's not that. Ahem. Forgive me, I didn't mean to imply that I was laughing at you." Titus briefly lifted his hand to pat Varis at the back of his nearer shoulder before letting it drop once more. "I was taken by surprise, rather, because frankly I would never have expected him to say it to you of all people."

Varis blinked. "...he has said such things to others?"

"Oh yes," Titus nodded. The Senator gave him a wry smile and clapped a hand softly against his bad leg. "To me, of course, on multiple occasions. To several of his generals, more than one of the household courtiers. Supposedly he even once said it of his lady wife, though he was deep in his cups at the time, and certainly never repeated it to her face."

"What..." Varis felt his confusion swelling as he sought to puzzle out this behavioral quirk of the Emperor's of which he had never known. "What does he mean by it?"

"Hm. Well," Titus dithered for a moment. "Of course, not many people are willing to call him out directly, and he has a ready-made excuse in my case, but...if you want my thoughts on the matter," Titus hesitated.

"I do," Varis prompted, recognizing that the Senator was looking for such a cue.

"Here's my theory, nephew," Titus said, resting both hands atop his cane. "Solus-" Varis briefly flinched at his uncle's casualness, "has spent the better part of his life extolling the great virtues of the Garlean race. Year after year, speech after speech, always returning to the same idea over and over again. The history of our exile, the mark of the third eye, so on and so forth."

Varis found himself frowning once more at Titus' cavalier description of their people. "As is only right," he said carefully.

Titus blinked his blue eyes as the words interrupted whatever flow of thought he'd been having at the moment and then nodded quickly. "Of course, of course. But I think for Solus it's become rather an obsession. All this time he's spent building an idealized picture of the perfect Garlean race that he's become quite enamored of it, perhaps to the point that he's unable to reconcile the image with the real thing."

"You think the Emperor has gone mad?" Varis whispered as horror clawed into his heart.

"What? No, no, not at all," Titus said hurriedly, frowning. "Merely that in his head he's constantly measuring people against this ideal standard he's spent so much time building. And the thing about ideals is that when you measure flesh and blood against impossibly lofty ambitions, people can't help but fail. A scar on the face, an unruly head of hair. A bad leg," he added with another of his wry smiles.

"So, you say he's become...unreasonable in his expectation," Varis said slowly. Something about the idea troubled him, but he could not puzzle out what. "That there is...nothing a reasonable man would find wrong with me, but that he has...created some flaw, in his own mind?"

"A fair way of putting it. Perhaps you cut your hair too short once, or you smiled too slowly on some occasion, and it's set him off for good. It's the kind of behavior which in the lowborn is deemed 'instability' while amongst the powerful is called 'eccentricity.'" Titus smiled, but he forestalled Varis voicing his own thoughts on that matter when his breath came out in a sigh. "And if I must be truthful, I think part of it was the loss of your father."

Varis felt himself brought up short, his chest tight. "How...do you mean?"

Titus was silent for a long moment. Varis saw the motion of the man's tongue behind his cheek and recognized a reflection of his own reluctance to speak on matters near the heart. "Did you know," he finally said, "when your father and I were young, he once dreamed of being Princeps Senatus?"

Varis blinked. "I did not."

"Oh yes," Titus said with a nostalgic smile. "The Emperor's firstborn son, the voice of the people. Growing up we imagined ourselves as the two halves of Garlemald's strength. He the speaker and I the arm by which the will of the Senate would be carried out. I made little medals out of some household detritus and repurposed a chair leg as a gunblade."

Varis felt the world shift a bit beneath him. "You imagined yourself a military man?"

Titus laughed heartily. "I know, it's almost absurd to think about nowadays, isn't it? But then I took that little tumble when I was nine," he idly tapped the butt of his cane against the floor, "and everything changed. Truth be told I think it would have worked out this way in any case. Your grandfather had ambitions for your father and bade him pursue more martial dreams. Everything was falling into place, just so." Titus' smile left him and he sighed. "Then that damned sickness struck. Despite everything - his previous good health, all the best chirurgeons, even those magic-using healers, he was taken away so quickly."

Varis felt his head bow a little bit as the slowly-dimming memories of his father went by.

"Sorry. Dwelling too much upon it," Titus said with brisk pace Varis knew was forced. "I think our father never quite reconciled all his hopes and dreams against that loss. I think it was the one thing in an Emperor's life he couldn't control, and now no one can measure up to the idealizations of the past." He paused, as if the subject had taken so much of his energy he needed a moment to recuperate. "In any case. Don't dwell overlong on such disparagement, Varis," he said. "Men - even Garleans - aren't meant to fit an ideal mold, and nothing good comes from trying to force them into it."

Varis felt his earlier puzzlement unlock itself into a sudden answer, and he scowled. "If the Emperor had not set us such a lofty standard to rally the people, Garlemald would still be a landlocked province of no renown and no destiny," he said sharply.

Titus blinked and turned his head quickly, the vehemence taking him by surprise. "Of course, there is truth in that," he said. "But one must be careful that one separates the difference between beliefs and reality."

Varis pushed back slightly from the railing. "I thank you for your counsel, Senator," he said. "It will no doubt give me much to think on. For now, your observation that I have ejected myself from the very audience I returned home to attend-"

"Now, Varis, hold on a moment-"

"-is equally important. It has been a pleasure speaking with you in regards to family, but regardless of their reasonability I do have responsibilities to uphold."

Titus frowned. "Very well, Centurion," he said with stiff formality. "I hope we shall chance to meet again before you are called away once more."

Varis nodded and said some agreement before he left the balcony, leaving his uncle there to contemplate their conversation. In truth, despite his abrupt departure Varis did find himself coming back to the Senator's words on the matter of ideals clashing with reality. However it was oft interrupted by the rest of the day's business, throughout which the Crown Prince successfully kept his personal feelings buried beneath the mask of professionalism, even crossing paths with his Imperial grandfather once more and exchanging nods with the man.

As the day's light sank into the west, he departed the palace and returned to the more comfortable familiarity of military surroundings, though he was still troubled by thoughts of the morning's exchanges. The blunt, if cryptic statement of the Emperor as well as the altogether more vivid but equally opaque musings of his uncle. They continued to echo in his mind, bracketing him with a poor choice of options. Discount the opinion of the Emperor himself and take refuge in recognition of the audacity, or else pay it mind and perhaps never truly meet an impossible standard.

He was holding his chin in his hand, scratching at his cheek with a thumbnail as he walked with more slow a pace than was his norm, finding himself at the entrance to the practice ring and the figure that stood within. Varis could not help but smile to see his friend Regula - Regula oen Hydrus, now - practicing at his sword-work. The man was heedless of his blind eyes, reliant on his pureblood third to guide him through the feats necessary for any man to triumph in the contest of the ring.

"I would hazard a guess that your own dreams have been termed 'impossible' more than once," he said aloud as he entered the room and began to shrug his formal coat from his shoulders.

"Hmm?" Regula turned in the direction of his voice, cocking his head slightly. "Naturally. Something on your mind?"

"Tell me, what have you done in the past, when I or any other listened to your declarations of ambition and declared them 'unreasonable?'" Varis questioned as he selected a sword and shield from the racks.

Regula smiled. "Charged past you to show you more the fool, of course," he replied, stepping back and readying himself as Varis entered the ring opposite.

"Indeed," Varis agreed, feeling more himself than he had since early that morning. "We are not such subtle creatures as they who fill the halls of the capitol. Instead we meet our detraction head-on and show it for the foolishness that it is."

"Aye," agreed the other man, and the two promptly lost themselves in an altogether more familiar clash of wills.

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 14: A Blossoming Friendship

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, references to past Astarion trauma, references to death and dying, mild angst, notes of body dysmorphia?/comparing to past-self

WC: 9k words, 14/?? chapters

Summary: Now in your second week of living together, you and Astarion have to get past some of the hurdles your first week introduced, all while getting a bit closer along the way.

Ao3 | [Ch13][Ch15] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Your second week staying with Astarion starts off with an apology.

“I… apologize for how I reacted yesterday.” Astarion stands before you, in front of the doorway to your old room, looking oddly chastised. You hadn’t said anything to him about the previous day’s conversation, but he’d evidently come to the conclusion on his own.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, meeting his eyes with all of the guilt that had bubbled up over night. ”For some reason your words made me feel… defensive.” Internally, you wonder if that’s part of caring for someone as much as you do him– his every word hits you like a ton of bricks.

“And I don’t think I’ve eaten well enough recently,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I might have been a tad severe as a result.”

You open your mouth, willing to forgo any of your previous reservations, ready to offer your own blood if it means that he’ll be better off, only for him to hold up a hand to stop you.

“If you’re planning on offering, I’m still not interested,” he says. “Let’s not complicate whatever this is any further.” He waves a hand between you, gesturing at the ‘this’ in question.

So you close your mouth again, understanding his reasoning well enough. Though if his hunt last week had gone so poorly, why hadn’t he said something? “Well, know that the offer is always on the table. I’ve certainly gotten used to your fangs in my dreams,” you say in response. He raises a single eyebrow at you, and you can sense the suggestive tone he’s about to adopt before you waylay him with a question, “So are you heading hunting today then?”

The eyebrow drops back down and Astarion seems a bit sullen at the idea. You wonder why that might be, when he reluctantly supplies a statement that both thrills and annoys you, “Truth be told, I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone.”

Does he think I’m incapable of taking care of myself? Or maybe I’m already such an integral part of his life–no, no, that clearly can’t be. You reign in your thoughts to ask, “Oh? Why is that?”

Astarion looks at you like perhaps you’re not as intelligent as he had previously thought. “Because you’re a wizard. A living, breathing disaster just waiting to happen.” His tone is judgemental, brutal, and indicates that he believes the words he says without a shadow of a doubt.

“What?” you blurt out, apologies all but forgotten as another ton of bricks hits you. You knew he judged wizards harshly from his words about Gale, but for some reason you thought you could become the exception to the rule. “You know that all wizards don’t have a Netherese Orb trapped in their chest, right?”

The vampire rolls his eyes at you, as if to say ‘obviously, darling’ before he says, “Despite what your memories may indicate, Gale is one of the– ugh– good ones. Until I’ve seen more of what you’re capable of, I’m afraid I’ll find it difficult to leave you alone.”

