#And just hums whatever music's in her head no matter what else is going on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leosxrealm · 2 months

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ᴍᴀɴ ɪɴ ʀᴇᴅ

pairing(s): Charles Leclerc x male! Norris! reader

request: Charles Leclerc x m!reader but his older brother is Lando and he always goes to his races and gradually learns about Charles and grows a hatred for him bc he thinks he's just a rich French (Which Charles constantly corrects) guy but he eventually gets to know him so its like an enemies to lovers kind of thing?

warning(s): fluff!! kind of slow burn, long chapter (3k words), mentions of manipulative ex, alcohol, reader is Charles' gay awakening, also reader and Charles didn't have the best first impression of each other

(a/n): reader's age isn't specified so it can be read as whatever age you want reader to be (21+ cause there's alcohol involved). this was requested so long ago oml. hope you enjoy it anon <3

!not proofread!

Bahrain, 2023

"Can't you fucking watch where you're going?"

"Yo. Chill out, mate," You say, a little taken back by the stranger's outburst and even your own response. You throw up your hands in surrender, leaning your body slightly backward as if to tell the guy in the red t-shirt that you didn't mean any harm.

You didn't intentionally bump into him. Who even does that? Too busy talking to your sister on the phone, you didn't see where you were going. And it looks like he didn't either. It was a mistake made by both of you. Why was he making such a big deal out of it?

"Don't tell me what to do," he lets out through gritted teeth. Turning on his heels, he walks away.

"What's that dude's problem anyway?" you scoff, your mood turning sour at the strange dude's behavior. "What dude?" your sister asks.

That took you by surprise, you forgot you were on a phone call with her. "Some French dude I ran into. He was being a bitch for no reason," you grimace, thinking back to the encounter.

"You know who he was?" your sister asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Nah. Couldn't see his face."

You continued talking to your sister for a while, just until your brother was free from some team meeting that he had to attend after the free practice session.

"You have any other plans for the night?" your brother asks, looking up from his phone. He was definitely planning on hitting some bar with his friends. You could take a break, let yourself unwind for a night, you think.

"Not really," you say with a shrug.

"Good."

---

"Who's that?" you practically shout, trying to be louder than the music playing. "Who?" Daniel shouts back. You point at the man across the room. He was standing next to your brother, talking to him.

"Oh! That's Charles," Danny answers with a grin. "Lando and him are good friends. I think," he adds as an afterthought. You hum in response, not like he would have heard that over all the noise. You recognize the man now, he is your friend's teammate. "Oh, they're coming here," Danny says, tapping your shoulder.

"I don't think I've introduced you two yet," is the first thing Lando says when he reaches you. "Y/n this is Charles," you stick out your hand, giving the new guy a 'hey' as well.

"Charles this is, Y/n." Charles just gives you a nod and a loose handshake, before disappearing somewhere else. You raise your eyebrow at his odd behavior.

"Don't mind him. He's a sweet guy, he just had a bad practice today," Daniel says from next to you. You simply shrug, it's not like he mattered to you.

"Anyway," he grins, summoning two shot glasses from god knows where "Who's ready for some good time?" Lando cheers, ready to have some fun. You shake your head at your younger brother, of course, he's ready to party.

"Not you. You're still practically a child," Danny says while side-eyeing Lando. Your brother opens his mouth, ready to give his friend a piece of his mind before being interrupted by you. "He's right, bro," you nod, "You're what? Like 13?"

Lando was no longer cheering.

---

"Y/n! It's so good to see you mate!" Carlos says, bringing you in for a side hug. "Carlos!" you laugh, reciprocating the hug, "it's been a while."

"Yeah, mate. You kinda disappeared on us," he laughs, trying to remember when was the last time he saw you in person. "We were going to get lunch. You wanna join?"

"We?"

"Uhh...There he is," he says after spotting his teammate. "Charles!" he waves his teammate over, "Do you mind if my friend here joins us for lunch?" You look at him puzzled, you hadn't even agreed to it yet. You shake your head, typical Carlos.

"Uh.. yeah no. It's fine."

You just blink at him, not that he would notice cause he was busy typing away on his phone; he didn't even look your way. A little rude, you'd say.

---

It's a nice Middle Eastern restaurant that Carlos had picked. You and Carlos were busy talking away, reminiscing about the past, and catching up to date on each other's lives as well. Sure, you had seen his Instagram posts, and known what he had been doing, but hearing it from him was still different. Same for him.

A sudden ring disturbs your conversation with Carlos. "Sorry I have to take this," Charles says as he gets up, and exits the restaurant. You raise your brow, a little confused by his behavior. Not just today, but ever since you've met him. You have seen interviews and fan interactions with him, he certainly did not seem like the grumpy type.

"He certainly isn't like the guy they show on television," you comment, sipping on your wine. Carlos sighs, making you look at him. "What?" you raise an eyebrow.

"He's a good guy... It's just... I don't know..." he pauses, taking a moment to think, "There's something going on with him." He chews the inside of his cheeks, squinting his eyes to look at Charles who was leaning against his car outside the restaurant, still on a call with someone you didn't know. "I heard, he's having some problems with his girlfriend."

"Trouble with his girlfriend?" you ask, taking another sip of your drink. With nothing to do here, you had been getting bored either way. And a little gossip never hurt anyone.

"Yeah. I don't know the details. It's just what I've heard," he sips his drink, "They looked tense around each other too."

"Mmm..."

Miami, 2023

"Didn't expect to see you here."

You turn around, your scotch glass still in your hand. "Charles," you were surprised as well. You didn't expect to see the Ferrari driver at some random charity event. "Care for a drink?" you wave to the bartender, not even waiting for his answer.

"Scotch. Neat," he orders.

He takes a seat beside you, gulping down his drink in one go. "You good, mate?" you ask, a little concerned about the man. "Hm? Yeah. Don't worry." If he wasn't going to tell you himself, you wouldn't push him. After all, you two weren't exactly friends.

You two stuck to each other for the rest of the evening. It was better than walking around alone. During this time, you had gotten to know a bit about each other as well. He wasn't as bad of a guy as you had originally thought.

"Yeah, she clearly knew he was flirting with her, and instead of telling the guy she had a boyfriend, she was flirting back. Even letting him cling to her."

"Oh..." you take a sip of your water, deciding on no more drinks for the night.

"And when I asked her about this, she called me a "jealous, possessive boyfriend who's taking away her freedom." Her words, not mine." he continues to rant, using air quotes to emphasize his point. He sighs, she had betrayed his trust; even if people wouldn't exactly call this cheating, in Charles' book, it was.

"It's all good now. I'm over her," he smiles.

"No wonder you were such a piss baby in Bahrain. No offense," you chuckle slightly.

He looks down a little embarrassed, he knows how he acted like an asshole during that time. And not just to you. He would've understood if you would've given him the cold shoulder tonight. But you didn't.

"Yeah... About that-"

"It's all good, mate. No hard feelings," you cut him off. You knew he was sorry about his rude behavior, it was written all over his face.

"You wanna ditch this event?" you ask, a smile growing on your face. He laughs, not expecting such a question after the (one-sided) heart-to-heart conversation that you two just had. He appreciated it nonetheless. If you were trying to lift his mood, it was certainly starting to work.

"And go where?" he asks after a good laugh.

"I know someone who's hosting a party," you shrug.

"Ditching an event to go to a party?"

"Ditching a boring event to go to a fun party," you correct, grinning at him.

---

"You never said it was gonna be a houseboat party," he shouts over the loud music. "Welcome to Miami!" you laugh.

You grab his elbow, dragging him towards the tiki bar. Ordering two drinks, you push one in his direction. "What's that?" he eyes the drink.

"This," you emphasize, raising your own glass, "is the perfect way to forget about your gaslighting ex-girlfriend." He laughs, appreciating the humor. The both of you chug down your drinks.

You drag him over to the dance floor, quite practically forcing him to dance. "Come on, mate," you urge him, "If you wanted to be boring you could've stayed at the event." He laughs, finally loosing up. You two continue to dance, having some more drinks in between.

---

"Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!..." The chanting continues, daring, challenging you to jump in the water. Charles sneaks up behind you, pushing you into the water. You turn around just before he could, holding onto him, and dragging him in as well.

You submerge, laughing as you do. Charles gasps, still a little surprised, before he laughs as well. He holds on to your shoulder, still heaving. Your shirt that you had worn to the charity event, sticking to your body.

He eyes you, for longer than he should have. This was new. He doesn't think he had ever been interested in another man's body before. He tears his eyes away, trying to cool down the warmth that suddenly spread throughout his body.

Your friend, the host, pulls you up, slapping you on the back in the process. You help Charles after, "accidently" pulling him by a little more force than needed. He bumps into you. He doesn't pull away like you half expected him to. He pulls away just slightly enough to see your face. Your hands go to his hips, swaying his body, along with yours, to the beat of the music.

---

The sound of laughter rings out in the surprisingly empty street of Miami. It's a small road, probably that's why. It's well into the early hours of the morning.

It's media day and Charles knows his manager's gonna hate him when he shows up looking dead, still hungover. He couldn't care less about that now. He hasn't felt this good, this free, in forever.

He looks to his side, you're walking beside him, one of your hands in your trouser's pocket, the other holding your blazer, a few of your shirt buttons open, slightly exposing your well-built chest and shoulder.

"I'm so fucking tired oh my god," you laugh, looking up at the sky. Even though you couldn't see the stars because of all the lights, the sky still looked pretty. "Me too," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

"Hm?" you look at him from the corner of your eyes, "something on my face?"

"Huh? No. Why would you think that?" he clears his throat, averting his eyes.

"You're staring." The tip of his ears turns red. He can't believe he got caught staring. "Not that I mind." His eyes widened, but he didn't reply. You look at him from the corner of your eyes. Did I make him uncomfortable? you wondered.

You don't say anything after that as the both of you walk back to your hotel. Charles' room came first. You stood behind him as he unlocks the door. "Wanna come inside?" he asks, turning around, and standing in the doorway.

You smile, "Can't." He frowns slightly at your vague reply. "I have a flight in a few hours. And I still have to pack and take a shower. I should probably get something to eat as well," you scratch the back of your head, sometimes you get sick of traveling so much.

His mouth forms an 'O' in understanding. "You're not staying for the Grand Prix?"

"I have yet another event I have to attend," you sigh, "and this one... I can't skip."

You start walking backward, not ready to turn your back on him yet. With both of your busy schedules, you don't know when you will be able to see him next.

"I'll see you around, Charlie," you give a short wave, turning your back on him, and going to the elevator. Charles watches you leave, till he can't see you any longer. He looks down, a smile gracing his face. You had started calling him that at the party, he had thought it was because you were drunk, but apparently not.

It was truly a night he wouldn't be able to forget.

Silverstone, 2023

Charles has been on the lookout for you ever since he arrived here. It was Lando's home race, and he was hoping you would be there as well. It's Friday when he hears from Carlos that you're in the paddock. Supporting Mclaren, obviously.

Carlos and you are good friends, right? Would that be enough for you to drop by the Ferrari garage? And you do. You stop by the Ferrari garage to say hi to Carlos, or at least that's what Charles thinks.

You've been talking to Carlos since you arrived. A different thought inhabits his mind. Do you remember him? Was he even worth remembering?

He doesn't want to find the answers to his own thoughts that are going wild. He doesn't think he can handle you saying that you don't remember him. That night, as simple as it was, meant a lot to him. He doesn't think he can handle the person he's been searching for, ever since that day two months ago, to say that they don't remember him.

"Y/n, I hope you remember my teammate, Charles."

Carlos' voice rings through his ears. He looks up to see Carlos and you walking over to him. You nod, glancing in his direction. Carlos looks behind you to see his engineer motioning him over. "I'll see you later, mate. It seems they need me."

"Charlie," you grin. A sudden warmth spreads throughout his face and body. It's been so long, far too long since he had heard your voice. "Y/n."

"Walk with me," you say to him, quiet enough that even he was barely able to hear it. He walks beside you wordlessly. "How you been, Charlie?" there it was, that nickname again. "Uhh... I've been good. Barely gotten any time to myself after having races back to back."

You nod in understanding. Athletes really do have a tough schedule, don't they? You walk around the paddock, running into a couple of people on the way, who were very surprised, to say the least, at your unexpected friendship with the Monégasque.

You talk about things, completely unrelated to either of your lives, just enjoying each other's presence. In a people full of paddock, there were only you two.

As much as Charles loves racing, he wishes he had a little more time before he had to go for the free practice. "Charlies," you call out, making the Ferrari driver stop in his tracks. He turns around, a confused look on his face. "Dinner tonight? On me."

It felt like his face was on fire. Were you asking him out on a date? No, he shouldn't get his hopes up. You're friends with half the grid, maybe they're invited as well. He nods, his face the same color as his car.

"Great," a grin spreads on your face, "I'll see you tonight."

---

Charles was trying to tie a tie when he heard knocks on his room's door. He rushes around the hotel room to get to the door. "Y/n..." he trails off taking in your outfit. You looked... expensive. All his previous worries of over-dressing were gone. Now, he was worried that he was under-dressed.

"Charlie," you greet him. Your eyes land on his messily done tie. "Having troubles?" Charles looks down, following your eyes. "Uhmm..." he clears his throat, a little embarrassed that he couldn't even tie a tie.

You laugh, following him into his room. "Lemme see," you gesture for him to come closer. He does. He steps a little closer, not too close; he tries to respect your boundaries. You pull him closer by his tie, careful enough to not hurt him.

"How am I supposed to help you with it if you're gonna stand so far away?" you murmur, your hands working on his tie. "There," you smile, "all done." You don't step back. Neither does he.

He looks down, the tips of your shoes are almost touching his. That's how close you're standing. "Should I wear something else?" he questions, "I feel under-dressed."

"You're not. You look perfect," you grin at him, "Trust me, Charlie."

---

You open the passenger side for him to get out. It feels a little weird, Charles thinks, he has always been the one to hold open the gates for people, his dates specifically. He was raised to be a gentleman. It felt different for someone to open the hold the gate for him.

He thanks you as he gets out of your car. You had insisted to pick him up. The both of you walk towards the restaurant. Charles heaves out a sigh of relief, there's no paparazzi around, at least he could enjoy the night peacefully with you.

"Reservation for two. Under Norris."

Reservation for two? he gulps. He's happy to be able to spend time with you alone, without other people butting in, but he's also nervous at the same time because you two are alone.

The both of you are led to a table. He walks behind you silently. The butterflies filled his stomach. Since when did he get so nervous on first dates? Was this even a date? He frowns ever so slightly, he hopes it is.

The conversation flows freely between you two. No cameras flashing in your faces, no people there to recognize you two. It was more peaceful compared to your night spent in Miami.

Like all good things, the night had to come to an end as well. You find yourself standing in front of his hotel room once again. "Want to come inside?" He hopes this time, your answer would be yes.

It was.

(a/n): was this close to adding surprise angst once again 🤏🏼 uh and i won’t be making a part two for this. i felt like the ending was perfect so i left it as it was. if you have any drabble ideas with this pairing don’t hesitate to send that in!! hope you guys enjoy this :)

HC: Carlos asked for all the details later when he found out about your veryyyyyy unexpected friendship with Charles

#this was fun to write #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x male reader #formula 1 x male reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x male reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris #carlos sainz

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wrongplacerighttime · 3 months

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agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace and harry are working a late night at the office. he follows her into the supply closet and things get…interesting…and grace realizes just how much she doesn’t hate him // a blurb for little bunny

part one here // part two here // little bunny masterlist

wc: 3.5k

tw: this basically just filthy, dirty smut. MDNI!! 18+. sir kink, breeding kink, little bit of degradation. not sure what else. lemme know if i missed anything. :)

yes, sir.

It was late, and the last thing Grace wanted to be doing was typing reports. She had her headphones on, working double duty playing music and holding her hair back out of her face. Her fingers were moving rapidly over the keyboard trying to make the work go as quickly as possible. She had more involvement in the most recent case, which meant there was more paperwork on her part that she needed to make sure got filed properly. She reminded herself this is why she liked to sit back and watch more than she liked to be in the field. Grace also had been consulting on a string of murders around LA county and she was waiting for an email back from the chief of police before she left, and the time zone difference meant she would be here for a while longer. She glanced at the clock, the seconds hand ticking and dancing over the numbers, almost taunting her in a way. Her molars clench together in the back of her mouth stifling a yawn growing from her lungs. It really wasn’t that late, but it was December and the darkness crept into the sky earlier and earlier as the days passed and they were in the thick of the season, winter solstice just around the corner, making 8:00pm feel like 10:00pm, and she was ready for bed.

It didn’t help that Harry was sitting across the room at his desk, working on his own reports and throwing the occasional ball of wadded up paper Grace’s way to get under her skin. She had put the headphones on hours ago to drown out his incessant pen clicking and finger drumming that had caused her to lose focus more times than she could count. She had asked him to stop once but he made it a point to do it more obnoxiously and after she had put on her music to drown it out, he resorted to the paper throwing to continue to get on her nerves. A paper landed right on her keyboard and that was her final straw.

“God damnit Harry! Can you just leave me alone for once?” She rips her headphones from her ears and slams them down on her desk…or rather her keyboard and whatever combination of keys being pressed results in her entire file disappearing, whooshing away into inconceivable nothingness. Her eyes ignite with anger and she launches the paper ball back in his direction, hitting him in the face. She should've thrown something heavier, like her headphones.

His eyes narrow at her before a smirk grows on his face. “I don’t like your attitude, Grace.” He teases in a sing-song voice, heckling her.

“Fuck you. I’m trying to work and you’re distracting me.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair, tipping her head back and looking at the ceiling. “And you just made me delete this whole file so now I have to start over.”

“I didn’t make you do shit, you should have been more careful instead of throwing a fit like a toddler.” He says matter-of-factly with a shrug and she scoffs, rolling her eyes before opening an empty document and deciding it was better to just ignore him. They’re quiet for another moment, Grace trying to calm her breaths while attempting to recall everything that was on her document as Harry’s fingers clicked over his keyboard, humming a familiar tune under his breath. His actions were maddening, but it didn’t stop her eyes wandering over his slightly unbuttoned shirt exposing his skin...didn’t stop her gaze trailing over the tendons in his forearms flexing and relaxing as he typed. She felt the fire traveling down the wire of her spine, settling right in her belly. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and turns back to her computer and sighs.

“What case are you even working on?” She asks, and he glances over at her quickly before looking back to his blank screen. The truth is, he hadn’t really been working on anything at all. They’d been so busy recently, and he had stayed behind during their last case. It had been weeks since they last fucked. He just missed her. He wanted to just be in her proximity, alone, for a little while before he left…but a little bit turned into three hours. He’s been here, with her, daydreaming about taking her into the supply closet and bending her over a shelf.

“Consulting on a suspected LDSK in Denver.” He lies through his teeth and her nose crinkles at his answer.

“I don’t remember seeing that on the list Aaron sent out?” Her statement sounds more like a question, and he scrambles to come up with an excuse.

“Uh, he just put it on my desk this morning. I’m waiting for an email back from the police department.” His jaw ticks once and she knows he’s lying…that’s his tell.

“You’re lying but whatever.” She mutters and he presses his lips in a flat line. She opens the drawer of her desk, looking for a manila folder but instead sees that she’s run out. She stands, walking past his desk on the way to the door. He spins in his chair to follow her with his gaze.

“Where are you going?” He asks, throwing a stress ball in the air before catching it again, repeating the motion but she doesn’t stop walking.

“Supply closet. Does it matter? Wanna come hold my hand so I don’t get lost?” She feigns in a whiny voice and pushes the glass door open, striding down the empty hallway while shaking her head, the atmosphere almost eerie when no one else is here. The hallway is dimly lit from the flood lights, her eyes adjusting to the difference as she rounds the corner and pushes the supply closet door open. She flips the switch on the wall and the door clicks shut. The supply closet was actually an empty office, so “closet” wasn’t the proper label for it. She weaves her way through shelves of office provisions and she hears the door open and shut again. Her heart races, knowing she’s not alone. Realistically, she knows it’s just Harry coming to bother her. They were the only two here. That didn’t make it any less unsettling…something about being in a small, dimly lit space with him making her pulse skyrocket.

