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controld3vil · 12 hours

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invisible strings

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic)

synopsis: requested/inspired by this ask!

⤷ alt: coincidences are strange. however, what's more strange was not knowing you were in previous works with your costars.

notes: this one is pretty short. reader is gender neutral. set in the same verse as popcorn bucket (♡´౪`♡)

Ding!

"Ah I don't think you guys are going to get this one," you puffed, eyes trailing down to the question on the Vanity Fair card. The cast and you were playing the Vanity Fair Game Show for a fun video. You all eventually filmed with one another at some time during production. Though your schedules were all over the place/locations, everyone got along with each other. That is to say, some like yourself had been in the first film and kept in contact for the sequel. "What was my first show audition?"

Mumbles in unison scurried. Some hums and thought-provoking nods were seen as you hurriedly scribbled down your answer in black ink.

"Oo Shake It Up!" Zendaya points out, eyes wide with her quick response.

Austin Butler who sat beside Florence Pugh raised his head, almost surprised. "Wait, really?" While the blonde actress knowingly glances back to you for confirmation. The rest of the cast was all too eager to know because clearly they had no idea.

"Yes, correct!" You raised your arms, doing jazz hands. In a burst of energy, the mixed actress scores a bright grin, raising her fist in the air in victory. Only for you to pump her fist back, smiling back.

"How were we supposed to know that?" Timothee Chalamet says, snickering accusatively at the camera as if they had an answer. His gaze moves towards you, "You never told us that!"

You shrugged your shoulders, looking half guilty. "You're lost, pal!"

"At least I got the point!" Zendaya puffs up her chest, swiping the invisible dust off her shoulders while Florence giggles. However Timothee looked almost offended even.

"Wait you were in Shake It Up?" Austin shakes his head in pure astonishment. You gave him a slow nod, as his expression grew wider, eyes staring at you in awe. "That's crazy! I didn't know that!"

"Was it a show?" Josh Brolin's comment seemingly pops in and all four of the younger cast including yourself snickered shortly. His cluelessness only substituted for better curiosity to you. As really, you never really told them about your previous works.

"It was a Disney show," Flipping the Vanity Fair card over, only to reveal your messy handwriting, you stated fondly. Timothee then hastily pointed at the small drawing you drew next to your answer. It breaks your concentration for a second as he only stares at it in confusion while Zendaya covers her mouth from giggling. "Like a sitcom really. And I played one of the background dancers." Even you couldn't stop yourself from giggling further, taking a look at your draw.

Truly it was one of those topics that are never mentioned around you. The only reason Zendaya had known was that you had told her once about it when discussing your dance careers. The both of you were young actors and did not expect to know each other back then and even now. Though it was a cute recollection to look back upon.

"Is that a stick figure waving his arms?" Florence cocks her head sideways, having a concentrated face.

"He's supposed to be dancing!" You plead, pointing at the way you drew his arms in the air.

"That is not dancing!" Timothee's smile only grew wider from laughing too much, having to lean forward to look at the little drawing closer. "He just looks- like he's discombobulated!"

"PFFTT!"

"I mean it's a cute drawing!"

"You know what- you don't appreciate my art," You gently placed the card on the floor, giving your costar the stink eye. "I thought this was a fun game, you guys! People are being bullied for no reason!"

"No- I'm not saying your drawings are bad!" The French actor stumbles, in beats of laughter, clenching his cards to his chest. You only swat his presence away before grabbing another question.

In another instance, Austin takes his turn. For a few rounds, he asked about his hobbies, such as what instruments he knew to play. It was quick flashed answers, one by one you managed to pass through flying colors.

"Guitar and piano," Austin bobs his head, as the rest of cast suddenly became enamored at his musical skills.

"Hey!"

"Alright!"

"But also violin," He says sheerly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh okay!" Florence drags out an amused hum, in a teasing manner.

"Is that true?" Timothee quirks his brow, having one leg over another, looking all composed.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go Disney Channel kids!" You chanted, with the mixed actress a seat away from you joined with as well. You both raised your hands in victory while Austin looked away and blushed.

"We got all the talent!"

At the CCXP Panel in Brazil, fans from all over came to attend to fantastic event. Hosted by Collider Interview, it was a massive event with an enormous stadium, fit for a band performance. There were arrays of lights, standing from the alleyways and above the ceiling. You felt extremely fortunate to have attended and made it to Brazil, for being such a joyful experience.

This time you alongside your young cast members and director, Denise Villeneuve, posed happily with all of you. The panel followed with many turns and twists, with questions coming from the crowd and host alike. One moment fans caught on was your reaction to something that Florence at said.

The Collider host mentioned Florence's history of working with Timothee on Little Women which made both of them cackle, reminiscing those dotting moments.

"Oh you know what," the British actress starts, holding her hand up. The audience was silenced, wondering what she going to mention next. She slowly turns in your direction and points. "I just remembered this, but you were in Midsommar yes?"

"Yes..." You mumbled, ending your answer on a high note, unsure really what she meant. Until it came flashing back to you, much prevalent to your shocked expression. "Oh yes yes!" And seemingly the rest of the cast and fans were roaring in surprise and in cheer.

Though you weren't present in most of the film's production, Florence had fond memories of Midsommar. You were one of the minor characters doomed to death in the first half. Both of your characters had a brief meeting together and that was all. However, it surprised you how Florence was able to recall it all. You had only filmed for a few days and vaguely met her casually.

"This is so weird but I don't know- I just kept forgetting to bring it up," She scrambles to find the right words, throwing gestures back and forth. "But for some reason, I just remembered you being there and then I was like- huh! We were in Midsommar together!"

"Right!" You lowered your tone, the weight on your heels slowly shifting to one side. As you licked your lips at the revelation. "I can't believe we just realized this now!" And you could discern the pure chaos the rest of your costars were feeling. Timothee was wheezing, desperately holding his mic for support. While Zendaya crossed her arms in a mixture of sarcasm and odd mischievousness. As if saying, Really? You guys never realized?! Austin on the other hand, solely was observing from the sidelines, with an amused smile. And all for Denny to be panned to the right with a funny disapproving look on his face.

"This is what I have to deal with," Your director somberly states and the crowd cries out in cackles.

"I don't think we were in anything together before."

No interview or video was being shot. Surprisingly it was lunchtime and a grace period for cast and production alike to go back to their trailers to rest. You did not want to go back to your own trailer so instead followed your costar to his. Knowing he had a better air conditioner and wanted to catch up on anything new you guys enjoyed talking about.

But more importantly, his air conditioner.

"Yeah, I don't think we did," Arms securely behind your head as you leaned back on the couch. You still were in full costume, in Fremen wear however it did not stop you from lounging around in every corner of the set sites. "Does Dune count?"

A light-hearted scoff escapes from Timothee, who is on his phone on the other side of the couch, in costume as well. The air conditioner was blasting heavily on all sides of the trailer yet you two did not mind the loud background noise. "No, it doesn't!"

"That's crazy right?" Lifting yourself up to look at him. His eyes don't leave his phone screen yet you know he is focused on your words. "I'm genuinely surprised we haven't played siblings,"

"We look nothing alike!" He shouts, finally lifting his gaze to your playful one. Suddenly you see his phone flash turned on as it faces you. "So, what do you think of Dune Part Two so far?"

You get up swiftly, stretching out of your tired limbs in the process. "Like a walk on the sand!"

"Aye!" He fist-bumps you as he turns the camera on him, face not covered in any gear. The audience can notice his messy locks and smudged face.

"Directors, sign us up to play something!" You waved before adjusting to put on your mask. The camera swerves to find you clipping on the clasps. A couple clicks can be heard as you move the gear up and down from your face. "Literally anything! I could play his serial killer and I would be happy."

"What-" Timothee almost choked on air, prominent to how shaky the camera view became. Though he quickly recovered, "Why do you always want to kill me in these scenarios?"

"Because it's much more fun!" You whine, shoulders deflating, as you can feel him zooming in on your expression.

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 3 days

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I've let this wolf into my home (I feed it even when it bites)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff ??

warnings: you don't know red robin and timmy are the same person but he sure knows you, he's also so so awkward but he can't help it

a/n: alright alright alright here we go <3

The jingle of the coffee shop door opening startles you, your head snapping up from where you're sitting, slouched over in the corner. It's a 24-hour shop, yes, but who else would really be here at 3am? The barista behind the counter looks just as surprised, blinking rapidly and looking at the person who came in.

You, on the other hand, opt not to, sighing and looking back down at your table, instead. The coffee in your to-go cup is still hot, burning your fingers as you shift them over the label. It's bright, a cartoonish sort of thing that grins up at you like an old friend you should be happier to see. You've been getting this coffee for years. You're never quite as happy as you should be.

The chair opposite you makes a horrible sort of sound as it's pulled out and you look up to see who's sitting across from you. You purse your lips in annoyance while he just looks at you.

"All the other tables have just been cleaned. They're wet," he points out. You let your eyes flit around the cafe, the tabletops shining wetly in the dull glow of the lights, the disinfectant bottle still sitting abandoned on one of them.

"Lucky me," you bite back, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet - too sweet, but not enough to cover the bitterness of the burnt grounds. You always think that if you pile enough sugar into it, it'll mask what's wrong. You're never right.

The man sitting opposite you takes a sip of his own - he left it black, you notice. He grimaces slightly at the taste, but keeps drinking anyway. There's no effort there to pretend it's anything other than what it is - burnt, cheap coffee sold to him in a cafe full of ghosts, in a city that should be sleeping but never really does. It's interesting, you think, as you look out the window and into the dark street. You'd almost managed to convince yourself that you were really alone - that there was no one else in this world except you, until he walked in and broke the reverie of your 3am silence.

For what it's worth, Tim regretted it as soon as he'd walked in. He hadn't meant to stay, really - ending up in a part of Gotham he didn't often find himself in, in his civvies and in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee and a long sleep, he'd stumbled across the flickering, neon sign of a 24-hour coffee shop.

What good luck, he'd thought. Now, sitting across from you, there's a desperate little part of him that thinks maybe it wasn't just that - maybe it was intuition that drew him here. You don't know who he is, of course, all your previous meetings happening in the shadows of your home with his face hidden from you. Tim shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how naked he feels, exposed to your wandering eyes.

And you do let your eyes wander, narrowing them suspiciously as you take him in. Tim feels a pang of guilt that surprises him when he thinks that this is probably how you've always felt with him - like a lamb with a wolf at your door. As you lean back in your chair, swirling your coffee and letting your gaze trail away from him and towards the window, he feels his shoulders drop in relief. He's not the only wolf in your living room late at night, he realizes. You've got teeth of your own that he'd just never noticed.

You're good at this, Tim thinks with a start - you've got a foot propped up on the window sill next to you, your head resting in your hand as you watch the street outside idly. Or, at least, it's supposed to look like that. He thinks that if he were anyone normal, he would believe it. But Tim has spent enough time as prey to know when someone's pretending to let their guard down.

He looks away from you almost forcefully, staring down at his cup and running his tongue over his teeth as he thinks of the burnt taste of it. He wonders if you were smart enough to put sugar in yours - wise enough to bury the bitterness with something nicer. It's something he always thinks he should do. He can never quite make himself.

"I'm sure those other tables are dry now." Your voice makes him flinch, a hard, forceful thing that cuts through the silence of the night that's blanketed the two of you. Tim looks around at the dull, streaky tabletops and shrugs.

"I'm already comfortable here," he offers. You cock your head to the side and look at him, but make no move to fight him on it. He thinks it's probably stupid of him, inviting a lion into his home like this. He wonders if you feel the same way every time he slides in through your balcony door.

There's a silence that, once more, overtakes the two of you as he shifts in his seat. Tim wonders if he should drink faster, if he should pretend to be finished so that he can leave. It's funny, he thinks, how he finally felt like he'd stopped running away when he started running into you. It's funny that, now, he's itching for it, his hands gripping his cup in an attempt to still his heart - his need to escape.

You look back at him just in time to see him squeeze a little too hard, the cheap plastic lid popping off and hot coffee sloshing a bit over his hands. A mild, bemused sort of look crosses your face as you watch him curse and splutter as the coffee burns his hands and spills onto the table. Then, without a word, you stand up and begin to walk away.

Tim, in the meantime, is rubbing his hands against his jeans, his eyes squeezed shut in mortification as he wonders how he ruined it all so quickly. Not for the first time, he wishes he was in the mask - thinks maybe the only way to hold onto you is to make sure that's all you ever see. But then your cup scrapes across the table and he opens his eyes to see you sitting opposite him again, sipping idly and watching. There's a stack of napkins that he swore wasn't there before and - oh.

"Thanks," is all he can make himself say as he grabs them, cleaning up the mess he's made. As he goes to pop the lid back onto his cup, he looks at the dark liquid inside and grimaces, deciding that maybe it's not worth it.

"It's shit coffee," you say, and he slams his hand against the table, crushing the plastic lid in the process. Truly, he's not sure if he's ever acted this nervous before. You pay it no mind. He thinks maybe he could take off his mask, just this once, and reaches up to his face in time to remember that he's already exposed to you. "You're better off finding something else… or just going somewhere else." Tim smiles, then, a charming sort of thing that has you narrowing your eyes.

"I dunno,' he says. "There's something I like about right here." You glance down at your own cup, at the label that you've picked and peeled off until it's unrecognizable, the colours torn and cracked.

"There's nothing good about right here. And things like that don't change." Tim looks at you for a long moment after you speak, letting the words tumble around his head before he stands, taking his cup and squished lid and pile of wet napkins with him.

"Well, I've never been big on change, anyway," is all he says as he walks away, dumping everything in the bin and letting the bell on the door jingle as he walks out. Looking back down to the table, you notice the card he's left behind - the Wayne Ent. logo flashing behind his name. Flipping it over, his number's been written in a hasty scrawl.

As you thumb a corner of the card, you wonder when he'd slipped it onto the table - when he'd written on it. Mostly, you wonder what kind of person he'd have to be to do it without you noticing. You trace the numbers with your finger and think that something, far in the back of your mind, is telling you that there's a familiarity about it all.

But what's familiar about seeing someone in a place where you never should? What's normal about that man, appearing like a ghost in the night and disappearing just as fast? As you pull out your phone to add his number to your contacts, there's a part of you that thinks maybe you should run away - that maybe you're not the only thing stalking the streets of Gotham this late.

#smsn.writes #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #tim drake fluff #tim drake imagine #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake fic #red robin #red robin x reader #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #red robin imagine #red robin fluff #red robin tim drake #tim drake wayne

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mcmansionhell · 1 year

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this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including extra posts and livestreams.

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#architecture #design #2010s #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #nc #2021 #essay

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fuxuannie · 1 year

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Hi sage!! I hope you're doing well<33 do you mind doing jealousy headcanons for dan heng, jing yuan and any other characters you chose?? Thank you 🤍🤍 you're keeping the hsr x reader tag alive 😭

* pairing(s) : various hsr men (4, again) x gender neutral reader

* prompt : jealousy bites like you like a poisonous snake, the bite hurts, but its the venom that gets you.

* authors note : hi anon !!! (๑´ㅂ`๑) thank you for requesting, you're so sweet for the last msg omg tysm <3 i hope u enjoy !

* brief warning : blade kills a man, very blade of him. (his is also more of a joke im sorry blade lovers) ALSO THIS PROGRESSIVELY GETS SHORTER EACH CHARACTER, I JUST REALLY LIKE DAN HENG IM SORRY LMAO.

DAN HENG can't hide the way his eye twitches, how tightly he grips onto his spear or the way he'd mutter things under his breath. He despises it when he's jealous, but he hates it more when he sees the reason for doing so.

He knows he's.. not exactly like all your previous partners, it stemmed an insecurity in him. He wasn't all too funny, and knew he couldn't make you laugh with a corny joke.

So the way Sampo keeps making you laugh, making you smile, it was sparking a jealous flame in his heart. But more than anything, it saddened him that he couldn't make you laugh like that.

God, your smile was so pretty.

After a while, he interlocks his fingers with yours and mutters a small 'Can we go?' to you. You immediately notice his saddened tone, and thank Sampo for his time before walking home with your boyfriend.

"Dan Heng?" You say softly, noticing his rather saddened mood. He lets out a small hum to acknowledge your call for him, and you sigh. "Are you upset?"

He nods his head.

"Is it.. because of Sampo?"

He hesitates, but that alone gives you an answer.

Dan Heng takes a deep breath, before looking at you, his eyes filled with honesty. "I was.. jealous. I know I can't make you laugh the way he does, and it frustrates me. I want to be a man who makes you smile everyday but-"

Amidst his rant, he sees how your gaze softened at his words. This entire time, he was insecure? He hid it well, so well, at the very least from you. "I'm sorry, this is stupid-"

"N-no! It's not, I should be apologizing if anything! I failed to realize these things.. I'm sorry, my love. Sampo.. he makes me laugh, but you make my heart flutter. You make me feel things no one else can, okay? I'm yours, as you are mine."

He smiles at you, he's just happy he communicated his feelings, and you understood. "I'll be sure to try and tell you how I feel next time, okay? As long as you promise you'll stop hanging out with him. I was honestly afraid I was gonna have to get rid of him."