“You left me alone just last week!” you exclaim, indignant now. When he doesn’t immediately respond, understanding dawns on you. “You didn’t leave me alone last week, did you?”

He shakes his head at you, not even bothering to feign embarrassment. Instead, he simply says, “Don’t worry. I’m not watching your every move.”

That does little to assuage your worries, as you consider every move that he could be watching. You think of Dal waiting for your Sending spell and imagine your window of opportunity shrinking as his trust in you lies dead in the deepest trenches of the Underdark. “Oh, great,” you say, sarcastically. “So am I nothing more than a prisoner to you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Astarion retorts quickly. “You are free to leave whenever you’d like. I’d just like to make sure that no one spontaneously combusts and that my manor stays in one piece while you’re here.”

You want to scream, to throw something at him, level a Fireball right in this very hallway just to prove him right. But you temper your anger, take a deep breath, and stare at him. The look on his face seems to indicate that he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong– you suppose in his mind, he’s only exercising the right to protect himself. Reasoning with him won’t get you anywhere, however showing him that you’re not a threat might. 

“Fine,” you manage to choke out. “What do you need me to do to prove that I’m a good wizard?”

His fair face scrunches up in thought at your question, like he hadn’t even considered that you could do such a thing. “Honestly, I haven’t a clue,” he finally says, trilling a light laugh. Normally, you’d enjoy his laughter, but this one just makes you want to shoot fire out of your fingertips.

Again, you wonder how you ever put up with this man in your past-life, how you got past all of the abrasiveness and made it to the man who genuinely cared for you. “You have to give me some chance, Astarion,” you say, irritation dripping from your words as you glare at him.

Astarion gives a pensive little hum, staunchly ignoring the daggers shooting from your eyes. “Well, we can start with something simple. What is your magical specialty? Or, sorry, school?”

That question is easy enough that you answer quickly, “I dabble in any type of magic, but my focus in school was Transmutation. I also quite like the schools of Illusion and Evocation, but I promise to keep the latter out of the house.” At least, I’ll try, you think.

“Transmutation, eh?” he says, furrowing his brow. You suspect he doesn’t know the schools of magic well enough to know what that means, but you nod anyway. “What’s your most powerful spell then?”

That all but confirms that he doesn’t understand your skillset. “It depends on what you’d consider powerful, I suppose,” you say, mentally running through the spells at your disposal. “I could turn you into a sheep, redirect a river, shape stone. But nothing as destructive as you’re imagining.”

While you’re sure that your most powerful spells are about as tame as tame can be, Astarion’s concerned brows only knit closer together. “That sounds like it could be quite dangerous.”

You want to throw your hands up into the air, certain at this point that nothing you say will sate this man’s continuous excuses for keeping you at a solid arm’s length. But you refrain, resorting to logic. “I promise it’s not. Besides, you can’t go on much longer without blood, can you?”

“Oh, I shall manage. I’ve gone without for far longer before,” he says, smiling at you once again. Ignoring any protestations that seem about to burst out of you, he continues, “Now that that’s settled, what would you like to do today?”

Nothing feels settled, simply brushed away and you’re well and truly mad now. It’s plain as day on your face, your plans to meet with Dal all but shattered by this grinning blockhead. Luckily, you have an excuse to cooldown by yourself.

“I need to go get food,” you say, trying your best to remain composed.

“Ah yes, that,” he responds, sounding annoyed that you’re throwing yet another wrench in his meticulously planned out day. If your anger bothers him, he shows no indication that he cares in the slightest. “Very well then, I shall see you later?”

You don’t trust yourself to speak without snarling, so you just nod. He takes that as his cue to leave, and you stare up at the ceiling in frustration once he disappears. “May my soul grant me the strength to deal with this man.”

Your trip promises to be short today, but you still linger a bit as you shop, thinking about the man you now know as Astarion.

He’s impossible, part of you says. He’s just hurt, another part of you counters. And throughout it all, you find yourself in a fog as you pick apples or select meats, thinking of the way his hair curls so softly around his face or the way his fangs peak over his lips when he smiles. Dreams of him were potent enough, but now that you’ve met him? Your mind feels addled with images of him.

No, you think, shaking your head out of another daydream. Focus on getting through to him. You know who he is, deep down. This… front will pass in due time.

You return back to the manor shortly after midday, expecting to find Astarion waiting for you like the last time. Instead you find a note in the entrance hall.

Not sure when you would return, so I went to visit my siblings. Should be back by afternoon.

A sudden fear strikes you, washing away all of your anger and muddled thoughts– you hadn’t thought to warn Dalyria to not mention your communication. She could be telling him at this very moment. You remember how she’d mentioned that Astarion had been difficult– likely she knew better. But you still couldn’t help the sinking feeling forming in your chest since that morning, the fear that your chance to speak with her was only getting slimmer and slimmer.

By the time Astarion returns, you’ve utterly wound yourself up in your nerves. He finds you in the library, book open and completely unread in front of you. You smile at him, and even you can feel the strain in your face and voice as you exclaim, “Welcome back!” 

He purses his lips at the greeting. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” you say, too quickly, too high pitched.

“You used to be much better at lying, darling,” he replies, tutting at you. “Does it have to do with Dal?”

You hadn’t had much reason to lie to him yet. Now that you do, you’re all but crumbling before him. You take a breath, determined to be better at this. “Not at all, why would you think that?” Even to your own ears, your words sound weak.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, stepping closer to the chaise lounge you’re seated on. His voice drops an octave, somehow both dangerous and thrilling to you. “Maybe the ill-placed hope that I saw in her and Petras’ eyes when I went to visit them. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, now would you?”

Astarion doesn’t seem angry, he doesn’t look ready to devour you, so you’re not sure how to take the question. “No?” you offer with a shrug.

He sits next to you on the lounge with a sigh. “Since I didn’t explicitly state it before, I will now: if you get up to anything with the spawn, consider our situation over.”

You blink at that, surprised at the hard line between him and siblings being drawn once more. “Why?” you can’t help but ask.

The vampire turns to look at you, face serious in a way you haven’t seen since you agreed to stay with him. “Because we want different things. And, despite my giving, selfless nature, I refuse to share you with them.” His words cause an odd fluttering in your belly, but his expression remains serious as he continues, “If you want to help them badly enough to abandon me, know that I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

It’s clear that his stance doesn’t allow for argument and, to be honest, none comes to your mind. He has every right to ask you to choose, just as you have every right to want to know more. You’ve reached an impasse, but you also don’t want whatever this is to stop. Astarion has always been your biggest priority, in your previous lifetime and this one– despite what he seems to believe. So you relent, “Fine. I’ll… leave it be.” For now, you swear to yourself.

Astarion smiles at that, his eyes soften at the corners ever so slightly, and your stomach does a small flip. Oh, what I would do to bring about that smile every day, you think, unable to help yourself. You silently apologize to your past-self: you’d never realized how powerful this man truly was.

You spend the rest of the day together, having washed away both the previous day’s awkwardness and today’s struggles. Sitting next to each other in the library like this, you can imagine that you’re truly becoming friends at the very least. You wonder when the last time Astarion made a friend was. Despite your fondness for the man, you don’t believe most people would put up with his ever-changing moods for long.

That night your reverie is of the Hero’s Life once more. Astarion is absent from this dream, as are the rest of your companions or any spawn. You’re alone, searching for something in the Underdark. Every hundred yards or so you pull out a map and take notes in that same code you’ve yet to decipher. You try to remember all that you can about the dream, the notes taken, the route you traverse. All the while you feel a sense of purpose, you feel driven, and, underneath it all, a longing and a love. 

__

After that day, you try to establish somewhat of a routine with your new vampiric friend– of course, you haven’t said the word to Astarion yet, for fear of how he might react. 

You start your days off with a chat over breakfast. He asks you what you’d like to do for the day or offers you to accompany him on tasks. You either offer up an activity or agree to help him– it’s all rather mundane for the ‘beautiful, tortured vampire secluded in his mansion’ impression he initially gave you.

That’s not to say you don’t continue your line of questioning, nor your less-than-subtle attempts to get him to read your journals or tell you more of your past-self. Occasionally he seems to be on the verge of running away, but he makes good on his apology for his behavior. He stays and endures it, either answering your questions or rebuffing your investigations.

You learn about what happened to Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira, Minsc, all of your tiefling allies– Astarion never found out what happened to Lae’zel or Withers, but he suspects that they could still be out there somewhere.

You learn about how the vampires set up a new base in the Underdark, how they’d lost many, how they’d fought off even more. You continue to learn about managing the colony and you wonder if Astarion is teaching you if only to get something of a helper out of this whole arrangement. You decide not to ask, lest your heart break again.

Given your vow to Astarion, you resist the urge to message the spawn every single night. You remind yourself of how one wrong message could ruin everything, could put Astarion forever out of your reach– that thought is the only thing that keeps you from muttering the spell. You know it won’t be long before your curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and you’d like to think that Astarion may eventually come around. It’s a longshot, but you have to hope.

Despite the attempt at a routine, each day does come with its trials and tribulations. Ranging from unpleasantness as Astarion puts it to some surprisingly pleasant moments.

On your ninth day in the house, he receives another visitor.

When the knock comes this time, you’re both in the kitchen, this time for dinner. With the way Astarion’s posture straightens, his eyes narrow, and he scooches a bit further into the table, you can tell he’s planning to ignore them again. You level the man with a forceful stare, before saying, “If you don’t want to drink from me, please at least consider this person.”

He sighs, turning his narrowed gaze to you. “I don’t particularly care to.”

“At least check?” you ask, voice pleading with him. “What if they’re delicious? You won’t know unless you check.”

Astarion only rolls his eyes at you before getting up. “If I regret this, I will be taking it out on you.” You don’t doubt it, but find that you don’t mind if it means that he gets a meal out of it.

Reluctantly, he leaves the kitchen and heads toward the door. You trail behind him from a distance, watching all the while, curious to see the type of person who would appear on his doorstep. Would it be a stunning beauty, someone with a sad, allure, maybe a raving fanatic?

When he opens the door, you try to catch a glimpse of the person on the other end. You don’t get a full view, but they look to be a fair-haired human by the looks of it

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” he says to the waiting human– you’re glad to note that you can discern the fake-tone to his welcome this time. Now that you’ve heard some of his genuine happiness in real life, it’s much easier to differentiate.