“Go away.” She tries to make her words stern, but they come out shaky. She sees his figure standing in the shadows of the room, and she swallows meekly as she turns back to the shelf where the folders are. “You don’t scare me, Styles. If that’s what you’re trying to do.” She feels his presence moving closer to her and her hands shake as she grips the box in her hands.

“Wasn’t. Just miss you.” His voice is low in her ear and he presses his chest against her back, warmth radiating through the thin material of his shirt. He cages her between his arms, his mouth dropping to the crook of her neck and his teeth graze her skin. He bites lightly causing her to wince, then soothes the pain by lapping his tongue over and kissing.

“Miss me?” She twists around to face him. His breath fans over her lips at their close proximity and before she can say anything else, his lips crash to hers and she groans into his mouth. He smiles into the kiss…at the reaction he always seems to be able to pull from her. Their lips move in synchrony, his tongue darting into her mouth the second she parts her lips. Her hands run up his broad chest before going around his shoulders and she tugs the curls at the nape of his neck. She pushes her hips against him, a primal reaction she can never control, her mind forcing her body as close as she can get to him. His strong arms wrap around her waist, covering the expanse of her back and holding her to him as he walks her away from the shelf and backs her into a wall.

“Need me so bad don’t you, bunny? Can't get enough?” He drops his lips to her collarbone as she mewls, her thighs squeezing together trying to relieve the pressure growing between them. And she hates to admit that he was right. She couldn’t get enough. No one compares to him. Nobody ever would…and she can’t help that she craves him. Craves way he stretches her open, craves the way he talks her through it every time…even craves the way he uses the pet name for her because he knows it makes her tummy twist with desire. He ruts his hips into her and she can feel his hardness pressing into her, catching her shirt and exposing her skin to the frigid air in the closet. His fingers dance over her waistband before dipping underneath. He trails a digit between her folds, collecting her arousal before pressing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and her head falls back against the wall, bucking her hips into his hand desperate for more friction. The gates inside her mind were fighting to be let open, and she's holding the mindset she had been so desperate to fall into at bay. She didn’t want to be vulnerable around him, but something about him just had her feeling so hazy, it was intoxicating just being near him.

“Please, sir. Need you.” The words tumbled from her lips before she realized they even came out. She was desperate, her mind slipping quickly into submissiveness, something she’d tried to hide from him for too long. He pulls back to look at her, the title something he’s not used to hearing from her, and he notices the way her eyes are glazed over and her pupils are blown wide inside her irises, her bottom lip jutting out slightly swollen from their kiss. He knows that look anywhere. Maybe not on her…but god did he love it, his own switch flipping inside him and changing his train of thought

“Oh, my sweet girl. There she is.” He hooks a finger under her chin and thumbs over her lips. Grace opens and wraps them around his thumb and sucks lightly, flattening her tongue against the skin. His eyes flutter and he leans his forehead against hers. She watches him through her lashes, doe-eyed and drunk on him. She swirls her tongue around the tip of his thumb and a groan of pleasure escapes from his throat. He feels his cock twitching against the zipper of his pants and when his eyes open, she sees the darkness in his expression and she feels the heat swirl in her belly, one that she’s grown all too accustomed to around him.

“Knees. Now.” He demands and she complies without a second thought. He’s been wanting to feel her pretty lips wrapped around him since the day they met, when she wore the most perfect shade of pink over them. She quickly brings her hands up to undo his belt and he watches from above, his fingers tracing delicately over her jawline.

“Look at you, so desperate to get me in your mouth, like a good little slut.” She whimpers at his words and quickly makes work at the button, popping it open and sliding the zipper down its track. In one swift move she’s greedily pulling at his waistband, yanking the fabric away as his cock springs free and her mouth waters at the sight.

“‘Cause that’s all you are right?” She looks up at him through her lashes and a devilish grin plays on his lips at the sight of her cheeks flustered and he waits for her answer. Her eyes flick down once to his hard dick against his torso, and she nods in confirmation. Her eyes meet his again, pleading for his permission and needing to feel the weight of him in her mouth more than she needs the air she breathes. But before he gives in to her, he wants to hear her say it.

“Words. Wanna hear you say it baby.” He croons and she squeezes her thighs together with a small whine.

“Y-yes, sir. I’m just a slut. Only for you.” She adds and she sees the look in his eyes go a shade darker.

“That’s right, only for me, bunny. Go on. Suck it.” He demands, grinning at her words and this…this is what he’s been waiting for, this scene with her on her knees in front of him…maybe the supply closet where they work wasn’t the best place, but seeing her like this just for him makes up for it. She parts her lips and wraps them around his tip, sucking and kissing, grazing lightly and teasing him just a little. His fingers intertwine through the strands of her hair, gripping at the root and pushing her forward. She opens further for him, tears pricking her lash line as he nudges the back of her throat. She breathes through her nose, and his chin drops to his chest taking in the sight below him. A sight that fills his fantasies, the image he conjured up in his head to help him get himself off on many lonely nights, and it’s better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck, Grace. Just like that baby. So good. Look so pretty like this.” His words encourage her, wanting nothing more than to please him. Steadying herself, she grips her hands on his thighs, dimpling the muscle under his skin as she pushes herself further, taking as much of him as she could down her throat and swallowing around him. His free hand darts up to the wall to hold himself up, the sensation of her throat squeezing around him making his knees weak. A string of expletives fall from his lips as his eyes flutter closed, rolling back into his head. He pulls away momentarily and she breathes in, before he’s slowly thrusting back in and making her gag around his cock again and again.

“Fucking hell. Look at you…taking it all down that pretty throat. Knew you could, knew you’d do so good for me.” He speaks between gritted teeth. His encouragement sends her mind into a frenzy and she flattens her tongue against him as she pulls her head away, leaving just the tip and she swirls her tongue around it before sliding him down her throat again, repeating the motions. He tightens his grip around the strands of her hair, pulling at the root and she hums, sending vibrations through his length. With a curse under his breath, he pulls her off before she has him cumming down her throat. She breathes deeply, the deprivation of air stinging her lungs as it filters back in through her nose. Her chest heaves with heavy breaths and her lips are swollen, tears stained with mascara streaming down her cheeks from his intrusion. He can’t help but think she looks ethereal like this, all drunk and dumb just from his cock down her throat. “Up, baby.” He commands and she stands, he takes her cheeks between his hands and brings his lips to hers, melding them together and her eyes squeeze shut, still searching for the breaths she lost.

“Please fuck me.” She begs, her voice raspy as she breaks the kiss and he wastes no time as he spins her around, her chest pressing against the wall. He yanks her jeans and underwear down all in one go, running his hands over her now exposed skin as he’s eye level with her dripping hole.

“So pretty.” He mumbles, running his thumb over her and watches as she clenched around nothing. He taps her ass lightly once before he stands and she grins. He guides himself to her, sliding through her arousal and bumping against her clit. Grace looks down, watching the way he slides between her folds and his tip glistening with a mixture of the both of them in the dim lighting. He pulls back and slowly, finally, pushes himself into her and her eyes flutter closed, a garbled groan coming from the depths of her throat at the stretch, feeling every ridge…every vein. He stills once he’s fully sheathed inside of her, grabbing her wrists and forcing them behind her at the base of her spine. He holds them there as he pulls out, cursing under his breath at the way she grips him. He snaps his hips, pushing through her walls without warning and she feels the tears well in her eyes once more, the pain mixing with the pleasure sending sparks down her spine straight to her clit. He drives into her again and again, sweat forming on his hairline and cries and moans falling from her lips.

“Gonna fill your pretty little pussy up, get you all full of my cum.” He leans over her and speaks against the shell of her ear. A pathetic whine leaves her throat at the image of him dripping from between her legs and down her thighs. And she loves it, every single time she can’t get enough, feels like it gets her high. He feels her clench around him at his words and he smirks. “Yeah? Y’like that? Like the thought of me claiming you, branding you with my cum?”

“Yes — god yes..” She groans, the thought of walking around with him all warm inside her making her feel floaty. His grip on her wrists tightens and she bites her lip, the pressure inside her growing and coming to a head.

“Sweet bunny, bet you’d like it if I got you pregnant too, huh — fuck — wanna see that cute little belly swollen, let everyone know who you belong to.” He growls, his teeth brushing the cartilage of her ear, and her head is spinning at the image he’s painting inside her head with his filthy words. His ring-clad hand reaches around her hip and he presses his fingers against her clit, her head falling back against his shoulder. She pants, feeling his broad chest against her back, the friction of their bodies making her skin hot. He pinches the pearl of nerves between his fingers and her mouth falls open.

“Oh fuck Har-Harry I’m gonna —”

“I know, bunny. Squeezing me so tight, cum for me.” He rubs his fingers over her clit and then she’s seeing stars, eyes squeezing shut and his name falling from her lips like a prayer as she pulses around him, pulling him over the edge with her. He grunts and groans against her shoulder, praising her and riding through his own orgasm while holding her up. Her legs feel like jello and when she feels him twitching inside her she hums in contentment. His hips still, and he leaves open mouth kisses against her neck, his teeth grazing her skin and leaving goosebumps.

After another moment catching his breath, he pulls out of her and tucks himself back into his pants. He bends down, pulling her pants up for her and spinning her around to button them. She looks up at him through her dopey eyes and he knows she isn’t quite back down to earth yet.

“Gonna hold all of me in there til you get home, m’kay sweet girl?” He brings his forehead to hers as she nods aimlessly. He pecks her in the tip of her nose once. Then her lips and she lets out a whimper into his mouth. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She mewls and he smirks, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the supply room. He walks them back to their desks, gathering her laptop and papers into her bag as she watches him, her conscience coming back to reality slowly but surely. He doesn’t say anything, offering his hand to her again wordlessly and she reluctantly takes it. They ride the elevator down to the lower level in silence, his foot tapping on the floor. When the doors open, she keeps her head low and quickly exits, making her way out the front door of the building to her car parked across the street. He follows behind her, parked in the same lot. He turns to her before opening his door. She bites her lip, fighting the grin that wants to emerge.

“See you tomorrow, bunny.” He says just loud enough for her to hear, the streetlight casting a warm light over his features making her heart swell. She nods.

“Tomorrow.” They both slide into the drivers seats of their cars. She watches as he drives off, a pang in her chest almost wishing she was going with him. She shakes the thought away, starting her car and driving home on autopilot as her mind wanders, her thoughts full of him…his voice…his eyes…the ink scarred into his skin. She pulls up to her apartment building, sighing and cursing herself.

She thinks she’s falling for him. Grace walks inside, her mind racing around in circles.

She couldn’t be in love with him, because they weren’t supposed to let their feelings get in the way of their job…and whatever else they had going on between them. It was just sex. She runs her hands through her tangled hair as she unlocks her door, pushing herself inside and dropping her bags on the floor. She completes her night routine in record time and climbs between the covers sheets on her bed, her head hitting the pillow signifying her favorite time of the day. Her mind is a little hazy still, and sleep pulls her under into dreamland.

They were filled with him, and she was fucked.

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impactedfates · 3 months

Note

Hello there!! Can I request some headcanons / mini-scenarios for: Dan Heng, March, Welt, Himeko, Yanqing and Jing Yuan; with a normally soft-spoken Reader who has a wide vocal range (from contralto to hitting those high notes) and occasionally does song covers? Doesn't matter the genre, so long as Reader likes it.

So they might hear Reader singing something like a lullaby or a traditional Xianzhou song one day, to something that's still soft and sweet like a mainstream pop song on another day; to belting out something like "Kakusei" or "NEXUS" from the Promare OST. :D

★ A/N: I understood the request, I just hope I wrote it in a way you wanted! People with such a large vocal range are so talented istg, they gotta teach me. (I say as if I have ANY confidence to sing anyways)

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic

★ Format: Bullet Pointed Head Cannons (And small scenario at the end :>)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Reader is a Nameless // Readers age is undisclosed so imagine them at whatever age you wish // Reader can play instruments! // Characters might be OOC I feel // Proof Read but I did it when it was 4am lmao

When you sing more soft songs, Dan Heng tends to enjoy listening. It helps him feel more relax and sometimes rids his mind of nightmares.

He's more used to hearing that kind of voice from you. So when one day, he walks in on you singing a song that's the exact opposite of how you usually sing, he's a bit surprised.

He never doubted you could have a big vocal range, however hearing you sing a song that's different to how he normally hears you sing is what surprised him.

He still enjoys listening, but more so when you sing in a softer voice, don't get him wrong. He still enjoys your singing voice and will support you. But he isn't one for a more loud song.

"[Name]...if you're going to sing more...on the loud side, could I request you do it else where?" Dan Heng sighs softly, being awoken up once again due to you. Despite his words hinting at annoyance, his facial expression was soft and kind. A soft sorry came from your voice as you quickly turned off the music you were using, switching to a more softer song. An old Xianzhou lullaby. "Here, I'll make it up to you. Sit on the couch and I'll sing a softer song" You smiled, Dan Heng chuckled as he obliged. He can't deny that your more softer voice doesn't help him fall asleep. He silently hums along to your voice, and in a sleepy voice he speaks to you before drifting to bed. "If you enjoy music like that so much, we can pay a visit to Serval okay?"

March 7th LOVES your singing voice. She would sing along to whatever song you were singing. She praises you every time she hears you and likely took photos of you singing.

She so supports you if you ever make a YouTube (StarTube?) account and posted covers, literally your number 1 fan.

When you post a cover of a song, she's always the first one to like, comment and listen!

When you post a cover of a song that's VERY different. (Let's say, Usseewa) and you hit ALL those high notes and, everything omg. She was surprised but immediately hyped you up.

She doesn't mind if you sing songs like that at all, your singing is amazing. Like I said, number 1 fan...she doesn't hid it either.

"I love you [Name]!" "Uh, the one with the blue camera and pink hair?" "OH. MY GOD. [NAME] YOU NOTICED ME, YOU NOTICED ME. I.LOVE.YOU" Serval laughed out loud seeing Marchs outburst, as if you two don't live with each other. You could only look away with a small smile, seeing March jump up and down and shaking whoever was beside her. Much to Welts "delight"

Welts very impressed with your vocal range. But he's also worried, he knows that if you were able too have a large vocal range, you likely know how to manage it.

Still, anytime he hears you singing songs like NEXUS or Kakusei he can't help but slide over a bottle of water for your throat.

If you ever join a concert with Serval then he IS buying tickets, though not everyone may go (Dan Heng) he and the rest of the Express will.

He also tends to buy any merch you may come out with if there is any. (Mainly for March but he does keep one or two for himself to support you)

He doesn't really have a preference when it comes too what songs you sing, just as long as your happy and it isn't really disturbing anyone.

If you ever start a StarTube channel, he might animate a few of your covers! Under a pen name though, he's not embarrassed, but I think he'd like it if you thought it was a different fan and not just him who's already liked your singing from the start. (If that makes sense)

"WELT! Weltweltwelt" You ran up to him, quickly showing him an animation someone did of one of your new songs. "ArahatosNumber1Fan animated one of my covers again" You said excitedly, bringing the phone screen back to your view as you scrolled through the comments. Many complimenting the animation but many also asking who sang the cover to which they were directed to your account. "This the guy that you said was helping boost your channel subs?" You nod happily, tapping your chin you thought for a bit. "Do you think they'd still animate my covers even if I sing a different genre? I want to go with something softer this time instead of a louder peice" "I'm sure they'll animate any song you wish to sing" He chuckles. And sure enough, a week after you posted a cover of Lost Umbrella, ArahatosNumber1Fan posted an animation to go along with it.

Himeko compliments you a lot for your vocal range. In fact, she got you a karaoke machine for your birthday! Of course, though. She doesn't let you use it during night time. She doesn't want to wake up because you decided to start singing Churira Churira Dadada at 3 in the morning.

I do think she prefers you to sing outside the train. While she does enjoying your singing and she has no problem if you were to sing in the train. However she also understands it may disturb many people so she does ask for you to sing in an area where you aren't disturbing anyone.

I feel like she also asks you to teach her how to sing or have a wider vocal range. She enjoys singing herself and would love to join in when you're out singing to keep you company!

Perhaps you two can make money by singing on the streets :> (Only if you're okay with it though!)

You strummed you guitar as the two of you reached the last note, Himeko took a small bow and looked up at the audience that had gathered around. All of them clapping and complimenting your voice. She laughed softly and gently packed up your things so the two of you could get going, checking to see if you were uncomfortable with the attention before she directs you back to the train. As you two entered, Himeko was quick to sit and count the amount of credits that were left in your guitar case, looking up to you she said with a smile. "A success, well done. They loved you" "It wasn't just me singing..." "Perhaps but...I'd say they have their favourites"

When Yanqing overhears you singing Xianzhou lullabys, he's quick to shower you with compliments. Your voice is so soothing! He could listen it for so long and it's effective too. You had to usher him out as he could wake the kids you just put to bed.

When he hears you singing a song like (man I'm running out of songs I know/hj) Noels Lament. He's impressed, how can you sing a song so softly and quietly and then sing something like this which needs a stronger voice??

He might skip a few of his training to find you and see what song you're singing, he makes it a guessing game! Will you be singing something so sweet and kind? Or something that might will make head turn??

"...Yanqing?" "Ha! I guessed right this time" "...Guessed...right?" Ah, you weren't meant to know the guessing game he had in his own head, quickly, he shuffled away. Scratching the back of his head. "Of where you were!" "I always walk in this area" "...I meant...what outfit you'd be wearing?" "I usually wear similar clothes?" ...Yeah, he's running off quickly, hopefully Jing Yuan won't scold him for skipping his training again right? Surely the general can understand he just has to see if his guess was right or not.

Surprisingly (or not surprisingly) Jing Yuan enjoys when you sing your heart out with songs like Candy Store or Mount Rageous. That's the type of sing he first heard you sing when he tried to find Yanqing when he skipped yet another training sessions.

Usually he would just sleep till Yanqing returned or just go on with his day if he never did. In either case, now he joins Yanqing to see what song you're singing before returning back to train.

When he hears you singing a less upbeat song like Sweet Dreams. He's slightly surprised but listens intently, it's different to what he often hears you sing but he enjoys it none the less, he sees your happy so he's fine.

He might even request to hear certain songs just to see how well you voice range can handle it. From the loudest song that could break glass, to a soothing song that can put even the mara struck to bed. And if you successfully sing them all, he congratulates you.

Overall, he's impressed as well as many others, likely talks to you and how well you sing to his friends.

You panted a bit as you finished a particularly long high note, Jing Yuan chuckles and slides over a cup of water which you accept quickly. Taking a drink to sooth your throat. "You voice really can do wonders, I'm more then impressed" He speaks, you nodded in response as he then offers a small treat for agreeing to sing a song for him. A song that made you go from high to low, soft to loud and all in all, tested how wide your voice range can be in a singular song. "I must apologies, I just wished to see how far your voice can go. I should've considered how tired your throat must be from singing that particular song" "No worries, it was fun to read and practice that song. I'm a bit surprised you know it though" "Oh? Are you now?" "Yeah...I mean...the song was released like a month ago and you're kinda a grandp-" "Alright I get it" He chuckled lightly, gently flicking your forehead.

I'm so smart writing Yanqings and JY sleep deprived right?/j Yeah uh they might be OOC, hopefully not thoughejfpgt.

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forwntrx · 4 months

Text

GIRLS LIKE GIRLS ┊͙˚. 14. TALK?

𑁍┊let's stop for now (written portion)

"jenn?" you had just gotten home. you kicked off your wet heels and slopped onto your living room's couch. the rain had gotten you good, soaking you, and making you run inside for dear life. the dorms were almost dead quiet, aside from a hum of pop music coming from the bedrooms'. most likely ning. jimin had said she wouldn't be back until later, something about a sleepover, and you had no idea where or what minjeong was doing. the thought of your bandmate caused the stress to comeback to your shoulders.

you hated this feeling.

usually, you could bounce back from anything.

thousands of hate comments, death threats, insensitive remarks about your weight and style. none of that mattered to you, not like how minjeong's absence did.