You blinked a few times, but he sighs. "I'm kiddinngg.."

JING YUAN knows he's far too good of a man, therefore doesn't get jealous.

He's yet to be disproven in the first part, but his golden eyes are filled with annoyance as the stares of a certain enemy of his lingers far too long on you.

You were filling in for Yanqing, he was absent for the day (something about falling into an ice cold river and getting sick or something...) and so someone needed to be there as the General would be meeting Blade.

And Jing Yuan couldn't ignore how Blade's eyes never left your form while he spoke, hanging your head down low and so you wouldn't notice. That made him greatly annoyed, almost unable to focus, but he had a mission at hand. And so he forced his jealousy to subside.

Needless to say, the small marks on your neck was embarassing to have seen in public. (And the small bird constantly pecking at Blade's hair was definitely also not Jing Yuans doing.)

GEPARD is so understanding, he evaluates every situation with logical thinking, as expected as a leader.

So it wasn't hard to figure out the intentions of the 'friend' that was speaking to you, how their voice was almost sweeter, and the way they clinged onto your arm was signalling red flags.

Gepard wouldn't have minded this, it could've easily been friendly gestures, but Serval is one of your closest friends and you were within a friendgroup. And she knows that person has a crush on you, and it was painfully obvious.

So naturally, he swiftly and surpisingly gently pulls you from the waist out of their grasp especially with how firm his grip around you was. He gives them a not so friendly glare, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. "My partner." He states, pulling you close as you're left to be stunned with the sudden posessiveness of your partner. "Mine."

Blade simply stares down at the person even attempting to approach you with clearly bad intentions. And if they dare to try to push their luck, Blade comes home with blood on his hands.

"What did you do??" You'd ask, you already knew the answer after already learning what Blade was truly like. "What was necessary." He replied, a kiss on your cheek as he walks in through the door to wash his hands.

#✹ ִֶָ ꐑꐑ entos paw prints #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #blade hsr x reader

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lizthewriter · 8 months

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i think there's been a glitch / theodore nott

PAIRING Theodore Nott x studious!shy!Reader

SUMMARY Theodore Nott was well known for the sort of happenstances that occurred in his dorm. However, the new transfer student seems to catch his eye in particular - that transfer student is you. His friends think that, at first, he has his eyes set on you for more sinful reasons, but he soon proves that his intentions are more romantic than anyone ever thought.

TAGS Theodore Nott x Reader, angst, if you squint, idiots in love, cursing, kissing, study buddies, friends to wtf is this to friends with benefits but also wtf is this to lovers, theo is a simp, reader is not slytherin, can be any other house, reader has social anxiety, references to sex, underage drinking, headmaster's list = dean's list, gender neutral reader

"We were supposed be just friends, / you don't live in my part of town, but maybe I'll see you out some weekend, / depending on what type of mood and situationship I'm in, / and what's in my system," - Glitch by Taylor Swift

WORD COUNT 3.2K

WRITTEN 27.08.2023

A/N This came as a burst of inspiration during calc class when I realized I was really the only person answering my professor's questions in my classes, lmaoo 😭😭 so this is purely self-induglent. i hope you guys enjoy <333

When you had transferred to Hogwarts, you hadn't made very many friends. All right, you hadn't made any friends. Because you had transferred to Hogwarts so late in your academic career, everyone had already formed their own friend groups. No one had any real interest in you - that was, they were interested in why you transferred, but not in assimilating you into their social circles. Your professors, however, had grown quite fond of you, most likely due to your dedication to your studies. And eventually, around midway through the fall semester, you were called into the Headmaster's office. It had kept you on your toes all day - had you done something wrong? Gotten in trouble? Your mind had come up with most elaborate and unlikely scenarios that might have cause you to get called into the Headmaster's office.

You were awarded the honor of being added to the Headmaster's list. Only two others in your year were granted the same honor - Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott. All three of you were maintaining straight O's. You and Hermione had never gotten the opportunity to grow close - it might have been the fact that she was much more close-mindrd than you, or the fact that she didn't have the time to spare to make new friends between her studies and all the "Chosen One" stuff going on. You wanted to at least make one friend, instead of an academic rival, which you made the mistake of creating at your previous school.

So, you approached Theo after the meeting, your hands clamy and shaking while you stuttered out your request to study together. Theo simply watched you with those dead eyes of his before nodding. It had unnerved you but you pushed yourself to confirm a date and time with him. And so began your little friendship.

You were never meant to be more than study partners. Weekly study sessions in the library grew into bi-weekly gatherings, which then grew into daily meetings. And then you were meeting each other after class, making inside jokes, hanging out just because. Slowly, but surely, you and Theo grew close. You weren't sure you had ever been this close with anyone before. It was like he just knew you, not only like the back of his hand, but like every square inch of his body.

And Theo? Theo had never saw you coming. He didn't know that he wanted to be friends with you until you were friends, and then he couldn't stop coming back. You were like a drug. He needed another hit each and every time he saw you. Soon enough, he was aching to spend every waking moment with you. It had started as nothing more than a mutually beneficial partnership, but it grew to be much more than that.

It took him a while to realize he loved you. Cared for you. He was well reputed for sleeping around and having a general devil-may-care attitude. He knew that he loved you when he began to grow tired of the constant flings and one-night stands. When he called off the on-and-off relationship he'd had with a particularly vivacious Slytherin girl. He hated the way girls threw themselves at him, vying for his attention like wildcats fighting over a piece of meat. You weren't like that. You were perfect.

He knew he wanted to ask you out. His friends scoffed at the idea, thinking he was joking. They were shocked when they realized he was serious. Mattheo had even knocked on his head, asking if Theo was really in there. It had to be perfect, so he went to the only people he knew who had ever been in serious relationships. Mostly everyone had told him the same thing - find out what you liked. Woo you. It was rather simple. "For someone who is so smart, you're rather stupid, you know," Blaise had told him. He secretly agreed.

First, he had bought a collection of muggle novels for you at a book store on a forgotten. It had beautifully decorated covers, guilded with golden etchings. When you had sat down to study one day, Theodore had dropped it on the table in front of you while he pulled out his books.

"What's this?" You had asked in confusion.

"It reminded me of you," he said simply, pulling out his spellbook and flipping through it to find where he had last left off.

You furrowed your brows as you pulled the box towards you, unclasping the front of it and pushing it open. You let out the small gasp at the gorgeous hardcovers resting inside, hands trailing along the sturdy spines. Five Muggle Classics, the interior of the box cover said. "Theo . . . " Your voice trailed off at the thoughtfullness of the gift - you were left utterly speechless. "I can't take this. I can't imagine how expensive how this was." You slid the case of books back to Theo. He stopped it, pushing it back towards you.

"Take it. I can't return it. Besides, I got it for you. I would hate to see these go to waste."

You bit your bottom lip before pulling the box back towards you, a smile spreading across your face as you pulled out one of your favorite muggle classics. You flipped through the pages, allowing that paticular new-book smell to wash over you like the waves on a shore. "Thank you," you mumbled softly.

You never came to parties. Mostly because you hated all the drinking and crowds and the mixture of stroking lights and booming music that made you dizzy. But you had started to develop feelings for a particular friend of yours. He was tall, devilishly handsome, and more intelligent that anyone you'd ever met. He smelled of evergreen trees, cigarettes, and lilac. You felt for him in a way that you had never felt for anyone else. You were always so laser-focused on you studies, but you realized that your attention had been straying towards a paticular someone as of recently.

You knew he hung around these sort of parties, finding pretty girls to have a fun night with. You wore the most insanely inappropriate dress you could find, hoping to catch his attention. You weren't exactly sure what your goal for that night was, but you were certain you wanted it to end with you and Theo, alone.

Of course, Theo was shocked to see you there. Even more shocked to see you out of the jeans and sweaters you usually wore, standing in a tight little number that had him practically frothing at the mouth. Not that you weren't always stunning, but you were stunning stunning. He wouldn't have approached you normally, but with the alcohol currently coursing through his system, he had a boost of courage and stupidity.

Five seconds later, he was standing right behind you, calling your name. You turned around to face him with a grin. "Hey, there you are."

"What are you doing here?" It sounded much more like a statement than a question - he was seemingly distracted by something else about you.

"I came to see you, silly. And to see what all the rage is about."

"And?"

"I've come to the conclusion that parties suck."

Theo laughed, something hearty that rumbled through his chest. "Want to go somewhere else?"

"Please," you responded with a role of your eyes. "I'm starting to get a headache." You had stupidly accepted a drink and chugged down the bitter alcohol earlier - that didn't bode well for your head when you were already bothered by loud music sober.

Theo's eyes searched the room for somehwere that might be a little quieter - his eyes landed on the staircase to his dorm. Well, where else was there to go? He lead you up the steps, the two of you laughing as he kept you from stumbling down the stairs, and guided you to his dorm. He sat you down on the bed, grabbing a glass on his bedside table, and filled it up with the spell Aguamenti.

"Thanks," you said sweetly, taking it from his hand and taking a long sip. You took a good look at the room, easily able to tell whose area of the roo. was whose. Mattheo's was messy - clothes strewn across the bed and floor. Draco's was neat and filled with a variety of potions book, his bedside table cluttered with potions of a variety of colors, lined up in orderly rows. Blaise had a poster of his favorite Quidditch team plastered on the wall, as well as a family photo filled with all his siblings. Theo's, however, was minimal and tidy aside from the piles of books. His bed was neatly made, the corners of the covers tucked under the mattress.

You finally met Theo's eyes and finally saw some sort of emotion - it took you a moment to identify it as hunger. You glanced down at the outfit you were wearing and flushed, your eyes staying firmly on the ground.

"You look very pretty."

You felt your heart stop in your chest. Had Theo called you . . . pretty? You were in shock - sure, you had come to the party with more than friendly intent, but you had never expected that he would actually notice you the way he had noticed other girls.

"Y-you - you look very handsome."

Theo watched you for a moment - he was standing only a foot away with arm wrapped around the four-poster, hanging off from it slightly. There was an odd sort of tension in the room - you both knew what you wanted and you both knew you wanted it now. Both of your inhibitions were lowered because of the alcohol, so it was that one split desicion that changed everything. Soon enough, his lips were planted into yours, one hand cupping your cheek and the other trailing along the side of your body. Everything had happened so fast - it went from the hand on your hips guiding you down onto the mattress to clothes strewn on the floor to sleeping heavily within each other's arms. It was hours before you woke again, and you were grateful that none of his friends had come up from the party yet. He helped you get dressed, a look of almost disbelief settled into his features as you left, sending him an awkward smile before you closed the door. What had he done?

The next day you had studied together like nothing happened. You cracked a joke. He laughed. You helped him with Transfiguration, he helped you with Ancient Runes. Another day passed. And another. And another. Theo was going beyond mad - what were you two now? Were you still friends? Were you dating? He felt like he wanted to yank all his hair out of his head.

That was, until about a week later. Late at night, the two of you were studying in the library. He was huddled next to you, embarrassingly distracted by your beauty while you were trying to help him with a homework problem he got stuck on. He finally snapped back to attention as you pointed to something on his parchment, leaning downwards to see exactly what you were pointing at. At the same time, you had turned your head to see what had him so distracted. The resultant situation: your noses bumped together and he could feel your heavy, hot breath on his lips.

Flashbacks to the night you shared soared through both of your minds. And it was you, this time, who had made the stupid desicion. You lunged for his lips with desperation, fingers snaking through his hair, a hand planted on his chest. He had tensed in surprise before returning the kiss with equal fervor. It wasn't long before you were quickly packing your things and Theo was dragging you to some abandoned room, your lips entangled as he pressed you up against the wall. The moonlight seeped in through the red glass-stained windows, dancing deliciously on your skin. Forever engraved in his memory was the picture of you, the only word on your lips being his name, grasping his shoulders with need.

Neither of you knew what kind of relationship you had descended into. It involved rather intimate gatherings from time to time, but for the most part, you were just friends. It was an almost seamless friendship between you two - except for the nagging thoughts at the back of both of your minds that kept you wondering if the other really felt the same way.

Theo buried his face into his hands, surrounded by a group of friends who had utterly no idea what to do. Their eyes watched him with trepidation and worry. It was oddly concerning how much he was stressing over this. Theo never seemed to stress about anything. But here he was, hands fisted in his hair, staring down at the ground in utter disillusionment.

"I've ruined everything. All cause I couldn't keep it in my fucking pants."

"That can't be it, mate," Mattheo tried reassuring him. "Look, you said they're different, yeah? All the other girls you've slept with found someone else after you. But they keep coming back for more. That has to mean something, right?"

"Yeah, you've just got to romance them," Blaise said. Theo groaned.

"Please never open your mouth again."

"I'm serious. Take her to Hogsmeade, that'll show them."

Theo leaned his face upwards, staring at Blaise. He was right - taking someone to Hogsmeade virtually meant asking them out on a date. You had to know the innuendo by now, being at Hogwarts as long as you have. "Blaise, you're brilliant." He clapped his friend on the back, rushing out of the dorm to find you.

You scanned the bookshelves for books with more information on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. The idea fascinated you - how come you could conjure any sort of non-edible object from nothing, but with food you couldn't? At the root of it, everything was made of subatomic particles, then atoms, then particles, and so on. So, theoretically, anything could be created from nothing, correct?

You were so enraptured by your own thoughts that you had no conception of your surroundings and bumped right into someone walking straight towards you. The books in your arms tumbled onto the floor and you flushed a bright red, bending down to pick them up.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, hastily collecting the books from the ground. The boy, who you hadn't really looked at yet, bent down to help you collect them as well. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm really -"

As you stood up, you finally got to look at his face - and it turned out to be Theo. His face was just barely flushed, and the emotion in his eyes held a deep meaning that you couldn't quite decrypt. You didn't have a chance to ask him what he was doing, because he beat you to it.

"Go to Hogsmeade with me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Hogsmeade. You and I. Interested?" His tone was strained, and you realized what emotion finally lay beyond those dead eyes. Fear.

You knew what he was insinuating. Was he - asking you out on a date? Did that mean he really did like you? More than just as someone he could have a little fun with time and again, someone who was just a friend. You stared up at him for quite a while, not realising how silent you were as you sunk into the rabbit hole of your own thoughts.

"I - erm - all right, then." You were still quite in a bit of shock. "Will you -"

"Yeah, I'll wait for you outside your common room." The fear in his eyes seemed to dissipate, his shoulders sagging in relief.

"Right. Yeah, sounds good. Great."

You had bundled up for the cold weather, a thick scarf wrapped around your neck and a hat with your house emblem on your head. You tried to dress in something nice underneath the layers of warmth - it had taken you a long time to decide what exactly you wanted to wear, but you had eventually come to a conclusion.

When you exited the dormitory, you found Theo bundled up with an equal amount of layers, yet he looked just as attractive as he always did. In his hands, he held a single rose. You flushed a bright red, especially as a group of first year girls giggled as they exited the dorm behind you.

"Hello," Theo said simply, handing you the rose.

"Hello," you responded shyly, taking it gratefully and holding it in your hands. You smiled nervously, rocking back and forth on your feet. "So."

"So. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Theo grabbed your hand, holding it gently. You hid your face from his view, not wanting him to know the kind of affect he had on you as he lead you through the castle. "What do you want to do first?"

You had weaved your hand through his arm, resting your head on the edge of his shoulder. "Hm. I need some more quills. But we should definitely stop at the bookshop first. I want to see if they've gotten anything new."

"Okay."

Theo had never been a talkative person - and you had never really minded it, not until now. You wish that maybe he might just tell you he had feelings for you, more than feelings that only arose every once in a while. It would make this so much easier on you. But you were nervous and shy and had a hard time talking to people, even one's you've been friends with. So you remained silent on the walk there.

Theo could tell it was an uncomfortable silence. Not only did being the quiet one meant he could read a room easily, he had also been around you long enough to know when you felt uncomfortable. He stopped the two of you from walking - you were already walking the path to Hogsmeade, snow lightly covered both of your heads.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing."

"You don't have to lie to me."

You bit the interior of your cheek nervously. Did you really want to destroy what you had with him? You were content with keeping your relationship the way it was. At least, that's what you convinced yourself.

You felt your gaze being drawn back to Theo, his fingers resting under your chin. "Don't hide from me, love, tell me what's on your mind."

"Love." You felt your heart melt into a puddle of hope and embarrassment. "Theo . . . what are we?"

Theo grabbed your hand and held it up, intertwining your fingers together. He looked at them, with something akin to fascination, and muttered, "What do you want us to be?"

You paused. "I want us to be together," you whispered, looking up at him with eyes of despair. Theo felt his heart wrench at the sight of it. He raised his other hand, brushing it lightly against your cheek.

"Then let's be together," he whispered back. He leaned downwards, meeting your lips in a soft kiss. It wasn't like any of the kisses before that - no, those were passionate, desperate, lust-filled kisses. This was loving, caring, blossoming. He dropped your hand to cup both of your cheeks in his hand, his nose biting into your cheek. "You and I. I like the sound of that."

tags: @plants-are-pretty-cool @annaisabookworm @maricardigan

Thank you all for reading! Be sure to like, reblog, and comment! I really appreciate it ^^. If you have any requests, by inbox is open but make sure to check the list of characters I write for here. If you want to be tagged in any upcoming fics/headcanons of mine, let me know. If you want to see more from me, go ahead and check out my masterlist here!