The human seems to have a spiel ready, far better than anything you had prepared. They wax poetic about being some kind of grand healer, how their god has given them the blessing to come here and cure him through any means possible– how they had chosen that to be through love. Astarion must have the poker-face of a god because he stands there the entire time, listening.

Finally they say, “I assure you, with the strength of my love, any can be healed.”

You can practically see the smothered laughter in Astarion’s deep breath, as he likely uses all of his willpower to keep it from bursting out. When he finishes the breath, all that you hear is, “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

“Nothing so sweet as you, I assure you,” they say, and you have to admit, they clearly rehearsed a few lines. You can’t fully discern their expression, but the wide, pleading eyes, begging for a chance, are visible even from a distance. Oh gods, they’re the epitome of what Astarion was talking about, aren’t they?

Astarion seems bored of the exchange now, and he dismisses them without another glance. “Well, this has been a delight, but I’m afraid I’m not in need of healing right now.”

The door is slammed in their face, and you jump back at the sharpness of his rejection. You suppose he did the same to you, not too long ago, but watching it happen feels, well, bad.

The man turns away from the door, ignoring the following knocks. When he spots you watching from the stairs, he finally lets out the humorless laugh he’d been holding back. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“No,” you say, honestly. Walking down the steps to him, also ignoring the pounding on the door, you ask the question that had been bothering you since last week, “How often do you reject visitors?”

“Not often, really. Only if they seem dangerous, insane, or try to move in with me,” he looks at you with the last one.

You ignore his taunt and continue to dig. “Why did you reject them then? They didn’t seem particularly dangerous or insane.” You wonder again if it may be because of you.

“It feels awkward.” When your inquiring eyes don’t relent, he continues, “Ugh, it’s not like I’m worried about you or anything, but the idea that– that some part of you is… them. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Oh,” you say. Of course it’s not me, you think. What a fool I am.

At the dejected little droop of your shoulders, he groans and gives your forehead a flick with his fingers. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy, and get back to dinner.”

You drop the subject and follow him back to the kitchen, all the while kicking yourself for believing in anything other than what was plain before you: for the last three-hundred years, this man has loved one person and one person only. Until you can find a space in his new life, anything he feels toward you will only be a result of that. You would do well to remember it or your heart will just keep breaking.

You aren’t afraid to try to carve that space for yourself though.

__

On your tenth day in the house, you cause the disturbance to your routine.

“Could I hold your hand?” you ask as you’re both working side-by-side. You’ve found it oddly intimate to work so closely together– especially after countless daydreams of the few moments his hand was in yours. And, after more than two hours of nearly touching, you can't hold the question in any longer. If his shoulder so much as brushes yours once more, you're liable to scream. You figure asking is easier.

“Excuse me?” he asks, understandably not comprehending the words that have come out of your mouth, especially when he had just been in the process of explaining to you the different defensive formations the spawn had been developing. 

“I was wondering if we could hold hands. You know–” You reach out to him with a hand as you explain. “These things?”

He sits there, staring at your hand in the air, papers frozen in his own hands. The stillness of his body, the shock that he’s not bothering to hide, twist at your heart. Oh gods I should have just screamed.

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?” you say, wishing you had a means to turn back time. “I just wanted to–”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not exactly the most sinful of acts,” he says, though he still refuses to meet your eyes. “I’ve done far more with countless others. Hells, your soul has seen far more than the palm of my hand, hasn’t it?”

You blush at the insinuation. “I suppose so.”

“Here,” he says, placing the papers back onto the table and sticking his hand out toward yours. It looks like that of a doll, pristine and pale in its beauty, and you’re abruptly self-conscious about your own hands.

You debate whether or not you should take it now that it’s in front of you, but it would hardly do to leave it like this. Besides, like he said, you’ve dreamt of far, far more. Trying to push down the decidedly more sinful thoughts his hands conjure up, you reach out toward his waiting hand.

The first thing you feel is cold.

His hand, much like you remember the rest of his body being, is cold. Surprisingly so, since he always seems so alive– but an oddly chilling reminder of the difference in your mortality.

The next thing you note is the heat of your own hand and how the cold stings you a bit where the two temperatures collide, just short of painful. You’re reminded of the times his hands would leave cold, burning trails along your body in your dreams, and, despite what he’d said, your mind is certainly running away from you. 

Finally, you can feel your heart, which begins a frenzied little race, one with no finish line in sight. You've held hands with lovers before, but your nerves are certainly getting the better of you this time. You'd be surprised if Astarion couldn't feel every pounding beat.

You don’t want to look at his face, certain your own is burning with heat at the mere hand-to-hand contact. But you also need to look at his face.

What you see makes your heart drop a little. 

Astarion’s expression looks bland, as if he’s completely unaffected by the contact. You consider all that he’s done with others, his gradual adaptation to intimacy with your past-self, and you suppose it makes sense. Somewhere deep down, you’re glad that the touch is so easy for him.

But you’re still disappointed, knowing that you are affected by this. And knowing that he can see it plainly on your face if his answering smirk is any indication.

“Please don’t tell me that this is too much for you,” he says, grinning like a shrewd cat and squeezing your hand a bit.

Your blush intensifies and you can feel the rest of your body begin to heat in embarrassment. “No,” you answer, trying your best to sound confident. “I’ve done far more than hold hands before. However…”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and leans in a bit. “However?”

You don’t mind taking your embarrassment as a chance to jab back at this man. In fact, you’re starting to think you won’t get anywhere without a few more barbs thrown at him. “I have never had the chance to hold the hand of someone like you.”

“Oh, someone as handsome as me?” he preens, using his unoccupied hand to brush a piece of his hair back in a show of vanity.

“No, someone as unreasonably cold,” you say with a laugh, adding a second hand on top of his. 

The sudden second hand seems to have a greater effect than the first. Astarion reels back a little bit, keeping his expression plain save for a slight clenching of his jaw. It doesn’t seem like a pleasurable reaction, but he also doesn’t wrench his hand out of yours. After a second to collect himself, he responds in a tone of mock indignation, “How dare you? I’ll have you know that plenty would kill for someone to keep them cold while in the deepest throes of passion.”

You should have known better trying to jab at a man like Astarion– he will always have the last word or the upper hand, especially when you provide him with such a clear opening. However, when you move to pull away from his hand, overwhelmed with your own memories of such moments, Astarion only grips both of your hands together tighter.

“Running away already? I’m rather enjoying it.”

With a bit more force, you could probably make a flustered escape, but then you remember how your past-self would make fun of him for seeking their body heat. You suppose he may not be saying that just to embarrass you. “I’m more of someone who runs toward, thank you very much,” you say, pushing past the conflicting feelings and squeezing his hand in both of yours firmly.

His resounding laugh is lovely, and he follows it with a similarly warming set of words, “Believe me, I’ve noticed. It might be endearing if it weren’t so frightening.”

You choose to focus on the endearing part of it, fighting back a smile for the next few minutes of banter, your hands clasped all the while. You could almost forget that his hand is in yours if it weren’t for the occasional tug of his arm, the squeeze of his fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re certain that you’re logging the feel of his hand for all future daydreams.

As your conversation peters out, Astarion pulls away saying, “Thank you for warming me up. It was... nice.”

“Well, thank you for letting me hold your hand.” You clear your throat a bit, and pick up a paper from the table. “Shall we get back to it?”

“Anytime, darling,” he responds with a wink as he picks up his own papers. 

Despite yourself, you’re already thinking of the next time you may have a chance to hold his hand. I’m nearly a hundred years old, why does this man make me react like an adolescent? you think as you hide a newly forming blush with a piece of parchment. 

Daydreams of his hands all but ruin your productivity for the day, but you do feel a bit satisfied, knowing that you’ve made progress in other ways.

__

The eleventh day, you disturb the routine once more. 

After seeing Astarion shift in his seat uncomfortably one too many times, you snap. 

“You need to drink,” you say, interrupting his sentence– he’d just been in the middle of explaining what had been rebuilt in place of Cazador’s palace as you ate breakfast. 

He looks at you, surprise plain on his face. He’d been speaking so unguarded, that you almost feel bad for interrupting, but the bloodlust that comes over him at the thought of drinking is just as unguarded. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not,” you say, pointing your fork at him. “I can practically see you salivating over my neck every time I tilt my head.”

“I am not salivating,” he says, a look of distaste on his face. But he does bring up a hand, as if to wipe any possible drool away.

You roll your eyes at his denial and stand up. Like someone with the confidence of the Hero of Baldur's Gate, you approach the vampire's side of the table. Then, as coolly as you can muster, you sit on the table, directly next to Astarion's tense form. He seems to be taken aback by your brazen stubbornness, unsure of what to say when you all but shove your wrist into his face with a demanding look.

"Drink from me, please. It doesn’t have to be my neck.” Your voice comes out as casual as you can make it, as if you could be speaking of your own breakfast. However, inside your stomach is in knots, wondering how bad this might backfire if Astarion believes you've taken it a step too far.

And you think you might have with the way he hesitates. But you can see the way his sharp, red eyes trail down your wrist, along your arm, and you know he's actively considering it. The predatory look brings a shiver down your spine, but it’s not altogether unpleasant. His words betray none of the hunger though, “I am not some uncontrollable beast, you know.” 

“And you don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” you say, waving your arm in front of him ever so slightly. “Come now. Or you'll continue to be sour.”

Astarion visibly gulps, and you watch his neck work with rapt fascination. Something about the thought of your own blood running down his throat fills you with an exhilaration you haven’t felt before. It alarms you how much you want this too. “Fine,” he finally says. “Only a bit.”

The vampire grabs your wrist, cold fingers touching your pulse point ever so gently. You can feel his cool breath on your skin as he approaches, eyes focused and staunchly not meeting your own.

It feels like an eternity, the time between his approach and the actual bite. The anticipation may bring you to another early death. Your heart is pounding in your chest and surely Astarion can feel it as he grips your wrist.

Finally, he bites.

In your dreams, Astarion’s bites had been extremely sensual. Almost each of them had involved one or both of you in a state of undress, your expressions in the very throes of ecstasy. This is different. He’s being so very careful with you that it makes you want to scream in complete frustration– he somehow manages to treat you as a weakling even now.