"yes?" yunjin's voice was far away. you glanced at your phone screen. she had set up her phone for you. it was a sweet thing she did whenever you two facetimed, so you could always see her no matter what she was doing.

for the past thirty minutes, she had been cooking in her kitchen, and you swore you could smell the spices through the screen. chaewon had popped her head in for a moment, waved, and stole a treat while yunjin wasn't looking. melodramatically, yunjin had complained, proceeded to chase after her, and you couldn't help but laugh.

yunjin's company was nice, but you couldn't help but feel wrong. until you figured out this minjeong stuff, this (whatever it was) couldn't happen.

"can i talk to you about something?"

"oh shit! yes! wait! fuck! is this serious?" yunjin cursed. she dropped both of the pans she was holding. the pans shrieked across the screen so loud that you had to recoil.

you grimaced. "sorry."

"no worries! i saved them!" yunjin showed you the unharmed dessert, an array of cinnamon-dripped rolls. you had to stop your mouth from overfilling with saliva. your stomach wanted to run across seoul and devour everything she had made. but you reminded yourself of what was important right now. cinnamon rolls could wait. hell, everything could.

you took a deep breath. yunjin wasn't a hard person to understand, for the most part what you saw was what you got. that's one of the things you loved about her. she was effortlessly herself. but because of that, you knew how she would respond.

"what's up? are you oaky?" yunjin interrupted your thoughts.

"i'm fine..i.." you took a deep breath. her smile was wide, and bright, and terrified you. you didn't want to be the one to take away her smile.

"listen, yunjin. i love our friendship and i would never want to do anything to harm it, y'know? i'm going through a lot with my bandmate right now and i don't want you to be in the middle of it.."

yunjin's smile fell. she tried her best to hide it. she wasn't stupid. you guys had mutual friends. it was a matter-of-time before you confirmed what she had already known.

"she kissed you, right?"

oh. you hadn't expected that from her. you swallowed. you remembered it well. the moment had been replaying in your head over and over. the softness of her lips. the longing. the sweetness. but also the need for something more. the fear, and then, everything sweet between you two that turned bitter.

"yeah." you're not a liar, and you won't cover your ass.

yunjin is quiet on the other side of the line. you can't tell if she's thinking, seething, or upset. you hoped it was something else entirely.

"do you...have feelings for her?"

you sighed.

"i don't know." you really didn't. everything was new. you had never really kissed anyone or thought about the idea of a relationship. you also knew that even if you liked someone that you were an idol first. you had a reputation to uphold.

"okay." yunjin nodded her head, "i'm not upset with you. i had heard about it from ryujin but i wasn't sure if it was true. and i'm glad you care about me enough to let me know what's going on, but right now i'm thinking you don't know me that well.."

you titled your head. "what?"

"mhm, if you knew me you would know i already told misi that we were meant to be." yunjin said.

you shook your head. "seriously?"

"when have i ever lied to you?"

you laughed. her stuffed animal. a bird. she was unbelievable.

yunjin continued. "in the end, it'll be me and you. you know how i know that?"

you couldn't help but grin. she was so unpredictable, but in the best way.

"how, jenn?"

"i went to a fucking psychic."

you rolled your eyes. "i was expecting an actual deep-ass answer, not bullshit."

yunjin shrugged. "it's true! the cards said it~ can't argue with fate!"

you want to laugh again, but you're distracted by the sound of the front door creaking open. you dart your head backwards expecting jimin or aeri, and almost jump.

minjeong is standing right there. you stared. she was completely drenched from the rain. her clothes stuck to her body, and she was shivering. her eyes weren't on you, but on the umbrella she was failing to close up.

you looked away quickly and back down onto your phone.

yunjin is still on the line. "yn? everything okay?"

"yeah, let me call you back. okay?'

"yeah. see you." yunjin was disappointed. you could hear it in her voice.

you ended the call quickly. at the same time, minjeong looked up to you. she regarded you with a blink before throwing her umbrella down and attempted to walk past you.

god, she could be so annoying sometimes. you were used to the lack of communication and the blank stares, but the passive aggressiveness was something you would not deal with.

you grabbed her hand before she could get away. she stopped and looked back at your hand in hers. you expect her to pull away. run away like she always did. but this time, she staid.

"you kiss me. avoid me. then act like an ass." you accused. you could hear the music playing stop. whoever was upstairs was trying to listen now.

minjeong's eyes sharpened on you. "what do you want to hear yn? that i've been in love with your for years, resigned to the fact you would never like me back, found out you actually did like someone and it just wasn't and would never be me, and now can't stand to see you with anyone else? well, there it is. are you happy?"

you don't even know what to say.

minjeong searched your eyes for any type of response.

"do you even know what the word communication means, minjeong?" you finally said.

minjeong took a long sigh. "no, and i'm working on it.. i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "give me time, okay?"

minjeong nodded her time. "as much as you need." she said softly.

you didn't even fully realize what was happening until now. minjeong was in love with you. yunjin was...yunjin. and you were clueless, hopeless, and had no idea what to do. where was jimin when you needed her?

𑁍┊masterlist －previous — next

ngl winter might be a little unlikeable rn, but it'll get better LMFAOO

her communication will be MUCH better from this point on

hii guysss

yunjin best girl of the chapter?!

𑁍┊ a/n: yeah,, the written portion is a little unedited other than my eyes. i have a brain frying migraine and i promised to get this out for the weekend so i'm sorry for any errors!!!

𑁍┊ taglist: open :) @runawaymazola @wintersgff @winieter @luvjanexx @justme-idle @sewiouslyz @lcv3lies @yerisdumbass @nasyu-kookies @kchwnsgf @jeindall777 @dr-wholehearted @thoughtfulqueenlady @yunalvrrr @juhyunsthirdwife @haerinfangs @awkwardtoafault @idk-idc-rn @unforgiven-000-hotline @dream-chasers-things @pandafuriosa60 @1r3n31ty @lazysmushi @multiliker

#winter x reader #yunjin #aespa #aespa imagines #aespa smau #aespa x fem reader #huh yunjin #kpop crack #kpop smau #lesserafim yunjin #gxg #lesserafim smau #aespa x reader #aespa scenarios #kim minjeong x reader

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wisteriagoesvroom · 2 months

Text

schools of thought: part 2 🦊

A landoscar college AU, told through social media

to catch up, check out part 1 here

author's notes

thank you for your patience and the kudos on part 1 🤧 irl stuff happened and i worked on a different story for a while before getting back to this one

ignore timestamps, they don't really matter

if you enjoy it, please consider liking / reblogging / commenting! 💙

—————we pick up at the federation U library———————

lando's studying late. it's a tuesday, and there aren't too many people there - just him, linda the librarian who isn't particularly impressed at anything or anyone, and a couple of other students on other islands of desks, stuck in their own world.

lando doesn't find academic work impossible per se, it's more the sustained attention that gets challenging. and contrary to how he seems, he does actually work hard at his core modules. even if he isn't sure exactly to what end, yet.

the screen's blazing bright and lagrange's theorem is starting to make his brain statick-y, so lando rubs his eyes. one of those advice pages on tiktok said changing tasks could help sometimes to refocus on his studying. something about crop rotation or switching channels of the brain or something. if it's on social media, it must be true.

so he opens his design software instead and makes a party invite.

he sends a prayer to the holy trinity of tiesto, guetta and darude for his very basic photoshop abilities. and an extra hail-van-helden for the free software that he pirated off charles.

the party playlist is already whirring in his head. definitely some garage smashed with some old school hip hop, and he's sure there's a way to get some hans zimmer piano in there. whatever, it'll work.

satisfied with his efforts, lando sips from his hydroflask. (the drink is one part instant coffee, one part spicy honey, and a lot of hot water. carlos gives him shit about it all the time, but carlos is spanish and generally prone to dramatics when it comes to coffee and just about everything else.)

still focused on his important task of Procrastinating His Stabilizer Equations, lando texts max.

linda, to her credit, only glared at him once when he started humming kid cudi under his breath.

and judging from experience, max and charles are going to be a while, so there's nothing for lando to do but stare at the wall and keep working on his playlists. oh, and his math assignments.

meanwhile, oscar gets a ping from logan.

what is there to say about the meeting really, oscar thinks. uneventful. ———————earlier——————————

the first project catch-up with lando, they'd met under the campus bee statue. a sunny afternoon, but the campus was quiet, half of them having decamped to the nearby hills or beach for a change of scenery. it was just the pleasant and tolerable buzz of other students enjoying the warmth and doing university student things. he'd spotted a couple of people with picnic blankets out. he hadn't brought a picnic blanket, thinking this would be a quick meeting.

lando had appeared in a blur of white and orange, like a y2k elf. ear piercing, music festival rubber bracelets and all. in a t-shirt that said i'm acute angle.

"'sup osc!" lando said.

"that t-shirt's gramatically incorrect. technically." oscar had replied.

"whaa-aat. but more to the point, it's funny."

"i guess. did you do the reading yet? thought it'd be good to talk roles and responsibilities and maybe a project timeline."

"timeline?" lando said, as he tossed his backpack down and flopped on the lawn. lando extracted two heinekens from a side pocket and went through a complicated manouvre of opening them with his room keys. "thought we'd maybe crack open a beer and just chat, matey."

i'm not your matey, oscar thought. i'm a passenger to whatever train of chaos it is that you're driving and i'd like to get off.

oscar's skin prickled as he realised the double meaning of get off. he also tried to not think too hard about how overfamiliar lando was acting towards him. the worse thing was: there was a bigger part of him that was probably willing to let lando get away with it.

lando seemed to be ignoring whatever existential crisis oscar was going through. instead, lando was going on and on about philosophical youtubers and sparknotes. lando was so animated when he spoke, too: hands always in gestures, as if excitement buzzed directly out of his fingertips and onto oscar. there was a sparkle in his eyes, blue sliding into grey, that made oscar want to sit on his hands. because they were the kind of eyes they wrote about in regency novels, the windows to the soul kind of melodramatic nonsense. that would make him want to do stupid shit. like, get-in-the-way-of-the-project-grade kind of stupid shit.

so it took oscar a lot of energy to focus in that first meeting. he thought he did a pretty decent job picking up the thread of conversation, around the part where lando had called foucault's theory "the indiana jones thought thingy."

"i think you mean archaeology of knowledge."

"right! right." lando said, as he beamed up at him.

oscar had suddenly felt overly warm, then. probably just the sun on the quad, he thought to himself. he was from australia, so technically he should've known better, and worn adequate SPF. he'd have to set a phone reminder for that at a later point. he refused to be fooled again by the european summer and its apparently hypnotic effects. even if those hypnotic effects were probably mostly caused by a menacing parallel phenomenon that oscar would call solarus landonitus.

—————————————————

later, oscar's cooks dinner, and tries to decipher the instructions on the back of a frozen bag of beef mince. pato and logan are away at a football game across the border in italy, an overnighter thing.

his phone vibrates. it's lando.

oscar's hands hover over the letter keys. a party? he couldn't think of anything worse. but lando said a couple of friends, and it's true oscar hasn't really partied, and he thinks hanging out with his D&D friends doesn't really count. there had been that one instance in first year when oscar had gone to try and meet logan and pato at the ministry of sound, and he'd accidentally ended up at the ministry of state government building. after that, he'd figured parties weren't really fated for him.

but. lando, social butterfly lando, campus personality lando is the one asking. and logan's right, oscar probably does take himself too seriously.

osc types and deletes at least four different responses before be replies. he is an eng lit major, he tells himself. surely he should be better at crafting his words than this. but sometimes it is what it is.

so it isn't a commitment, and it isn't a hard no, either.

oscar stares at his phone. it's gone quiet. lando's moved on – probably uploading an instagram story. or smashing his too keyboard loudly in a public space as he solves a polynomial. or making a new and unlikely EDM song out of radiator noises, or whatever it is that lando "i'm so cool" norris decides to do with his free time.

oscar is studying the dorm kitchen tiles, thinking about not thinking about lando, when his pasta water boils over. it hits the induction stove with a loud hiss.

"shit!" osc yelps. he grabs a nearby dish towel to wipe it up.

the pasta ends up both soggy and under salted, but he eats it anyway. mind turning all the while.

——————stay tuned part 3 (hint: party party)————————

p.s. if you want to be tagged/notified on the next part/updates just lmk in comments or DM and i'd be happy to!!

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tiktaalic · 6 days

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tortured poets review. by song

fortnight: fine. sounds like a song. one of the lana drag ones. the actual lyrical content is nothing special. i would not have made this track one. 6/10

tortured poets department: kind of exactly what you would expect from a taylor swift album called tortured poets department. it's silly. it's got references. it makes you go. girl? already less distinct musically. 3/10

my boy only breaks his favorite toys: the consequence of doing lana drag is that you listen to songs and go this would be a lot better if lana got her chords on it. fundamentally not a song that i can enjoy from taylor allison swift. a song i would respect in lana of video games fame catalogue once she strips it down. not like head turningly strange like tpd just plain and simple middle of the road. 4/10

down bad: this one is unlistenable for me. cant explain why. probably the chorus of down bad. i think it's tooooooo silly too silly by far when taylor swift does how do you do fellow teens vocabulary. 2/10

so long london: i can see the place that this takes on my spotify wrapped. lyrics are fine. good even. this + backing + doing something even the littlest bit different from soft monotone talk singing makes it one of the most memorable on this album by miles. probably not near the top of most memorable in her hundreds deep bench though. can't think of anything to dock it for but it's no belter. 8/10.

but daddy i love him: yeah okay. i love when she does a silly one. i think the instrumentals are nice. i'm having his baby. no i'm not! but you should see your face. easily i would listen to an album that was full of songs to this theme / musicality. points docked because i dont think she knows it's as silly as it is. 7/10.

fresh out the slammer: bored. i just looked at the lyrics and they're passable but they're performed in the most boring possible manner. stupidest name imaginable. i actually might bump it a point or two if the name was different. 4/10

florida: makes me go yaaaaaay florence every time i hear it. taylor's part halsey 2014 core. could have been worse! if i was in charge of cutting tracks i would keep this one. 6/10

guilty as sin: started it went oh i'm docking this one for boring. read the first quarter of lyrics and went oh this is fine? got to second half and went oh i don't care for this. can imagine a world where it's a better song with different backing and emphasis. 5/10

whose afraid of little old me: i dont think it's good necessarily but i love every song where shes like im craaaazy im insane. i think for the concept it's going for it could have been put together differently. 6/10

i can fix him: i like the way it sounds. but could use more oomph. it's so nice to hear guitars though. don't care for the subject matter. 5/10

loml: snooze. boring lyrics. boring performance. 4/10

i can do it with a broken heart: BAFFLING. easily the me / karma of the album. the tonal mismatch is the point but . well. it is what it is. i would like this more if it WAS a barbie soundtrack release i think. then it would have an extra layer of silly. i think this might make my wrapped. unfortunately. 5/10.

smallest man who ever lived: who gives a shit about matty healy. 4/10

the alchemy: head in my hands. head in my hands. football song. it's so over. and we are never going to be so back. 3/10

clara bow: i like the intro. i can't see myself ever doing more than half humming this. lyrics are whatever. fine, passable. 6/10

the black dog: yeah it's fine. no complaints. guitar 👍. 6/10

getyouback: why would you EVER tee yourself up perfectly to be compared to a better song. 3/10

albatross: oh i liked this one on first listen. 7/10.

chloe sam sophia marcus: outing song ‼️‼️‼️divorce music‼️‼️‼️. nothing too exciting or groundbreaking musically. 5.5?

how did it end: um. it gets points for being #real but not much else. 5/10.

so high school: i think i would like it if it was even a TOUCH less heterosexual. i would cut 3 lines that would turn it into a 6. i can see this song in someone else's hands dominating the radio and me loving that. in taylor's hands i'm giving it a 5/10.

i hate it here: not interesting. next. 4/10

thank you aimee: out of respect for taylor swift's struggles i will withhold comment and rating. -_-

look in people's windows: lyrics aren't bad but it's another one that's not really. doing anything. 4/10

the prophecy: yeah i'll give this one a 7/10. i would have one (1) greige complaint if this was on folkevermore but that's pretty damn solid.

cassandra: passing it and moving on. that's as much as it deserves. 5/10

peter: lyrics get a thumbs up. another 5.5? i could be talked into a six.

the bolter: yes girl commitment issues. 6/10. actually. 7/10.

robin: jesus god this album is too long. i have listened to too much taylor swift tpd to give this any kind of rating.

the manuscript: 5/10. like if woulda coulda shoulda had no beat

thank you for sharing this journey. with me and also taylor swift

#etxt #t swift

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fryingpan1234567 · 10 months

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movies I think every demigod loves

Focusing on CHB for now but we’ll get to the Romans eventually

These nerds all know the whole entire soundtrack for every single one with the choreo and everything

Massive viewing parties in the winter in random cabins that definitely can’t hold everybody and the amphitheater in the summer with a projector

Hecate campers have enchanted a fuck ton of those old plastic popcorn containers with the same magic as the dishes in the pavilion— every kind of popcorn, the perfect amount of butter, kettle corn, for some reason a blue one that apparently tastes like cotton candy (or so Percy says; no one else has dared to try it)

Sharing endless amounts of blankets and pillows

Everyone usually passes out towards the end of the night, resulting in the hugest bed nest known to man full of shreepy demigods

Literally every streaming service ever plus premium Hephaestus channels

Anyways onto the movies

We’re starting with Mamma Mia

Because let’s be honest— a big pretty Greek island with a ton of hot people and fabulous music?? Yeah they’re into it

Who doesn’t love Abba?

That fun little “WEEE’RE SOPHIE ALI LISA WE’RE THE GREATEST BESTEST MATES, I’M TALL— I’M TOUGH— I’M TINY— AND WE’RE GONNA ROCK THIS PLACE!!” is such a vibe

Everyone gets into groups of three just to sing it with each other, including

Percy as Tall, Annabeth as Tough, and Grover as Tiny

Jason as Tall, Piper as Tough, and Leo as Tiny

Connor and Will even convinced Nico to be the Tiny to their Tough and Tall once

Anyways everybody screaming the lyrics and dancing around, swinging each other in chaotic circles until they collapse laughing

By FAR the loudest they ever get is Dancing Queen— Chiron says it’s something to rival their battle cry and Dionysus pretends to be annoyed by it, but he’s always caught humming it to himself the next morning

”Well what do you suggest we do with three men?” “Well now that takes me back.” WHEN I TELL YOU EVERYBODY SCREAMS

Couples singing Honey Honey and Lay All Your Love On Me suuuper dramatically at each other

They’ve turned it into a challenge: how long can you two go, mercilessly flirting and teasing, before either of you break and end up making out? (The answer is not very long)

Splitting into two groups (mainly girls v boys but really it doesn’t matter) to scream Voulez-Vous at each other

It’s a competition

After the end of the movie, everyone goes and jumps into the lake in their clothes— this massive, shouting, laughing mass of magical teenagers booking it across camp just to go flying off the docks into the water

Moving on to another movie

You c a n n o t tell me they wouldn’t love Disney’s Hercules

I mean they hate it, obviously, but like. A Disney movie about them. What!!

Especially the littles

The littles looove this fucking movie you don’t even understand

They sit eagerly waiting to see the garbage caricatures of their parents onscreen, collapsing on each other in giggles when they do

The older kids still get a kick out of it, but Connor sulks in Malcolm’s lap anytime his dad is on, hiding his face in his chest and refusing to look

(“Mal, he looks so dumb.”

”Sweetheart—“

”SO STUPID.”

”You’re so dramatic—“

”LOOK AT HIM.”)