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #slytherin boys #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #harry potter #fanfic #theodore nott

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endlessthxxghts · 24 days

Text

Dr. Miller - Pt 2

Orthopedic!Joel Miller x afab!Reader | W/C: 4.8k

Summary: It’s time for your second appointment with Dr. Miller.

Warnings: canon-divergent - no outbreak, medical professional au. Reader (she/her) has female anatomy and is able-bodied. No physical description of race. Reference to reader’s clothing, but no sizes mentioned (everything is neutral). Pet names (darlin’, angel, girl, etc). Most definitely doctor malpractice LMFAO. 18+ MDNI. Inherent power imbalance (doctor-patient relations). Dirty talk. Hickeys/biting/marking. Fingering. Slight begging. Praise kink. Multiple orgasms. Spit kink. P in V unprotected (wrap it before you tap it, guys). Cum play/cum swallowing…snowball kisses🥴. Daddy kink… and last but not least, the ending.. I’m not gonna say what, you’ll just have to read, but I’m sorry😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 although I’m foregoing a warning or two for plot purposes, please let me know if they should be up here! I’ll fix it accordingly!🫶

A/N: Here goes round 2! As far as the series goes and as far as posting it goes LMAO!! This hellsite deleted my first attempt in posting, so hopefully it stays up this time around. And I’m giving a big thank you to @honeyedmiller for proofreading and catching my horrendous grammar mistakes lololol I love you🩶 Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy!!! I’d love to hear what you think :) luv u guys xx

series masterlist | main masterlist | update blog

<- PREVIOUS

Friday. 4pm. Your next appointment with Dr. Miller was tomorrow.

This was the first ever doctor appointment you’ve ever been excited for. The automated text their system sends out didn’t tell you to arrive early, and you’ll admit, you were bummed.

You’ll show up early regardless. Maybe he’d be able to see you sooner if his schedule allows. At least, you can hope, anyway.

After your appointment with him last week, you were left hurt and wanting. You knew the hurt was a natural reaction to the sudden dopamine drop, and something tells you Dr. Miller is a guy who’s adamant on aftercare. So, you swept those emotions under the rug easily.

Not so easily, however, was your needy cunt and the way it drooled and throbbed for nearly an entire week straight, craving the one thing she almost had. She barely had a taste, but she was already hooked, addicted even.

Your fingers, your vibrator, your purple dildo that’s helped you come plenty of times – nothing could get you off. Not anymore.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Miller had the exact same problem. Well, okay – he could ejaculate just fine, but the want never seemed to leave his system. Ever since he’s had his taste of you, he could never reach the feeling of satisfaction. And it has taken an absolute toll on him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dee snarked. Only she could ever talk to him like that. She keeps him on his toes.

“The hell is wrong with me?” he huffed.

“You’re being a grump, doc,” she replies.

He rolls his eyes. “Ain’t I always?”

“Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “But you seem more… miserable.”

“Gee, Dee, well thank you for that,” he replies monotonously.

“You’re welcome,” she snickers. She comes closer, voice hushed. “Seriously, though. Do you need to get laid or something?”

He chokes on the coffee he now regrets bringing up to his lips. “Jesus,” he coughs. “Time and place, Dee,” he says, trying to collect himself.

She raises her hands up defensively. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya, doc,” she smirks, howling out a laugh as she puts Dr. Miller out of his misery by returning to her desk.

He just shakes his head in response, fighting the blush on his cheeks at the thought of you taking care of the needs Dee so outwardly pointed out he had.

Dr. Miller wouldn’t have to wait much longer, though. Your appointment was so soon, only one more work day before he’s able to be blessed by your presence again. That is, until Dee finds another opportunity to shit on Dr. Miller’s mood.

“What do you mean we’re supposed to close early tomorrow?” Dr. Miller gruffs.

“Exactly that, Miller,” Dee treads lightly. “It was in the calendar. Too many people have off in the afternoon tomorrow. It’s Easter weekend. You’ll be sorely understaffed.”

“Then who booked the patients after 2 if us closing early was in the calendar?” Dr. Miller is never one to be an asshole, dictating boss, but his irritation is very much getting the best of him right now.

Dee whispers her next response. “…The new hire. But don’t blame them. I should’ve caught it sooner,” she reasons.

Dr. Miller takes a steadying breath. “So how many people do we gotta disappoint right now?”

Dee pulls up the calendar on her phone. Dr. Miller watches her shoulders physically relax. “Oh! Actually, you’ve only got one person. At 4. I’ll call right now to reschedule,” Dee says with a finality.

“Wait- who?” Dr. Miller asks. He knows who it is.

Dee looks confused for a moment, but she indulges and reads off your name to her boss.

“Y’know what, Dee,” Dr. Miller waves her off. “I’ll take care of that appointment, it’s fine.”

“Dr. Miller, are you sure-”

“‘Course,” he cuts her off. “I’m the only one in this damn office without Easter plans, anyway,” he huffs. “Empty nest or however that sayin’ goes.”

Dee nods in understanding. “How’s she doing?”

“Fuckin’ amazin’,” Dr. Miller marvels. “She just surprises me more ‘n more everyday.”

Dee smiles before she returns to their situation at hand. “Are you sure you don’t want me to reschedule?”

“I’m sure,” Dr. Miller states. “Listen, I know this practice wouldn’t be able to run without any of y’all, and without you especially-” Dr. Miller explains.

“You flatter me,” Dee butts in with a straight face.

He smirks before continuing. “But have some faith in this old man, why don’t ya? I think I’m more than capable of doin’ the whole check in, check out thing.”

Dee takes in a sharp breath. “It’s much more than that, Miller, but nonetheless,” she holds her hands up in surrender. “I’ll put some faith in ya, old man.”

“Thank ya,” he drawls. “Now please go talk to the new hire about their mistake, I think they’re still afraid of me a lil bit.”

She laughs in the affirmative, shutting Dr. Miller’s office door on her way out.

Holy shit.

His plan to get you alone just worked itself out. Thank you, newbie, he thinks to himself.

Dr. Miller’s office is less than ten minutes away from you, yet somehow you decide that if you left any later than 3, you’d keep Dr. Miller waiting, and you certainly didn’t want that happening.

The parking lot is completely empty, a lone vehicle – a hefty truck – sits only two spaces away from your own. Your tummy swirls, knowing exactly whose car that might be. However, another swirl of nerves swarms through you. Why are there no other vehicles?

Swallowing the anxious lump in your throat, you step out of your car and make your way inside the office. Inside is even further void of life than the parking lot.

You make a beeline for the check-in window, picking up the pen from the cup to begin filling out your information when a deep drawl of your name startles you.

“Dr. Miller,” you jump, your eyebrows flying to your forehead.

“Shit,” Dr. Miller chuckles. “Sorry, darlin’,” his voice was much softer, careful. “I do that a lot to my staff- sneak up on ‘em, they call it. Say I need a bell or somethin’ ‘round my neck.”

You laugh with him at the little anecdote. He motions for you to come on back already, dismissing the check-in process since it’s only you, he explains.

“Why is it only me?” You ask. Well, okay – you know why it’s only you, but how is it only you is the question. He did not just send everyone else home since you’d be here. That would raise too much suspicion.

Walking you to the patient room furthest from the potential public eye, he retells the new hire’s mistake. You find yourself in the same mindset as Dr. Miller as you silently thank them for not being more careful.

“You could’ve rescheduled me, you know,” you tell him, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I know,” he quips as he opens the door for you.

You step inside, turning around to face him. “So why didn’t you?”

The door clicks shut, and Dr. Miller’s now face-to-face with you, head tilted down to meet your challenging gaze. The air in the room becomes dangerously charged.

“I think you know why, angel,” he says, scarily smooth.

You don’t back down. “Enlighten me.”

He takes a step closer to you, forcing you to step back. “Why should I? When that very reason is right between those legs already crying for me, huh? I bet she’s a fuckin’ mess already, ain’t she?”

You gulp as your ass hits the exam table, not realizing that Dr. Miller has been slowly cornering you.

Without giving you a moment to respond, his lips are crashing into yours, his large hands grabbing onto either side of your face to keep you against him as your body melts into his hold. His tongue licks across your bottom lip, and your mouth opens, letting him in. You mewl into his mouth, each of your tongues lapping one another’s flavors, your senses immediately being consumed.

The kiss breaks, and you both are frantic. Your hands grab onto the exam table behind you and you hoist yourself up, your fingers already finding the hem of your shirt as you rip it off, letting it fall to the ground. Dr. Miller practically growls at the sight, his chocolate brown eyes blackened with pure need.

He shucks off his white coat, letting it join your top as he pounces on you again. He nips at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop as he drags his scruffy face across your jaw and down your neck, biting pretty little bruises everywhere his mouth touches.

Your hands find the bottom of his shirt, taking the liberty of pulling it off and whining when it gets caught over his broad form. “Patience, angel, I’m not goin’ anywhere this time,” he coos, his eyes genuine.

You huff out in mock annoyance, your eyes silently thanking him for the reassurance. You pull back to let Dr. Miller take off the upper portion of his scrubs. Your irritated façade is quick to fade as your eyes coast his body: his broad shoulders and tanned chest, the product of laborious activity throughout one’s life; your eyes drag down to his softer middle, the product of a happy, indulgent life. Your spit is suddenly thick.

Dr. Miller’s thumb comes up to rub across your bottom lip. “Ya alright? Got a lil bit of drool right there,” he taunts.

You tilt your head and take his thumb in your mouth, letting your spit coat his digit generously as your hands pull him in by his waist, your fingers scratching the expanse of his sides and his belly. “So fucking sexy,” you murmur, eyes alight with hunger.

Unable to verbally deal with the compliment, Dr. Miller pulls his thumb from your mouth, settling his hand on your jaw as he pulls you in to kiss your lips again. It’s much softer this time, more savory. He takes his time with it, and it has both your resolves breaking as Dr. Miller’s free hand finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it with ease, the article joining the haphazard pile on the floor.

Dr. Miller kisses down your neck once again, your body leaning back to give him more access. His mouth goes straight for your hardened nipple, his tongue circling the entire area before putting as much as he can in his mouth and sucks.His hand fondles your other breast while he works the one in his mouth. You’re moaning and writhing at the stimulation, your pussy utterly leaking past the barrier of your pants and onto the exam table.

“Dr. Miller, please,” you gasp. “Please- need more,” you moan, eyes rolling back at a particular nip to your bud. You can feel him smile against you, his mouth relenting only to move to your other breast. Dr. Miller is all about detail, of course he needs to make sure every part of you receives ample attention.

He releases you with a pop, a devilish grin on his face as he stands back to his full height. His hand snakes to your front, the pads of his fingers rubbing softly at your clothed center, your slick completely soaked through. “Ya need more?” He drawls. “Tell me what you need, baby,” he says sickeningly sweet, his entire hand moving to cup your sex, the squelch of your arousal making his cock twitch.

“Fuck-” you squeak, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. “T-touch me, p-please,” you stammer.

To outsiders looking in – hell, to even you – it’d seem as though Dr. Miller is entirely calm and collected, at ease in the way he’s been teasing you. Yet, with the way his cock is straining the material of his scrubs and the way his chest heaves, he is anything but. He is so far gone, he nearly wanted to rip your clothes off in the waiting room and take you over the fucking counter. But he didn’t, much to his displeasure, but he tells himself the buildup is worth the wait. And, fuck- with you? It’s so fucking worth it.

“I am touchin’ you, darlin’. Touch how? Use those words, sweet girl, I know you can,” he tells you, squeezing your cunt in a way that has your belly doing flips.

“Oh, God-” your head rolls back, body on fire. “F-fuck me, Dr. Miller, n-need your- fuck- need your cock, need it so bad,” you plead, eyes tearing up the more you speak. The man finally broke you.

Dr. Miller smiles wildly. “Atta girl,” he rewards you, “I’ll give it to ya,” he breathes. “Lord knows you’re all I been thinkin’ ‘bout,” he admits as his fingers begin nudging your pants down.

“Yeah?” you breathe softly as you lift your hips for him. Even in your aroused craze, you can’t help but soften at the admission. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” you tell him.

This is so much more than a fucking hookup, you both think. But you ignore that fact for later.

Shaking off the emotion, as soon as your pants join your clothes, you lean back, settling your elbows behind you to keep you up. Letting your legs fall open, you quirk your brow. “Well, cowboy?”

That brings his attention back. His eyes are fixed on your shiny cunt, his tongue twitches to drink you up. But, no, this is about you this time. And what you want is to be full. He’ll give it to you. But, first-

“I was too big for you last time,” he states matter-of-factly.

“I-” your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“I hurt you last time.”

“No you didn’t-”

“I could tell it did,” he rebuttals.

Without another word, he steps out of the exam room. A beat passes and he’s back – with a fluffy pillow.

“Um-”

“Lift,” he states.

You lift your hips up, and Dr. Miller places the pillow underneath your lower back. “This should help open your pelvic floor more,” he says. “And ease the tightness of the position,” he adds.

And it does.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Thanks,” you say, your cheeks heating up at the action.

He leans over you to kiss your tummy before his hands settle on the insides of your thighs. “You okay?” He asks. His thumbs rub up and down, dangerously close to where you’re leaking for him.

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your voice anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he says.

“Oh, God, please-” you whine impatiently.

“But I needa touch you first, angel, I don’t wanna hurt you. Please?”

How can you say no to that? To his thick fingers and the way you know he can use them so expertly? How can you say no to the hands that have built his career or to the hands that’ll easily make you fall apart just as much as you know his cock would? You’d be an absolute dumbass to say no to that.

“Okay, Dr. Miller,” you say, voice shaky in anticipation.

“Joel,” he offers.

Your heart skips a beat. “Joel?” you question.

“Mhm,” he hums. “My name- well, first name, I guess,” he pauses. His fingers move closer to your core, the softest of touches ghost through your seam. You take a sharp breath in. “Just tellin’ you cuz I wanna hear you moan it when I make a mess a’ you. I bet it’ll sound real pretty, baby.”

His thumb finds your clit, then, and you do exactly what Dr. Miller – Joel – wanted. You moan out his name deliciously, sending him groaning at the pang of desire shooting up his spine, his cock weeping for attention.

“Fuck yeah, angel, that’s it. Knew you’d sound so fuckin’ gorgeous, fuck-”

His thumb continues its assault on your throbbing bud while the middle finger on his other hand rubs through your wet folds, collecting up the arousal before he pushes into your entrance.

It’s an easy push, his fingers are thick, so there’s still a slight stretch amongst the pleasure. The work he puts in with both hands has your hips bucking in his touch, and it eases your body enough for him to slip his ring finger along his other.

His two fingers fuck into you at a sweet pace, the length of him reaching places your own fingers have never felt before. It’s pure ecstacy. “Oh, Joel, yes- shitshitshit, that feels so fucking good,” you cry, your head lolling around like a bobblehead, your body falling weaker and weaker the more he plays with you.

“Yeah, baby? Like that? That feel good?” He grunts, his heart beating a mile a minute at how fucking pretty and wild you look and sound from his fingers alone. “So fuckin’ wet, baby,” he snarls. “You know what, pretty girl?”

“What?” you whine, trying your best to keep your eyes open and on him as your head begins to tingle from how hard you’re panting.

“I think you’re ready to take me, baby, I think she’s so fuckin’ ready,” he grins, his fingers adopting a come-here motion, your sobs reverberating throughout the tiny exam room.

“Come for me first, pretty girl, make a mess on my fuckin’ fingers, and I’ll give what you’ve been crying for,” he all but demands as he looks down and lets a big glob of his spit fall directly onto your clit, his fingers gliding over you even quicker in the mixture.

“Fuck- Joel!” you scream, the spit being the action that completely throws you over the edge.

“Jesus, angel, fuck-” he stills his fingers, letting himself feel the flutter of your warmth as you cream all around him.“So fuckin’ perfect comin’ all over my fingers, goddamn, messy fuckin’ girl,” he rambles, his eyes roaming every inch of your body, taking in every twitch, shake, and mewl your body is giving him.

Your breathing starts to slow, muscles relaxing but not quite over its shaking. He pulls his fingers out of you and brings it directly to his mouth, his cock nearly bursting at the taste of you on his tongue. Another time, he thinks to himself as he bends down to pull the rest of his scrubs off, using the moment to place a chaste kiss to your puffy clit. You yelp at the sensation, a lazy, blissed out smile blesses him, and he can hear his heartbeat thrum in his ears at the sight.

Joel crowds himself between your thighs again, pumping his cock a few times, his thumb reaching for the precum leaking at his slit and spreading it all over his length.

“How you feelin’?” Joel checks in.

“So fucking good, Joel,” you respond, doe-eyed but entirely honest.

He wants to kiss you so fucking bad.

So he does.

He leans over you as best as he can in this angle, his length rubbing against your folds as he leans in, his hand wraps at the base of your neck, pulling you in for an open-mouthed kiss – wet, hot, and slow. He pulls away with a blush across his cheeks, and your face is entirely engulfed by flames, too. Did that kiss make him nervous? Did it make you nervous?