That’s not to say that he’s not deeply invested in drinking your blood now that he’s there. His fangs are latched on so thoroughly, his eyes closed in complete relief, and after a few gulps, it almost seems like he’s forgotten you’re even there. It allows you to take a better look at him, a long look that won’t cause any snide remarks or raised eyebrows.

From this vantage point you can see his long lashes, the sharp profile of his nose, the lines around his mouth. You can even note the beautiful little imperfections on his skin. It’s a view that you feel lucky to have, a worthy trade for some blood you were hardly using anyway.

Then you hear it: A soft, happy hum coming from deep within Astarion’s chest. It seems almost involuntary, but the sound of it, the effect your blood is having on him, it stirs a warmth in you. Oh gods, you think. I’m so glad he’s only biting my wrist. Why is this so… intoxicating? Your dreams had told you as much, but it bothers you to know that you were as susceptible in real life.

Your pulse continues to speed up, from both his very presence and the blood you’re losing, and your head begins to spin. Sensing the end of his feeding, Astarion draws one long, last gulp.

As he pulls his teeth away, his bottom lip, slick with your blood, brushes your wrist ever so softly. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath that follows, nor the way your body leans toward him. 

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice your body’s subconscious reaction to him. His eyes remain closed, a bliss on his face that you haven’t seen since your dreams. “Mmm,” he mutters. “That was…”

More than anything you want to know what that was, but you’re lightheaded beyond belief. You find yourself swaying, dropping back onto the kitchen table to avoid colliding into Astarion’s body. The resounding ‘thud’ of your body falling onto the table stops the man’s words. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, standing up and over you in a heartbeat. 

You close your eyes and nod, finding the dizziness of your actual body losing blood versus your dream body losing blood to be quite different. Any longer and you suspect you might have passed out, wrist still between his teeth.

“I know you said you aren’t soft,” he starts, voice coming from above your head. “But you haven’t lost a lot of blood before, have you?”

You shake your head, wishing more than anything to prove him wrong, but knowing that in this moment you can’t bring yourself to. “Would you believe me if I said that a papercut could cause severe blood loss?” Your voice is weak and airy, but you still manage to infuse a bit of humor into it.

Astarion laughs and responds with a simple, “Not even a smidge, my dear.”

Despite your already racing heartbeat, your heart picks up at that– for the first time since you’ve arrived, his use of a pet name didn’t sound condescending or critical of you. When he says ‘my dear’, you can almost hear a fondness in his voice.

As if he can tell that your expectations are getting ahead of you, Astarion dashes your hopes shortly afterward. “Now then, let’s get you patched up before you ruin the rest of a perfectly good day, shall we?”

You reluctantly open your eyes, sit up, and wait for Astarion to fetch you a health potion. There’s a lightness to his step that wasn’t there moments ago, a flush to his cheeks, and a tinge of pink along his pale ears– ah, that’s what a well-fed vampire looks like, you think. 

While the feeling of being bloodless may very well be one of your least favorites, you can’t deny the pure satisfaction that seeing Astarion like this gives you. I suppose I’ll need to get used to losing blood.

He returns shortly after, handing you a potion bottle. “Here. Take this,” he says.

You take the health potion gratefully, downing it in a few gulps. When you finally remove the bottle from your lips, you turn to find Astarion looking at you. “Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“Oh nothing,” he says with a cheerful smile. “Just savoring the taste of your blood.”

You look at him for a second, unsure what to say to such a statement. “Is there… something special about it?”

Astarion shakes his head, and your heart drops despite yourself. “Nothing like that. It’s just different. I suppose I expected it to taste like–well, you know who.” He waves a hand in the air. “But you taste… a bit spicier.”

The way he says the word, drawn out in a low rumble is liable to knock you back onto the table. But you manage to hold on, getting out, “You don’t say?”

“Yes, it must be the magic,” he says with a shrug. “Hells if I know. Leon and Dal have been the ones investigating blood.”

Oh? you think, an all-too eager question about to slip out of your mouth.

Astarion stops the follow-up with ease. “Now that we’ve dealt with that unpleasantness, shall we get on with our day? Or will you require some rest?”

You decide to stow the information away for later and get on with your day as Astarion suggested. Though between that information, the feel of Astarion's lips on your wrist, and the blood loss, the rest of the day passes in a blur.

__

On the twelfth day, you start to feel the pressure. 

It’s more than a third of the way through your stay with him, and the most you’ve done with Astarion is hold his hand and give him blood. You’re beginning to wonder if you’re doomed to a lifetime without him, that he doesn’t feel a spark between you the same way you do.

He’d said so to Dal, when he said you were all but repulsive. He’d shunned you time and time again. You’re starting to think that, despite everything you believe in, you may have to… change yourself for him. 

Not permanently, you assure yourself. Just something to get him interested.

You think you have just the spell to help. Flipping through your spellbook, you settle on preparing Alter Self for the day, and decide to use it when it makes the most sense.

“What do you like in a lover?” You ask him. You waited until a lull happened in conversation this time, but it's naturally tough to be ready for such a question.

As such, when Astarion furrows his brows and asks, "Whatever would you like to know that for?" you know you'll need to sell the situation.

At this point, you think you've reached an amicable state with him of course– something along the lines of friends with a bit extra mixed in. However this line of questioning could get messy very quickly, so you came prepared with an angle.

"I was wondering," you start, scooting a bit closer to him in your chair. "Since you've had a wide variety of lovers, perhaps some stood out more than others."

"Well, certainly," he says, brushing away your response. "But why do you want to know?"

You try not to let the implication get to you: that you have no reason to ask him about lovers when you're so far from becoming one. But at the same time, you suspect he might just want to hear you say it, to express some kind of interest in him. "I like to be prepared, you know in the event we ever find ourselves in that type of situation." You give him what you hope is an enigmatic smile. "I have several spells at my disposal to make whatever your ideal type is come true. Humor me a bit, why don't you?"

He seems to think about it. You're not sure if he's dreaming up his ideal person or wondering how terribly this exercise might go, but he does eventually say, "Well, I do rather like pointy ears, so you have that already." 

You nod, glad that he's playing along, and concentrate on the spell to begin altering yourself. "And? What else?"

That's how you spend the greater part of an hour altering your appearance with Astarion's notes to guide you. 

"Nose a little lower. No, higher."

"Have you ever seen someone with eyes that wide, darling? Tone it down before you scare me to a second death."

"Wrong color. No. Still wrong. Mmm, still wrong."

You snap at him a few times for being unhelpful, but you begin to understand what's happening, offering your own subtle changes as you go. You realize you’re becoming an unerringly similar image to your former self. It's not perfect, but the hair color, the eye color, the face shape – you can tell without a mirror the face that you now have is one familiar to you both.

Astarion realizes it when you finish adjusting your lips because he goes silent. Perhaps he notes the sadness in your eyes, because he looks away from you now, fist clenched in his lap.

“I’m… sorry,” he has the good grace to say.

“Don’t be. It makes sense,” you reply, assuring him despite the growing ache in your chest. “Of course they’re the most beautiful person you could envision. I think I’d be mad if they weren’t.” You mean it, you probably would be– but it doesn’t make you feel any less inadequate.

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t made you mad,” he responds wryly, meeting your eyes once more. From the slight tilt of his eyebrows and the melancholy smile on his lips, Astarion knows he’s done worse than make you mad. He also seems to have hurt himself, but again, he doesn't run away this time. If anything, he seems transfixed by you, pain laid bare between you.

How you’d like to cleanse the agony from his face, more than even the hurt you feel. So you put on your best, most optimistic smile, one you're certain that your former face can express better than yours could. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” he asks, and you note that his tone is soft, far softer than any he's taken with you. It warms you, but the tenderness burns you at the same time, knowing full well it isn’t for you. 

“Tell me what you want to tell them. Maybe it will help?”

He grimaces, and the lines on his face look deeper than before, etched with the pain of centuries unwilling to come out. You've pushed him a lot today, maybe this is where you should stop pushing. But then he gives you a look that just about stops your heart– his red eyes are wide, innocent, and searching for something in your face, his own face has gone slack with thoughts of what he might say.

“Come on,” you say, voice wavering with your own hurt. Perhaps you do love this man, with how much you’re willing to suffer for him. “Or I will get mad.”

Astarion’s expression doesn’t change, and, with wide, red eyes boring into yours, he says, “I wish your love hadn’t hurt so much.”

You blanche. Oh gods, have I made him hate them in earnest? Still, his face remains open, expectant. “Anything else?”

The man takes a deep breath. You hold your own in response. “And I don’t regret a moment of it. I’m only sorry that we didn’t have more time together, that I couldn’t protect you the way you did me. Thank you, my love.”

You smile awkwardly at that, willing your heart to stop racing at words not meant for you. Then, in a stroke of idiocy, you adopt your best impression of your former-self’s voice and say, “You’re welcome.” When he makes an annoyed face at you, you ask, “Too much?”

“Too much,” he replies, tone flat. But your foolish little ‘you're welcome’ seems to have lightened his mood despite it all. His face almost seems to be back to its cheeky, usual self when he says, “Now, let’s never do this again. I rather miss your regular face.”

You’re not sure how to take that after all that you’ve experienced in the last few minutes. But you drop concentration on the spell easily. I thought he hated my face, you think, recalling all of the times he derided you. And it’s nothing like my past-self's face, really. However your heart knows exactly how to take the statement, and it's pounding a rapid, excited rhythm for long after the encounter is over.

__

On the thirteenth day in his house, he’s the one who creates the break in your pattern. 

“Your little exercises these past few days have got me thinking. Have you considered that maybe we should try to see if something a bit more than hand holding would suit us?”

You gulp. His words come out of the blue, completely unrelated to the book you had open in front of him. You’re sitting together on a windowsill, moonlight filtering through and bathing you both in its cool glow. He looks at you sincerely, ethereal in his beauty and by the gods do you want to do more than hold this man’s hand.

“I suppose I have,” you finally manage. Though the idea that he’d been thinking of the prior days in such a way makes you wonder how forward you really seemed.

“There’s something about you– I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does,” Astarion says, leaning toward you a bit. His tone isn’t harsh, rather a peculiar sort of honesty. One of his hands reaches out for your face, his eyes shining with curiosity as he closes some of the distance between you.

“About me?” you breathe out, feeling incredibly nervous as he enters your space. It’s not overtly sexual, like some of your dreams have been, but it feels charged. Like his curiosity must be satisfied, one way or another. “What about me?”