They make Chiron sing One Last Hope every damn time

Funny thing is, the projector they have now is not the first one. There was one before, which mysteriously went up in purple flames the first time Mr. D watched with them… coincidentally at the exact moment Disney Dionysus popped up on screen in all his drunken fuscia glory

Poor Nico di Angelo wants to say no to watching it every time, but his favorite of Will’s little siblings, Lilac, begs him to because it’s her favorite Disney movie

So there he is next to Will, Lilac watching eagerly from his lap, Nico bonking his head on Will’s shoulder every time the TERRIBLE interpretation of his dad is on

Will laughs at him

Nico pouts and says he’s mean and threatens to shadow travel Lilac to the nearest candy store and get her whatever she wants just to hand her back to him for the night with a raging sugar rush

When the 7 dress up as the Avengers for Halloween one year, it’s added to the rotation.

Percy was Black Widow

Leo was Spider-Man

Jason was Captain America

Piper was Iron Man

Annabeth was Thor

Hazel was Black Panther

Frank was the Hulk

Nobody was prepared for the level of hotness that they brought to the table, but the Marvel fanatics were definitely prepared to start watching the movies

Eventually it devolves into a big war over who the best character is

The smash or pass is getting out of hand guys

lmk if you think of any more I’d love to write them

#Marvel #mamma mia #disney hercules #riordanverse #percy jackson #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #annabeth chase #frank zhang #hazel levesque #Nico di Angelo #will solace #malcolm pace #connor stoll #solangelo #malconnor

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mc-lukanette · 6 months

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Marinette hummed to herself, mulling over the various fabrics laid out in front of her. Her witch's hat tipped down a little whenever she lowered her head and she made a mental note to have her first fashion line be "alternate witch headwear" no matter the cost.

The cafe was a great place to get ideas and have the usual silence of her room replaced with the idle chatter of everyone else. It being all-inclusive was just a bonus that allowed her to look around and imagine what the various other species of people would look like in the clothes she designed.

The scent of coffee and pastries wafted through the area, her own sweetened coffee at her side while she worked.

Silk is too smooth. Cervitaurs like a bit more texture in their clothes, she thought, staring down at her fabrics on the table. She felt the corner of one, then moved on to the next, dissatisfied with how each rubbed against her. But elves have sensitive skin, so they might find wool too itchy and uncomfortable.

She tapped mindlessly on the table, the enlarged sewing needle in her hand acting as her wand as she pointed it to the textiles on the table. The tip of the needle glowed, Marinette flicking her wand and watching the fabric move around at her will. She redid her sorting for the tenth time that session, or maybe it was the fourteenth? She'd lost count and the sweetened coffee at her side was probably getting cold by now.

With a defeated sigh, Marinette slammed her wand down and collapsed onto the table, lamenting, Maybe there is no "one fabric" for everyone after all. Would I have to invent a new one instead?

She supposed the other problem could be the background music. She loved Jagged Stone's music, but it wasn't good for productivity and the only change the cafe made was that she couldn't hear the lyrics. If it was a knock-off so they didn't have to pay for Jagged's actual music, it was a good one.

She looked over, curious for the source of the song if only to distract herself. She spotted a naga lounging in the corner with black hair and blue highlights, playing on his guitar like imitating someone else's music was no big deal to him. It was impressive to her how his fingers strummed without hesitation or thought, his face not showing even an ounce of stress despite the attention on him from onlookers.

Although, when she really looked at him, he didn't seem invested in what he was playing at all, which was a stark contrast to Jagged's upbeat style coming from his fingertips. Marinette surveyed the room, wondering if he actually worked there to provide music for everyone, because she couldn't imagine why else he'd be there if he didn't enjoy what he was doing. The easiest way to find out was to simply ask, but she couldn't just go up to a stranger and start pestering him with personal questions, even if she wanted to know... right?

Staring down at her fabrics again, the complete lack of ideas practically staring back at her, she groaned and pulled her bag out to shove all of her supplies inside. Whatever. I'm not getting anything done anyway.

——

Marinette shifted in her seat as she waited for the mystery naga boy to be free. Even after the song had finished, he got approached by an employee and she couldn't make out what they were saying. She did catch him rubbing his arm though, making her wonder if it was from nerves or if the room was a little too chilly.

Finally, the employee stepped aside, allowing her to stand up from her table and try to approach as casually as possible. The boy's eyes met hers, probably sensing her presence, but he didn't move or show any sign of discomfort.

"You're really good," she complimented, prioritizing praise over his abilities above all else. "You've been playing Jagged Stone, right?"

He smiled, nodding at her. "Yeah, that's right."

There was a casualness to him of not minding being spoken to, but she could see the look in his eyes of someone who's used to having this exact conversation with other people. That was fine with her, as it wasn't her intended topic of discussion anyway.

She played with a strand of her hair, unsure of how to broach the subject. "Was... that because they asked you to play it?"

His back straightened in surprise. He looked down at his guitar and furrowed his brows, running his hand idly along the neck. "What made you think that?"

Marinette realized only now how awkward the conversation was about to become if she was wrong. She swallowed nervously, deciding to commit regardless. "You didn't seem interested in playing, even though you look so comfortable with your guitar."

She meant it. When she'd watched his body language, he seemed as if he'd been playing since he was really young. She could relate with her own interest in fashion, so she knew what it was like.

The naga eyed her, then searched the room cautiously like he was afraid of being caught. When he looked back at her, he set his guitar down and slowly pushed himself up, Marinette letting out a squeak when he leaned in close.

"You hit the note perfectly," he told her in a whisper, "but I'm not allowed to say that."

She gasped, covering her nose and mouth with both hands. It muffled her voice, but her reply came out clear enough: "And I asked you in front of everyone!"

He shook his head. "You're fine. I don't think anyone heard, and I can only get in trouble for answering."

She brought her hands down, feeling sympathetic to him. While he didn't say it, if he had such restrictions placed on him that he didn't like, then it must've been one of the few jobs he could get. He was still young - certainly not that much older than her - so finding a place where people would take him seriously must've been hard.

"It seems like such a shame." She frowned, keeping her voice low to maintain their secret conversation. "You're so talented, but you have to play other people's songs."

He shrugged, sad but giving her a reassuring, grateful smile. "Maybe someday. For now, they only want me to play what's popular, so I can't try my own music."

"Your own music?" she repeated, almost breaking the 'safe' volume between them with her intrigue. She'd suspected that he wrote music himself, so it was nice having it confirmed. "Could I hear it sometime? I'm sure it's amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really!" It wasn't out of pity for him, but a genuine longing for the passion of another creative mind.

Before he could respond, an annoyed voice called from afar, "Couffaine! No flirting on the job!"

Marinette blushed. She supposed there were only so many ways their current situation could be interpreted, and if the place was already judging him based on his age, there was only one.

The naga, unphased, turned towards the voice and smirked. "I'm going on break." He reached for his guitar, holding it against himself and softening his expression when he met her gaze again. "Do you want to come with me?"

"What?" Her brain clicked, remembering what they'd been talking about. She was surprised that it'd be so soon - so immediate - but she wouldn't complain. "O-oh! Yeah, let's go!"

They went for the door together, her holding it open for him and hearing a hushed, "It's Luka, by the way," as he slithered past.

"Ma—Marinette!" she exclaimed in return, following after him.

——

The two of them wound up settling down in a park with a fountain, Marinette sitting down on the fountain's stone wall while Luka was content lounging on the ground. She expected him to start playing right away, but he put his guitar off to the side instead.

At her confused look, he asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"We only talked about me," he explained. "You had some things on your table and you were moving them around, so I thought..."

He SAW that?! She was absolutely mortified. The fact that he was watching her too made her feel less weird about her initial motivation in approaching him, yet she hadn't wanted his impression of her to be her succeeding in a whole lot of nothing.

Luka, probably reading her expression, put his arms up next to her on the stone and assured, "I don't think there's anything wrong with needing time to make a song work, but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I was just curious."

Marinette drummed her fingers on her lap, shy. She'd shown interest in him but hadn't expected the same in return.

"You stuck your tongue out to the side when you were focused," he continued, voice gentler than before. "My sister tells me that I do something like that: the end of my tail flicks back and forth when I'm 'focusing too much.'"

He was relating to her to help her relax, even though he'd already given her an out. The worst part was that it was working, and she managed to answer, "I-I specialize in fashion, so I was looking at some fabric."

"What kind of fashion do you make?"

"All kinds, even accessories. Like..." She sat her bag on her lap and opened it, but couldn't find anything she could use inside. Pouting, but refusing to give up when she wanted to impress him, she asked hopefully, "Do you have anything small on you? Something that you're not that attached to?"

Luka looked towards the bag he was wearing around his waist, unzipping one of the pockets and fishing inside for an object that matched her description. When he held one up to her, triangular and round at the edges, she figured that it must've been a spare guitar pick of his.

"I-is that really okay?" She took it, turning it in her hands. "What if something happens to the one you have now?"

"Don't worry. I've got plenty," he assured, zipping his bag back up and patting it for emphasis.

She wasn't sure if she could believe him, but didn't see any reason to make a fuss about it. Retrieving her wand from her bag, she held the guitar pick close to her chest and shut one eye for precision. The tip of her wand made contact with the tip of the guitar pick and she used a touch of magic to form a hole in it. She then took a thick piece of string from her bag, threading it through the hole and pinching both ends together. Rubbing them between her thumb and index finger, she whispered soft words to bind them, leaving the string forming a complete circle when she let go.

It was still a bit plain, but that was inevitable since she was just improvising. Pressing the blunt end of the wand to her cheek in contemplation, she wondered aloud, "Do you mind if I touch your tail?"

He didn't ask why, shifting his tail about so that he could raise it up to her. Marinette offered him a smile in thanks, then began to draw magic on her palm with her wand. She was tempted to comment on the adorable way Luka tried to lean in to watch, but didn't.

As she finished off the pattern she'd drawn, it glowed blue along with her eyes. Turning her attention to Luka, she placed her hand on his tail and began to run it across. He shuddered at the sensation, though it didn't affect her work.

"Sorry," she said, "I've never done this on anyone, so I didn't know that'd happen."

"It's okay." Then, more curiously, "Done what?"

When she took her hand off, she showed him: the color, pattern, and texture of his tail had been replicated directly onto it. Luka's eyes were wide with awe and she felt a burst of pride in her chest.

Closing her fist around the string with her tail-patterned hand, she pulled and pulled at the string with her other one. With each pull, the part of the string that went through her closed fist came out with the exact same pattern as Luka's tail, until finally it matched it entirely. Satisfied, Marinette shook her magic-imbued hand in the air, the pattern coming off like wind blowing dust away.

The most important part came last. She clutched the guitar pick, bringing it to her lips in thought while she considered what to do. Her personal opinion was that a witch who worked in fashion should never do so without a spell attached, but she wasn't sure which to pick. Luka didn't come off as someone reckless, so making it more durable seemed like a waste. Luck, meanwhile, was such a cliche spell to cast on anyone, not like she believed in such a thing in the first place.

She eyed him for ideas, from his highlights to his eyes and then to his body. As her gaze skimmed past his arm, the faint memory of him rubbing it earlier struck, and she almost felt stupid for not thinking of it before.

Giving the guitar pick a soft kiss, it lit up along the edges. While it was pure black before, her magic changed its border to a bright crimson, confirming that her spell had gone off without a hitch. She turned to tell Luka that it was a success, though she paused when she noticed that the tip of his tail was flicking back and forth.

I thought he said that it only did that when he was really focused on something? she wondered, but didn't catch onto the implications.

After looking over the enchanted accessory one last time, she offered it to him with a smile. "Here! Just like that!"

Luka took a moment to reply, as if her magic had rubbed off on him and put him in a trance. Snapping back to focus, he tore his gaze from her to stare at the necklace. "That—that was incredible, Marinette!"

"Y-you really think so?"

"Yeah. You even copied my tail onto the string; I still have no idea how you did it or what spell that was. I felt inspired just watching you work."

She blushed at the heavy praise, replying defensively, "You haven't even tried it on yet!"

"Oh, then please..." he said easily, not wasting another second.

She thought he would just take it from her, but he leaned closer and bent his head down patiently. Whether it was a naga thing or he somehow felt wrong touching it himself, she wasn't sure, but she went along with it anyway. It almost felt like she was bestowing a medal of honor when she draped it over his head and let it drop.

Immediately, she saw Luka's body language change and asked, "How's it feel?"

"...Warm." He hesitated, putting a hand to his chest. He raised a brow in confusion, trying to find the right words. "I feel warm?"

"Yup! It's a spell for keeping you warm." She poked the guitar pick for emphasis. "I thought you looked a little cold earlier, so it seemed right."

He gaped at her, stunned. "You did that in just a few minutes? I have a couple of naga friends who hate being even a little cold. If you want any business, I'll put in a word for you."

She started to feel shy again. "I-it's not that big of a deal?" She waved him off. "It's more like a prototype. It won't protect you from being too hot, a-and it doesn't last forever."

She felt bitter at having to say it. Temperature-controlling charms had been one of her goals as a fashion-inclined witch, yet she still hadn't figured out a perfect solution to its limited nature.

"I don't think anyone would expect that," he argued, almost sounding offended on her behalf. "Even if it doesn't last, people could only wear it when they know they'll need it. That's not much different from wearing something until it's too worn out."

That's... not a bad point, she conceded, though not enough to verbalize it. She'd just never thought about it that way.

Luka held the guitar pick part of the necklace, bringing it closer to his face to admire it. "Why aren't things like this being sold everywhere?"

Marinette shrugged. "I mean, I did come up with some of those spells myself, but maybe witches just aren't interested in using their talents for fashion? It's not exactly as flashy as making things disappear or lighting things on fire with the flick of a wrist. "

He shook his head, adamant in his position. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

His gaze was a little intense; he meant it. She tipped her head purposefully to have an excuse to adjust her hat, not sure how to handle compliments from someone who - as she was quickly noticing - was quite handsome.

"...O-oh! Um—" She fumbled to shift the conversation away from her. Pointing hurriedly at the necklace, she explained, "A-about the spell: I said it doesn't last forever, but it doesn't need recast or anything. The enchantment on it will stay, but once it runs out of power you'll need to get someone else with magic to recharge it." Then, she blurted out thoughtlessly, "Or I could?"

She managed to suppress the scream she nearly let out, leaving it to bounce and echo in her mind while Luka could only stare in silence. She'd never cast a curse in her life - only considered it in a few dark fantasies involving people who'd bullied her - but she might've cast a curse to remove her voice if she could go back to a few seconds ago. She'd just met this boy, and she was talking as if they were ever going to see each other again.

...Well, in retrospect it wasn't impossible; actually, it was very likely. If he continued working at the cafe and she continued to visit, they would inevitably continue seeing each other. One could even make the argument that she'd become the most convenient person to recharge the enchantment then.

It didn't make her any less embarrassed though.

Looking for a diversion (a successful one this time), Marinette turned her attention to his guitar. Gesturing wildly at it, she clarified, "B-but only if you play for me! You said you would!"

He didn't say explicitly that he would, but she hoped he wouldn't remember that detail.

"...Alright," Luka replied, as if everything she'd just said and done wasn't entirely ridiculous. He even grinned wider and repeated it. "Alright. I'll play for you whenever you want."

"Oka—whenever I want?" She blinked at him, thinking that he might've slipped up as well, but he was already focusing on getting his guitar in place.

No more words were spoken as he began to play, Marinette's thoughts of how fast she'd have to be to outrun a naga left behind to listen to him. As she'd imagined, he was really good, his music feeling like it was coming straight from his heart and into hers.

Now that she'd calmed down from her little outburst, she found her fingers twitching, either to adjust one of her spells or simply to start drawing new designs. She'd stumbled her way into agreeing to meet with him again, and even if her way of going about it wasn't ideal, she'd wanted it.

As she continued to listen, his words echoed in her head, "I felt inspired just watching you work," and she pondered if this was the result of his inspiration. Thinking about it, she'd never got to make anything in front of someone before, nor come up with something new on the spot.

Perhaps they'd inspired each other then, even without meaning to, and she silently hoped that they could continue to do so.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #Witch Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Naga Luka Couffaine

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bardic-inspo · 29 days

Text

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Seven: Morbid Curiosity

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“Tell me what I taste like, and I’ll show you what you’re missing.” The tadpole twists behind his eye and twists his stomach with it. She really does mean to show him. “All right,” Astarion drawls. He combs his mind for his favorite endearments, pinching the prettiest from its stem and fitting it between his teeth. He leans forward, near enough to catch the slight scent of lavender beneath the staleness of her sweat. “I’ll do my best, darling,” he purrs, “but you should know there’s nothing from my mouth that could do justice to how exquisite you tasted all. Over. Mine.”

Chapter CW: None

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“My friend,” Astarion drawls, patting the earth beside him.

A faint sigh leaks from Naomi’s lips, folded down with the weight of the world. She doesn’t heed his invitation, opting instead to stand there and ogle him. He can’t blame her for being so captivated. He’s a sight to behold, after all.

Astarion’s legs splay in front of him, his back propped by the rough trunk of a tree. Cool air licks the lithe stretch of his bare chest, soaked in starlight. Naomi’s gaze seeps over his skin, down to the white shirt bunched in his lap. He sets his handiwork aside for the moment, tucking his needle away for safekeeping.

“Darling, I’ve been looking for you evvvverywhere,” he says with only a little slur. Enough to put an arch in her brow.

“I wouldn’t have been hard to find if you were,” she mutters skeptically. “Are you drunk?”

She takes a tentative step towards him in someone’s else’s shoes. They’re far too big for her feet. Silly little squirrel lost her own boots, stumbling around in the swamps. Poor thing.

“I have drunk. A bear,” Astarion hums happily, the tip of his tongue swiping languid over his lips. The woodsy, syrupy sweetness of the bear lingers there. Naomi’s eyes do, too.

She’s too slow to bury the bob in her throat, not far from where his fangs sank in. Her feet shuffle beneath her. Caught. Astarion’s smirk curls like a noose.

I know what you’re thinking, he could say. Because I’m thinking it, too.

But it’s too soon. He wouldn’t want his little squirrel to go scuttling away. Not now that he knows how delicious she is.

But soon, he thinks, with a twinge of melancholy. Soon, he’ll say all the right words. Like a spell, she’ll be beneath him all over again. And he’ll have the rest of her to taste, too. Perhaps her body is as sweet as the nectar he drew from her neck.

It doesn’t matter, truly. Whatever petty cost Astarion might have to grit his teeth and endure is already worth it. She dealt with that insufferable Gur hunter handily. Artistically, even. But Gandrel won’t be the last hunter that comes calling. He’ll need Naomi to still feel as generous when Cazador sends more fearsome foes.

For now, at least, he only needs to convince her to be as generous with her presence as she was with her blood.

“Sit, my sweet,” he says, insistent. “See the stars with me. I’ll regale you with the poetry I promised.”

“Poetry?” She scoffs, as if it’s something a bard shouldn’t appreciate.

“For your fine vintage, of course,” Astarion croons.

He lets her see the hunger in his eyes as they trail down her figure. She’s wonderfully pert in the tunic she slipped into for sleeping. Even if the flutter of it by her heels makes her look like a specter.

“Don’t you remember?” He prods. “You wanted to know what you tasted like.”

It’s that promise, or morbid curiosity, that spurs her closer. She looks like a ghost, blanched silver in the moonlight, stark shadows haunting the hollows beneath her eyes. But she moves like the shambling dead. Her shoes drag, floppy on her feet, interrupting the quaint melody of crickets chirping intently in the long grass. Astarion’s nose wrinkles at the noise.

“You look dreadful, you know,” he says flatly.

It doesn’t dissuade her from dropping to a seat beside him with a dull thump. The tree takes her weight, leaving only a thin sliver of space between them. Astarion’s attention snags on her tunic, sliding off her shoulder. Pale blue skin peeks out, peppered in the same purplish freckles that powder her nose.

“Well, I feel dreadful,” she mutters darkly. “So I suppose, for the moment, my matching looks are one of the few things that make sense.”

“I do hope it wasn’t our last evening together that put you out of sorts,” Astarion says with the slightest pout.

Her collar doesn’t cover her souvenirs from their prior late-night liaison. The two perfect punctures have faded almost entirely. Now she wears the new necklace of bruises that the hag traded her for her old amulet.