Unable to look away from each other, you utter the first thing that comes to mind. “Please,” you whisper, though you don’t really know what you’re pleading for.

“I got ya,” Joel whispers, pulling himself back to line up his erection with your entrance.

Even though Joel’s fingers were a stretch all on their own and your body was quick to adjust, you genuinely don’t think anything could truly prepare you for the length and girth of Dr. Joel Miller.

Last week, it was damn near impossible. Thinking back to it, honestly, you think you might want to even thank the nurse that interrupted you two. Still, if Joel hadn’t prepared you today with his fingers, you definitely wouldn’t have been able to take him as fast as you are now.

He pushes in just the tip, and you both gasp at the initial pleasure. Your mewls are more pleasurable than painful this time around, and Joel takes that as the go-ahead to keep going.

“You tell me if I needa stop, darlin’, I’ll stop immediately,” Joel grunts, trying his best to keep slow.

“God, fuck- Joel, I swear to God, you better not stop- need you so bad,” you lament. He finally pushes himself to the hilt, your rambling continuing as he does so. “Please fuck me, baby, fuck me hard, da-” you gasp and slap your hand over your mouth, catching yourself before you let yourself finish that word.

Joel pauses all movement, his hands tightly on your hips as his purely black eyes stare down at you. “What’d ya say, angel?”

“J-Joel, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“Not my question, babygirl,” he warns softly. “What’d you call me?”

You gulp, opting to just stare at him, silently begging him to spare you of the embarrassment.

He withdraws from you, all the way out to the tip, then, oh so slowly he pushes back in. He pauses halfway, eyebrow raised. Words.

“Please, Jo-” you start. His hand squeezes your hip in warning. “Please… Daddy, please,” you whine, finally giving in. With that, he pushes in roughly to the hilt, knocking all the wind from your lungs as pure pleasure flows through every nerve in your body. “Oh, fuck!”

“That’s it, angel, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he moans, his thrusts slow but calculated. “Makin’ daddy feel so good, baby, shit-” he tells you, his own eyes finally fluttering shut as he revels in the feeling of the warmth of your walls, tight and fucking perfect.

“How’s daddy’s girl feelin’, baby? Feelin’ good? Hm?” he grunts with a particular thrust forward.

“So- fuck-” you try to get out, your sweet cries of euphoria cutting you off and forcing you into incoherency. But you’ve experienced enough in this short time with Dr. Miller – with Joel – to know he needs this communication. He thrives on it. So you try your damn hardest. And fuck, it nearly sends him to his end.

“F-feels so good, so so good- mmm, shit- love your cock s’much, daddy,” you slur, eyes nearly going cross-eyed as Joel’s hips start to move faster, his fingers gripping tight enough to leave little bruises on your waist, a matching set to the marks across your neck and chest.

The wanton moans spilling from your mouth spurs Joel on, his brain short-circuiting at the feel of your velvety core consuming him. You feel him twitch before he feels you flutter. The sensation wakes you up a little, a wave of confidence overtaking you despite the fervent drive of his hips.

“You’re close, daddy,” you whine, a mischievous grin across your face. “Can feel you,” you tell him, thrusting your hips softly, attempting to meet his every push and pull with the help of the pillow gliding underneath you.

“Fuck-” he chokes, his hips only faltering in pace for barely a moment. One hand lets go of your waist and falls where you two are connected. “Need you- shit-” he pants. “Need you to come ‘round daddy’s cock first, pretty girl.” His thumb finds your nerves, slick and sensitive, and wastes no time in forcing you to the brink of another orgasm.

His fingers circle you, matching the rhythm of his hips, and instantly, your eyes clamp shut, back arching deliciously as you let your legs open impossibly further. “Oh, daddy- oh God, oh fuck- I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-” you yell as your throat becomes hoarse, your chest sinking and rising as you let your body relish in the fire that Joel is throwing you into.

“Give it t’me, lemme feel you, angel,” Joel urges, his lower tummy flexing as he feels your inner walls spasm and soak his pulsing length.

“Oh, yes- yeah, fuck- please,” you babble mindlessly. Pulling yourself to sit up, your hand planted behind you, you pull Joel in, lips ghosting each other as his quick breaths fan against your lips. “You gonna come? My pussy that good, daddy?”

Your random spurts of teasing has Joel in all sorts of panic. Usually, he’s one to call the shots, and all his past partners never wanted or requested anything different, but it seems as though he has finally met his match. “Fuckin- Christ, doll- pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby, daddy’s gonna fuckin- oh fuck-” he keens, pulling out just in time for his cock to spill his entire worth across your mound and your lower belly.

“Oh my god,” you moan to yourself, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of him all over you.

Joel takes a minute to catch his breath, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he didn’t just violate every Doctor oath he’s ever taken.

“I think I need to be the one to check in this time,” you let out in a breathy laugh. “You okay?”

He still isn’t looking in your eye, and it makes you nervous. Is he regretting everything now? “Joel?” you call, barely audible.

His eyes snap to yours before they fall back to where he was looking before. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, baby, I just, uh-”

Cutting himself off, he bends down slowly. You watch him, confused but intrigued. He sticks his tongue out, flat, and licks. From your mound to the lower part of your belly, he collects up the salty, milky liquid on his tongue.

He brings his mouth up to you, his hand finding purchase at the back of your neck. He pulls you into his mouth, his tongue invites itself into your space along with the heady musk of his come, and you welcome it greedily, swallowing every little bit of his arousal that you can.

You break away just before his watch beeps: 5:45pm, fifteen minutes until closing. “That was-”

“I’m sorry, that was disgustin’ I don’t know why I jus’ did that-”

You lean in to nip at him, pulling away with a suck to his pouty bottom lip. “That was hot, Dr. Miller,” you smirk.

Dr. Miller’s exam rooms, although not often, can see a lot of bodily fluids. Obviously not the kinds that you two have exchanged together, but with the notion of removing casts and such, sweat is bound to get everywhere. So every room holds baby and/or sanitizing wipes just in case.

He grabs a pack of baby wipes underneath the cabinet and takes out a few. He wipes your entire lower half down, and grabs some more from the pack to wipe himself off. It’s a dance of wobbly limbs as both of you help each other dress back up, you being particularly whiny at how stiff the scrub material is when you try and blame it on his big size.

“I thought you liked how big I am?” He quips, your eyebrows shooting up in response as you slap his chest.

All dressed up, you two walk out of the exam room, both you and Dr. Miller on cloud nine as you make your way back to the front office.

Before reaching the door, he grabs on your waist, pulling you against the wall, towering over you. That beautiful Southern gentleman smile bright on display, the kind of smile that has your knees wanting to buckle.

“I- I had a great time with you,” he says, a little bashful. Sure, the things you did together were otherworldly, but the things that came after? How he was able to help clean you, dress you, and simply just be with you afterwards? He really can’t remember a time he’s felt so right.

“I did, too,” you tell him. “But, I think…” you trail off.

His stomach sinks. Here it comes. We shouldn’t be doing this anymore, he knows you’ll say.

“I think I can’t be your patient anymore,” you whisper with a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Dear God, you just about gave me a damn heart attack,” he huffs, burying his head into the crook of your neck, littering playful nips anywhere he can reach as payback for scaring him.

You two break out in laughter, it slowly turning into an impromptu makeout session as his lips find yours again, both of you insatiable for one another’s taste.

You’re so caught up in each other that neither of you realize the front door of the office unlocks, nor do you realize someone is entering the hallway you two are currently in.

You also don’t hear the gasp coming from the person either, not until-

“Dr. Miller?!”

Shit.

NEXT (coming soon) ->

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chaethewriter · 1 year

Text

You're dead to me [3]

dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, barely proofread, a lot of awkward tension cause Neytiri and humans + reader being in conflict, terrible na'vi sentence.

Word count: 3,8k

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A superior of you recommended you to Norm, a human scientist in an avatar body that went against the RDA a decade ago. He lives close to the war, which means close to the Omatikaya. This means you were going to face your father, the man you really didn't want to see. It wasn't that big of a shock to you when you were told that you were going to the front lines. You were always preached about for being one of the best warriors, you saw it coming. Both Raja and Seb were also ranked as one of the best warriors among your group, so it was fortunate you could at least be close to your friends if you were to break down. Yet you weren't planning to do that. Deep inside you yearned for him, wanting to jump into his arms the moment you see him and call him daddy again, but another side of you told you to keep quiet about it. Let him figure it out on his own. Act like you don't care and show him what you became. Was it the mature way? No, definitely not. But you threw your childhood away to become a warrior, being childish every now and then shouldn't hurt too much. And I mean, they had your files. The information of you potentially being Jake Sully's kid was out in the open for the higher-ranked to see, so whether he was interested enough in getting to know his soon-to-be acquaintances or not, the choice of figuring out you are his babygirl is really up to Jake Sully himself. It's not like he would notice it by looking at your face, your mask wasn't see-through and covered half of your face. Besides that, you look different than what you looked like over a decade ago. So here you were, in this helicopter with Raja and Seb on your way to the Omatikaya clan, adrenaline rushing through your veins as Raja kept her grip on your forearm.

Jake Sully held his wife in his arms as he begged her to accept the help that is supposed to get to home tree soon. Norm already told him weeks ago that the resistance was coming soon. He didn't know what he meant, unaware of the things that were happening on earth. He was explained how earth was in an uproar, divided into three groups: with the RDA, against the RDA, or being neutral. Information was leaked about the RDA's doings, how they were sending humans to Pandora to kill the natives. History repeats itself. From killing their own kind centuries ago to killing a different species on a different planet. Norm told him how he was in contact with a huge resistance party on planet earth, one that was open for it to directly take action, how they wanted to send their trained warriors to Pandora to end the wrongdoings of mankind and keep the RDA away or any human that was a potential enemy to Pandora and its nature. Young warriors that just finished their training, choosing to fight for someone else's freedom rather than living a safe life on earth. Safe as in not getting attacked then, because planet earth is definitely dying. Jake could appreciate this selfless decision, whether some may be in it for the paycheck or just an act of kindness, all of them were there to help. He was hoping Neytiri could see it like this too, they were here to help fight against their own kind. Jake's pleading eyes couldn't make Neytiri decline, so with a loud hiss she agreed, "fine, but I'm coming with you. If they make one wrong move I'm going to pierce an arrow through their skulls, ma Jake." Her tone sounded annoyed, but she couldn't help but lean into his touch.

Even though Neytiri agreed to accept help from the sky demons, she was against the idea to bring those demons directly to high camp. It was that feeling all over again, when Jake betrayed her and the RDA came to destroy their past home, home tree. She was scared for her people, for her children. Jake could understand where she was coming from and agreed with Norm through his throat microphone to meet at the lab instead. His children were listening from afar and Tuk jumped out of their hiding spot, much to Neteyam's, Loak's and Kiri's dismay. "Are we going on an adventure?", giggles left her lips as she jumped towards her mother, her arms wrapping around her waist. Her chin was pressed against her mom's hip as she looked up at her with sparkles in her eyes. Kiri smacked herself against the forehead as their little sibling ran towards her parents. The three got out of their hiding spot, Neteyam walking in front as he was ready to confront his father, "sir I-" he started, but was immediately cut off as Jake spoke over his voice, "Neteyam I need you to come with your mom and me. We are retrieving guests, sky people. This will be part of your Olo'eyktan training." Jake's tone was fierce as he spoke to his son, treating his own blood as nothing but a warrior. Neteyam pursed his lips as he nodded his hand in response, "yes sir." was all he had left to say. Loak groaned as he felt left out of the situation. He wanted to go on an adventure too, and spend time with his father. "What about me? Why can't I come?" He didn't hide the disappointment in his tone as he asked his questions, mainly directing them to his father. "I need you to stay here and take care of Kiri and Tuk." Kiri then decided to chime in on the conversation, planning to get more information on the current situation, "what is this all about dad? They're going to help us, but what are they exactly?" Jake sighed in response as he brought his hand to his forehead. It was no use hiding anything, they would get to know the truth eventually. So he just decided to tell them everything he knew from Norm.

Everything comes to light after all.

Jake Sully prepared himself for their departure. Hunter's knife strapped to his hip and his throat microphone attached as always, in case Loak gets into trouble yet again. "Ma Jake? Are you ready soon? My mother would like to see you as well before we do." Neytiri called from outside their family pod. "Almost almost, I'll get to her tent soon." Jake was frantically looking around the pod as he spoke. He was looking for his good luck charm. Childish one may call it, but it made him feel at ease during these stressful times. There it lay, the thing he was looking for, under one of the woven carpets. He picked the round charm up, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he tried to open the lock. His heart pounded into his throat as he did so, struggling to open it because of his much bigger hands. He was delusional, scared to lose it. He breathed out when he came face to face with your cute baby face, all smiling and giggling. "Thank Eywa," he mumbled to himself and tied to chain to the handle of his knife. When Jake Sully opened the flap that separated the inside of the pod from the outside world he came face to face with Neytiri, "Mo'at wants to see me?" She responded with a nod as her head nodded to the healer's tent, "she wanted to speak to you, she told me." He wondered what that could be about. He wasn't injured or suffering from any illnesses, so what could have possibly happened? Jake Sully nodded his head before speaking up, "I still don't think it's a good idea that you come." Neytiri crossed her arms at his words, "Ma Jake, I need to see what kind of people are about to enter my clan." And with that, she walked away. A sigh left his lips since he knew things would not turn out too well. He stepped towards Mo'at's tent. Time to find out why she needed him, as he entered the tent Mo'at was supposed to be at. "Ah, Jake Sully. I was awaiting you." She motioned for him to come in and he followed her order. He awkwardly stood next to her as she busied herself with her herbs, "Eywa has spoken to me. It has to do with you, Jake Sully." His ears twitched in curiosity, motioning for her to continue speaking. "You are about to be in a huge conflict. Hearts will break and tears will stream. You mustn't give up as Eywa has spoken to me this needs to happen for you to continue forward, so don't back down, Jake Sully." This just confused him, what conflict? Does this have to do with the arrival of the resistance? Is this about the RDA? But he doesn't dare ask, because he knows the Tsahik can't get into detail. His gaze is focused on the herbs the Tsahik is mixing up into medicines. Was it to distract herself from this conversation? He didn't know what else to say, but there is one thing he dared to ask, "when will this happen?"

"Way sooner than you will ever expect, Jake Sully."

"Your codename is Buttercup?" Norm looked at Seb in disbelief as the guy in question just shook his head, "I was forced, this is a crime." The three of you were talking about yourselves to Norm as Norm listened carefully. Raja giggled at the embarrassment of her friend, "so there used to be this cartoon I found in one of my great grandma's old boxes. It was called the Powerpuff girls. It is about three sisters that fight against crime and we needed codenames, so I forced (Y/N) and Seb to match with me." This made Norm realize how the three trained warriors in front of him were actually still kids at heart. Of course he knew that they were young, but this just showed how much they missed out on beings kids. You chuckled at the conversation and shrugged, "I mean, my codename is Blossom so it's not too bad, not like being a buff dude and getting called Buttercup. Raja's fits hers, bubbles. It fits her bubbly personality." Seb continued complaining about how it was two against one and that he couldn't escape from his codename being Buttercup. "We are here," Norm commented and you felt the nerves go through your body once again, your grip on your katana so hard your knuckles turned lighter. As the helicopter lowered, you looked outside the window and there you saw three blue figures standing next to one another close to a facility in the middle of the forest. There he was. Your dad. Standing all high and mighty and he was so tall. He looked so different, yet still the same. You noticed certain features that just made him look like your dad. You wished you were a little kid again. If it was little you in your place right now, she wouldn't have given a damn. Would've run up to him and told him who you were as you would have jumped into his arms. But you grew up, full of anger and pain. You pursed your lips as you watched him talk with his mate and son, silently wishing it was you there, by his side as he had a proud look on his face. You had an intense conflict within yourself. Why did you have to be such a tryhard? If you slacked off, you could have been chilling with the other warriors that were spread around the other forest clans. Yet, this was something to be proud of. You did this on your own, you should prove yourself to them, to him. But were you ready for this confrontation? All this inner dialogue made your head hurt. You had to stop fighting the thoughts in your head and focus, because you were getting lost in your thoughts a lot. That wasn't acceptable, not on a battlefield. Once the helicopter landed, Norm was the first to step out of the helicopter, followed by Seb, Raja and you. When the three of you stood in a line you were standing right in front of the Na'vi: Seb in front of Neteyam, Raja in front of Neytiri, and you in front of Jake Sully right in the middle. As if Eywa herself wanted this to happen, wanting the two of you to reconnect. He analyzes you from head to toe, his gaze burning into your skin making you push your mask further into your skin. You wanted to crawl into a cave right there and then.