Slowly, softly, his fingers trace up your chin, his palm comes to rest on the side of your face as his thumb caresses your cheek. You stop breathing for the time being, afraid of startling him away with so much as a tremor. “It’s hard to say,” he answers, tilting his head a bit. “There are moments when I think I finally understand who you are. But then–” he grips your face a bit tighter and narrows his eyes as he searches your face.

“But then?” your voice comes out a whisper.

“But then you turn out to be someone else.” Holding you a bit more firmly, his eyes meet yours once again. His red irises seem to swim in your vision and you're wondering if this is how vampires lure their prey in– this sheer, otherworldly beauty. You feel as if his eyes are staring into your soul. 

Perhaps he feels the same way, because you find him leaning in further, looking at you with hooded eyes. Now it does feel sexual and your entire body freezes under his look. 

This is a good thing… you think. Isn’t it?

As if sensing your train of thought, Astarion drops his voice to a sultry tone. "Isn’t this why you came here?" he says and his eyes trace the lines of your body as he plays with your robe with his other hand. "If this is what you dreamt of all of those years, I can make all of your most vivid dreams come true."

Oh gods no, you think. This is too much, more than either of us are ready for. “No, thank you,” you answer quickly, willing your body to lean back, away from his searing cold touch.

“Oh,” he says, dropping his hand between you.

“I’m sorry.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I do… well, I think you’re quite, erm, handsome.” Gods you sound like an inexperienced teenager, pull yourself together! “But if you don’t know who I am, I think I’d rather you know who you’re touching before we aim for anything… physical.”

Astarion gives a soft laugh, and you look up to see him shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I– I guess I keep finding myself trying to see the similarities in you.” As if hearing himself, he grimaces, “And I keep finding myself needing to apologize to you, don’t I?”

“You know, I’ve found that to be true myself as well,” you say, wincing your face into a smile. Every day you’re reminded of how unorthodox and uncomfortable your situation is, and hearing that he’s constantly making the same comparisons you are grips your heart in a painful vice. And yet every day you’re oddly grateful to him, for giving you this chance to hurt yourself over and over again despite everyone’s misgivings, his own included. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this from me, but thank you for trying.”

"Of course. I'm nothing if not happy to try," he says, but his voice comes out sad more than anything.

Your own heart beats a slow, dull rhythm, far more solemn than any of the prior day's dances. But you don't regret rejecting the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You don't regret saying no to those deep, red eyes or those plush, perfect lips whispering a temptation unlike any other.

Because, for now, you know it’s a step too far.

When you get back to your work, you try to ignore the persisting burning on your face where his fingers grabbed. It’s already late, and you anticipate a long night of tossing and turning ahead of you.

__

On the fourteenth day, the end of your second week at the house, you finally feel like you have a real, genuine breakthrough. Like this friendship you’ve attributed to your relationship isn’t all just in your head.

You’re in his study, taking notes on a piece of paper for him–something to do with scouting groups– when you lose the nib to your quill. It’s the third time it’s happened today, and likely more than the tenth this week. It’s an old quill, barely holding on for you at this point. It’d carried you through studies in Neverwinter, through countless journal entries, and, now that you’re helping Astarion with his work, it seems to be on its last legs. 

“Whatever is the matter? You look like you might bite that quill’s head off,” Astarion says, looking over a few sheets of paper at you.

You make an annoyed ‘tch’ as you try to piece your quill back together with a Mending cantrip and respond, “No need for me to bite it off, it’s doing so just phenomenally on its own.”

The vampire looks at it a bit more intently now, watching your struggles with only the slightest hint of bemusement. “Would you like a different quill?”

As much as you like your old quill, you can’t help the hopeful words that come out, “Oh would you have one to spare?”

Without as much of a moment’s hesitation, Astarion offers you his quill– or really, your past-self’s quill. It’s the one that you recall from your reveries, the one that he’d been using since you arrived at his mansion. When you seem reluctant to accept it, he says, "Go on, take it."

"I couldn't possibly," you reply, shaking your head fervently. How could you take something so important? Astarion mustn’t remember that the quill used to be that of your previous self, right?

"It's better off in your hands. After all, I've never been one for writing.” He waves the quill in the air in front of you a bit, like an enticing treat. When you don’t take it, he continues, “Besides, it was a gift to your past-self from Gale. It's enchanted to be particularly durable, so I wouldn't worry too much about it breaking."

So he does remember. "Are you certain?" you ask, needing to confirm, ideally multiple times, that he means the words coming out of his mouth.

"I'm certain,” he replies with a nod. “It was more of a sentimental thing anyway, it never quite fit my grip right."

You look between him and the quill a few more times, debating internally how much you wanted the quill versus how much it likely meant to Astarion. In the end his pouting face and persistent shoves of the utensil toward you win you over.

“Thank you,” you say, taking it from his hands with a slight bow of your head.

“I should be the one saying that,” he says, leaning back with a smile. 

You furrow your brows in confusion as you look at the familiar quill in your hands. “Did the quill bother you that much?”

“Oh no, not that.” The smile on his face drops a little, the tilt of his eyebrows turns sad. “I had forgotten how… nice companionship could be. How nice having a friend could be. One that isn’t some sort of demented sibling at the very least.”

You try not to let the word ‘friend’ light up your entire face, but you’re positive that the sun would be jealous of the shine you give off. “I’m glad to have forced myself into your house then.”

“Don’t be so glad, the month isn’t over yet.” His face shifts again as he laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth when he reads your expression. “And don’t smile so much, your face is liable to crack.”

You’ve developed so much trust already. He’s called you a friend. You can’t help but think that this was all worth it if only for that. Perhaps Astarion was right, living in the present was rather nice.

You end the week in a journal entry, much like last week’s:

I’m finishing my second week at Astarion’s house, halfway through my stay. I didn’t make a lot of progress with learning about my past-self or the spawn, but I’m surprised that I don’t care as much as I thought I would at the start of the week. I’m sure mother would remind me that patience is a virtue, but it is certainly not one I was ever graced with. I am willing to try it for Astarion though.

Astarion has been my focus, and it’s been, well, lovely. He’s still a lot  interesting  difficult him, but we’re getting along a lot more than we were before. Sometimes I even see glimpses of the man I’ve gotten used to in my reveries. In just one week I feel like we’ve grown so much closer as friends. There have been moments where my heart and body wishes we were more than friends, but I don’t think either of us is ready just yet. Hopefully next week will go just as well and I’ll be able to get some real answers from him. He doesn’t run away anymore which feels like a fantastic improvement! I can’t wait to see what next week brings.

[rjthirsty]

New Rules

Gilbert & Kasey (OC)

Words: 715

A/N: Wurmlein is a German word for polecats, it means "little worm." Kasey's crest is a marbled polecat. This fic would take place when Kasey is roughly 14.

“Gil?” Kasey lingered in the doorway of Gilbert's research room.

They were nervous. The way they had their body turned like they were making themselves a smaller target - like they were preparing for a fight - it was something Kasey had begun doing after they started combat training. They likely had no idea they were so easy to read. Their gloved hand held onto the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping them from bolting.

“What is it, Wurmlien?” Using the pet name he had given them caused a smile to pull at the corners of their mouth. Kasey shifted, turning more towards Gil head-on.

“May I claim some of your time?”

“I was just considering a break. How is it you always predict when I'm free?”

A full-fledged smile lit up their face. They weren't a child any more, but it was difficult to see them as anything but with how innocent they managed to stay despite bearing the worst this decaying country had to offer. Kasey practically skipped across the room, slowing down as they approached Gil's desk and the chair he was sitting in.

“I think you humor me and take your breaks when I'm around. But I like that you do that.” Kasey took a step closer, stopped, looked conflicted, then moved closer again.

They had slowly been coming around to trusting again. After the blight of the Imperial family had been forcibly removed, Kasey had a lot of healing to do. They were completely touch-adverse, even Walter had issues treating them when physical contact had to be made. In recent months, however, they had started making an effort to stand and sit closer, and to attempt casual touch.

Gilbert had always allowed them their space. He was very aware of their unfortunate history, and not wanting to spread the corruption further, he never made the choice for Kasey on how close is too close and when was the right time to become human again. They would take the steps themselves when they were ready. He was endlessly patient with his younger sibling.

“You paint me too kind. Don't granduarize what could be a simple coincidence.” Gilbert worried for them. Kasey's view had been warped to the point they saw kindness in cruelty. They had years of vile things whispered into their ears that led to them being harmed again and again by those they were meant to trust. 

“I will keep that in mind, thank you.” Kasey gave a response that made Gil's skin crawl. Obedient.

Their previous hesitation disappeared and Kasey stiffly sat on Gilbert's lap, their eyes focusing on something far in the distance. Their face went slack as if all emotion had been locked away. Gil's stomach churned.

It had been two years since Kasey’s last abuser was removed from their life. Their personal growth had been exceptional in regards to studying and learning new skills. Free from restrictions dictated by their gender, Kasey dove into everything previously unoffered with a thirst for knowledge and self-improvement. But the lessons they needed to learn most weren't ones easily taught.

“I wanted to thank you,” Kasey began, still staring off, their voice softer like they were recalling a memory. “You've done so much for me and… and I appreciate your efforts and attention.”

They glanced down at Gilbert's hand, collecting it and setting it high on their upper thigh - inappropriately high. Gil withdrew immediately once Kasey's hand left his.

“It's okay.” Kasey assured him listlessly. “I understand what's expected.”

Gilbert sighed, dropping his head back as he looked up at the ceiling. How was he going to manage to untangle the mass of lies they had been fed to bring them to this warped conclusion of what was expected of them? He was not the nurturing sort, and Kasey needed direction from someone capable of many feelings that he had smothered in his own heart.

“Wurmlien, you have been severely misled.” Gil set his hand on Kasey's upper back to gently guide her off his lap, but even that unassuming touch caused them to flinch.

“I don't understand.” Kasey answered, standing as they were silently directed, and turning to search Gil's face.

“Find yourself a comfortable spot and I'll make some tea. We have new expectations to discuss.”