He did try to be gentle, when he bit her. A bit, at least. It’s not guilt, squirming in his gut, exactly. She gave him permission, after all. Still, his tongue feels weighty with a question he should’ve asked sooner.

“Did it hurt much? I already know you liked it,” he says, smoothing his tone. “I’m more curious how much you like pain. That priest of Loviator certainly painted a pretty, pretty picture. It had all my favorite colors.”

Naomi scoffs. “Has the poetry started yet, or are you just warming up?”

“Warming you up, dear.”

“It was fine, Astarion,” she sighs again, exasperated this time. She props her knees to her chest and loops her arms to hold them there. “My head felt a little fuzzy afterwards, and I might’ve lost my mind along with my shoes. But I don’t think you get to take credit for that. Not everything’s about you, you know.”

Astarion surveys her blankly. His face feels heavy, lips still abuzz with the blood of the bear, his mind awash with it.

“Oh. You mean that business with the hag?” He waves a hand, as if casting a thoughtless cantrip. “You said it yourself, it was just like that debacle with the harpies. Though, they didn’t resort to extortion. I suppose that was some precious trinket of yours, that necklace she took?”

“Nothing worth dying for,” Naomi shrugs, gaze guarded. “They’re a dime a dozen, back home.”

“Mm,” Astarion hums, fingers rapping against a gnarled root. “And what is ‘home’ like for you, darling? I’ve had this drab little cave in my head this whole time, you know. I don’t know much about the Underdark. Never once been.”

Her lips twitch. The start of a smile, maybe. Something for him to tug on, and perhaps something to tug her shoulders down from her ears. Ease that strain holding her taut so he can slip through the cracks in her armor.

Her tone is a teasing one. “Tell me what I taste like, and I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

The tadpole twists behind his eye and twists his stomach with it. She really does mean to show him.

“All right,” Astarion drawls.

He combs his mind for his favorite endearments, pinching the prettiest from its stem and fitting it between his teeth. He leans forward, near enough to catch the slight scent of lavender beneath the staleness of her sweat.

“I’ll do my best, darling,” he purrs, “but you should know there’s nothing from my mouth that could do justice to how exquisite you tasted all. Over. Mine.”

Her smirk blooms wide. “You’re hedging, dear. Shaky way to start. Self-deprecation isn’t what I’m into. But do go on.”

“Hm?” Astarion huffs, cocking his head, indignant. “My bittersweet treat isn’t impressed? Even with her cheeks all warm and flushed? I think your body betrays you, dear.”

“‘Bittersweet’ is the best you can come up with?” She tuts. “Surely you can do better.”

“You were my first, you know,” he blurts. “I don’t have much to compare it to.”

The words leap from his tongue in reflex, without a trace of sweetness. And the aftertaste of his admission lies more bitter on his tongue than Naomi’s fading flavor did. Astarion’s jaw shifts tightly as he watches her amusement melt into sickly sweet pity.

It needles him with a dozen daggers, that look. Astarion rips his gaze away to the indifferent night sky. Naomi’s face still burns behind his eyes, like vivid blots of color staining his sight after staring too long at his favorite star.

He snuffs out any chance she has to say something insufferable.

“I’ve wondered what the others might taste like, now that I’ve had you,” Astarion carries on dryly. “Only theoretically, of course. Take Karlach, for example. Her blood’s been aged in the hells. She’d be potent, like a fiery whiskey. Wyll must be something palatable. Perhaps a sugary cider. And Gale, his blood strikes me as something rich, refined. Like well-aged brandy.”

“Shadowheart has to taste at least a little like red wine,” Naomi muses. “She drinks enough of it.”

“Mm. She’s enigmatic. A vintage port on two legs.”

A smile steals its way back onto his lips. She’s been a good little bard, playing along with his game. Astarion angles a glance her way, letting his voice drop husky.

“And then, there’s the lovely Naomi Tavriel. A bouquet I’d know anywhere for the rest of my days.”

She blinks back at him, wary, but spellbound nonetheless.

“I could say she tastes of soft-crushed lavender and sharp, vibrant citrus. But I’d only be telling a thimble of the truth,” Astarion says in a rough-edged whisper. “Her blood sings. She is a tremble on the tongue. A current with sweetness so consuming, all that’s after can only be bitter.”

It works too well, this poetry in lieu of flattery. The twangy pitter-patter of her heartbeat gives her away, though her expression stays tamed. Her tongue darts out to wet the plump curve of her lower lip while he watches. Their gazes meet, and the daintiest pastel pink melts across her cheeks.

He only told a thimble of the truth, after all; Naomi’s blood in his mouth hardly painted the world in bitterness. On the contrary, it cast everything before in dull monochrome, and everything after in vivid, throbbing flavor. Possibility. Potential. Power. It all roared awake in his veins with only one taste.

His next words are brimming in nothing but honesty.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” he says wistfully, “to ever have enough of you.”

“Better,” Naomi says beneath her breath, before her eyes flutter shut.

Unbidden, Astarion’s eyes close, too. His delectable daydreams dissolve into plummeting darkness. Warmth envelopes him. When his eyes tear open again, he sees furling heat instead of misty starlight.

Astarion’s lungs burn in some old instinct for air as he breaks the surface of Naomi’s memory. Gasping, he bobs in water of brilliant, simmering turquoise. Salt burns his eyes. He blinks feverishly. The scent of fresh earth and moss turns in his nose.

His bare toes scrabble against the pebbled lakebed. Panic bubbles up in the back of his throat. He can’t swim. Not really. Not that he’s tried to, in the past two hundred or so years. He finds a solid foothold and stills, eyes sweeping his steam-kissed surroundings.

No reflection shimmers in the shallow water as clear as a mirror. Silver fish as thin as hairs dart past his ankles. A steady tremor ripples across the surface, tingling pleasantly against his submerged legs.

Reeds rustle behind him. Winged bugs flutter between, unbothered by his presence. Butterflies, he thinks, but then he frowns. Their wings are leathery. Bat-like, but beautiful in deep jewel tones of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. And it’s fungus they flit between, not grasses; it grows in narrow, perforated tubes of luminous yellow. The tiniest breeze plays the fronds like flutes.

Far from his safe haven in the shallows, a waterfall veils the cliffs in delicate silver. Astarion’s neck aches as he cranes back, following the stream to a split in the rocky ceiling and up, up, away into infinite darkness. Perhaps it tumbles down from the heavens themselves. Its roar could rival a dragon's.

Past the falls, the faint glimmer of blue torchlight catches his eye. If he squints, he can make out the rough shape of crystalline spires twined with indigo rock and veiny, black stalactites. A standard hangs from the stonework, set with a familiar symbol. Naomi said it was a temple. She used to wear the emblem of the dark dancer strung around her neck, before she gave her amulet of Eilistraee away to the hag.

A softer sound drifts through the pouring percussion of the falls. Music. It emanates from the temple, washing gently over his ears like a slant of sunlight.

Astarion’s eyelids grow heavy. Cool air, damp with mist, caresses his cheeks. He could happily stay here for hours, swirled in warmth, mesmerized by the drumming falls, ears peeled towards the faint tease of a fiddle. But a flurry of splashing on the nearby shore shatters his piece of peace.

Astarion whips his head around to see a storm of children bearing down on the lake. Water sloshes, frothy with their reckless abandon. A scrawny half-dozen drow, none older than a decade, blunder past him. Astarion grates out a bristling groan none of them seem to hear.

His attention latches to a little girl, white hair knotted atop her head, strings of it sticking wet against the angled ears she hasn’t quite grown into. She wades ahead of her comrades, jaw set, her lilac nose scrunched with a warrior’s determination.

He knows her, even without her freckles, or the birds tattooed on her cheek. It’s not so different from the way Naomi looked him over, fangs and all, before she shoved her way into his own memories.

Naomi leaves her friends behind in knee-deep depths. She swims on, striking out towards a splinter of radiance searing the blue water near-white. Sunlight, he realizes with a pinch of surprise. The tiniest, hairline slice of it.

“Touch it!” One of the children calls out, hands cupped to his mouth.

“I dare you!” Another shouts.

Snickers follow. “She’s too scared.”

“She’s not. Look -- look!”

Astarion tenses. Naomi stills, treading water just a few inches from that slash of sun. She reaches out a trembling hand. Light bleeds across her fingertips.

Bat-winged butterflies burst from the reeds. Naomi’s scream bounds off the stone. Astarion’s ears ring raw with it, even after the shriek cuts to crickets.

A sudden chill plunges him back to the present. Astarion shifts around a shiver, scowling. Rough bark rubs between his shoulder blades. The starlit summer evening in the forest feels tepid now. Not nearly so warm as the brilliant waters were.

“That was…breathtaking,” he mutters mournfully. “Until you broke it. What in all the hells was that wailing about?”

Naomi’s laugh is an easy one. “I thought it melted my skin. I’d never seen it that shade. I’d never seen myself in the sun at all.”

“My, my. We are birds of a feather, it seems. Though, your little venture didn’t result in you roasting,” Astarion says, lip curled. “It’s quite different, I promise you.”

“O-Of course,” Naomi stammers hastily. “But it was enough to keep me in the Underdark for some time.”

“How long did you choose to stay in the dark? I wouldn’t know what that luxury is like.”

“Well, I’m nearing a century and a quarter, and I only surfaced about eighteen months ago,” she says, toeing the dirt. “Strictly speaking, it was a choice to stay down there. But we don’t always realize what it is we’re choosing. Especially when we’ve never known any different. Especially when we’re afraid.”

Astarion swallows the sudden lump in his throat, gaze flitting down and away to his own feet. His hands itch, restless, until they find the stowed needle again and take once more to stitching. He barely has to glance at the hole in his shirt sleeve to pull it neatly closed with thread, but he does, anyway, just to have reason to look elsewhere.

“You’re not wrong,” he sighs, irritation relenting to weariness. “And a year and a half isn’t long in the light.”

It would be a mere drop in the bucket in his centuries of torment. Barely a ripple in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that could make up for the rest of it. But what a gift it would be, to have that much sunlight.

He should be so lucky.

“It’s not like there isn’t light down there at all,” she murmurs. “Just not much from the sun.”

“A vampire’s dream, indeed.” Astarion answers, hollow.

“When the freckles came, I thought I was dying, you know,” Naomi laughs again, but it sounds flimsy, like a board bent near breaking. “I wrote home and everything. Said my goodbyes. Felt like a fool once I figured it out.”

Astarion pauses his stitching, the corner of his mouth curving in spite of his envy. If she let out such a shriek from that little leak of light, he can only imagine the kind of caterwauling that came out of her when she was fully bathed in it for the first time.

His tentative smile comes with a strange twist of sympathy. That day, on the beach, with the sand seared white with high noon, and his own skin blessedly unburnt, Astarion had run for the shadows as if Cazador himself hounded his heels. He’d wanted to laugh. To retch. To cower. To dance. All at once.

“It’s a jarring change,” he says, glancing her way again. She’s pensieve. And staring quite intently at the needle poised between his fingers, dipping in and out of his sleeve.

“Lots of drow get sunsick,” she says quietly. “Some never get over it.”

“Some fare just fine, it seems. The sun suits you as well as the stars do, darling.”

Naomi’s eyes flicker to his. He wonders, with a sharp pinch beneath his ribs, what she sees when she says so earnestly, “Likewise, Astarion.”

Dismay sinks in his chest as she peels her eyes away to the trees and a new knot bends her brow. He loathes the weight of the feeling. Loathes, even more, that it struck all the harder for having caught him by surprise.

“You’re having a terrible time up here, aren't you?” he asks gently.

“It’s not a walk in the park down there, either,” she says flatly. “None of those other kids you saw with me ever saw the sun again. They didn’t live long enough to have a chance.”

Astarion’s heard how harsh the Underdark can be. The slice she showed him was brimming with beauty. And he knows well enough the cruelty of pretty things.

“But you thought it would be different,” he says. “That all of this would be different.”

“Ever since--” Naomi stops short, jaw clenching. “Well, something about all the undead, scheming devils, murderous githyanki, and hungry vampires is making it hard to sleep at night.”

“Sleep?” Astarion raises a brow. Something you don’t want to see in a trance? He wonders, but he doesn’t ask.

It’s another aversion they’re both familiar with.

“We’re all having a terrible time, Astarion,” she sighs, voice wrung raw. “We’ve been tadpoled, for fuck’s sake.”

“Speak for yourself. I happen to be flourishing. In no small part thanks to you.”

He shifts, ostensibly to stitch another hole he’s spied in his sleeve. But the motion lets their shoulders brush. Just the barest stroke of skin over skin. Her breath hitches softly enough, keener ears wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m grateful, you know,” he says just as softly.

Astarion’s needle sinks into the fabric again, pulling the gap closed. Naomi adjusts her seat against the tree. Oh sweet thing, he thinks, as her shoulder settles warm against his and stays that way. How long since you’ve been touched, if all it takes is just the one to have you hooked? He feels an odd strain of sadness alongside his swell of victory.

What a lucky thing she is, to know such sanctuary in her own body. How lucky she is, that he knows just the touch to make her feel holy in it.

Any good spell has three ingredients. She’s already succumbed to the somatic component. One touch started a thirst for more. She’d shared her blood, binding them in something material. All that’s left is to say the magic words.

Astarion toys with them in his mind, shuffling innuendos like a deck of cards. I could show you a much better time. Show you how grateful a hungry vampire can be. Help you sate your own hunger, so to speak. Don’t you think you deserve some fun too, darling? A little treat for my little treat.

Naomi clears her throat pointedly. “I don’t know you half as well as I should, to have been half as helpful as I’ve been.”

Oh, I was thinking we could get to know each other intimately--

“Tell me something about yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion stiffens. The magic of the moment expires, but he doesn’t mourn it.

“I won’t tell you about ‘home’,” he says curtly. “If you want to know about the Gate, ask Wyll, and he’ll recite half its history. But, after what happened with that awful Gur, I suppose you should know about Cazador.”

He tells her, sparsely, of his life when he still knew sunlight. The little he remembers fits in one mouthful. She interrupts to ask if he can still see that life in reverie.

“No, I can’t,” he answers sharply. “And I can’t see any of my prior lives, either. If I do manage to die, I won’t have another life after this. Arvandor doesn’t take souls sullied with undeath.”

That shuts her up for a good while. Arvandor doesn’t take drow, either. Kindred spirits thrice over, he thinks ruefully. Shunned by sunlight, sleep, and salvation.

He tells her of his untimely death at the hands of vagrants. Of Cazador’s Szarr’s too-perfect timing. The only choice he thought he had, and one he never would have made, if he could do it over again.

Most of all, he tells her of his tormentor. Astarion finds that once he’s started the telling, it all spills from his mouth with a feverish momentum. He speaks as if he’s running downhill; it has more to do with gravity, pulling him down from dizzying height, than any of his own volition. It falls out of him with the stony weight of inevitability.

He’s left with a familiar, noxious dread at the bottom of his belly, at the end of it all. He doesn’t look at her, sure he can’t stomach her pity after sloughing through that mountain of shit. She doesn’t say anything he thought she might.

Instead, she says, “You’re very good at that, you know.”

Astarion’s head jerks up to trace her gaze to his own hands, with the needle still fitted between his fingers. “I had to be,” he blurts without meaning to. He scowls darkly. “Hm. I do hope you were paying attention to my words as well as my hands. I won’t be repeating myself.”

Naomi’s expression hardens. He thinks of her as a little girl again, striking fearlessly into the unknown. Shrieking when it bit her. “If Cazador comes calling, he won’t find you alone, Astarion.”

A laugh punches from his lungs. “And what do you think you’re going to do about it, dear? If he wanted to, he’d kill everyone in this camp like that.” He snaps his fingers, teeth clenched.

Naomi studies him carefully. “I guess we’ll have to get creative, then. Or, at the very least, you’ll have good company on your way out. And a good last supper. You can feed from me when you need to, you know. As long as we talk about it first.”

Astarion flounders. “T-That sounds…eminently reasonable. And so very delicious.”

“Mm. I’ve heard from a reputable poet that I taste so good, nothing else does,” she says wryly.

Her eyes drift shut as she leans heavily against the tree they share. His shoulder takes some of the burden of her, too. Astarion allows it.

She’s been such a generous thing. And her warmth is a balm to the disquiet riled by that same generosity. Astarion’s stomach knots. Every sweet thing he’s known has been a bitter one, too. If not during, then after.

He rubs the needle between the pads of his fingers, staring out into the space between the trees while the black of night bleeds into morning blue. Birds take to shrill song and flapping among the branches. Except for the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat, his little bard stays quiet as the grave. Too quiet. He’s acutely aware of her hair, loose from her bun, trailing over his collar. Tickling like a feather to his neck.

She’s too soft. Too pretty to be anything but poison. Too sweet to be anything but bitter in the end. Astarion means to end it here, while it’s still the former. He’ll ply pleasure and loyalty from her another night.

He glances down.

“Oh.” He blinks, dumbfounded. “Oh no. No, no.”

Astarion goes rigid, throat thick. She’s asleep. At long last.

She twitches fitfully. It’s not a good sleep. Elves aren’t usually that good at sleeping at all, unless they’ve practiced like he has. But better she has bad sleep than none at all. Someone has to say things to the druid, Halsin, tomorrow. They’ll need their leader to lead.

And Astarion needs to finish the spell he started. She’ll need to be rested. Ready for him.

Once she settles, he’ll leave. She’ll never know the difference. Easy enough.

So he waits. He watches the wrinkle in her brow. The restless fussing of her legs. Glares at her gods awful shoes, steaked in dried blood and dirt. Glares at her pouty, purple face. Contemplates if her horrible footwear should be fed to fire or to wolves.

Gingerly, he leans forward just enough to rid her feet of said shoes. He throws them to the woods with a vehemence. She doesn’t stir even slightly. But he stays, with his body pulled taut as a bowstring, in case, any second, she might. So he can be gone before she bats her eyes open.

Astarion’s not sure how long he stares at the slow rise and fall of her chest, or the smush of her cheek against his steel-stiff shoulder. But it’s been enough time that when Gale’s shadow washes over him, Astarion has to squint when he looks up. Daylight and a seething wizard glare back.

“What?” Astarion hisses, wincing as stiffness prickles along his neck.

Gale’s eyes burn between Astarion and the still-sleeping Naomi. Gingerly, Astarion shirks free of her at last. He stands, dusting off his breeches. Gale unfurls the blanket he came bearing and tucks it to cover Naomi’s bare toes.

“Oh, let her be,” the vampire chides, as he makes for the cave and Gale stays rooted. “She’ll wake soon enough.”

“Perhaps someone should stay--”

“I can hear her pretty little heartbeat from inside the cave just as well as I heard your snoring from all the way out here.” Astarion sneers. “I’ll know the moment she wakes. Or if she finds her way into trouble again.”

It’s far too easy to pluck on Gale’s nerves. Far too much fun to stop. Reluctantly, the wizard falls into step beside Astarion, leaving their bard to her makeshift rest. As soon as she slips from sight, Gale’s lecture starts in earnest.

“If she chooses to help with your hunger, then so be it,” he fumes. “But after such a trying day as yesterday, I won’t stand idly by while you leech--”

“I kept my teeth to myself, thank you,” Astarion says blithely. “It was our fearless leader who came seeking my calming company, if you must know. Poor thing couldn’t trance all by her lonesome. Something a fellow elf can understand like others can’t.”

Gale isn’t going to have any of his own teeth left if he insists on grinding them so roughly. Astarion grins widely, letting the points of his fangs peek from his lips.

“Maybe,” Astarion croons, “she didn’t seek you out since you won’t shut up about ‘making transcendent love to Mystra’ for more than five minutes. You should really curb that habit, or your goddess will be the last lay you ever have, you know. No one wants to hear about how good your ex was.”

“Naomi’s a good person, Astarion,” Gale answers tersely. “And I'd wager she’s been through more than she’s letting on. If comfort is what she wants and what you’re offering, then by all means, make merry. But if you mean to take more than you give--”

Astarion barks a laugh, bracing a palm against his own chest. “Gods, Gale, really? You’ve come around on my thirst for blood, but it’s my more mundane hungers you have a problem with? Well, fret not. I’m a consummate lover.”