"Oel Ngati Kameie," the three of you say in unison as you brought your hand towards your forehead, dropping it slowly to the height where your chest is at. The na'vi in front of you do the same na'vi greeting, before Jake Sully switched to English, "I, Jake Sully, Welcome you to Pandora, I can speak for everyone of the Omatikaya clan that we are very thankful for your arrival and your help." His English sounded rusty, but understandable when you haven't been using it for the past decade. Your eyebrows raise at his English, "we understand Na'vi. Pxoeng nolume Na'vi." You spoke to your dad through your mask and you could see the surprise on his face. It made you smile, he looked proud. Fortunately, the mask covered your mouth, otherwise, everyone could have seen your happy expression. Norm chimed into the conversation, "These three are the best warriors of their group. (Y/N), Seb and Raja, all scored fantastically on their physical exams. Six years ago, these warriors left just a few weeks before RDA's departure. We got a few weeks to plan out a raid against their new forces." Everyone nods in unison and you glance at your dad once again, locking eyes with him, since he was already looking at you.

Jake's eyes widen at that name. It was a name he didn't hear in so long. He thought of his babygirl, wondering what you could be doing right now. Did you graduate? Have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Was he a grandfather? He got so overwhelmed at the thought of you. He missed you so much. His little girl, who is probably not so little now. Regret and guilt fuels his body as he remembers that he was the one to leave you and never return to earth. How he hoped to see your face again. Come and live here with him on Pandora, was that a selfish thought?

Norm took out a form and cleared his throat, making Jake Sully wake up from all his thoughts, "Jake, the warriors first need to do this checkup before they can get to work, resistance orders," he passes him the map with your files and your heart immediately dropped to your stomach. You knew he was about to get your last name eventually, but on the first day? You don't know if you can do that. "This was supposed to be my task, but I trust that you can do this, oh great Olo'eyktan? Max is researching something and he urgently needs my help with it." Great Norm, just great. Eywa, is this your doing? Because you would rather wish she takes you to her right this instant. "You can trust me with this, Norm." Jake flashes him a grin. "Don't lose it and I really mean that," Norm's gaze reaches the three of you once again, he almost looks worried, "I read the checkup, good luck, because as a scientist I could never." And to the lab he went.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Seb raised his eyebrows in concern and his eyes glanced at the map your father was holding. Neytiri has been quiet this entire time as well as Neteyam. Both were weary ever since they met you three, like mother, like son. Everyone could notice the tension, it would have made Jake's arm hair stand if he had any. "Okay, let's see what we have here.. Pretty.. gruesome.." Neteyam was looking over his dad's shoulder, frowning at all of them, "sir, is this normal for humans?" Again, you raise your eyebrows and you couldn't stop the next words you say from coming out of your mouth, "you call your father 'sir'? What is this, an army?" Raja widens her eyes, as well as Seb. Neytiri hisses your way in defense, Jake putting his arm out in front of her as to not make her pounce in you, but you don't flinch. You just looked at your father in disbelief at how he was treating his own son. It was awfully quiet as Jake didn't know what to reply. Your hard gaze on him made him feel something, guilt? Pain? He couldn't describe it, but he felt weird in some way. Luckily, Norm came back in his human body, clear mask on his face, "false alarm, he already got help from the other scientists and everything is go- what the hell happened here?" Norm could feel the tension in his bones as he watched the six of you. You were the first to speak up, "nothing is wrong here. So you will do our checkup right?" You walked towards your father, gripping the file map out of his hands and handing it over to Norm. Everyone's jaws drop to the ground and Neytiri drew her hunter's knife, "you sky demon I knew you couldn't be trusted! Such disrespectful behavior!" Jake takes a hold of his mate. They couldn't fight, not now. Neytiri needed to get out of here before blood was about to be drawn. "Ma Neytiri please, it's fine, could you please check up on Loak?" The tension was unbearable for Jake Sully. His eyes pleaded for himself to handle this. The grip on her knife loosened as she hissed again. Neteyam stepped towards his mother as his hand wrapped around hers, the one she was gripping the knife with, "mother please, please trust father." He himself had doubts about these humans, but it looked like his dad trusted them, so he should at least try right? As future Olo'eyktan. Looking into her son's eyes, she felt herself calm down as she lowered her knife, attaching it to her hip. She put her hand on Neteyam's cheek for a second before pulling her hand away. Once again, she threw a glance at you. "I'm watching you." She sent you a hiss as a warning and crept back into the forest. Great, you have a bad relationship with your dad's mate. Maybe this was for the best after all. Jake sighed, he shouldn't have taken Neytiri with him even after all her demands. With sky people she just met it was bound to go like this.

After that awkward ordeal, Neteyam led everyone to an open field in the forest. With your dad's gaze still lingering on your body, you decided to try and ignore it. Easier said than done. You yearned for your dad, but you couldn't give in. Neteyam and Jake stood to the side as the three of you started stretching in the conveniently open field that was formed into a circle. "The checkup is about strength, focus, and speed. You need to fight one vs one hand-to-hand combat battles against one another without masks on."

"Without masks?! Are they out of their mind?!"

"Do you expect an answer or?"

"No I don't!"

Seb and Raja continued their daily bickering as always, but your mind was completely somewhere else. Jake seemed to notice this, as he walked towards you. He had this urge to comfort you. Could it be, because you had the same name as his daughter on earth? Maybe, but maybe if he took care of you, he could feel at peace again. He sat on his knees and put his hand on your shoulder, making you look his way. "I'm sorry for my mate, she can be very protective of me," he softly spoke to you, "and I don't blame you, you woke up after 6 years and your entire life is upside down. I understand." You pursed your lips at his words. Why was he being so soft to you? You couldn't stand it, not when he spoke like that, reassuring you like that. You didn't reply, you just gave him the shoulder as you stepped away from his grip. This just made him even more confused as his chest hurt, did he do something wrong when he met you? Was he staring at you a little too long? Did his gaze offend you?

"We will do three rounds and in those three rounds, you need to put your enemy down for ten seconds to win."

"Let's dance then, shall we?"

And those words you spoke, felt awfully familiar to Jake Sully.

Neteyam Sully watched in awe as you fought the final round against Seb. Your mask was on the ground as you pounced on the much taller guy. He tried to lock your legs with his to make you lose your balance, which would have given him an advantage, but you punched him in the face with your fist, making his mouth open and gasp for air. In his moment of panic, you used it to knock him face-first into the dirty mossy ground, keeping his head on the floor as you twisted his arm. You sat right on his back as you used your knee on his neck to keep him down, the other weighing on his lower back and arm. You gasped for air as you saw blurry, listening to Norm count to ten was honestly something. It sounded like he counted to a hundred in slow motion. When he yelled the word ten, you quickly got off your friend, crawling towards your mask. Jake wanted to run up to you to help you, but Norm told him to stop and that this was what you were supposed to do in a real battle if it would ever happen that you lose your mask. You quickly took your mask in your hand and put it on your face with a shaky hand, gasping for the oxygen you needed. You coughed loudly as you sat on your knees with your hands on the ground. Jake rushed towards you and put his arm around you, rubbing your back with his free hand, "are you okay?" worry in his tone as he spoke. Your eyes widen at the familiar hug. The warmth of his arms as he used to hold onto you as you snuggled against him in your sleep. But you couldn't. You held onto his hand, letting the touch linger your skin before you pushed it away, "I'm good, yes." You stood up and walked towards Norm, not looking back at him once.

Just what was it with you?

And why did it hurt how you treated him?

A/N: I was lowkey insecure about posting this part 3 fr, idk if I liked it. I kept adding and adding details in the hope I would feel better about it, so here's a longer part than usual. Hope you enjoyed it. Pls tell me what you think. <3

taglist:

@hoodiepandaninja16 @l0v3e1i @neteyamforlife @noname2246 @littlelia007 @j0551 @navs-bhat @fyfy-world @hellok1ttycake @lwozy @n1ght5h4d3-24 @kahlowy @iloveavatar @farleyis @reguluscrystals @inomoikawa @bobojojoba69 @eternallyvenus @imakms @alice121804 @aimsro @carollise @jjkclub @onlytays @yeosxxx @dakotali @degenweeb @sunshinewwx @sassy-persona @ggeveryone99 @calums-betch @voniikg @jakesullys-bitch @answer-the-sirens @ilovebluesliens @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @crazy4books1 @kitkat1690 @iikatsukii @666yourmomdotcom @ssc7514 @nhloversblog @eatassskatefast12 @mizuki80 @makeup-stuff-and-such @ayanies @n3t3y4msm4t3 @tigresslily @innersuitcasehairdoscissors @mangolog

#jake sully x human!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad! jake sully #jake sully #jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully #dad!jake x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #sully family x reader #sully family #neteyam x reader #neteyam

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sexlapis · 5 months

Text

- house decor

꩜ nanami x reader

synopsis: you & nanami go home decor shopping and your methods for choosing furniture are…interesting to say the least.

suggestive, heavy sex implications, crack fic, fluff, gender neutral!reader, nanami & reader are married, reader embarrassing nanami

a/n: inspired by this tiktok video ^_^

masterlists

you do not enjoy shopping.

the bustling crowd, the loud, busy atmosphere, the blinding strain of artificial light and constantly moving around on your feet for hours on end when you desired the comfort of your home.

you do not enjoy shopping.

unfortunately for you, your newly wedded husband nanami did and being the good partner you are, you willingly put aside your mild discomfort to make him happy.

it’s so difficult being a good, loving and caring partner for your husband, really.

after shoving all of your previous shopping in the trunk of the car, relief floods you. finally, this day is over. it’s only 4pm and a long, cosy afternoon nap awaits at home.

instead, nanami waits beside the car, holding his hand out for you to hold. “come on. we still have one more place left.”

“what!” you groan. “i thought that was the last one!”

“nu-uh. just this one and we’re all done for the day.”

grumbling, you place your hand in his. nanami smiles softly at you and your frustrations ease just a little.

he drags you along the buzzing car park all the way to a large, furniture store.

furniture, huh?

“oh! furniture shopping!” you gleam, a mischievous glint in your eyes that nanami fails to notice. “i’m okay with this.”

“i think that is the happiest you’ve looked since we left the house.”

“yeah, i can tolerate shopping for furniture. not your five billion candles! also, i get to sit down.

“ah, _____,” nanami sighs fondly, pecking your temple quickly, “you are so lazy…”

you huff, but your attention is grabbed by a two-seater, emerald coloured sofa of velvet material. it looked comfortable and seemed like a good deal.

you glide your hand along the rim of the furniture. “what’d you think of this one, kento?”

“hm..it’s alright.” he replies, walking around the sofa and inspecting it like it needs a good fix. “it’s a little small, though.”

“yeah. yeah, that true,” you say, standing behind the lovely, exquisitely made piece of furniture.

you then place both hands onto the outside back of the sofa, and lean forward, effectively bending over. you shift around, seeing how it feels.

glancing back, you see nanami tilt his head and squint his eyes at you.

“…what are you doing?”

you smirk. “you know, jus’…seeing how it feels,” you grunt, standing back up and dusting your hands off like you did a job well done, “it’s too short for me anyway, it would hurt my hips when we..y’know…”

nanami lifts a brow on his perfect face, waiting for you to elaborate.

but you just turn to the kitchen section, skipping away to see what other pieces of furniture and house decorations you can terrorise.

“this one is nice.” you say to nanami, who followed you all the way even in his confusion, of course.

the kitchen setup was modern and sleek, taking on neutral tones like beige, white and brown.

“yes, i do like this one. i can see myself cooking on here.” nanami replies, referring to the electric oven.

“yeah, yeah..” you speak, opening and closing the kitchen cupboards. “hm.”

“what is it?”

“i dunno,” and then, you’re bending over again, this time over the kitchen counter display. “this area is a bit small too,” you jerk your body exaggeratedly, repeatedly moving forwards and backwards like you were being fucked, almost hitting your head on the cupboard above, “yeah, i don’t-”

“_____!” nanami hisses, face morphing into a incredulous expression as he marches over to you, quickly putting a stop to you act, “what are you doing?”

you look up at him from where you’re bent over. “wh-i’m testing it out. seeing if it’s what we need and whatnot,” you turn back around, still in the same position, “okay, now do a few practice thrusts on me, i need to see if-”

“_____!”

“okay, okay.” you huff, laughing a little. you stand up straight, taking a good look at nanami.

a pink tinge coats his cheeks and nose while he frowns at you, almost pouting.

how cute.

you grin and latch onto his fingers, pulling him along with you. “let’s see the bed section now.”

nanami sighs. this day will be longer than he thought.

you plonk yourself down on the alaskan sized mattress, body bouncing with the bed itself. sprawling out like a starfish, you hum, letting yourself sink into the comfort of the bed.

nanami stands, seemingly unimpressed. “_____, that’s the sixth time you’ve done that.”

“yeah, kento, i need to see if it’s good to lie on after a long day of work or something..” an idea springs to mind and you sit up quickly, “okay, try throwing me on the bed, but not too hard.”

“_____, no-”

“come on! nobody’s around. look.” you were correct, there was hardly anyone in the store at this time, considering it was a thursday and nearing late afternoon. “just indulge me. just this once,” you beam up at him, “please?”

nanami stared down at you. he and you both know that he will give in. he can’t say no to you, really.

nanami rolls his eyes at himself, holding his hands out and beckoning you over. “come here then..”

you spring up, practically running to him and throwing yourself in his arms. “throw me!”

he shakes his head at you, looking around before throwing you onto the bed. you bounce, cackling and smiling widely as you lay on the bed. nanami shakes his head fondly, looking down at your delighted face. “how is it?”

you breathe heavily, making a face. “eh,” you jump off the bed, “too bouncy and too loud.”

“really?” nanami blanks. “you’ve been jumping on this bed for ten minutes and you don’t-”

“ooo, come look at this armchair, kento!” but you’re already off to your next piece of furniture. you kneel down a little, “this one looks comfy.”

“yeah,” huffing, nanami strolls over, “yeah, it’s nice.”

your hand finds nanami’s back and you prompt him forward. “sit on it.”

he gives you a look. “and you won’t do anything ridiculous?”

“nanami.” you look at him pointedly. “sit on it, i wanna see what you think.”

nanami stared at you for second and obeys, walking to the couch and sitting, legs spread and arms resting.

“what’d you think?” you ask, admiring his thick legs and arms as you stalk closer to him.

“yes, it’s comfortable,” nanami stated and shifts a little. he feels the leather material of the armrest, “and good quality i’d say.”

“hmmm.” that’s all that is said before you’re plopping yourself onto his lap.

nanami sputters. “_____, wh-”

“shh, shush, i’m not gonna do anything this time. just wanna see how i feel sitting on your lap in this chair,” you look back at him from where you’re seated, smiling innocently, “yeah?”

nanami’s eyes thin, clearly not believing you and not a fan of displaying such intimate affection so publicly, but he sighs, “alright….”

you nod joyfully, rubbing his knee and turning to look at the layout of this particular living room. a large, black, smart television that nanami would definitely deem unnecessary, a cream, ruffled rug laid out across the floor, a mahogany, oval-shaped coffee table.

“this one’s pretty boring, right?”

nanami runs a hand down his stubble covered jaw. he forgot to shave, but you can’t say you don’t like it. “yeah, the only thing i like is the armchair.”

before he even finishes his sentence, you’re momentarily bouncing on his lap like a pogo stick, not even giving nanami time to process what just happened before you stand up, placing your hands on your hips. “yeah, yeah we should definitely get this one. comfy, quiet, nice looking. will fit perfectly into our living room, don’t you think?”

nanami stares at you, still planted on the armchair, unmoving. “i have nothing to say to you. you’re unbelievable.”

you cackle. “do you even know me?”

he mumbles, rising from the seat, adjusting his jeans slightly. you smirk, biting your lip and go to say something teasing, but he stops you, “not. a. word.”

a brand new, comfortable and most importantly, durable, leather armchair sits in your living room by the end of next week.

a/n: i luv when reader is a little tease 🤭🤭🤭

#husband!nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x gender neutral reader #nanami x gn!reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x gender neutral reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami fluff

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m00nsbaby · 9 months

Text

AITA for texting my fiancé that "this isn't working"?

Steven Grant x reader.

Tags & warnings. None. Yes, this literally is just a silly little thing that I read on reddit and I thought it was so funny lol. Reader is gender neutral!

Word count. 823.

Moving in with Steven was one of the best decisions you could make in your life, right after saying 'yes' when he proposed.

The only inconvenience came at a precise time between morning and afternoon, sometimes even at night, all depending on the mood of his boss. Waiting for Steven to return from work was such a headache, boring hours and dead time as you tried to find your own job.

The upside was that you now had complete freedom to organize his apartment to your liking, and if anything needed a complete makeover, it was Steven Grant's dark and disorganized home.

You had just made a completely necessary expense, a gigantic mirror that was clearly bigger than your capabilities. Worse yet, considering that if there was something you despised with all your heart, it was the mere idea of reading an instruction manual.

When the mirror arrived, the Amazon delivery guy mocked you to your face for your difficulty in handling the box and getting it into the house.

You: Baby, the new mirror just came in!

You hit send after the message.

You: I’m going to try to put it together but I may need your help later.

And just as you said, you got to work with the phone by your side, waiting for a response from Steven.

You assumed Donna was in a terrible mood because at least two hours went by without a reply, although you were really too busy to worry about that.

For a moment, you insisted on the idea of finishing assembling the darn mirror before Steven arrived home, but that clearly didn't happen because for the two and a half hours of effort you put in, you didn't feel like you were really getting anywhere.

Plus, you had extra screws that shouldn't have been left over.

You: This isn’t working and at this point, I think I need to just give up.