[dearestspirit]

do it again

-> xiao x gn!reader

-> slight angst with a happy ending

-> wc: 830

-> note: xiao <3 i wrote this with it being a part two to this in mind but can also be read just fine on its own!!

thumping in your chest, you could feel your heart pound. slight shivers wracked through your body, but you did your best to ease your shakes. moonlight illuminated the roof of wangshuu inn. gripping the railing with both hands, you sighed. a gentle breeze was coming through. despite everything, it was a calm night. peaceful, for once.

if you could ignore all your inner turmoil, you might actually be able to spare a moment to appreciate it. but in the deepest pit of your mind, the only thought that kept repeating was that you must've messed up.

it's been at least two weeks since xiao had talked to you last. maybe even three weeks, but some of the days had been blending together so you couldn't be too sure.

you liked to think that you were close with xiao. you could even recall memories of him where he had faintly smiled in your presence– faint, but there nonetheless. you'd spent many nights on this roof with him. sometimes in silence, sometimes going on a spiel about various topics. well, you would at least. xiao often seemed a bit too… exhausted to give any significant input into your conversations. he tried, though. or, you thought he did.

looking back on it now, there's a bitter taste in your mouth. maybe he was just putting up with you. were you being pushy by wanting his company? you tried to shake those ideas out of your head. you must have misread everything. every behavior of his you thought signified any sort of personal or deep level of care towards you, you just misread as having romantic intent.

you were fighting with yourself; struggling with the thoughts of 'why did i kiss him'. wondering how you could've gotten everything so wrong. more than anything, you were grieving the loss of a friend. even if he didn't have those feelings towards you, you could live with that. but you wanted him in your life regardless.

there's a rush of air that surrounds you. when you whip yourself around to the source, you're face to face with xiao's yaksha mask. startled, you take a step back, grunting slightly when your back bumps into the balcony rail.

xiao's hand twitches, momentarily reaching out to you before falling back to his side. he clears his throat, ridding himself of his mask.

"why are you here?" the rasp of his voice fills you with a sense of comfort, even with his icy tone.

you're sure he can see the flicker of misery in your eyes, because his body language softens. previously tense, his shoulders drop, easing his weight. you can even see him make an attempt to unfurrow his brow, though his expression is still a little too blank for you to properly read.

"i wanted to say sorry," you mumble, feeling warm with embarrassment. gulping, you lower your eyes. "i intruded on your personal space in a way that i really shouldn't have. and i completely misunderstood our whole friendship, i think…"

his gaze flutters down to your hands. settled near your midsection, you're wringing them nervously. there's something strange he feels upon the sight, something like a tugging sensation in his chest. you don't rush him. even as he stays silent for much longer than you're comfortable with. xiao notes this, finding reprieve in your ability to understand him.

"it's…" xiao starts, grumbling. "it's not that. you didn't do anything wrong."

"oh? well, if there's something that made you upset with me at all, you can tell me. i want to make things right between us, xiao." you tell him, though you feel more determined now that you've heard even a hint of reassurance from him.

he exhales, eyes shut tightly. "then… do it again."

"what," you breathe, and it's as if your heart has stopped cold. "really?"

with a swallow, he nods. you can see the deep flush of red on his face, an endearing sight. he turns his head, his cheek now facing you. in the corner of his eye he notices your beaming smile, which you think makes his blush even brighter.

it doesn't take you long at all to lean a hand on his shoulder, your lips coming in contact with his warm skin. when you pull back, you can feel a slight tug on your sleeve, noticing xiao's iron grip on the fabric. he must've held on for stability as you kissed him.

"was that okay?" you ask, somewhat concerned with the lack of any verbal reaction from him.

"yes…" xiao mutters. there's a quiver to his voice, even with how assured he sounds. "you didn't misunderstand anything, so there's no reason to be sorry. it's obvious, now, but i do… feel… something for you."

you know it'll take time for xiao to fully come to terms with what he feels. what you feel, even. but knowing he's there at all brings you a newfound sense of relief you thought you'd never have.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

6 kink nanahiko!

6. car sex || wc: ~700 || continuation of this ficlet! (so, a fuller entry into the nana lives!AU... hm)

//

“What happened to not having sex inside the car?” Sorahiko demands, as Nana takes advantage of Float to leave the driver’s seat and hover over him in the passenger’s, pinning him with one hand while reaching down to crank the lever with the other. He lets out a startled huff when the chair--previously lowered--forces him to sit upright.

Nana hadn’t had many opinions about the construction of the supercar, but she was very insistent about two things: a roomy footwell for long legs, and the capability to polarize the windows.

“You looked like you were having a good time,” she says breezily. There is a click as Sorahiko releases the seatbelt lock, and Nana withdraws her hand before it snags on the retracting line. She shrugs off her jacket and slings it to the backseat.

“Your eyes weren’t on the road?”

“I’m a great multitasker.” For example, first Nana unzips the upper half of her top, and then while Sorahiko struggles to piece together a good response, she seizes the waistband of his underwear and yanks it down to join his jeans where they’ve been left at mid-thigh. 

“You are a romantic,” Sorahiko says, unfairly, because he draws her in for a kiss, cupping her face with both hands. It is soft for the occasion, sweet and chaste despite Nana’s intentions to make the supercar a site of raunchy memories. Nana feels herself melt into it and valiantly keeps to her plan.

She’s Floating and the windows are polarized. Nana grasps Sorahiko’s thin wrists, breaks the kiss but keeps her mouth near his ears, and as she guides his hands to her own jeans, she whispers, “Help me take ‘em off.”

He acknowledges the order with a groaned, “Yes,” and deftly unbuckles the belt, undoes the button and the zipper. Her jeans and underwear are dragged down. They make it past her knees, but Nana’s forgotten to unlace her boots. Shit. 

Ah, it’s fine. The position Nana has in mind works without her being able to kick Sorahiko’s ass.

“You Floatin’ for this?” he asks.

“One second.” Nana spins around. She tucks her legs in and point her boots to the footwell, braces her hands at the ceiling and the safety handle, fits herself against Sorahiko. His erection is very present against her rear; Sorahiko clutches everything but Nana and hisses a curse. “Should I re-tie my hair?”

“It’s in my mouth,” he reports miserably. “I’ll do it.”

And he does. From the half up-do, Sorahiko tugs the band free and collects her long hair into one unbroken stream. He sweeps it up into a low ponytail, then kisses the sensitive space behind her ear to signal a job well done. She shivers. She drops Float and sits heavily in his lap, eliciting a louder, clearer, “Holy fuck--”

“This is cozy,” she says, smug. Nana snatches one white-knuckled hand and flattens it against her abdomen. She slides it down, down, until Sorahiko’s touching the core of her blind. 

“You forgot the condom,” Sorahiko rasps. “You’re gonna ride me and put me away wet?”

“Hey, we’ve got several hours before Toshinori’s plane lands. We can ventilate the car and get a quick shower before parking in Narita.”

He grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, tests her readiness to take him without fingering. They haven’t had time or space to have full penetrative sex for a bit, but Nana’s dreamed about fucking Sorahiko in this car since the Commission’s techs entrusted her with the key. She whines out loud when he sinks two inside, straightaway, and his other hand gropes at her chest, holding Nana closer.

“Yeah,” she breathes, bearing down on the fingers, breasts heaving against the restraint. “Yeah, Sorahiko, that’s exactly it. Come on. Give it to me.”

“How are you this wet,” he says. He sounds dazed with the wanting. “You weren’t even the one touching yourself for the past fifteen minutes.” (Yeah, so she probably broke a speeding law getting to this secluded parking point, but they’re off the expressway. When Sorahiko tells her to hurry the fuck up, Nana puts her foot on the gas pedal. Sue her.)

“Multitasking,” Nana answers, and she laughs when he grumbles.

[stiricidewrites]

The Damage You Do: ch 18, pt 19

CW: the promised feminization \o/

Previously

~

lwj huffed quietly, his nails digging into the flesh of wwx’s ass just hard enough that he gasped around the fabric that had somehow found its way back into his mouth. “What would wy like to hear?” his dom asked and wwx prayed to every god who had ever been worshipped in the entire fucking universe that the man didn’t make him give an answer. He had none—no words, no complaints or demands. He was empty and needed lwj to tell him what the fuck he needed.

As though his prayers had been heard—or like his dom could read him way too well, just like always—lwj’s voice began to whisper to him, soft and sincere and dirty.

“wy rides me so well, like he was made for it,” his dom whispered, his hands quietly urging wwx to change the angle of his thrusts just a bit and oh, it was so, so much better like this, with his hips tilted ever so slightly more, the head of lwj’s cock dragging over his prostate with every desperate shift he made.

“And I know you will ride me so, so much better once you have practiced,” lwj continued, his breath coming in soft, sharp puffs as he tried to stave off his own orgasm—just as he had in the forest.

wwx had felt it, the way the other man had been trying to make sure he orgasmed a second time before doing so himself, although that plan had quickly been abandoned in favour of coming inside him. wwx moaned at just the memory of lwj coming inside him. He hadn’t felt it, but he had known when his dom had finished—lwj’s breath stuttering and his hips slamming hard into him, as though he wished to bury himself as deep inside his body as possible before leaving evidence of what they had done there. And lwj’s words—the feel of his fingers running through the mess slipping out of his hole—had been his undoing, the entire world fading away as he exploded onto the forest floor.

“Fuck,” wwx mumbled around the fabric. It was so wet and messy and he loved it. He loved being a mess and knowing that, despite how lwj was taking him fuck-knew-where, the man would make sure he was clean and cared for before sending him on his way.

“Language, wy,” lwj said, an almost chuckle echoing through his words that made wwx half-laugh, half-moan. “Little boys need to watch their mouths,” he added, nails digging even harder into wwx’s skin when he moaned again, thrusting hard and harder and—

“Although,” the other man purred and wwx felt his heart stop at the way the man said it—at the promise of violence in his words—“you said your dick wasn’t a he. So perhaps, you are a little girl?”

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

i’ve been thinking about an adult misty bot where she is like the fake-dating teen misty bot in the future at the reunion or having stalked user somewhere into the future and met them again. maybe they dated for real previously, maybe user is famous and misty’s totally-not been running a fan page for them or almost spilling everything about the plane crash to get their attention after so many years. super indulgent, but i thought this was fun!

Misty Quigley Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: made author!reader because I’m also self indulgent and I’m writing a book. Also because the idea of Misty reading all your books after you break up is funny to me

The knock on your front door came at exactly 3:04 a.m.