Gale flushes to a perfect, pained pink. Astarion snickers beneath his breath. He brushes past his mortified magician to peruse the loot they’d gathered from the goblins’ fortress.

“And besides,” Astarion drawls devilishly, “all we did was talk. All night long. No wonder she’s so tired.”

“Is there something in particular you’re scavenging for?” Gale grumbles.

Astarion paws through the crates, past crusted chainmail, crude clubs, and flimsy maces. Finally, he finds his prize.

“She needs shoes. These will do nicely.”

They’re sturdy, at least. What the plain leather boots lack in character, they make up for in not falling apart. And they should actually fit her. An improvement for Naomi, to be sure. But Astarion can do better.

He takes them back to his tent and sets them aside while he roots through his stash of thread. Green isn’t her color. Black would blend too close to the dark shade of the shoes. Red, of course, looks lovely on her but--

Astarion stills, turning over a spool of blue. It isn’t the same vivid shade as the lake she showed him. But it’s bright like a sunlit sky. Astarion takes a needle in hand, and takes to stitching sharp-tipped swirls, reminiscent of waves, into the leather.

When he’s done, she’s still asleep. She stiffens, suddenly, at his approach, groaning her displeasure. Astarion freezes.

He’s gone before she bats her eyes open. The grass is still flat where he sat beside her before, and where the boots now rest in his stead.

A/N: I truly do have nothing against Gale, but it’s just too much fun to have Astarion harass him, hehe.

I’ll tease that for those of you chomping at the bit for the ‘eventual smut’ tag to come to fruition. You won’t have to wait much longer ;)

If you want something spicy to keep you sated in the meantime, I did recently post a smutty Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride evil power couple one-shot called “Blood in the Mortar”. I’ve also got a multichapter in the works for them that I intend to get drafted further ahead on before sharing.

I love each and every one of you who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. Seriously means so much to know I’m not writing in a vacuum. I appreciate you all, and hope life is being kind to you!

Divider credit to @cafekitsune.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #naomi tavriel #midnight chimes #my writing

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pedropascalspolygraphtest · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller x Reader- After The End Of The World

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Female reader

Episode 2 spoilers ahead!

The supplies would run out soon, and you were no closer to Wyoming than you’d all been the hours before.

You’d spent most of the afternoon driving in loops looking for ways out- the roads had been blocked through with cars, and keeping away from cities was only wise. Finally, late in the evening, Joel had called it a night- no sense driving around in the dark. You’d set up camp in an abandoned building, and Ellie had fallen asleep instantly, leaving you and Joel to sort out whatever remained of your belongings.

Joel sighed, and rubbed his forehead like he always did when he was faced with a problem he couldn’t tell anyone else about. He’d done it before too, it was his tell, something you’d begun to pick up on.

Are you trying to rub the wrinkles away? you’d joked, and he’d frowned and turned away. Not before you caught the hint of a smile; but he would never admit it.

It wasn’t that he hated who who he was with. He’d come to a begrudging place of affection as far as Ellie was concerned, his wayward cargo with her potty-mouth and her knife and her endless prattle. He’d told her to zip it twice the night before, to no avail. She’d gone on and on about what she’d heard about places to eat before the world had ended, and what a McDonalds was, and was it true there were secret sauces that nobody could ever reveal the recipe to on pain of death?

He’d laughed then, and looked over at you; you, Ellie’s guardian, the only person she trusted, sent by Marlene to keep an eye on her because she had too little faith in Joel and Tess let her go her unaccompanied. Your only job was to keep Ellie alive, Marlene had told Joel, even if you lost your own life in the process. Joel had hated you when you’d first set out with them; cursed you out under his breath, gave you looks that could turn water to ice. Slowly, after Tess’s death, the two of you had found an understanding, based on one simple fact— both of you were here only to keep Ellie safe, no matter what.

And lately, you realized, it had begun to feel like a friendship; you two would raise your eyebrows companionably when Ellie went on one of her spiels about what she knew about life-before, joke as you cooked meals, argue about the music in the car— you’d only been seven when the outbreak begun, but you’d had your favorite songs at that age already, songs your parents had played in the car as they drove you to school, singing along.

Not to mention, the tiny fact that you’d been falling for Joel.

It hadn’t happened all at once, of course. You’d seen him around long before he was tasked with transporting Ellie— a tall man with flinty eyes, his mouth never too far from a frown. He’d been trading with Marlene for years, always staying just as long as necessary, never making eye contact with anyone except her. You’d thought him handsome; certainly handsomer than any of the Fireflies, but it was over the course of your journey that you’d begun to really see him—the softness of his mouth as he hummed along to the old cassette tapes Ellie fished out from between the seats. The big, callused hands on his gun. The way he’d dived to cover you, putting himself in the line of direct gunfire, when you’d been grazed by a stray bullet two days ago.

“Are we headed north again tomorrow?” you asked to make conversation. You kept your voice low, to avoid waking Ellie up. “I think there’s a route that loops around one of the smaller towns. There might be raiders, but the roads will likely be clear—”

Joel didn’t look up from stacking what was left of the canned food.

“Or we could spend tomorrow looking around the houses nearby,” you offered. “I don’t think there’s anybody around for miles, and if we try I think we might find something we can use—”

“And risk getting bitten, which’ll be really fuckin’ likely?” Joel snapped without turning around. “Abandoned homes are nearly always—Jesus. Did the Fireflies teach you nothing?”

You went quiet then, hurt. Joel sighed, and put down the can to look at you.

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry.” He came over to sit beside you, leaning his head against the wall. “I didn’t mean for it to come out— come out like that.”

You didn’t reply, and shrugged.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He looked over at you, his brown eyes suddenly clouded with regret.

“I know. And I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just…” He rubbed his forehead again. “I’ve been on edge about getting to fuckin’ Wyoming for so long, and with you getting shot—”

“Grazed.”

“Shot.” He gestured to your thigh. “How is it now?”

“Not too bad. I would show you, but—” your face suddenly went red and you realized what you’d been about to say. But I’d have to take off what I’m wearing.

Not that Joel hadn’t seen it all before. He’d been with Tess, and no doubt, many women before that— and you couldn’t deny you hadn’t thought about it yourself. What it would feel like to have his hands cup your breasts, his lips taste your neck. You’d always looked away guiltily— what would he do, if he knew you were thinking these things?

But Joel had seen you too— he’d bandaged up your thigh when it had happened, his fingers making quick work of it. It had been a flesh wound, nothing worse, but his skin had been warm against yours, and his grip had been firm.

“You should clean it.” He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. “You can do it yourself, if you know how. Or I can…” he swallowed, and suddenly, you sensed an undercurrent of something that he wasn’t saying. “Or I can do it.”

You shrugged, trying your hardest to stay nonchalant.

“Those supplies are in the next room,” you said. You’d left them there, like an idiot, when you’d gone to explore.

Joel said nothing, and helped you up wordlessly. With his support, you limped over to the adjoining room— a room which contained, you realized in embarrassment, a bed.

“Okay,” you said, and winced as you leaned against what was left of the mattress. “I’ll just—”

“Here.” Joel leaned over. His fingers touched the waistband of your torn cargo pants. “It’ll go easier if I do it.”

You nodded in affirmation, and Joel hooked his fingers under the waistband, careful not to touch too much, and pushed your pants down your legs. He stopped when they went past your thighs, and you shook your head.

“Take them off. The snaps hurt my skin.”

He continued— was his breathing suddenly heavier, or were you imagining it?— and let your pants pool on the floor. The bandage had soaked through; Joel was right. It needed to be cleaned, and badly.

Slowly, he began pulling off the bandage to clean the surface beneath. You watched him as he worked, aware of the pain, but even more aware how warm his fingers were on your thigh, how close they were to your core, and how all you wore now was a thin pair of cotton underwear that would soon be soaked with your juices. It embarrassed you and excited you at the same time, knowing he’d see how much you wanted him. It went on forever, and you could swear he smelled the scent of your longing when—

“Done,” he said at last, his voice low, gruff. He pulled away, barely an inch. “I’ll-” his voice broke off. “I’ll take a look at it again tomorrow.” He turned away— but you caught a telltale bulge at his front, hard against the fabric of his pants.

He wanted you too.

“Joel.” He looked up, brown eyes meeting yours. You sat up, slowly, and without breaking eye contact, began to pull off your tattered old tshirt. “I want you to look at me.” He breathed in sharply when he saw your chest, breasts barely contained in an old black bra. His eyes dipped to meet them hungrily as you undid the clasp and let your breasts free, nipples peaked at the thought of him, his eyes, his mouth.

“Y/N, I-” he began, but you shook your head. Slowly, you took his hand, and guided it to the center of his panties, showing him your wetness, showing him just how much you needed him.

And that was all Joel needed to let himself free. With a lurch he let his mouth meet yours, and your tongues collided in a fiery kiss. His lips were rough against yours, his beard scratching your cheek. His fingers made quick work of the panties, pulling them down and discarding them to the ground.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He breathed as he saw all of you for the first time, swollen and ready for him. “Fuck.”

His mouth found your nipple, wrapping around it as his fingers worked at your core. In the moment, he left an enormous red mark on your neck— a mark you knew you’d have to hide under layers of clothes the next day.

He bent down to push his face between your legs, but you shook your head.

“Later.” You panted. “Now, I need you.”

He sat up, complying. Slowly, he guided his impressive length into you, filling you up completely, his heat against yours. He was huge, bigger than any of the men you’d had back in Boston. And on the first motion of his hips, you knew he was better too; rougher, more experienced. He took what he wanted.

“You’re so tight.” He groaned. “You’re gonna have me in a bad way, Y/N.”

He moved inside you, every stroke sending waves of pleasure though you. And when you went over the edge, he came with you, biting your shoulder as he let his seed trickle over your stomach.

He rolled off you with a groan, and you covered his mouth with a kiss.

“I want you to do this again tomorrow.” You gave him a wink. “Inspect my.. wounds.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Tomorrow?” He gave you a devilish grin as he moved down to push his face between your legs. “I’m a man who likes to get things done as soon as he can.” He licked the inside of your thigh, his tongue sending a shiver through you. “And those wounds need inspecting right about now.”

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afewproblems · 1 year

Text

Warm my Cold and Tired Heart (Part Three)

Part One and Part Two

After that night, it’s as though Eddie has taken it upon himself to ensure that Steve is never alone, he's just always…there?

The kids want ice cream on a random Saturday? Eddie is there to tag along. The kids D&D matches of course go without saying, Eddie had even gone so far as to dust off an old character to join the party and let Will run a campaign for old times sake.

Robin drops by with the classifieds for the pair of them to peruse, Eddie invites himself along and shows up later with a six pack and a story of his own experience for nearly every type of listing that Robin has circled.

When Eddie leaves Robin whirls around slapping Steve's arms with wild hands, Steve yelps and raises his own to defend his vulnerable face, "Robin! What the F--"

"You like him!" She hisses in Steve's face, "when were you going to tell me?"

Steve stills, which only seems to fuel Robin's indignation and she tosses her hands in the air above her head and stands up.

He feels so much smaller as she paces back and forth in front of him, rambling out a list, something to do with music taste, and numbering off her fingers with each point, the words trail off as Steve bends forward with his face in his hands.

"Robin," he says through his fingers as she walks towards him. She kneels in front of him, peering into his hidden face.

He can't, saying it out loud, right now, it's too raw, too real. Eddie is too nice…

And Steve? Well, it doesn't matter.

Robin reaches out and gently peels back his hands, keeping hold of them in her small ones. Her eyes linger on his own before she scowls briefly and sighs.

"Okay, okay dingus," Robin says softly as she squeezes his hands, "but we are going to talk about this".

It comes out as more of a question which makes Steve grin at the absurdity of it all, he's reduced Robin, wonderful, brash Robin to this quiet uncertain person kneeling in front of him.

And he just can't do that to her.

Steve takes a deep breath through his mouth and releases it slowly through his nose, it helps with the churning of his stomach and the anxious racing of his heart.

"No, no its okay Rob, we can, I can, talk about it," he hesitates and rubs a hand roughly over his mouth, "not really much to talk about though, it's stupid and it'll go away".

Robin tilts her head and narrows her eyes at him, "What does that mean?" She asks, as she crosses her arms loosely, her posture seems relaxed but she can't hide the tension in her shoulders.

"It'll go away, I don't, it doesn't matter Robin, really," Steve grits out, "Eddie is just…"

"Just what?"

Too funny, too sarcastic, a better friend to the kids, a good listener, always knows how to cut the tension with a joke.

Too good for Steve. Just like everyone else.

"Just a crush Rob, and those don't mean anything okay, maybe it's not even a crush, maybe it's just like," he fits his hands together, intertwining his fingers, the words stop short though as Robin's eyebrow raises.

Steve sighs and shakes his head, "I don't know what to do Robbie," he whispers and something in his tone softens the expression on her face.

"Well, I can't say how helpful my advice on a 'non-crush' will be," Robin hums, throwing up exaggerated finger quotes as she continues, "but, I've been told I have the potential to be an excellent listener if you just want to talk or vent or whatever".

Steve laughs and reaches out to push her face gently away with his one hand, the other rises to catch her own flailing arms as she squawks and valiantly attempts to defend herself.

They dissolve into thrown elbows and giggles, Robin fights dirty, pulling the back of Steve's shirt over his head, Steve concedes as they both attempt to catch their breath on the floor of the Harrington living-room.

"Thanks Robbie," Steve mumbles after he removes the edge of his shirt from his head, he ruffles a hand through his staticy locks and grins widely at his best friend.

Robin smiles back and knocks a gentle fist into his shoulder, "anytime doofus".

Eddie's presence continues unimpeded, Steve both loves and hates it.

He loves being around Eddie, his energy is infectious and never fails to make Steve smile.

But, a small vicious voice never fails to creep in, just as an evening ends or they part ways to drop off the kids, a voice that reminds Steve, you don't deserve nice things, nice things never stay nice for long.

It was the Arcade this time around, Eddie offered his van to cart the kids all at once while Jonathan brought Will, El, and Max in the Buyers station wagon. Steve was surprised when the invitation extended to him as well.

“It wouldn’t be the same without you Stevie, plus if Lucas thinks I’m going to be able to help with the hoops shooter then he’s dreamin’,” Eddie says with his trademark dimpled grin, the one that fills Steve’s gut with warmth at the sight, he laughs and knocks into Eddie’s shoulder with his own.

“Such a hardship, what would you do without me I wonder,” Steve says with a smirk.

It's easy today, he’d managed to get a good six hours of sleep the night before and Dustin’s mother, Claudia, had even sent Steve home from their last hangout with a green bean casserole - which he’d immediately stuffed into the freezer to make it last longer. Green beans or not, it was a home cooked meal Steve didn’t have to make himself. He tried not to think about the ever expanding empty spaces in his pantry.

As soon as they pulled into the parking lot the kids tear out of the van, their voices melding with the chorus of laughter and soft top forties mix trailing out from the open doors of the arcade. Steve smiles at the joyful laugh that bursts from Eddie at the kids' antics. It’s nice to hear that laugh more and more Steve finds.

Lucas hangs back at the van watching his friends walk through the doors, he puts his hands in his hoodie pockets and leans back against the vehicle.

“Lucas, you’re not heading in?” Steve says as he opens the passenger door and steps out, Eddie is not too far behind him as he pulls a cigarette out of his vest pocket and brings a silver zippo to his lips.

“I’m waiting for Max, she still needs help sometimes getting out of cars,” Lucas says with a shrug, “would’ve been easier if she had just come with us”. The words come out bitter but soft, he crosses his arms and leans back against the van heavily, kicking a rock by his foot with more force than necessary.

Steve’s eyes dart from Eddie and back to Lucas, the kid can certainly be cagey and hot headed when he wants to be, almost giving Mike a run for his money, but Steve hasn’t seen this side of Lucas in awhile.

“Well,” Steve says slowly, stepping into Lucas’s space and leaning against the same door of the van, “we definitely didn’t have enough room for all of us to go in Eddie’s van, and I know that Max and El wanted some time to catch up with each other,” he tries to catch Lucas’s eye but his face remains steadfastly pointed towards the ground and the rock the now lay out of reach.

Steve spots the Buyers car heading down the road, closer and closer towards the parking lot, he tilts his head towards the oncoming car, “You have about thirty seconds to decide if you want to be a shit about it, or if you want to spend a nice day with your girlfriend”.

Lucas rolls his eyes and throws his shoulders away from the van, his face twists into a fierce glare at Steve, “I’m not being a shit,” he snarls, his fingers curling into fists.

Steve raises his hands in front of him, palms up, “Lucas, relax, you can be mad but you can’t take it out on other people, so fifteen seconds, what’s it gonna be?”

All at once the fight drains out of the kid, his shoulders droop as though the taught strings holding him up have been severed. He nods, his head bowed, refusing to make eye contact.

Steve sighs, he runs a hand through his hair and quick as a whip uses his pointer finger to poke Lucas’s chest before bringing the same finger up to catch his nose, the action startles a laugh out of the kid.

“Better?” Steve says quietly as Jonathan pulls into the space across from them, El waves from the backseat with a jubilant expression on her face, Will smiles through the windshield and waves as well, although it's a more sedate wave than his sister. Jonathan gets out of the car and heads to the back to open the door for Max on the driver's side.

“Thanks Steve,” Lucas says quietly as he takes off to help Jonathan with Max. The doctors said she would not need crutches or a wheelchair long term but she still has a long road to recovery ahead of her mobility and the loss of ninety percent of her vision. Max needed as many people in her corner as she could get.

“You’re really good with them,” a voice in his ear says lightly, he jumps at the sudden proximity of Eddie at his shoulder, “handled that like a champ man”.

Steve shrugs and turns away from the others. Eddie drops the nearly finished cigarette and snuffs out the faint embers with his shoe; the smell of smoke curls around him like a cat, clinging to his wild hair and the jean fabric of his vest. It isn’t necessarily even a nice smell, but it’s synonymous with Eddie, and Steve can’t help but breathe in deeply when Eddie steps back into his space.

“Nah, that was easy, you want a real challenge you should try getting Mike to agree to anything you say,” Steve huffed with a small laugh, “you could tell him that the the sky was an amazing shade of blue and he’d be over here insisting it was actually purple and you were a moron”.

Eddie cackles and swings an arm out to wrap around Steve’s shoulder in a tight side hug that leaves him breathless, a bubble of nervous laughter rolls out of Steve, he can feel his ears and cheeks slowly heat at the sudden touch.

“You’re hiding a genuine sense of humour under all that hair Stevie,” Eddie says as he reaches up to card the fingers of his free hand through Steve’s hair.

The flush running over Steve’s ears and cheeks lights a trail of pink down his neck towards his chest, this was…new?

Eddie had certainly been physical before, from high fives, to play-fighting with Dustin, to doling out hugs after he had finally woken up at the hospital; but this was different. His hands were one of the more expressive parts of Eddie, he gestured wildly as he spoke, letting the frenetic energy ping from limb to limb when he was particularly excited about something.

They were small events, something that wouldn’t even register if Robin or even Dustin had done it, a hand on the small of his back, fingers in his hair --well maybe Steve would be hard pressed to let either of those two touch his hair like that but…this was Eddie.

“Hey,” he squawks, batting Eddie’s hands away and ducking his face to hide the flames that have seemingly engulfed his entire being as Jonathan and the kids make their way closer to the pair of them, “I’m plenty funny, my wit is just wasted on the plebeians around me most of the time”.

“Plebeian? Don’t hurt yourself there Harrington, don’t you usually work within a two syllable maximum?” Eddie crows with a smirk, his brown eyes crinkle at the corners as the dimples reveal themselves, he ducks away from the shove Steve sends his way.