You put the phone aside and lazily lay down on the carpet. Why was assembling furniture so hard? Although not as difficult as having to accept that you couldn't finish it on your own.

You stayed there not knowing how long, but you estimated it was a few hours because you heard the front door indicating that Steven was home. The smile lasted only a short while because as you straightened up to greet him, he walked past you without even looking at you, heading straight to the bedroom.

"Steven?" you questioned, slightly furrowing your brow. You stood up slowly, giving him time to exit the room.

When you finally confronted him, your heart almost jumped out of your chest. His eyes were red, completely filled with tears.

"What happened, baby?"

"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking. It shattered your heart into pieces.

"Why what, Steven?" He sniffled, and you searched his gaze when he started avoiding you.

"Why are you giving up on me?"

You nearly killed him right then and there.

"What are you talking about?"

He didn't take long to pull his phone out of his pocket and shake it a bit in front of your face; he was on the verge of sobbing.

"Y-Your messages, you were breaking up with me."

The moment Steven mentioned your text messages, you had to press your lips together to keep from laughing in his face.

Your expression almost made him cry harder. Were you making fun of him?

"Steven." Your voice came out in a playful tone as you almost burst into laughter. "I was talking about the mirror."

"Huh? What mirror?"

"The new mirror, it arrived." Your eyes were almost watering from holding back laughter. "I'm guessing that the previous messages didn't send; I was talking about not being able to assemble it on my own."

You stepped aside to let him see the mess you had made on the floor, with the mirror halfway assembled.

Steven exchanged glances between the things and you.

He looked at the things.

He looked at you.

He looked at the things.

He looked at you.

Realization hit in seconds, and you couldn't say anything more when you felt Steven's arms squeezing you against his chest. You couldn't stop laughing even though your laughter sounded odd, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"Bloody fucking hell, love!" Steven cursing was definitely a special event. It only made you laugh harder. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

He lifted you off the ground, and tears were already streaming down your face. It took much longer than expected to calm down from the laughter.

Still breathless, you let him kiss your face, as well as embrace you with his strong arms that refused to let you go.

"Still, I need you to check the mirror." You took a deep breath, your cheeks already reddened, one of your hands held onto him, and the other wiped the corners of your eyes. "I think I damaged it."

#moon knight #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader

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mysacredmuse · 2 months

Text

reader: female anatomy, gender neutral descriptors and nicknames, no pronouns used

tw/cw: nsfw - mdni!, playful bickering (?), degrading, a bit irritated Veritas, slight dumbification, vaginal fingering & p in v penetration, no protection (wrap it before you tap it pls), creampie

word count: 2.9k

Veritas trying to teach you math as a form of love language while incorporating some other things until one of you loses focus...and the other loses patience. Is he a bit of a sore loser who would fuck you while doing math stuff? Yes he is, but we love him <3

(I need him carnally, it's not even a joke...so many thoughts rn, but I kept this one tame :D)

dividers by @/cafekitsune

• Dr Ratio • Focus & Patience •

Teaching and sharing knowledge was Veritas' love language.

The worst love language that a genius like him could have, if you were being honest. Sometimes you thought that his idea of a love language was actually him simply feeding his own ego and boosting the love towards himself. Right now, you think it's a torture for something you've done terribly wrong in your past life.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asks sharply, distracting you from much more important and interesting thoughts than math.

"Now I am.." you slur the words as you rest your chin on your hand. Your eyes scream boredom as your lips turn into a thin line, not even trying to hide genuine disinterest you were feeling. Veritas bites down a few nasty words he would throw your way before he speaks up again.

"Do you have any idea how important this is?" his tone is so serious as he shows you the problem he was solving.

"Nope. Never cared, never will. Come on Veritas, you know math hardly sparks my interest!" you whine, spreading your arm on the table to serve you as a pillow.

He scoffs as he gives you a sharp gaze. You return the gaze, however to his misfortune, yours is as disinterested as ever.

"You are worse than a child, at the very least, they have curiosity which is deserving of respect." he says in a stern tone, his gaze still filled with determination to persuade you.

"And you are like a child, whining just like one." you roll your eyes at him, sighing in boredom.

He remains silent and you look at him for a few moments, his eyes holding some sort of indescribable emotion that makes your foolish heart soft.

"Ugh, fine! But this is the last time." you note in a serious tone, earning a soft smile from Veritas.

"It certainly is." he nods as he opens his arm, gesturing to you to sit on his lap. Without giving it much thought and without addressing his previous sarcasm, your body simply follows, adjusting yourself on top of him. He slowly wraps one of his arms around your waist and tummy as he uses the other one to point at things as he explains them.

You have no idea how much time has passed, slightly readjusting on his lap from time to time as he keeps explaining stuff you will never think about ever again. At some point, he gives you the pen, encouraging you to try and solve one of the problems by yourself. His hand rests besides yours that was writing with slight hesitancy, but you were trying your best. His arm that was wrapped around you tightens just a bit as his thumb starts drawing small circles on your hip.

"That would be much hotter if we were playing billiards or something, ya know? In this setting, it's kinda lame." you say playfully, following with a soft chuckle.

"The only thing that is lame is your pea-sized brain that even thought of this as a form of coercion. Now, work." he says in a stern tone, earning a face of annoyance from you.

But, you keep working on the problem, even though you truly had no clue what was going on. In the meantime, Ratio slowly unwraps his arm away from your waist and slides his hand down your thigh, keeping it still for the time being.

"That's wrong." he says in his usual, semi-authoritative tone as he observes your solution to the problem.

"You knew that 10 minutes ago, should've told me then!" you raise your voice in annoyance, but he just places a soft, perhaps apologetic kiss on your shoulder.

He sneaks his hand to your inner thigh and starts drawing small circles on your skin using his thumb.

"Just try again." he whispers as his hand trails up your inner thigh, giving your flesh a few rougher squeezes in-between the tender circles.

You aren't oblivious by any means, but this stupid solution is taking up most of your focus and attention. You slightly readjust yourself on Veritas' lap, only to feel him getting harder, his cock pressing onto your ass.

What a damn loser.

He slowly moves his other hand, sneaking his thumb between your skin and your panties as well as your shorts, slightly pulling them down. You turn your head, giving him the look, but his gaze remains the same - lustful and greedy.

"Keep working." he orders in a lower tone as his other hand joins to slide down the fabrics covering your slightly leaking cunt.

You adjust yourself, standing up for a moment, letting the fabrics fall down your legs. You sit back down, softly squirming on his lap as you continue solving the problem...or at least trying to do so.

"Good job. You got the first part correct now, can you do the rest?" he asks in a sly tone as one of his hands slides between your legs, two fingers slowly collecting the precum that was coating your inner lips.

He slowly brings his fingers up, drawing circles around your clit, just close enough to make you a bit irritated. You bite down on your bottom lip, genuinely trying to solve the issue, but with no much fruition.

"Perhaps you need a little reward for doing the first part correctly..., it might motivate you further." he whispers, kissing the nape of your neck as the two of his fingers finally begin to circle on your clit, earning a few soft gasps of yours.

"How am I supposed to work like this?" you whisper in a slightly trembling tone as your pussy clenches around nothing.

"Think of it as...mental gymnastics of a sort." his tone reveals no sympathy for you whatsoever as he continues circling over your clit, enjoying the way your body twitches from time to time.

You roll your eyes as another barely audible gasp leaves your lips, continuing your work. His fingers move slowly enough for you to make some room for concentration, but as soon as Veritas notices that the problem is taking a bit too much of your attention, he speeds up, earning a guttural moan of yours. Your pussy leaks more, the emptiness starting to feel slightly painful.

You can't see his face, but you can sense the satisfaction that he was experiencing for messing you up like this. Although, it's only the beginning.

"You are on the right track." he whispers behind you in a low tone as his fingers trail down, teasing your entrance.

You bite down a moan, a soft muffled whimper escaping your throat as he slides two of his fingers inside your needy cunt, moving them in and out of you at a slow, agonizing pace.

He lets out a mellow sound of satisfaction of his own upon feeling your wet cunt clenching around him as he keeps stretching you out.

Your hips begin slowly rolling in and out, meeting the thrusts of his fingers as he curls them up, pressuring your sweet spot with every movement made. You drop the pen, focusing on riding his fingers and he lets you indulge in pleasure for just a moment. His other hand rests on your hip, gently guiding it without much pressure as soft moans slip past your lips each time his fingers reach all the right spots inside of you. He slightly spreads his thighs, spreading yours along the way, making you more sensitive to his touch and earning a louder moan of yours.

"Don't fuck yourself dumb now. Solve this and I will give you even more." he whispers, but his tone reveals certain impatience and neediness as you continue working in a perfect union.

"Promise?" you ask mindlessly as your hand searches for the pen, eyes rolled back as his fingers speed up just a bit, sending pleasurable jolts through your whole body.

"Promise. Now, focus and patience is what we need." he confirms, his tone becoming a bit more desperate as your pussy clenches tighter around his fingers.

You try to keep your unsteady gaze on the second part of the problem, mind overwhelmed with the heavy knot that was forming in your lower tummy as pleasurable heat spreads underneath your skin. With each roll of your hips, you can feel Veritas' cock getting harder and harder, an originally small wet spot growing bigger with each movement you make, mixing your own precum with his. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he speeds up his fingers even more, forcing a few louder moans out of you.

You curse under your breath, swiftly dropping the pen as your head falls back on his shoulder, hips still as he continues fucking you with his fingers in a faster pace.

"Focus." he orders in a firm tone, but curls his fingers even more, not giving your sweet spot a single break. You let out a prolonged whimper, shaky breath making it hard to speak up.

"Don't tell me that you are so pathetic that you become a dumb little thing just from this." he continues in a firmer voice, although you notice a subtle teasing.

"Says a guy with a wet spot on his pants." you barely voice your sentence as more moans and whimpers occupy your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming.

In one quick instant, your cunt clenches around nothing, a loud gasp escaping your lungs as your chest hits the table in front of you. A rush of excitement goes through your body, making you needier.

"Who do you think you are?" his tone is low as he leans in, towering over your bent body, lips gently brushing over your earlobe.

"You should lick it clean since you are the one who made it in the first place.."

"Or should I just fuck you dumb since you serve no other purpose in your current state of mind?" his tone is awfully low, but firm, sending shivers up your spine. You remain silent, so Veritas makes a decision for you. A decision that you already saw coming, but he doesn't have to know that.

You can hear the zipper going down and the fabric rolling down his legs. You lay your head on the side, watching his irritated gaze as you feel him align his cock with your pretty leaking cunt. You give him a soft smile, almost feeling victorious for whatever reason, but your mouth quickly turns agape as a guttural and strained moan escapes your lungs once he swiftly slides his cock inside of you. He lets out a louder grunt as his hands fall onto your hips, pressing them into the table. He quickly picks up the pace, sliding his cock in and out of you in a swift and deep manner, stretching you out while reaching the sweetest and furthest spots inside of you.

Your fingers shakily claw on the table, filthy sounds turning your throat dry as he keeps pounding into you without a break. His grunts quickly turn into moans of his own, fingernails digging into your skin as his pelvic area slams into your ass, leaving a burning sensation behind each thrust.

"And you were doing so well...such a shame that you are a dumb little whore who only wants to get fucked." he spits out between the moans, voice a bit shaky.

Your mind feels hazy and all you manage to do is spread your legs just a bit more, greedy for deeper sensation. He quickly picks up on that, spreading your legs further using his own knee as he narrows his hips in an angle that reaches the deepest spots inside of you. You choke on your own sounds, still clawing on the table as each thrust makes your body weaker and weaker.

The burning sensation in your ass becomes even hotter as the angle of his hips changes, the speed of his thrusts making it hard for you to process every sensation that was going inside of your body.

Veritas' cock starts pulsating inside of you and your pussy clenches around him in response, earning a few soft twitches of his. He throws his head back, guttural and deep moans shamelessly slipping past his lips as he keeps you in place, the pace of his hips vigorous and precise.

An intense heat spreads beneath your skin as your thighs become shaky and weak from all the sensations. A string of saliva slips down your bottom lip, but Veritas quickly moves his hand to clean it up, his thumb brushing over the wet spot of your lip.

"How pathetic and unpresentable. Drooling like a dog." his words come out harsh, but the way his cock twitches inside of you just reveals his actual feelings about it...as always.

You roll your eyes slightly, trying to lift your hips to feel more of him if even possible, but the harsh thrusts of his own hips make it impossible for you to move. His balls slap your clit with each thrust, deepening the pleasure, but not staying long enough for you to reach your release. It makes you slightly annoyed, but the way his cock slides in and out of you in such a perfect way, reaching all of your sweet spots makes it easier not to think about it. He lets out a chain of heavy moans and gasps as your pussy tightens and relaxes around him, your eyes revealing a soft plea for him to play with your clit.

"You think you deserve it?" he asks as he leans closer to you, his chest pressing into your back, his thrusts becoming a bit shallow in the process. You nod as the knot inside of your lower tummy becomes unbearable and overwhelming, making it hard to speak or think. All you can do is tremble beneath him as your body becomes more limp with each passing second.

"I don't think you do." he whispers into your ear, a soft moan following as your cunt clenches around him, almost panicky.

A chain of weak and broken pleads slip past your lips, voice desperate and needy. He slows down his thrusts, sloppily grinding into you and slightly giving your intense build up a relief. You grind back into him, his thick cock filling you up perfectly, soft pressure and warmth building up in your cheeks from excitement and arousal.

"Please, Veritas." your tone is desperate and whiny, slightly broken as well.

He can't help but chuckle at a pathetic, yet quite exciting sight in front of him. The sight of you like this makes his cock leak a string of precum inside of your sensitive cunt, sending tingles through your back. It also makes Veritas break easily, giving into your desire as his own release builds up more and more with every mutual grind of hips.

He slides his hand between your lower tummy and the table, the two of his fingers begin to draw small circles on your clit. You let out a gasp of relief as Veritas slightly straightens himself, chest no longer pressing into you as he quickly picks up the relentless pace from before.

The room fills up with a mixture of both of your moans and whimpers as he keeps pounding into you without a break while his fingers move in a slower manner, creating a perfect balance. Your legs become unsteady and shaky as the knot inside your lower tummy becomes heavier and heavier, the first waves of your orgasm washing over you in short and quick spams.

His cock twitches more, applying more pressure to your g-spot as he slides his cock in and out of you, making your pleasure overwhelming. You let out dry moans as his fingers keep up the slow pace opposed to his cock, making your pussy leak more around him. He lets out breathy moans and whimpers, cock pulsating as he edges closer to his own release.

Your hand shakily grabs the edge of the table as Veritas keeps up his pace, narrowing his hips just a bit more to send you over the edge. You feel intense warmth spread beneath your skin as you become lightheaded, loud gasps and moans escaping your lungs as the knot inside your tummy finally unravels. Veritas mutters a few curse words as your cunt pulsates and twitches around him, his fingers becoming shaky on your clit as your orgasm reaches its peak.

He lets out a sharp groan, gasping quickly afterwards as he reaches his own release, a thick whip of cum spreading inside of you. Your eyes roll back as your eyebrows furrow in unbearable pleasure, legs barely keeping you up as your orgasm slowly melts away. Veritas moves his fingers away from your clit, hand quickly pressing your lower back into the table as he rides out his own orgasm, thrusts messy yet quick.

A few moments pass and he finally slows down completely, remaining still inside of you as his breathing remains erratic and heavy. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your body from the intensity, gradually becoming a bit sleepy from everything.

Veritas, however, has a different idea as he pulls you by your hips, cock softening inside of you as he sits back on the chair and placing you on his lap...just like that. You squirm a bit as his cum slowly slides down your sensitive cunt, mind hazy and ready for a good nap. However...

"Now, the second part of the problem." he breathes heavily, yet there is a seriousness in his tone.

"Are you kidding me?!"

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader smut #dr ratio smut #dr ratio x you #dr ratio x y/n #veritas ratio x reader #veritas ratio x you #veritas ratio smut #veritas ratio x reader smut #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr smut #female reader

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etheries1015 · 3 months

Note

Did you know that hair-pulling helps blood flow? /idk

Did you know that I’m grinding my thighs for Lilia rough(beeping) us?

Kids stay away from me for at least 5 miles away

Did you know that I really want Lilia to go vampire mode and yank us by our hair while he’s ramming us from behind, our neck exposed from his motion and ~~~ ^0^ (won't detail much since I'm not sure if ur comfortable with Blood)

Lilia X reader - Living out a fantasy

18+ MINORS DNI.

General warnings: Gender neutral reader, hair pulling, biting, rough fucking...I haven't written many "full" smuts so...sorry if its rushed or not particularly good, I'm open to advice and learning new things 💜✨

TW: None? Maybe some mentions of blood tho. Tell me if I missed anything, I'll update this section accordingly.

Lilia yearned for this moment. The moment you fully submitted to him as he had fantasized over and over again, with his filthy thoughts of defiling you flashing in his mind from the very second you placed yourself in his life. From bumping into each other in the halls to seeing you in the cafeteria talking it up with another student, he could feel this burning desire from the deepest parts of him.