You knew it was Misty before you even opened it. The rhythm of the knock was too eager, too familiar—like the beat of a song you thought you’d forgotten, suddenly blaring through the speakers in a supermarket, pulling you back into a memory you didn’t want. You thought about ignoring it, letting her bounce off into the dark with whatever manic scheme had dragged her here after twenty-five years.

But Misty Quigley wasn’t a storm that passed. She was an unrelenting force, a hurricane of fixation and need, always circling back to the one thing she couldn’t let go: you. She’d always broken through your defenses with the same strange, magnetic pull, and it seemed like she was still able to do it.

You opened the door.

“Hi!” Misty greeted you, standing there in a retro trench coat, her oversized sunglasses perched on her nose like she was starring in some '60s spy flick. Her smile was stretched just a little too wide, the corners of her mouth trembling with that barely concealed desperation that had always been there beneath her enthusiasm. “Long time, no see, huh?”

“Misty,” you sighed, gripping the doorframe. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know! Perfect time for covert ops, right? Just like the protagonist in your second novel, Shadowed Hearts. Chapter 14—oh!” She pulled a dog-eared copy of the book from her coat pocket and thrust it toward you. “Could you sign this, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

You ran a hand down your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What do you want?”

Misty’s grin faltered for just a split second, and in that brief pause, you saw it—the same glint of possessive devotion, sharpened by years of unchecked obsession. The kind that made her eyes track every movement you made, like a predator circling prey that had been caught in her gaze the day you’d left—suitcase in hand, promising yourself that your life would be more than what happened in those woods. “There’s a school reunion,” she said, her voice almost too bright. “Twenty-fifth anniversary. All of us, back together again.”

The thought twisted in your gut, and bile rose in your throat. “I’m not going.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” Misty bounced on the balls of her feet, her excitement almost childlike. “And I need a date. A fake one. You know, espionage-style.”

“A fake date?” You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right.

“Mmhmm! We pretend we’re totally still together. Like Infiltrating Hearts. Remember?” Her eyes sparkled with a glint that was too sharp to be joy. “Everyone loves a good fake relationship. It’ll throw off the reporters, make everything less weird. Plus, we always made a good team.”

You wanted to slam the door. You really did.

But there was a part of you—some foolish, nagging part—that couldn’t do it. You were still angry at Misty. Recently, you’d noticed that one of your fan pages had started sounding eerily like her, hinting at the events in the wilderness like they were part of a 'book series.' The way it was worded—it was Misty, without a doubt. Despite your best efforts, you knew her too well.

Still, you crossed your arms, trying to stay calm. “If I say yes, it’s not real. We’re not getting back together, Misty. I’m here as your fake date. For one night.”

“Of course! Absolutely!” Misty stuck out her hand, her smile wider now, as if sealing a business deal instead of walking you back into the past you’d been running from for so long.

Somehow, without thinking, you shook her hand. Maybe it was boredom that had crept into your life. Maybe it was the loneliness that had made you weak. Or maybe it was that aching part of you that remembered how devoted Misty had been when she loved you.

___

The next evening, you were dressed in your best formalwear when Misty’s car screeched into your driveway. The door swung open, and there she was, leaning across the passenger seat with that wide grin on her face, lighting up her features like it was Christmas. “Hop in, partner,” she said, her voice crackling with excitement.

You climbed into the car, feeling the familiar weight of the past settling over you. Misty adjusted her sunglasses and revved the engine, shooting you a wink. “Ready to break some hearts?”

You weren’t. But you had already made the mistake of thinking you could say no to Misty Quigley.

When you arrived at the school reunion hall, the atmosphere was charged with tension. Faces you hadn’t seen in decades turned toward you, and the whispers started almost immediately, trailing in your wake.

Misty squeezed your hand like a lifeline. “See? We’re doing great,” she whispered, her grip just a little too tight.

“Is this for fun, or are you actually up to something?” you murmured, your voice low, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“Shh.” She smiled, her eyes scanning the crowd, and then waved at someone across the room. “Espionage, remember?”

You swallowed hard. Misty had always blurred the lines between game and reality, and here you were again, blurring them with her.

It was just one night, you reminded yourself. Just one night back in Misty’s orbit. And nothing more. Right?

Link -> 🦎

[glorified-phantom]

a/n: another heizou fanfic! This man has been on my mind and I can't help but write for him again!

pairings: Heizou x Criminal! Male! Reader

cw: Overstimulation, use of toys, mean Heizou, ooc heizou, bondage(?), slight cock stepping, sadism/masochism, top heizou, bottom reader

“ Alright, I’ll be heading off now! Don’t miss me too much! “ The young man exclaimed, giving a huge wave to the Traveler as they parted ways, his smile big and bright, like it always had been.

-

You hated Shikanoin Heizou. He was irritating, to say the least. Despite being a criminal mastermind yourself, his antics would annoy you to no end. That was why you had set up a trap for him, one that would secure him as your prisoner while you pranced around Inazuma doing various deeds. The plan was foolproof, you were sure of it. But now that you thought of it, perhaps you had been the fool all along. You should’ve noticed the signs that information got out, you should’ve noticed the little, subtle changes to your trap, and you should’ve never gotten too cocky. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been in the situation you’re in now.

-

Heizou hummed as he made his way toward an abandoned shack on the outskirts of serai island, twirling a ring of keys on his finger as he took in the sight of the area, a variety of purple scattered throughout as electricity buzzed gently in the air, making some of his hair stand on end. The detective walked with a skip in his step as he stopped at the front door, inserting a key into the keyhole before twisting, a small ‘ click ‘ sound being heard. 

“ I’m home~! “ He called out, looking around the almost barren shack, grinning when his eyes caught his object of interest. He gently shut the door behind him and locked it as he placed the keys into his pocket. His green eyes lit up as he looked down at a puddle on the floor which he had stepped on, a small tsk coming from him. “ You really made a mess, didn’t you? “ He asked, receiving no response before shrugging and squatting down, face-to-face with the only other person in the shack, you.

Long, shaky breaths left you as your legs shook, trying to hold yourself up. Your wrists were restrained above your head by a rope from the ceiling while you had multiple toys strapped to you, one even inside you. Every time your legs gave in, the rope would dig into your skin, making it difficult for blood to flow there and causing extensive pain, which was why you were on the brink of collapsing. The detective was a cruel man, his hollow laughter filling your ears as you tried to ignore it, unfocused eyes looking at anywhere but him. Heizou’s hand came up to your cheek to stroke it, his gentle touch contradicting the one from his other hand as he tugged at your cock, bringing your whole body forward to him as well as making hot pain rush up your entire body, a gasp escaping you in the process. 

“ I asked you a question, didn’t I? “ He muttered, low and downright menacing as his soft touches changed and he was now grabbing you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his dark, narrowed eyes. A whine came from you as you tried your best to remember the question, your memories murky, even though he asked that question a minute ago. With a huff at your silence, the auburn-haired man stood straight up and walked a few steps back, he brought one of his hands into his pocket and took out a small rectangular device, the slider on it currently at its lowest setting. Your eyes widened at the object as you bit the inside of your cheek, preparing for more pain than pleasure as his finger slid the slider up so that it was now on its highest setting, ten.

A choked sob left your mouth as you felt intense vibrations on your cock, the sensation bringing agony to your lower half as fresh tears fell down your previously tear-stained cheeks. From the corner of your blurred vision, you could see the man walk around you, observing the way your hands clenched and unclenched, the way your legs trembled and the way your entire body seemed to shake as an orgasm struck you like lightning, Instead of feeling pure ecstasy like you were supposed to, you only felt red, hot anguish as you screamed, your voice coming out raw and raspy. 

You didn’t realise it, but he had stopped in front of you when you came, droplets of white which you shot out landing on his foot as he blankly stared, face unreadable while your eyes met with his. He lifted a hand as your flinched, tired eyes closing as you expected a beating, only for him to gently lift your chin with his finger. You could feel him press a kiss to the corner of your lips as you exhale through your nose, his lips burning your skin. “ Hey now, “ he started, breath fanning against the side of your face, “ it seemed as though you got something on me just now. “Your confused eyes said everything as he motioned downwards, your gaze following. Ah, his foot which was covered in droplets of white. He removed his finger from you before making his way behind you, you could feel his warmth by your back as the restraints on your wrists went from unbearably tight to loose before you crashed onto the ground, your arms struggling to hold yourself up as your entire body trembled. 

You looked absolutely pathetic, soft pants coming out from you as the dildo in your ass came out due to your fall, covered with a thin sheen of liquid as your hole clenched around thin air, too used to having it stuck in you that now you felt empty, yet you were also relieved. Heizou gave you a few seconds to collect yourself, you finally managed to get your body up as you leaned against one of the four walls, its coolness seeping into your warm back and making you shudder. You had your eyes shut, glad that you could at least take a break now, well, as much as a break you could get. The vibrations on your sex did not lessen at all but you were too preoccupied with the sudden drop to notice, but now that you weren’t doing anything much, its vibrations became apparent as you came again, a silent cry leaving you as your fluids covered your tired legs. 

The soft tapping of his footsteps approached you as you opened both your eyes to stare up at him. Heizou bent down to face you, a gentle smile on his face as he reached for your cock, a sigh fleeing you as you readied yourself for another round of pure torture. Only for him to remove the toy on it, as tenderly as possible, doing the same to the others that were strapped onto you. 

To say that you were dumbfounded was an underestimation as you watched him like a hawk, though you knew that you had no power to stand up to him. Not when your wrists were red and you could barely feel your hands, not when your legs were overworked and shaking, not when every part of you shook at the lightest touch and certainly not when your cock was still red and throbbing, leaking out its translucent liquid. You collected your confidence as you decided to rasp out a question which had been flooding your mind since the beginning, “ why? “ 

The once gentle smile on his face had long since faded as his eyes peered at you, face devoid of anything before he pushed himself forward, caging you to the wall, the only emotion was in his eyes, his intense gaze making you quiver. “ You fascinate me. I’ve heard about your deeds, no other detective in Inazuma could catch you and when I heard that you had planned to seize me for foiling your plans, I had to turn the table on you didn’t I? “ Heizou’s usual grin returned as he leaned in and spoke softly near the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps up your neck, “ after all, no one’s been able to outsmart Shikanoin Heizou. But you had come close, too close. And now, I suppose its time for your retribution, isn’t it? “ 

With that, he stood up and pressed the sole of his sandals to your burning cock, a groan escaping you as he gazed down on you, his face switching from grinning to unfeeling in the blink of an eye as he applied more pressure, your pained sounds and expression fueling him. 