“Shut up, I know lots of words,” Steve grumbles, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah like, You-Are-A-Dork,” Max calls out, counting off on each finger with a shit-eating grin. The kids and Jonathan walk slowly to give Max just a bit more time to catch up with the crutches. Lucas walks beside and just ahead of her, looking ready to catch her each time her feet catch on a loose rock on the asphalt.

“Everybody’s against me,” Steve huffs as Eddie cackles and Jonathan grins with an exasperated shake of his head.

El waves at something behind them and takes off, skipping across the parking lot, Mike appears at the main entrance hollering at everyone to ‘hurry-the-hell-up!’ or the best games would be taken.

Steve rolls his eyes.

They were at the arcade…on a Saturday…and with it being one of the few places on mainstreet that had suffered minimal damage during the near-apocalypse - the place was always packed.

Will jogs ahead as well, though he stops momentarily to wait for Lucas and Max.

“Oh you heard him,” Max grumbles, she adjusts the crutches under her armpits and swings them forward to continue, “All the best games will be gone, well that would just be the worst thing that could ever happen to us. Oh wait”.

Lucas and Will laugh as the three of them follow after El and Mike, disappearing through the doors.

“I don’t know how someone so small can be so sarcastic,” Jonathan says, the words soft and smooth as he leans in conspiratorially, “your turn Harrington”.

Steve snorts and tries to ignore the knot of anxiety that tightens in his chest. Things have been okay with Jonathan --they aren’t unfriendly with each other, especially now after everything they’ve all been through, but they aren’t exactly close.

It was certainly better than getting his face smashed in though, he’d take awkward small talk over a back alley brawl any day.

“Buyers,” Eddie says, lifting his hand into a high five that Jonathan slowly returns, a bewildered expression on his face, “taking over as chauffeur for Stevie over here?”

Eddie brings an arm around Steve’s neck, tilting his whole torso down and throwing him off balance with the sudden change. Steve barks out a laugh that sounds vaguely like a yelp and grins widely as he is pulled closer into Eddie - nearly tucked into his side.

The fading cigarette smoke clings to Eddie’s hair and denim vest, it mingles with something spicy that makes Steve want to pull closer and shove his nose behind Eddie’s ear.

“Yeah, uh it's fine,” Jonathan says, the words are mild but the tone is strange, Steve freezes and shifts to stand up straight, mourning the loss of warmth from Eddie’s arm as it drops to let him go easily.

“I just have a shift tonight,”Jonathan continues, clearing his throat as he speaks, “so as long as you guys are still okay to hang with the kids for their game, my mom’s working and Hopper’s going out with Callahan tonight so,” his eyes move from Steve’s face to Eddie’s and back again, a small furrow grows between his brows as he scans Steve a second time.

“Hey, Harrington and I got it, don’t we big boy?” Eddie says with a wolfish grin, knocking his shoulder into Steve's own.

Steve freezes at the words, just like the first time, and fights the wild grin that itches to spread over his face.

Jonathan's eyes narrow slightly, flicking back and forth between Steve and Eddie. They linger on Steve for a moment before he shrugs, dropping his hands into his jeans jacket pockets.

"That's fine with me," Jonathan hums in his soft voice, "I mean between the two of you I'm sure they'll survive," Jonathan laughs as Eddie squawks and claps a hand to his own chest, the picture of indignation.

"How dare you Byers," Eddie hisses as he steps away and places his other hand against his forehead, "I can't believe this, are we going to take that Stevie?" Eddie says, pitching his voice in mock despair.

Before he can stop it, a thought blooms in his mind, spreading like ink through water.

'Oh…I love you,'

It's different than what he had felt for Nancy, than what he had felt for Robin, it's softer than before. Like the embers from a fire warming him from within. It should be scary, but it's not.

For the first time in awhile Steve feels comfortable.

"No way man," Steve says with a wry smile, "between the two of us, we can keep them alive until Max and El change their minds and then, we're done for."

Jonathan laughs brightly and taps his finger against his nose, Eddie huffs but he's still smiling broadly.

They can handle tonight.

***

Steve ascends the stairs from the basement two at a time, balancing empty cans of pop from the kids' latest D&D session in his arms, he smiles lightly at the chorus of laughter that trails after him and pushes the door to the main floor open.

Warm light hits his face as he crosses the living room of the Byers-Hopper temporary household, he steps deliberately into the plush high-pile area rug and wiggles his toes into the fibres for just a moment, everything about this home screams comfort, softness - it’s everything his own empty staged house isn’t. The pillows are mismatched and nearing threadbare, the recliner in the corner, covered in corduroy patches and a permanent divot in the middle where Hopper spends his evenings with Joyce and the kids.

This is home, this is safe.

Steve sighs and continues towards the closed door of the kitchen before hushed voices catch his attention, through the serving hatch two voices trickle into the living room alongside the brighter white fluorescent light that pools on the carpeted floor and his socked feet.

“I’m just saying--”

“I got it Buyers, ‘be careful’”

Eddie’s voice takes on a syrupy quality, fake and condescending to Jonathan, Steve frowns, the elder Buyers must have been back early from his shift at the pizza place on the far side of town.

“I mean it Munson, just be careful with Steve, I’ve seen the way he’s been looking at you--”

“Jesus,” Eddie growls, the syrup in his tone dissipates with the sudden heat flooding his words, “I got it under control, relax man.”

Steve swallows, not daring to breathe, why would Eddie need to be careful around him? Why would Jonathan be warning Eddie about him, weren’t they past all that?

Granted, it's always easier for the person who made the mistakes to want to move on from them, put a bandaid on and pretend everything is normal, of course Jonathan isn’t over it.

How could he be, it wasn’t as though they had ever really talked about it, the cruel words that Steve had thrown in his face, the rumours fueled by anger and hurt that he had spread with the help of Tommy and Carol.

Steve thinks of Jonathan and Will now, how Jon had given the kid a quick hug earlier in the afternoon before he had left for work, how he had let one arm travel up so he could cup Will’s head to quickly ruffle his hair - but this had distracted Will for long enough to give him one last squeeze.

If there was something in his life that Steve wished he could undue, that he could take back, it would be the rumour that Jonathan had killed Will himself.

Jonathan was right.

He was right to warn Eddie, to let him know about who Steve really was, what he was capable of.

Steve swallows past the lump that begins to solidify in his throat. He stands for just a moment longer, still awkwardly holding the empty cans he collected from the kids. He breathes in once, twice, before turning on his heel and heading for the front door.

Jonathan was home now, as was Eddie, it wasn’t as though the kids would be alone at this point.

Steve knows Joyce will be annoyed with him for leaving, especially without saying goodbye to her or the kids, but he just can’t be in there anymore. Not where he doesn’t belong.

Steve unlatches the front door and lets it close behind him with a soft snick. He places the cans gently on the step, behind the pillar so the wind wouldn’t take the empty aluminium and toss them around the yard, and that’s when he remembers.

“Of-fucking-course,” he hisses with a shudder, they had all come with Eddie. Steve’s car had been left with Wayne two days earlier, having finally been convinced by Robin and Eddie to let him take a look at it.

Leaving him effectively stranded, useless, without wheels.

Steve shiveres as a particularly rough wind tears over the gravel driveway, a hint of moisture in the cool spring breeze threatens as droplets hit sporadically across his face and the thin grey bomber jacket he left the house in earlier that day.

Steve turns back to the house for a moment, soft light streams through the gaps in the curtains illuminating half of his face in the dark of their driveway.

He turns and walks down the remaining length of the driveway until the last sliver of light illuminating his figure disappears, allowing him to be swallowed by the shadowy lane.

Steve zips up his jacket, letting the zipper nearly pinch the skin of his neck in his haste to shut out the cold. He reaches up to cup his ears, cursing the wind as it picks up around him. Steve hadn’t bothered with a hat earlier, content to ride in the warmth of Eddie’s van with the kids, listening to their excited buzz around Will and his new adventure he had planned with Eddie’s advice.

It was better this way, he should have stuck to what he knew, hung back more rather than let himself be coddled and sucked into this strange family he had found himself in.

He’d let himself forget, allowed himself to want too much and hope. Steve swallowed against the tightening feeling in his throat, he’d still have Robin, and Dustin of course. But this was always a temporary thing, and now that it was over…

‘Snap out of it,’ he thinks to himself in a voice that sounds, once again, eerily like Robin, ‘a pity party isn’t going to make any of this better. Just go home and go to bed, nothing good ever happens after 11:00PM’. He shakes himself roughly, though it turns into a full body shiver as a biting wind collides with him, sending Steve stumbling into a gravel patch, his shoe slides with the rocks pitching his legs forward and out from under him.

He careens to the asphalt, turning just in time to let his shoulder hit the ground first rather than his head --he didn’t need another concussion on top of everything else.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, the lump in his throat pulls on the single syllable, drawing it out into a moan.

Headlights from an oncoming truck on the other side of the highway illuminate his position on the road, Steve manages to roll to his knees, grimacing at the pinch of gravel that stick to his jeans and hands as he tries to stand. His ankle throbs, as does his shoulder from the impact.

“Harrington? Steve?” a familiar voice calls out, the car turns out to be Hopper’s pickup, the voice belongs to Hopper.

Hopper, who has exited the vehicle and approaches Steve from the side, slowly as one would a wild animal.

“You hurt kid?” Hopper asks, in a voice Steve would never have associated with the gruff man in a million years - and certainly not directed his way, it’s soft and gentle -- his El voice, his Will voice, Joyce calls it..

“No,” Steve mumbles brushing off his pants, releasing the dust and gravel that remained from his fall, “I’m good Hop,”

Hopper looks down the road, down in the direction of the Buyers house before he turns his attention back to Steve, his blue eyes scanning his face reminding Steve of just who he was talking to.

“Yeah,” Hopper sighs out, his moustache twitches as he quirks his mouth to the side, “normally I don’t appreciate someone lying to my face like that, but I think I’ll let it go for tonight, you look like you need a bit of a break, huh kid?”

Steve lowers his gaze to the ground before shrugging, he shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his mouth firmly shut.

Hopper sighs again, for a moment Steve thinks he’ll turn around entirely, get back into the car and leave him there.

“Get in the truck Steve,” Hopper grunts at him as he steps forward to offer a large hand for Steve to take.

He grabs it reluctantly and slowly gets to his feet with a small hiss of pain, his ankle protests slightly from the strain.

Steve limps over to the passenger door, waving off Hopper as he tries to walk him around the vehicle, he's certainly had worse than road rash, this is nothing.

It's tense inside the vehicle as Steve shuts the door and buckles himself in, he brushes his hands against his dusty jeans and grimaces as additional gravel and grit comes away.

Hopper keeps glancing at him while Steve stares out the passenger window, his forehead placed against the cool glass.

“So," Hopper says after clearing his throat abruptly, "you wanna tell me why you left the kids early?”

“I didn’t leave them alone," Steve blurts out defensively, as he sits up properly, "Jonathan is there, and so is Eddie--”

“You’re not in trouble Steve, relax, I know you wouldn’t have just left them alone, you’re not that kind of kid".

“Not anymore,” Steve mutters quietly. He can feel eyes on him again but Steve tilts his head away once more to stare resolutely out the window, not daring to make eye contact.

Hopper turns his gaze back to the road, he seems to chew on the words he wants to say before thinking better of it.

Hopper clears his throat again, “Look, I’m not the best person to talk to about,” he gestures with one hand and a circular motion towards his chest, his other hand remains resolutely on the steering wheel, “feelings or hard shit like that but you know you can come to any one of us about what you’re going through alright?”

“Joyce is better at this,” Hopper says in that soft voice again, “but we’re here kid? I know you’re folks aren’t like that for you but we are, we can be, if you want?”

“It's fine Hop--”

“Is it Steve?" Hopper cuts across him, his voice climbs in volume, "The kids are worried about you, Wayne told us about the house--”

“That's none of your business," Steve hisses, horrified by the traitorous heat and painful sting behind his eyes, "and since when do you guys talk to each other?”

Hopper says nothing for a moment, but his large hands grip the steering wheel with white knuckles and Steve tries not to panic.

“So it's true then?” Hopper grinds out eventually, he shakes his head and Steve's stomach drops as shame curdles in his stomach.

“So what if it is?”

“Dammit Steve," Hopper shouts, throwing his right hand against the steering wheel with a crack, "Why haven’t you told anyone what is going on with you? What are you going to do if it sells?”

The crack of the hand against the steering wheel is the last straw, Steve grapples with his seatbelt buckle and pulls at the fabric running across his chest, it's too much.

“Let me out," Steve says harshly, "I’ll walk the rest of the way".

“What? No, what is the matter with you," Hopper's voice climbs even higher, "I’m trying to--”

But Steve isn’t listening any more, his heart pounds to the words, ‘Get-Out, Get-Out’, that resonate over and over inside his head, he unbuckles himself clumsily and flings open the door before jumping out.

Hopper, realizing what is happening, slows down just enough that the impact Steve's feet make against the pavement does nothing to slow his movement as he takes off down the residential road, once again putting his track skills to the test.

Steve ignores Hopper's voice as he throws himself down the sidewalk, one foot in front of the other, running like the devil and the gaping maw of Hell are hot on his heels.

Steve doesn’t look back.

He had never really liked the track team, or the sport that much, swimming and basketball had been easier to get into, easier to lose himself in the movement or the plays the coach would give them.

But track, running, always left his mind to wander, and that was never a good thing.

It was too much, the house, the nightmares, the kids were pulling away, Robin was busy with her own life, Nancy and Jonathan had come back together like nothing had ever happened, Eddie had healed and put himself back together so easily.

And Steve was stuck. In danger of being left behind if he wasn’t careful. It would happen again, just like his parents had abandoned him there in Hawkins, these people he had come to think of as family, would eventually leave him too.

There are tears pouring down his face by the time he stumbles home, his lungs burn and the ankle he had most certainly twisted could no longer support his full weight. He limps the rest of the way, nearly collapsing up the steps to his front door.

Steve pulls his keys out of his back pants pocket with shaking hands and bites down a sharp breath that catches wetly against his tongue. He runs his hand over his face, under his nose from his knuckle to the crook of his arm to catch all the snot and tears that had gathered there, pitiful, gross, get it together Harrington, he thinks lowly.

He shoves the key into the lock roughly and steps into the entryway before closing the door behind him and locking the deadbolt.

As the door closes, it’s as though the other shoe finally drops. The deadbolt slides into place, sealing the entryway behind him, and Steve Harrington falls apart.

Part Four - Final Part Up!

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things season 4 au #eddie lives #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt steve harrington #bisexual steve harrington #steve harrington has trauma #let steve harrington cry #eddie munson is a sweetheart #stranger things fanfiction #afewproblems writes #part three #slowburn #steve x eddie #platonic soulmates stobin #robin buckley is a good friend

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sparring-hyena · 5 months

Note

Hi great to see you active again. If you are up for a prompt can i ask Mc and Becca's first kiss. The time is during The Freshmen Book 1 and they shares a dance away from everyone where they shared the kiss

it happens at a party. an afterparty, technically, although Becca doubts the distinction matters much. it's an afterparty for the formal hosted by some sorority that's technically supposed to be a sister sorority to the Kappas.

although Greek life and technicalities don't matter too much to her now. not when she's got a drink in hand, cheap tequila humming through her veins, and a dress that makes her look good. she gets lost in the beat of the music and swell of people around her. someone bumps her. some of her drink sloshes over the edge of her red solo cup. she doesn't care.

she spins around to face the girl that bumped her. she smiles and throws her arms over her shoulders and screams along to the lyrics of a song she hasn't listened to in years. it's a pretty perfect way to end the quarter. so perfect in fact that Becca doesn't even think about the hangover she'll probably be nursing tomorrow.

the girl she's dancing with leans in close to say something in Becca's ear, but she can't hear it over the music.

"i can't hear you," Becca shouts.

the girl smiles, something sort of shy but also confident in a way, like she knows exactly what she's trying to do. the girl's hand drops a little lower on her back and then it clicks in Becca's head. she leans closer too with a smirk on her face.

this could be a distraction. and the girl is vaguely familiar. someone she's seen in some of her econ classes. not a total stranger but also not someone she's likely to run into again.

so it's stupid, really, that her mind jumps to Alex of all people. Alex who she had seen at the formal, so unaware and unbothered by Becca's presence. Alex who is probably at this same afterparty somewhere—Becca thinks just about everyone at Hartfeld might be here.

"i'm just getting another drink," Becca says, although she doubts the girl can hear her over the music. "i'll be right back."

she slips away from the girl and weaves her way through the throng of people towards where the kitchen is near the back of the house. it's quieter in here. the music is a hum that vibrates the house, and the chatter around her fills the space more easily.

she's standing at the kitchen island, mixing a drink for herself that she'll probably regret tomorrow, and idly listening to the conversation around her, when a voice beside her cuts through it all.

"pass me a cup?"

Becca looks up to find Alex standing across from her. Alex with her stupid hair and stupid smile and stupid dress that brings out her eyes and— wait. Becca shakes it away. she glares at Alex.

"fine then." Alex comes around to stand next to Becca. she plucks a cup from the stack and begins to make a drink, and all Becca can think is that she's too close.

too close too close too close!

"fun night?" Becca tries to be nonchalant as she speaks. she mixes her drink and pretends not to notice Alex looking right at her. she finally looks up and Alex just shrugs. she shrugs!

"it was fine."

"that's all?"

"night's not over yet, right?" and there's something dangerously close to a smirk on Alex's face.

"right." Becca glares right at Alex who just shrugs again.

"i saw you dancing with that girl before," Alex says after a moment.

Becca takes a long sip of her drink. it's definitely too strong. "jealous?"

"just talking."

"well... stop."

"talking?"

"yes."

Alex just stares at her. doesn't talk. doesn't really do anything. and that's— Becca just—

"you don't need to talk to me. i'm not sure if it's guilt or pity or whatever, but i don't want it, okay? you won. you got him, so go, like, talk to him or whatever. just— stop pretending."

"stop, what are you—"

Becca doesn't stay to hear what else Alex has to say. she turns on her heels and marches away. she pushes her way through the crowd again, the girl from before tries to grab her arm but Becca brushes her off. her cup gets bumped, Becca lets it fall.

and then finally, finally, Becca makes it outside. she gathers the end of her dress and sits on the curb. people walk past her, give her strange looks.

she thinks again about how this was supposed to be the perfect end to the quarter. and then stupid Alex had to march in and ruin it all.

"mind if it sit?"

Becca looks up. of course it's Alex standing there. she doesn't answer, just looks back at the road. Alex must take that as invitation, because the next thing Becca knows, Alex is sitting beside her, way too close but not totally unwelcome given the chill that's begun to settle in.

"it's not guilt, by the way, or pity."

Becca looks at her and tilts her head in question.

"the reason that i was trying to talk to you," Alex explains. "i wasn't doing it because i felt like i had to. i wanted to."

"oh."

Alex clicks her tongue. "did you at least have a nice night?"

"i did."

"did you, uh, did you go to the formal with anyone?" and with the way that Alex asks her question, it almost sounds like she wants Becca to ask her something.

Becca hums. "this guy in one of the fraternities that Kappa works with a lot. he plays football with Chris."

"how come you were dancing with someone else then?"

Becca shrugs this time. "we got separated basically as soon as we got here—" she gestures back to the house "—and i just never bothered to find him. he was kind of boring, to be completely honest."

"and the girl? you didn't wanna go back to her?"

"not really." she breathes deeply and allows her arm to brush against Alex's for just a moment. and in that split-second, she feels something hum to life. "what happened to your date?"

"i didn't have one."

"i thought..." Becca looks properly at Alex now and thinks that she sees her for the very first time.

"Chris?"

Becca nods.

"he asked, so did James and Kaitlyn, but i said no."

"why?" and Becca thinks she knows what the answer is going to be, knows she should probably be terrified but can't help the excited jitters in her stomach and warm flush of her skin.

"there's this girl."

"isn't there always?"

"not like her."

Becca feels a smile stretch across her face as she looks at Alex. "you could have just asked me to be your date."

Alex shrugs again, and she's somehow closer than before. “i think this is kind of perfect, don't you?”