Lilia didn't particularly enjoy this part of himself. He felt in a way with his dirty thoughts, he was making you dirty, too. With every moment he zoned out during class to imagine himself taking you against one of the desks, he found himself forcing a smile in front of you and hiding the bulge throbbing in his pants with his coat, almost unable to look you in the eyes. He would later find himself in his bedroom, groaning your name before staring shamelessly down at his hands after his release.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder those times when he spoke to you, was that blush upon your cheeks and glances simply a fragment of his imagination? Perhaps you felt the same, he would notice the way your thighs rubbed together after your eyes locked with his for a certain period. He was either going senile, or you truly had the same viciously naughty thoughts about him.

The Fae soon had his answer.

There you were, his hand full of your hair pushing your head into the pillow as his hips roughly snapped against yours. Slapping filled the air of the room along with your feeble high-pitched cries of pleasure mixed with whines of pain, Lilias hand roughly handling your hair and showing no mercy. The mischievous Fae would often pull out to where only his tip barely remained inside your swollen hole, and In one fast movement, he snapped his hips to meet your ass, which was now bright red and stinging with every new thrust.

"can't," you panted, "can't ..cum anymore...hah.." The sticky residue of cum and sweat pulled apart with every time he would pull back and thrust back inside of you from the previous hour of the sexual act, you felt your body unable to keep yourself up go limp and fall to the mattress while he continued with reckless abandon.

"Not- yet," Lilia groaned, taking the fist full of hair and pulling your head back mercilessly much to your dismay yet also pleasure. You let out a yelp of surprise at the instantaneous action and sharply sucked in air as Lilia removed his hands from your hair in order to forcibly grab you by the hips and lift you back upwards toward his eager body.

"Tsk tsk...you're not done until I say you are, little bat..." The way your hair fell exposed your bare neck, Lilia took the initiative the lean forward taking slower and more impactful thrusts as his tongue outlined his intended target upon your soft and mark-free skin.

"You're doing amazing, precious," He purred into your ear, "You can take more for me, right?" Grinding his hips into yours, Lilia took the slight nod of your head permission to continue. His teeth grazed the crook of your neck, revealing his teeth. Using his sharpened Canines to pierce your skin, you hissed in discomfort, feeling some sort of liquid trickling down your neck before Lilia used his tongue to sensually clean up the blood that drew from the wound he left. The fae pressed a gentle kiss against it, almost as if to apologize. The gesture was left short-lived, Lilia smirking against the skin of your neck, he took another bite before ramming his hips against your own. This time, Lilia grabbed your hands and pulled them back as he abused your tired, sopping-wet hole, groaning as the fae pressed his hips intimately against yours climaxing. Your legs trembled as his cock twitched releasing ropes of creamy white cum inside of you for the nth' time. He pulled out, letting go of your arms and allowing your body to fully succumb to the comfort of the mattress. he watched as his seed trickled out of your puffy hole, a satisfied grin on his lips.

His shit eating grin remained even after you turned to face him with a scowl and eyes of daggers. You were weak, your body covered in bruises and love marks from hours of intimacy, yet it didnt stop you from bonking the top of Lilias head. He only laughed at your feeble attempt to attack him.

"I told you I couldn't cum anymore," you pouted, grabbing a blanket and wrapping your naked body. Lilia hugged you through your new little blanket home, and although you were not looking at him, you could envision the puppy eyes he had.

"But you did so well for me, little bat! Won't you look at me, please?" He pouted, poking at you. You peaked through the blanket with an angry stare, narrowing your eyes at Lilia.

"Are you gonna take care of me now? You made this mess." Lilia smiled brightly at this, excitedly planting a kiss on your now exposed forehead.

"Of course~ I'll go draw you a warm bath and prepare some ointment, do not move a muscle, my dear!" You watched as the fae made his way to the bathroom, hearing running water you smiled to yourself, re playing the events over and over in your head with a light blush and a giddy giggle.

You had to admit, despite the aching of your body and the sticky mess between your legs... You wouldn't mind doing it again, sooner than later.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst x reader #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #twst x reader smut

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cupids-chamber · 5 months

Text

— " 𝑰 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 , 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺𝑵'𝑻 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 "

. Synopsis ; Y/n a warrior, who despite their frail physique and state made their way to see Morax, only to come across a sight that would leave their heart more broken then their fragile bones.

. Cw ; 0.4k words, gender neutral reader, Zhongli x reader, angst/no comfort, rough writing (could have done better), Guizhong x Zhongli, Reader does not die but faints, reader is in a ill state, self deprecating thoughts, during the Archon war.

The thorns of the flower that you held, so tightly in your hands dug deep into your calloused hands—Already rather weak and fragile physically, after the previous fight. Yet even as the crimson droplets of blood fell on the ground, tainting the lush green grass below; You did not flinch, rather you felt your breathing halt, as you processed the sight before you. Guizhong, the ever so popular—and beloved, Goddess of Dust, and Morax the holder of all your affections—the apple of your eye. Dancing hand in hand with each other.

The soft breeze of the wind, and the sound of their shared laughter accompanying them, as they shared an intimate moment in eachothers arms. You felt like an intruder—Oh.. You were an intruder, you were never meant to see this moment—They suited each other to say the least, the kind and heartwarming Guizhong, a perfect match for Morax and all that he is.

You didn't quite process the tears that fell, the soft droplets puddling alongside your blood, below you. Your mind felt a bit dizzy. In fact, your entire body felt a bit unstable, perhaps you should've taken the words of the other adeptus under consideration before leaving in such a haste.. After all, your bruises have yet to heal.

Yet, the sharp sting of your wounds was nothing compared to the pain of your broken heart. You took a deep breath—’you weren’t even a choice in the first place’—regaining your composure.. perhaps it was time you made your leave, afterall there would be no use in causing a ruckus.. It would only result in you making an utter fool of yourself.. ‘As you always do.’

You took a few careful steps back, your vision slightly blurring out. You didn't quite notice the sheer amount of blood you shed, a few of your bandages had long since come undone, and wounds reopened while new ones were formed. You cussed softly under your breath, blaming your body for being so.. ‘Pathetic.’

A few more moments passed, as you took a deep breath. You didn't quite process the fact that you were drifting off, until your vision started fading to black, slowly drifting you out of consciousness, you really should've taken your medication before coming here. Even as you fell to the ground, the one who approached you, with worry in their eyes and a panicked expression... wasn't the one who you wished so dearly would come for you.. But instead, the one who came was the very person who you craved would disappear... Guizhong.

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lovesickeros · 8 months

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #neuvillette #focalors #furina #dont ask what happened here idk #this was. also supposed 2 be neuvi focused and then i.#dont talk 2 me abt focalors i wont ever shut up #got a 300k word essay on hand abt how i feel abt her character/how i interpret her personality and her story #focalors jsut like me fr fr (cries at the slightest inconvenience or the slightest mean comment)#shes so pathetic girlfail im gonna chew on her #what happens when reader gets stuck with two emotionally repressed french bastards?? hell #neuvi is the “emotionless” flavor of emotionally repressed in that hes HORRIBLE at showing emotions at all #ask him to smile and its incredibly unnerving and theres too many teeth but hes trying his best please call him pretty or he will cry :(#furina is the flavor of emotionally repressed where she makes it up by having Too Many emotions #using theatrics and masks to show everyone what they want to see but inside this girl is a MESS #constant anxiety and panic 24/7 #will do random shit and look at you and if u dont compliment her she will think u hate her and cry #compliment her and she'll do even stupider shit to try and impress you more #i love my scrunkly little babies they r so stupid and mentally ill someone get these bitches some THERAPY #i want 2 put them under a microscope #watch this be ooc fr furina when more of her lore drops if shes not girlfail im leaving #anyway see u in a week im going on a trip ill get back 2 u in 6-7 business days

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httpisaoki · 1 month

Text

I'll be imperfect for you ft. yu jimin

-> previous.

warnings. mentions of affairs and divorce, reader is referred as 'han junhi', crying, confessions, etc. etc.

you gave her a small nod, finally agreeing to go somewhere a little more private. with a small smile, she motioned for you to follow her and you did, albeit reluctantly, your expression still one of disinterest.

the walk towards the room that she was leading you would be the most painfully long walk ever. she didn't say anything and neither did you, it was an awkward silence, a nerve wrecking one at the least.

a few quiet minutes later, the two of you were inside a room. despite it still being in the office building, it looked as if no one was inside it and the doors weren't being monitored.

she shut the doors, the two of you finally alone. she sighed, she was about to tell you what she wanted to talk about. but as she was about to speak, you saw her eyes trail down, her gaze on her own hands as her voice softened. "junhi, can I ask you a question?"

when she spoke, her voice filled with softness, a side that you hadn't seen from her in two years. it was something that caught you off guard, something that made you almost regret your decision to divorce her.

you gave her a small nod, keeping your gaze neutral, your ears only focusing on her voice. you were still trying to stay professional despite her sudden change in attitude.

she took a deep breath as if she were trying to gather her thoughts. but once she opened her mouth to speak, words wouldn't come out. she let out a small sigh, as if preparing her next words.

"do you..." she paused for a moment, she gulped, "do you recall my affair?" You tilt your head, visible irritation in your face. "why would you ask that?" she gulped at your tone.

she paused at your tone, the irritation in your face made her flinch even though she was trying her hardest to maintain her composure.

she swallowed, looking down at her hands to avoid looking at you again, the shame and guilt she was feeling was something she'd been dealing with since that whole affair.

"just...just answer the question," she spoke softly, the change in her tone was a little jarring.

you raised an eyebrow, albeit forcefully, "yes." you answered. "then I'd ask you if you recall that name, the name of the man I was in a fling with?" she gulped, her fists clenching together. she didn't need to tell you the name, it had been plastered all over the media, there were pictures of them kissing, holding hands...all over everywhere.

but no one had ever mentioned you during that affair. your name had never been uttered, not in public, not by anyone.

"lee jaewook." your eyes pierced through hers. fury building up inside you. she froze, the name you'd mentioned was something she never thought you'd know. she gulped, her palms already sweaty, nervous. was that why you'd gone cold on her? because you'd found out? it had been all over the media, that'd been true.....but she didn't think you knew...she wished she'd kept quiet.

"and I assume you know he's one of your employees?" you could hear the nervousness in her tone, the fear of your reaction filled her. You let out a small chuckle, amused at the obvious question. "of course."

she gulped, your tone alone made her shudder, the fear of your reaction was rising inside of her.

her voice was shaky, she hadn't expected your reaction to be this harsh. she tried to steady her breathing, she was trembling as she spoke, "and...do you know that he's been fired for his behavior?"

"may I ask why is this relevant? it's been 3 years, karina." impatiently, you glares went right through her. "because I have a request for you," she gulped, her voice still trembling. before you could cut her off, she rushed out words, not wanting you to interrupt her, "a request so I want you to listen to me first..."

she flinched at your gaze, your words hurt like a dagger. she looked away, your words digging into her, hurting her. she tried her hardest to keep everything bottled in, she didn't want to show you how much your blunt words hurt her.

"it's...just something I wanted to...tell you." her voice was still shaky, she still seemed afraid. she didn't know why all of a sudden she was this nervous, there were a million different reasons behind it but she didn't have the energy to explain them.

she took a deep breath when you remained silent, her eyes trailing up to look at yours. were you not going to ask her why? was she telling you this for nothing? did you really not care?

you had been through a divorce so did you feel nothing? her heart was in her throat, it was all she could think about.

"then let me ask you another question." she began, her tone slightly calmer.

"yes?" you still remained silent, your gaze on hers. this was a business meeting, this was supposed to only be about business.

your eyes gave away nothing, it was as if it was a poker face challenge. but despite how cool you were trying to keep things, one can't help but wonder if there were other things behind your behavior.

"can I ask you..." she continued, the way she paused was as if she was trying to recall her thoughts.

"did it ever cross your mind that I might've ended things with you because of him?" she asked, her voice trembling once more. this was the part where she broke and she didn't know what was coming.

it hurt just thinking about it now, how could she have thrown away everything for a man she didn't even know?

just that thought alone made her tremble, she didn't even bother trying to hide it, the thought of you divorcing her...it was something she regretted deeply.

"it was the reason I divorced you," you paused, and hesitantly you continued, "I didn't want you to choose him so I went first," you gulped, your emotions slipping through your cold gaze.

her eyes soften, "I didn't want you to end things because of a man who is worthless." you let out a shaky breath, "It may be selfish but I broke things off in the worry of you breaking my heart."

her breath hitched as you spoke, the way you spoke with your whole heart made her shiver. she didn't expect this side of you to come out to her, she thought you were just going to be cold towards her as if you were strangers.

"you..." she paused, her eyes widening for a moment before she looked away again, her cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "did you really..." she couldn't think of the correct words, and the realization that you'd left her out of fear of being hurt, it made tears pricked at her eyes.

you had divorced her to avoid the inevitable, her decision.

Though she was aware that the decision she made that day was one she still regretted, the thought of breaking your heart had been a fear of hers. even back then, she never wanted to be the one to hurt you in any way...despite her wrongdoing, she could never bear to see you hurt.

"you don't know me, karina." you whispered, my face remained stoic but there was a hurt in your eyes that she couldn't face. "even after 10 years, we were never really together. you didn't know me, I didn't know you. we were strangers."

her breaths became shaky, the bitterness on her face was gone. you were right, the two of you never really knew one another even after all those years together. all of it was surface level love, it was never fully unconditional, it was conditional.

her silence was her agreeing with you. she couldn't say anything to your words because she knew they were true. it hurt to realize that the two of you were actually strangers despite having been together for 10 years.

you sighed before muttering, "we are strangers."

her face froze. you had said it, something that everyone knew but no one dared to say out loud. it was the cold truth that you had acknowledged, just like that.

she couldn't find anything to say afterwards, she didn't know how to counter your words, you were right. all those moments that the two of you were together, all those years, they were wasted, they were meaningless. you didn't know each other, she didn't know you, you didn't know her.

but there was a silent feeling she felt, the desire to be more, for the both of you to be more. as she gathered up the courage, you let out a breath, "and if I want to get to know you?" as she said that, you let a tear fall from your eyes,

her voice breaking. “junhi.. I—” there was a lump in her throat that she struggled to swallow down. this was not something that she was expecting in any way. her words caught the both of you by surprise and they filled you with a bittersweetness.

something inside of you was still holding onto the love she felt for you, and to have her say this after everything. you gulped, the sudden crack in her voice made your eyes widen. she couldn't hold back anymore. it was ridiculous but maybe there there was something unspoken between the two of you after all those years.

fighting back tears, you let out a whisper,

“Then I’d love to.”

-> third part already I LOVE NOT HAVING WRITER'S BLOCKK

#aoki's works #kpop x reader #aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #domestic au #angst

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petit-etoile · 7 months

Text

everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 8746 content warnings: astarion is not a vampire nor ascended & tav is not the dark urge but i use pet names from his ascended route because i think they fit & some of the dark urge connections are necessary, brief mention of tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash, tav is gender neutral, nearly 8k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, dom/sub undertones, mi.ssionary style, do.ggy style, riding, cr.eampie, marriage proposal, sort of archiveofourown: here. note: depending on reception & if i have time, there may be a part two or a prequel. i ended coming up with lore for this verse so i like it a lot. summary: ‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

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You can already tell what kind of evening it will be just from the way Astarion looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, so coy and pretty and unabashed in the way he glances over you. Whatever happened tpday at court has pleased him. He practically purrs when he steps past you to enter the sanctuary of his expansive bedroom.

‘You’ll come,’ he murmurs, ‘won’t you, darling?’

You’ll play his game because he likes it. You keep your lips pressed together in a firm line despite the way his hand slides gracefully across your waist, warming the chainmail that you wear dutifully every day so that you can keep the crown prince safe. He pouts when you pretend to not notice the playful mood he’s in. And when you change your mind after only a few minutes, Astarion will wear the same mischievous frown and think he has claimed victory over you once more.

You recite your vows to yourself to keep your mind from wandering, but it’s difficult. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. It’s…admittedly hard to remember the rest. You’re distracted by the most impure thoughts. Memories of nights before. The taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him as he grinds above you, the gleam of his skin as dawn begins to creep over the horizon. You squeeze your thighs together and try to wait out at least five minutes before you cave.

You peek down the hallway. There are no other guards skulking around at night. You’re not technically supposed to leave your post, but if the prince commands it… Well, it’s an excuse. You rush inside before you can feel the call of your valor and close the door after you with a soft click. Astarion sits with his legs crossed at the edge of his bed. He grins. It’s almost as predictable as you are, but you would never admit it.

‘You called, my prince?’ you ask carefully, trying to keep your tone even.

‘I did,’ he says with a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I could use entertainment, and you were there…’

You smile beneath your helm. You were always there. Astarion tries to hide it a little too much, but there’s no one else he would seek out to keep him entertained when his mood is like this. He tries to play into the expectations everyone has of him. That he’s ambitious, unpredictable, easy to rile up. The truth of the matter is that Astarion longs for you in a way that he will never admit except into the curls of your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You care for him — love him — and there’s nothing you adore more than the way he laughs around you as though you were born for him and him alone.

‘I take it the court wasn’t too uneventful,’ you say.