-

You despised Shikanoin Heizou, but, you also couldn’t help but love him. Because, just as you had caught his obsession and attention, so had he to you.

[soraviie]

you're fine being alone.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: light angst  ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: The most conflicted out of all. He couldn’t blame you in the slightest for being okay with lonesomeness, it’s sort of a prerequisite to being with him, but simultaneously it does sting hearing “I’m fine” and knowing you meant it when he’s falling apart.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, an ocean away, night skies twinkling with faint stars while you basked in the light of the morning sun.

“Yes, I did. You?”

“I did, I did.”

Silence. The dreaded question.

“You’re holding up well?”

Another silence. He knows this one - you’re pondering on how to not hurt his feelings but he’s grateful you settle for the truth.

“I am,” you sigh. “You?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The confession leaves his breath hitching. Though sudden, the onslaught of emotions has been long overdue.

“I miss you. I miss us. And I can’t help but feel like you don’t,” he gazes out the window into the nondescript dark. “You don’t need me.”

“But I want you,” you hum on the other side. “And I choose you. On all the days. Whenever I can, I choose you. Now, isn’t that nice?”

He smiles - a shaky line of thin happiness but at least the weight has been eased.

“It is.”

YOONGI: He’s relieved. At first that is and then the overthinking happens. Anxiety works his gut like an infestation of particularly dedicated group of tapeworms. Isn’t he being selfish - loving his partner for being independent so he could work long hours without worrying of being hated for it?

Going out only agitates the worms further. He’s not necessarily insecure about either of you but more so relationship as a whole. Seeing others cling and gush makes him realise, quite sorely so, how much it lacked within your days.

“Here’s your coffee,” absent-mindedly, you hand him the cup after gliding through the rows of people sitting by the river.

“You don’t regret being with me, do you?”

You blink, a crease of vague frown pulling at your brows.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, despite knowing rather well. “Don’t you miss that ?” Yoongi points at the assortment of peculair pairs nearly eating each other’s face off or cuddling like they would die if parted.

“No,” you reply with a hint of disdain. “I don’t need to lick your esophagus to know you love me. It’s the little things for us.”

“Yeah, but - ”

“No but’s. We love our own way.”

For a second Yoongi stares at your outstretched hand before enveloping it in his own.

“Right.”

JIN: Relieved by it. It puts his mind at ease to know you can handle the chronic absence for you knew how to have fun by yourself. He puts 100, 120, 130 per cent when he’s present and available but when he’s gone this knowledge is like a fortress of comfort for his soul. He doesn’t have to agonise whether you’re wallowing in staring regret over spending so little time together, whether or not you’ve begun to resent him for it already.

“Hey, honey! What’re you up to?” he asks, gulping a mouthful of noodles, phone lodged between his ear and the upturned shoulder.

“Nothing much. Finished exploring the new exhibit, you know, the space-themed one?”

He nods, then realizes you can’t see him and makes some sort of primal grunt that signifies memory recollection.

“Now, I’m going to go to a park and then get some coffee.”

On the other side, a rush of wind trails through along with the cheers of screaming children. It must be sunny.

“Spending your days well?” he laughs and demurely you reply.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

“Didn’t doubt that. Enjoy your time while you can.”

“A threat?” you gasp in fake shock and Jin chuckles, before courteously choking on a singular noodle.

“Absolutely. With loving annoyance.”

HOSEOK: Contrary to popular belief he prefers it. He loves to love, knows it, is capable of molding himself to anyone’s wish. Being loved, however… Often he wonders if that’s some sort of pathology but then decided to not delve any further. All he needs, really needs, is simply to know he is loved, not necessarily be smothered by it every minute of every day. It’s a balm to his mind to be able to love you, fully submerge you in its depths and then leave, knowing you’ll be fine all the way. At the end of it, he simply wants you to be happy.

“Are you finishing the shoot?” you ask and he hears the bedsheets ruffle.

“No, we’re in the middle of it. Need to make sure it’s perfect.”

“It’s you,” you sigh as though the matter is so obvious, it could be seen from space. “Of course, it’s perfect.”

“Still…but that also means I won’t be back home today as well.”

“Okay,” the answer comes back without missing a beat. “Make sure you eat well, okay? To keep your strength up.”

Willingly, his heart flutters, even after all this time. He’s weak for you and weak for the simplicity of domesticity. As simple as it was, the equation is solid.

“I will,” he reassures. “I might be done in two days’ time.”

“Don’t worry about me, deal? I’m fine on my own.”

Hoseok laughs, leaning to sit down on the desk, thighs aching from the long practice.

“I lowkey always do but thanks all the same.”

JIMIN: It gets underneath his skin. A lot. He doesn’t say it, hoping to not trouble your peace this way but no matter how hard he carves it into himself, again and again, repeating it like a mantra as though the intention was to shoot himself into a higher plane of existence, the fact that you’re fine without him, makes some part of his heart shrivel.

He knows in the logical, reasoning part of his brain that this is just one shard of you, one he has promised to respect and cherish since becoming a couple but it’s still hard. It’s hard to want someone this crazy, he’s practically clawing at the hotel walls and not see the same struggle echoed on the other side of the call

“I can start marking the days for when you get back?” you offer, worry souring your expression into a deep grimace. Jimin hates worrying you alas he just can’t stop.

“You don’t do that for anything,” he sniffles, self-conscious, partially hiding in the pillowcase like some lovesick tween.

“I would for you. I love you, I want you to feel better.”

Jimin raises his head, earnestly shocked into a stupor. I love you, I want you to feel better. I love you, I want you to feel better.

“Okay,” he agrees, tone thin and watery. “Okay, let’s do that. I’ll do that as well. It can be our thing.”

“Let’s do it,” you agree with a gentle smile.

TAEHYUNG: The apartment is quiet, with anger having left through the open windows into the chilly air dumping nothing but dull, awkward tension in its wake like a healing bruise. Taehyung finally gathers himself and quietly knocks on the home office door where you sit sullenly listening to a song he doesn’t recognize but has heard before.

You turn and the air chokes with vague hurt. Too many things were said that should not have been said.

But they’re out now and Taehyung can’t fix that, only mend their damage.

“There’s an event,” he says stiffly but softly. “The night museum thing, you wanted to go? It’s on right now. They extended the days. It was on social media.”

You sigh.

“I’ll get my mask.”

“No, no, you go. Alone if you want.”

That makes you sit down again.

“Alone?” you echo and he nods, heart weighing heavier. Does he like it? No. But he loves you, so he’ll just have to be a big boy and suck it up.

“You like enjoying your own private time. I’m sorry I didn’t respect that. What I said was out of anger and out of line. I’m sorry.”

“It’s like you’re just a distant friend. Not my girlfriend,” you repeat his words but sorely lacking the hurt behind it.

“You are my girlfriend,” obstinately he shakes his head. “Hopefully, one day my fiancee and wife. I want you to be happy and if sometimes that happiness means you get to be with your own thoughts, I should be more than willing to grant it.”

The smile alone that blooms on your face is a demonstration that this was the right choice as much as he dislikes it. Oftentimes he was away, so much time wasted, he couldn’t want anything less than to spend it even less. He loves you, he wants to be around you, to be able to talk and share, and enjoy but you were right - you’re still your own person.

The TV buzzes against the wall as Taehyung mopes on the sofa. In his own privacy, he could pout about this as much as he wants. He likes the pictures on your Instagram taken whilst roaming the museums but doesn’t call or text. Leaves you to be as hard as it was.

When you return and sit on the sofa behind him, a plush is shoved in his dropping, sleep-deprived eyes.

“Hippo?’ he croaks.

"Got it from the gift shop. I was still thinking about you even if I’m gone. Always will.”

He smirks tugging you down into a hug.

“As you should.”

JUNGKOOK: He blasts through the hotel doors with speedy dedication.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late, Namjoon lost his - ” he finds himself in the empty suite. “Passport again.”

As he trails off into a beat of confused silence, the search begins and proves to be fruitless. You’re simply not here. At last, he finds a message stuck to the fridge magnet.

“Went out to explore xx.”

His jaw tightens and he can feel his face age with wrinkles. This was not supposed to be the plan. The plan was to get back here, envelop himself around you in a cocoon and then sleep. No you, no plan, no cocoon. Most upsetting.

Mindlessly trailing along the scenic route by the hotel, he stumbles upon you by pure accident, enjoying your ice cream, alone on the bench, looking very much content without any boyfriend whatsoever.

And then it begins. The questions, the worries, the chains and the balls of iron stuck to his feet. What if you didn’t want to be with him? It was never fully free to be out with him, constant vigil had to be observed for any paparazzi, any fans, any stalkers. Masks were worn, and precautions were made. What sort of person would even be okay with that?

When you notice him and bound forwards, he doesn’t voice any of this. Keeps it locked away but it still stings, still clenches his jaw into a tight grip. It’s the many smiling photos taken whilst he travelled, it’s the “sorry I missed your call, I was busy” along the path. It stings like a bitch but he realizes he can’t blame you for it in the slightest. It’d be horribly selfish to want your partner endlessly hanging around for a chance of him coming back. Even if that’s exactly what he feels.

As he matures, he makes grumpy, grumpy peace with it.

“Hey, baby, I’m home, where are you?” he asks one night, moving to lie on the abandoned bed, bones aching from overuse.

“Sorry, I went out. I thought you wouldn’t be back so soon. I can return.”

He doesn’t need to be a musical genius, to hear the disappointing note in your tone.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he sighs.

“Yeah. There’s a sale on accessories and I’m embroiled deep in a deadly fight with various DIY Youtubers.”

This makes him collapse with laughter.

“Then win the battle, soldier! Just make sure you come out alive, we don’t accept failures in this household.”

“Yes, sir.”

© soraviii/soravie 2022-2023

[christinesficrecs]

Bit of an odd request maybe but do you know of any fics that features Sterek when they're older? In thier 30s or 40s and getting together for the first time or as an established relationship? Thank you!!

Oh yes! I am definitely a fan of future fics. 🥰

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