“almost perfect.”

“what—”

Becca pulls Alex in and kisses her firmly, and now, with Alex pressed against her, with a streetlight above them and a forgotten party behind them, now it's perfect.

#playchoices #my writing #becca davenport #becca x mc #anon #the freshman #the junior #the senior #the sophomore #request

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peachy-pink-princess · 1 year

Text

Meant To Be~Choi Soobin

Non idol! Soobin X gn!reader (both soobin and reader are school students)

WC: 594

I didn't spell check it so I hope it's ok! <3

Going to class on a Monday is not something you normally don't appreciate, who would? Having to do school work, going to classes throughout most of the day, getting homework, and then having to repeat it for the next four other school days. It was understandable why you were incredibly unexcited to go to class. Before you even left for school you grabbed your headphones and excitedly plugged them into your phone scrolling through your playlists, until you found it. Bebe Rexha music. That was perfect, you can't help but smile when the first song they played was "In The Name Of Love" it was one of your favorites. Now that you have music you started to head towards School.

You were in your seat for class 10 minutes before the bell rang, the first class of the day was ELA/English. You didn't mind having to do the writing but what you didn't like was that your teacher always had the person sitting next to you, your table mate, read whatever you wrote. That person would be Choi Soobin. He's a sweet kid- just very quiet. Sometimes there was some awkward tension between the two of you but you always just toughed it out. You quickly passed your homework over to the tall boy to read. Your music still playing in your ears, you must have space out for a minute as you started to hum along to the music. That caught soobin's attention, he knew that song! It was Bebe Rexha, oh but what was the song name again? For once the bunny like boy was stuck, soobin was feeling a small sense of self-dread that he could not figure out what the song was, maybe if he figured it out the tension between the two of you would disappear. After all for the last couple months of school he had been trying so hard to find an opportunity to strike up a conversation with you. This could have been his perfect chance.

You're caught off guard by the sound of the bell ringing telling you it's time to go to your next class... Unfortunately for you when you got startled you accidentally hit the items that are on your desk straight to the floor. Papers flew everywhere and your phone went straight to the ground. You internally cussed your luck before trying to reach down to grab everything.. when you went to grab your phone your fingers connected with somebody else's, almost immediately you pull away. You were surprised to see that soobin was standing there helping grab all of your stuff for you. Then he saw your phone screen. "Ah Bebe Rexha, you like her?" He asks you. It honestly shocked you that he was the first to talk, but you reply with, "yes I really like her music..." Soobin's face lit up when he heard you say that a smile forming on his face. "So do I, she's amazing right?" He asks and you quickly answer with "of course!" By now the two of you were late for your next class but now it didn't matter once the two of you started to talk it was impossible to stop! When both of your laughter started to die down soobin asks, "would you want to exchange phone numbers, I enjoy talking to you a lot..." Your face heated up at his words but you joyfully answered "yes! I'd love to!"

Maybe you guys were meant to be...

I hope you enjoyed my first TXT fic! I didn't really fast so I hope there isn't any spelling errors!

And thank you, @sato-chan-2709 for the idea!! It was so fun!

Xoxo- Peachy <3

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hinatastinygiant · 6 months

Text

4 | Ursa Minor

Pairing: Kita x Fem!Reader

What's Meant to Be Masterlist

KITA'S P.O.V.

A sleek black limousine rolls to a stop in front of my house, its tinted windows concealing the people within. I step out of my house, adjusting my new suit while the door opens to the limo. My friends usher me into the limo, excited to celebrate Osamu's bachelor party even though his wedding isn't for another two weeks.

"Come on, Kita," Aran calls, beckoning me to enter the limo.

I sit down beside him and Atsumu. "You ready for a night we'll never remember?" Atsumu asks me with a grin.

"Why would I want to forget any of this," I reply, shaking my head.

"Oh come on, Kita, let loose for once in your life," Atsumu sighs. "For Samu's sake, at least."

"I think Osamu would rather have his brother in one piece than wasted at a bar," Aran chimes in.

"I'll be fine, I'm a grown man," Atsumu scoffs.

"Please don't drag me into your mess, Tsumu," Osamu sighs.

"Come on, Kita, have a drink!" Suna nudges me.

"Alright, alright" I sigh.

"Yeah!" Atsumu cheers.

The champagne corks are then popped, and the group toasts to Osamu's upcoming wedding, the clinking of glasses echoing through the air.

"Thanks for coming, Kita," Osamu says, taking a sip of his champagne.

"Of course," I smile at him. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

The limo navigates through the city streets, finally pulling up outside a neon-lit building decorated with suggestive silhouettes. The faint hum of music and the glow of pink and blue lights spilled onto the sidewalk, marking the group's arrival at the strip club.

"A strip club, Samu?" Atsumu laughs.

"Shut up, ya perv," Osamu scowls, rolling his eyes. "We all know you planned this night without regard to anyone else."

"It's a bachelor party, Samu," Aran adds, laughing. "You're last night of freedom, right?"

"Exactly," Atsumu grins. "But it's a classy strip club, I'll give you that. Not those shady ones. At least it's not some gross, grimy one. I have standards, ya know."

"Yeah, right," Osamu replies, shaking his head.

"Okay, fine, I've never actually been to this one before but I've heard good things."

"You're full of shit, Tsumu," Suna laughs.

"I'm not! I promise."

"Whatever," Osamu sighs. "Let's just get inside."

The group steps outside of the limo, entering the building. As the doors open, the group is met with a blast of cold air. Inside, the lights are dim, and a slow, sultry song drifts through the air. In the center of the room, there's a long stage with a pole running through the middle. Around the edges are a handful of private rooms.

"Alright, this is nice," Atsumu grins.

"Yeah, I agree," Aran says.

The group approaches the bar and takes a seat.

"We're celebrating a bachelor party," Atsumu tells the bartender.

"Congratulations," the bartender smiles. "What can I get for you?"

"Let's start with a round of shots," Atsumu says, grinning.

"What kind?" the bartender asks.

"Surprise us."

The bartender nods and gets to work.

The group turns their attention to the stage, where a woman is beginning to perform.

"She's good," Osamu murmurs.

"She sure is," Atsumu grins, elbowing his twin. But then Atsumu's attention drifts off to a woman on the far side of the room wearing a black bra and panties. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and the shadows partially obscure her face, but it's easy to tell that she's beautiful.

"Hey, check her out," he nudges Aran. "She's hot!"

Aran's gaze follows Atsumu's to the woman across the room who is gradually getting closer as she talks to some customers. "Yeah, she is," Aran agrees.

"I can't see her face," Osamu says, straining his neck.

"It doesn't matter," Atsumu grins.

While the others talk, I glance over at the woman as well. Strange, she almost looks familiar. But how could she? I don't remember seeing her anywhere before.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," Suna declares, getting up from his seat.

We all watch as Suna approaches her, but it's not until he grabs her by the arm and so casually walks off with her that I realize who she is. Luckily, nobody else seems to recognize her. Well, except for Suna.

"Is that-"

"Huh? Did you say somethin'?" Aran asks, turning his attention to me.

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Nothing."

"Damn, Suna's already off with the hottest girl in the club," Atsumu sighs. "I was hoping she'd hit it off with me or Samu."

"Why am I the second choice? Isn't it my bachelor party?" Osamu frowns.

"That's a good point," Atsumu agrees.

"Whatever," Osamu shakes his head. "We're supposed to be having fun. Let's just get another drink and go find a spot by the stage."

"That's a great idea," Aran grins, flagging down the bartender.

While the rest of the group drinks and talks, I continue to watch Suna and Y/N. What could they possibly be talking about?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Y/N'S P.O.V.

You are completely caught off guard when a man with dark brown hair and a wicked grin suddenly grabs your arm.

"I don't care what conversation you were in the middle of, you can go back to it later if you want," the stranger says as he leads you to a secluded corner of the club.

When he stops, you turn and look up at him, confused. It takes you a minute, but then you realize who he is.

"Rin?"

"Oh, hey, Y/N," he grins. "Long time, no see."

"Shit," you grumble looking around the room. "Why the hell are you here, Rin?"

"It's a bachelor party," he replies. "Osamu is getting married. You think I'd come here on my own?"

"Osamu's getting married? So all of you are..."

"We're all here. And they were looking your way before I saved your ass. What the fuck are you doing here, Y/N? I thought you went to some fancy dance school or something?"

"I did," you sigh, "but I'm not exactly living the dream life, Rin. It's hard to get a good job, so I took up a job here. Shit, did the other guys see me?"

"They didn't recognize you, if that's what you're asking. Although," he hums as he looks back in the direction he came, "Kita looks a bit suspicious."

"Fuck," you groan. "This isn't exactly a place where you want someone to know you work at."

"Hey, calm down, Y/N," he laughs, "you're not gonna lose any respect from me. And by the way, I'm doing well, thanks for asking."

"Sorry, I'm just freaking out a little bit," you sigh, feeling your cheeks heat up. "I can't imagine what Kita's gonna think."

"What's the deal with you and Kita, anyway? The two of you never..."

"No, no," you quickly cut him off. "We were friends, but that's it."

"So then what's the big deal?" he then asks.

"I, well, uh, I had been talking to him lately and I didn't tell him my job. I don't know what he'd think if he found out like this."

"I don't think it'll be that big of a deal," Suna shrugs, his voice softening.

"You don't?"

"Why would it? If he's into you, he won't give a shit what your job is," he says. "Do you want to come over and say hi to everyone? I know Osamu would love to see you."

"I don't know," you hesitate.

"Come on," he insists. "You'll regret it if you don't."

You can't help but chuckle at that comment. You don't think you've ever heard Suna be this persistent before. "My shift's almost over. I've got to get home. Maybe next time," you lie to him.

"Alright, next time," he shrugs, turning around. "I'll catch you later."

"See ya," you reply without looking back. Crap.

What's Meant to Be Masterlist

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snzysimper · 1 year

Text

FINALLY!! I haven’t posted a fic in AGES. Apologies for that. This is probably the longest thing I’ve ever written. I’m really proud of how this turned out. It took me a while, but I hope it was well worth the wait for everyone. This is the re-write of this fic. I tried to keep it loyal to the original, but also make it better.

Note: I had everything italicized and shit, but tumblr is stupid and doesn’t keep it when it gets copy pasted from a google doc so I’ll go back and fix it later. For now, you can just use your imagination because I am to lazy to do it rn.

Another note: not that this really matters, but Security Breach doesn’t exist in my AU, so first of all, no ‘Burntrap’ and also no SB Vanessa. I much prefer the fan made version from Help Wanted, so that is who I use in my fics and such, but feel free to portray it however you like. She just looks better. Feel free to look at some fan art else where.

A Warm Surprise

A Will/iam x Van/ny Snz Fic

Written by SnzySimper

Word Count: 1950

TW: Spray, Snz (ofc), mentions of deceased children (only briefly)

| I am allowed to write what I want and I would appreciate if you keep whatever rude comments you may have to yourself |

It is about 11 o’clock at night. The pizzeria was far past closing, which was 8 o’clock. One would generally expect for the place to be empty. Isn’t that how this works anyway? Starting in only one hour, the haunted robots spring to life and, well, you know the rest. But, no, not right now. We are far beyond that point. Long story short, after the closing and re-opening, new animatronics were made, and the Fazbear brand was re-started after someone bought the name. As of the current moment, a new man owns the name brand. Well, not quite. After escaping his presumably eternal hell, William Afton put his consciousness inside of a game, making himself nothing but a piece of computer code. With the help of an innocent bystander, he was set free into the world again and, under a new name, bought his company back. Who’s his partner in crime, you may ask? A young woman named Vanessa, or Vanny, as William usually calls her. His little reluctant follower, although she has become less reluctant as time has gone by. In fact, she had become much less of a follower and more of a friend. The two did most everything together. Were they themselves together? Well, no. Not right now, anyway.

Sitting down on a table, Vanny looked over towards the animatronics. They were powered off, as they should be. She and ‘Dave’ planned to keep it that way. No more vengeful ten year olds wanting to damn your soul. And hopefully not ever again. He didn’t have any reason to make it happen again. He had obtained his immortality, so why would he need to kill more children. It’s not like he needs the remnant. She glances around the pizzeria, not used to it being so empty and quiet. No sounds of children giggling and screaming. No music. Only the hum from the air conditioner. A bit creepy and unsettling to most, but she had come quite accustomed to it. She found it almost peaceful. It was silent, and peaceful, and not a single sound to-

“-gGGes’SSHHhss!!”

Slightly startled at the broken silence, Vanny looks up. She was alone in the pizzeria, minus her ‘boss’. It had to have been him. Come to think of it, had she ever heard him sneeze before? Being a computer code, she didn’t really think he could sneeze. Oh well. Who cares? A sneeze is a sneeze. No skin off her teeth. She pulls out her phone, not paying it anymore mind. “Hh’gGG’shhh!!..’Ggsshh!” Well, this was certainly interesting. It was strange enough for this to happen once, granted that it had never happened before. But three times? Curious to what could possibly be happening, Vanny hops off of the table to go and find him. It was getting to be time to head home, so she should go and get him anyway.

~~~~

“Hhhh…”

Sitting at his desk, William breathes heavily. He was happy that the day was finally over. He could just go home and fall asleep on the sofa. He crosses his arms and lowers his head, about to fall asleep in the chair. In front of him are blueprints for trying to fix SpringBonnie. Trying. Although he may as well just start from scratch. The suit itself is beyond repair, but the internal parts, or at least the springlocks, could possibly be salvaged. It would take a good bit of effort though. As the AC turns on, he shivers, wrapping his arms tightly around his chest. Was it usually this cold in the pizzeria? Or maybe someone had just messed with the thermostat. Who knows. Giving William the benefit of the doubt, he is a TWIG. The average weight for someone who is 7’2 is around 230. William is 190. One could say that this is due to him not eating much. He doesn’t see a reason why he should. As we have previously established, he’s already immortal. It isn’t like he can starve. Although, the occasional meal is nice. He slowly raises and tilts his head back, his breath hitching slightly. “hhHh’GGschh!!” Damn. Why is he so cold? Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he sighs. Was it possible he could- no. No, no. He’s a piece of computer code for crying out loud; barely even able to be classified as a human being at this point. Being sick is completely out of the question.

Right?

It had been a long day of listening to the same 6 songs on repeat, children's laughter, and, worst of all, the smell of shitty cheap pizza. He was more than ready to go home by now. Vanny walks in the room, softly knocking on the door. “Mr. Afton?” She walks up behind him, and gently places her hand on his shoulder. Having completely zoned out, he jumps at the touch of her hand. She jerks her hand back. “M-Mr. Afton-! I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” While they were ‘friends’, Vanny’s voice still trembled whenever addressing him. She knew all that he had done in the past, and was terrified of what he would be capable of doing now that he was immortal and essentially invincible. William, however, didn’t respond in his usual manner. “Vanessa,” he gives her a small weak smile. He doesn’t face her directly. He simply looks back at her using only his eyes. His piercing, icy blue eyes. “It’s nearly midnight.” She wrung her hands. “Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?”

“Yes. Worry not, we will be heading out soo-”

He abruptly stops speaking. He looks a bit dazed for a moment before quickly bringing his hand to his face, pinching his nose. “Ht’nnt-!” It is almost silent. “Ht’nxxt!! ‘nxxT -nnt!” And again. “hhHt’nkkt!!”

“Bless you,” Vanny says softly. He lets go of his nose, which is now a warm pink, and sniffles as he wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “Hhh, thank…thank you.” At last, he turns in his chair to face her. Vanny is worried by the sight of him. His cheeks are a touch of pink, and so does his nose, although his nose is a brighter shade. The parts of his face that aren’t flushed somehow look even more pale than they usually do. The dark circles under his eyes are more noticeable than normal. Tiny droplets of sweat are present on his forehead. Almost by instinct, she reaches up and gently presses the back of her hand against his forehead. “Mr Afton, you look awful. Are you feeling alright?” Realizing that she literally just reached up and touched his face without any sort of warning, she panics and quickly tries to jerk her hand away. Before she can fully pull her hand away, William reaches up and presses the palm of her hand against his cheek, sighing happily. Vanny blushes, shocked by the intimate gesture. He closes his eyes and lowers his head. He looks very happy to say the least. “Your hand,” he says quietly. “It feels really warm. It feels nice.”

“Your face is very warm, too. And not in a good way.” She lets him hold her hand and uses her other hand to feel his forehead again, now assuming that he doesn’t mind her touching his face. “You have a fever. I’m sure of it.” She removes her hand from his forehead and moves his hair so it isn’t covering his eyes. “Mmhm,” he hums in agreement, although she is quite sure that he isn’t paying all that much attention to what she is saying. She laughs softly. “Come on, let's go home.”

Vanny helps walk him into the house. Leaving her side, William walks away and flops face first onto the couch. He looks pretty comfortable. Vanny giggles. She isn’t used to seeing him so relaxed. Usually when he interacts with others, he lacks much emotion and is very curt. Any time someone tries to care for him or assist him with something non-work related, he snaps at them to leave him alone. With her he is usually a bit more friendly, but not much. Tonight, he had been everything but that. He even smiled at her. Vanny walks over to the couch and sits down next to him. William helps himself and rests his head on her lap. She lets out a small squeak, shocked at the fact that he is being so affectionate. She sighs and begins gently scratching his head. He smiles. “We should probably get some medicine for you.” William hums softly. “I’m fiiine.” He closes his eyes, sighing softly. Vanny sighs. “Alright. If you say so.” She didn’t want to challenge him on anything, so as not to take his gentle and chill attitude for granted.

They are silent for a good ten minutes before William starts sniffling. Vanny looks down at him. He is rubbing his face with the back of his hand, his nose clearly irritated. William eventually gives up, deciding that his efforts to relieve the itchy tickling sensation in his nose are fruitless. He looks adorable, Vanny thinks. She gently presses the tip of his nose with her index finger. “h’EHshhSS!” Vanny jumps slightly. “Oh. Bless you.”

“Mmm..what was thah for?” He grumbles sleepily. “Sorry. You just looked so cute. Your nose was twitching like a little bunny.” Vanny giggles. William rolls over to face up at her, his eyes still closed. “Could you..do it again?” She is a bit surprised, and pretty confused. “What, why would you want-”

“My nose..it’s still itchy. I need to sneeze. Please…” He opens his eyes looking up at her, his eyes practically begging for her to do something. Vanny can’t help but feel bad for him. “Alright.” She takes her thumb and index finger and begins gently rubbing the sides of his nose.He sniffles a few times as she continues to gently touch his nose. “I-is this helping? Is it working?” He sniffles once again. “Y-yeah, snff, sorta.” Vanny moves from the sides of his nose to the base, just below his nostrils. “Oh- hihh right sndff there..” She continues rubbing his nose, a bit harder this time. William’s breath is hitching. He tilts his head back, before inhaling sharply. “Hh’Gggshhs!! HGg’essh!! EH-shhiis! Ht’chh ‘chtt!!” He tries his best to avoid spraying Vanny, although he still gets her a little. Vanny lifts his head off of her lap. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go find some tissues.” She quickly rushes out of the living room to go and search for tissues.

William sits up, holding his nose shut as he continues to sneeze wetly. “hMP’tchh! Ht’CHH!! T’chh k‘chh -gSHH!!” Vanny comes back with a box of tissues and sits back down on the couch. She hugs William, leaning him back in her arms. She holds the box of tissues out in front of him. He quickly grabs one and holds it up to his face. “H’ppshh!! Hh’IISHH!!” He sighs, having been able to finally catch his breath. He rubs his nose with the tissue. His nose is revealed to be much more pink than it was before. He sniffles, draping his arms on Vanny’s shoulders, holding on to her like a sloth. He rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes. “ I’mb sorry sndDF for..snff sneezigg on you.” Vanny chuckles softly. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” She rubs his head and begins playing with his hair. Laying down, she holds onto William and hugs him close. “Try and get some sleep, alright?” William hums in response. It isn’t long before she hears him softly snoring. She smiles, kissing the top of his head. “Sleep well, Mr. Afton.”

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