He grimaces. ‘I saw Lord Gortash, unfortunately. I believe the sight of him has ruined my week.’

‘So cruel,’ you hum. You touch the buckles of your cape and release it from your bodice.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Astarion asks defensively, playfully.

You touch the latch of your armor. ‘He’s head of the city guard.’

‘I ought to fire him,’ the prince says darkly. ‘Hire a new one.’

‘Who would protect the city instead?’

‘You,’ Astarion says without pause.

‘Alas, I am duty bound to serve the prince,’ you disagree. You pull the weight of your chest piece off your shoulders and drop it to the floor. ‘How can I serve the city when my mind is filled with nothing but you?’

Astarion smiles, a true smile. ‘Oh, you honor me. You truly mean every word.’

‘Without question,’ you promise.

You think about kneeling before him and looking up at him, but your chest piece is still in the way. You pull and untangle and twist until it all slides to the floor, leaving you in a simpler top. His honor, a single white rose, is pinned to the front of your shirt. You can still remember the day he gave it to you, the day you knelt in the throne room and he pressed his sword to your shoulder to claim you.

‘You are mine,’ Astarion says slowly.

‘I am yours,’ you repeat fondly.

‘Until the end of time?’

‘Until the end.’

‘And,’ Astarion begins playfully, ‘if I asked you to please me?’

‘I would be duty bound,’ you reply.

‘Then may I ask you to please me?’ he murmurs, eyes dangerous.

Astarion practically preens under your careful attention, his eyes unwavering as he watches you. You take your time. You remove the rest of your armor slowly, savoring the hungry way he watches. Even in court when you are his shadow, Astarion barely hides it. The hunger. The longing. The darkest of desires. He would claim you in public if it wouldn’t be a scandal.

You lower yourself before him, groveling on your hands and knees. You place your head in his lap and sigh when he threads his fingers through your hair. These are the moments you live for. When he is no longer a prince and you are no longer a knight. You are you, and Astarion is Astarion.

You don’t have to wonder where his mind is. Not during times like these. He’s anxious to feel you, but you take your time in this. You slip his fancy boots from his feet then take your time undoing his belts and buttons, sliding everything down his lean legs with careful intent. His cock greets you, already half hard and growing still.

It still makes you nervous, deep down inside. Astarion is a prince and the pinnacle of perfection. He could have any duke or duchess he wanted, yet it’s you he takes care of when the standing watch for hours on end from dusk til dawn has caused your bones to grow weary. The least you could do is love him like this. You lean forward and kiss the side of his cock, and Astarion’s fingers tighten in your hair.

‘Please, your highness,’ you whisper.

You are perched at his feet still awaiting commands. Like a good little pup. You shiver.

‘Go on,’ Astarion encourages.

You barely stick the tip of your tongue out and watch as his cock throbs in anticipation. This is dangerous. Obscene, even. You’ve seen him hundreds of times yet it still excites you. Carefully, you take him into your mouth and admire his debauched moan.

You have half a mind to tease him, but when you glance upwards at him, he’s as pretty as an aasimar. Or something worse, but you don’t give yourself much time to think about it. You know his desires. What he enjoys. What he tolerates for you. You know Astarion likes your little hums as you glide your mouth over his cock. He likes being pampered more than anything.

Astarion’s hand is tender as he moves your bangs out of your eyes. It’s the eye contact he wants. He likes to see and always acts like it’s the first time. He holds the edge of your jaw while you rub the tip of his cock against the inside of your cheek, eyebrows scrunching. It’s divine for you as well.

Astarion lives for the pomp and circumstance, absolutely devours court rumors with a delight you barely understand — but he would let his kingdom fall into the Underdark if it meant he could spend every hour of every day fucking you.

It’s the same for you.

It always has been ever since your coronation.

You were not like the other knights who were born into houses of servitude, second born sons and daughters who were the spares of their family names. You were given to Astarion by Lord Gortash as a way to buy favor from the crown. You were once his favorite, well-trained dog.

But unlike Lord Gortash, you are coveted by the crown in a way no other knight has been before. Astarion kisses you every morning and finishes against your spine every evening. But he is your salvation, your savior, and you are on your knees to show what that means to you.

Astarion stirs beneath your ruminations, his thighs tensing beneath your elbows, his hips doing those unconscious lusty jerks that you like so much. His head falls back as he gets lost in the feel of your tongue and mouth and he moans so sweetly that it almost distracts you from your ministrations. You take his cock as far back into your mouth as you can manage, closing your eyes to squeeze out any embarrassing tears that might threaten to fall. Like the prettiest bird, he sings for you.

‘Wait,’ he moans. ‘Not yet, I want — ’

You pull away from him as commanded, licking your lips clean of spit. His hands dance frantically against your shoulders as he pulls you up against him, cock hard against both of your bellies. He kisses you hotly, one hand fisting in your hair and the other tugging uselessly at your shirt.

‘You are needy today, my prince,’ you whisper against a barrage of kisses.

‘You were too perfect,’ he whines. ‘Always perfect for me.’

You laugh against his cheek. ‘You did say to please you.’

‘And now I’m saying to get on the fucking bed,’ Astarion fusses. ‘Oh, and clothes off. I want to see you.’

‘Yes, your — ’ you begin.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses with an affectionate pinch to your side, ‘are being quite the obstinate charge tonight. I want to taste you and be tasted in return, but be familiar with me, my love. Come back to me. Share my bed.’

You are in the middle of doing as he requests, sitting with one leg on either side of his thighs when he slides his hands to your waist and forces you to roll to the side. He pushes you further into the many adorning pillows of his bed and starts devouring you, his mouth dancing from your neck to your collarbones while he tears your shirt apart with his hands, though he does slow down enough to place the white rose on the bedside table. He pushes his palms flat against your chest and leaves bite marks and bruises across your chest and down your belly, chasing after you as you try to squirm away. Astarion finally takes interest in leaving his mark on your throat.

You set to work pushing your leggings and small clothes down your thigh, but Astarion, in all his impatience, gets in the way of that too. He presses his thigh between your legs on purpose, rolling his cock against your hip while his thigh applies almost perfect pressure to the most sensitive parts of you.

You moan and turn your face away, but Astarion chases the sound. He nuzzles your noses together until you look at him, bleary and dazed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He rolls his hips again with intent. He catches the sound of your moan on the tip of your tongue and returns it, his own ragged breath warm against your cheek.

‘There you are, my love,’ he whispers deliciously. ‘I’ve missed you. My treasure, my pet…’

‘Yours,’ you moan.

‘Mine,’ Astarion agrees. ‘All mine.’

He drags his fingernails across the swell of your hip, and you can’t help but chase the curve of his wrist. Your cheeks burn, but you’re tempted to beg him. To ask if he’ll please you with his hands. You want to feel his fingers pressed up inside you, to feel them curl and twist. You want it more than anything else you’ve ever wanted to. Astarion watches the way you twist and turn with a small smile on his face. He pets your hip and slides his fingers between your thighs. You can feel the cool of his jeweled rings against your heated flesh.

Astarion is grateful for your reckless display. He acquiesces to your silent begging, brushing his fingers between your folds and pressing the tip of his middle finger against you. He watches with delight as you grind against the pressure. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears are ruddy, and though he’s pretending to be controlled right now, you can hear how shaky his breath has become.

And then, like a god answering a prayer, he presses a finger inside of you so painstakingly slow it’s almost maddening. You mewl, watching his expressions in fascination, because his own mouth falls open as he cranes his next to watch. He adds another. He twists and twirls his fingers as deeply as he can reach it. His eyes flutter with desperation. He’s so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. You want more, so much more, and you press your wrist against your mouth to keep from begging.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I want to hear everything. Please, sing for me.’

‘More,’ you whisper thickly. ‘More, I need more, I want more.’

He kisses your jaw sloppily. ‘I’ll give you everything.’

‘It’s not enough!’

‘You’ll take it,’ Astarion tells you. ‘You’ll take what I give.’

‘Astarion,’ you weep. ‘I want you. I want — ’

This time, he might as well have ripped the rest of your clothes with his haste. You aren’t sure what he does with them, you just know that you’re naked and in his bed, surrounded by all his pillows with your thighs slick from how wet you are.

Your eyes watch your star’s every movement. He rids himself of his finery as well, shrugging out of his layers until there’s nothing left. The moonlight hits his skin prettily, almost as dainty as the way his eyes catch in the candlelight. He chases you, chases your mouth, presses his cock against you and ruts for a moment. You can’t help but be dizzy with lust yourself. You leave your own marks across his collarbones and chest, mindful of his neck and what skin would peek above his elegant collars. You wonder how he’ll take you. Astarion has always been the creative type. Sometimes you’ll ride him, and sometimes he’ll ride you until you see stars. Despite his urgency, he seems tender tonight.

Astarion wants to make you feel good. He wants to find your heat and bask in the warmth. You can tell in the way he watches your face ever so fondly. He’s always been so good at masking how much he prefers you to anyone he’s spoken to before. You’ve stood and listened as the perfect guard during meetings with dignitaries from neighboring cities, and Astarion always spoke to them with practiced politeness bearing a practiced albeit bored undertone. Yet with you, he seems to hang onto your every word. He takes it in until there was nothing left to share. He cares when you are supposed to be nothing more than a knight at his door.

‘I have a gift for you tonight,’ Astarion says suddenly. He blushes. It’s adorable how much it’s unlike him.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

‘Patience,’ he complains, but he doesn’t mean it.

Astarion reaches for something just beyond your sight, and when he sits back up, you feel as though someone has released a cage of birds in the pit of your stomach. He holds out a small silver band for your inspection. ‘A warding ring,’ he explains. ‘I had my Master of the Arcane enchant it for you — for us.’

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Put it on first,’ he insists. ‘For me.’

Something must show on your face, because he’s quick to show you his own hand. There is a matching silver band there, and it causes your heart to swell so much you think your heart will give out. Astarion, with great care, slides the band onto your finger and then looks at you, hopeful.

‘Whatever you feel, I shall feel,’ he says like a promise. ‘You and I, together.’

You guide his mouth to yours before you can do something silly like cry. When you touch his chest, intent on finding his heartbeat, you can feel it so frantic against your palm.

What is a better story than a prince and his knight? A savior and his sword? The bards will sing forever about the prince and his favored knight, their matching rings, their sacred vows. You ache with longing. You surge with love. It is all Astarion’s fault.

You push your hands through his thick curls and guide him to lie on top of you. You can feel the ring humming with magic. Though you are sure this isn’t its intended use, you can’t help but feel nervous.

You take him into your arms. He collapses into you and your only thought is that it’s a little poetic. You have caught a star as it fell from the sky. Now, it rests in your hands again and again and again until, slowly, you cannot exist without one another. His mouth finds yours, and your hands with the matching rings reach out for one another as though choreographed. Astarion presses you against his sheets and you willingly let him devour you once more. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Astarion kisses down your chest again. He kisses your tummy and all the muscle you’ve earned from being a knight. He kisses every scar from every battle you’ve ever endured all the way down to your hips, to that warm core that lies between them. You moan unapologetically, head rushing until you’re almost positive you’re going to faint. Astarion presses a kiss between your legs, growls as though he was a man starved before finding you, and takes you into his mouth.

It’s a little romantic how you’ve grown together. You were each other’s firsts — Astarion taught you how to kiss, and you taught him how to fondle someone else’s body without feeling shy about it. You had first used your mouth on him, but he had taken all of the knowledge you had given and weaponized it against you the next moment that he could. He’s determined to please, desperate for compliments, hopeless in all his endeavors to please you almost as much as you’ve pleased him. But unlike you, Astarion is selfish and he reaches for fruit to pluck that anyone else would have discarded as soon as something better came along. He chose you.

He licks and bites and nuzzles and feasts upon the very fruit of you, groaning at how you taste. It’s his favorite taste in the world, and he would brag about it if it didn’t make your cheeks flush. He laps at your folds hungrily and squeezes the thickness your thighs until they’ve bruised.

‘Little star,’ you whine, pressing your hands to your eyes. ‘Please, please.’

His tongue is like torture. Astarion never does anything without fully committing, and from your time together, you know he’s memorized every little thing he can do to drive you absolutely wild. He’s pulled your legs over his shoulders, his fingers moving on after bruising them to dig into your hip bones, and he hums so prettily for you.

Even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. You want Astarion to stop teasing you so insistently. You want to feel his heartbeat, you want to taste his lips. There’s a part of you so empty and full of longing that if you wait any longer, if you withhold anymore, you might lose yourself. The only thing serving to ground you to this world is depravity, twisting carnal lust, and the depths of your love. You shiver under his touch and moan even as you try to hush it.

‘ — star!’ you cry sharply.

You try to twist out of his grasp, crying at how determined he is, but Astarion simply drags you back down to where he is as if it’s nothing to him. He doesn’t stop torturing with your tongue until you’ve choked out a sob and chased your release, chest heaving from the effort. He doesn’t let you go for long either, climbing up your body so that he can press encouraging kisses to your jaw, pushing your damp curls back from your temple.

Astarion pushes his nose against your ear and breathes in, almost so desperate to have memorized your very scent. It’s always been his little habit. As if just by knowing your smell, he is able to do whatever he needs to accomplish in this world.

‘You,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘are always so magnificent for me.’

You reach for his hip, the back of your knuckles sweeping against his sharp bone. ‘I want to do the same for you,’ you say shakily. ‘Let me have you, please. It’s all I want.’

He moans, soft and quiet, and settles between your legs. He kisses you again with that same hunger. The same, almost desperate kind of lust. He presses you so far into his sheets that you’re not sure you’ll ever be released from them again. And you think you would be fine with that. There’s nothing more that you want than to stay here with him. His hands joined with yours, your hips pressed to his, forever until the world has ended.

You slide your hands across the broad sweep of his shoulders and feel as his muscles shift. He is so gentle with you even when he doesn’t have to be. He’s cautious, meticulous, almost ridiculously polite because it’s you. His love is like an apology for everything you’ve been through, and when he cradles the back of your head, you lean into his touch.

‘You are mine,’ he says tenderly. His thumb sweeps across your cheek.

‘Take me,’ you say hungrily. ‘I am your prize.’

‘You were created by the gods for me,’ Astarion tells you sincerely. He sits onto his knees and pulls your hands flush against his stomach. ‘Look at how well you fit against me.’

You were never one to be shy before, but his praise causes you to turn your cheek aside and look away. He pushes his hands up your thighs, searching, admiring. He says pretty words, but he’ll never understand if you were to repeat the things he’s said back to him. Underneath that prestigious bravado and practiced façade, Astarion still understands little of his own divinity and worth. You’re thankful for him as much as he is for you, and you allow him this. He finds his worth at your core and marvels in it, allowing you to see him as Astarion. Like a mortal making a deal with a cambion, he reaches for you.

‘Do you want me inside of you?’ he asks in a graveled voice.

‘More than anything else,’ you reply, choking on how thick your want is. You think about how it feels every time he’s claimed you and shudder. ‘Please.’

‘I am going to get lost in you for hours,’ Astarion promises. He smiles, dangerous and dark. ‘When you return to your post, you’ll feel me still. You’ll be sorer than you’ve ever been.’

You are so aroused it’s painful. You ache and twist, spreading your legs so that he might take you then and there without so much as a second thought. You need the closeness. His grounding touch. His cock, as much as it would embarrass you to say aloud, has been on your mind ever since he invited you inside his room. He strokes your hip.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says fondly.

He leans forward and kisses you. He connects with you like that, nose brushing yours affectionately, before he stares at the little shivers you’re now aware you’re doing. He sees everything, knows everything. It delights him.

And then he slides his cock into you. Slowly, agonizingly, inch by inch. He squeezes your hip in encouragement, but you’re too full and he’s too thick for you to manage any coherent thought. He’s determined to reach the deepest parts of your core.

Astarion speaks through gritted teeth. ‘You are perfect.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘You are.’

‘I like to watch,’ he says honestly. ‘I like to see how you take me. You’re so tight here, did you know?’

‘More — ’

‘Use your words for me.’

You swallow. ‘I want you — to fuck me.’

‘You’ve been a good pup,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I’ll make love to you until dawn calls.’

For the faintest few heartbeats, this is the only way you want to exist. He is pressed inside of you, and you are surrounded by nothing but him and his scent and his bed and his pretty words, longing so intently to memorialize this moment. Astarion is haloed by the silver moonlight. He shines prettier than the crown he wears at court.

He shines brighter than the stars.

You’re aware of how fragile your breathing sounds. You forcefully drag air down into your lungs and hold his gaze, so warm and soft when he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s so different this time with him, but you reach out until he entwines your fingers together and you lose yourself in a way you haven’t before. You don’t realize you’re crying until he coos at you and calls you beautiful.

Astarion only moves once he’s assured you’re not in any pain. He’s conscious of the way you tense, but you shake your head and try to dry your tears.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t really sure why you’re so emotional tonight. You’re ignoring what the rings promise on purpose. A meaning that you are too nervous to confront. You know it’s how much you wish this was your fate. It all comes to a boil when he leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear. Astarion wraps his arms around you and moans softly in your ear, the heat of his cheek flush against your temple.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I can feel you,’ you whisper back, voice uneven. ‘All the way inside.’

‘Our souls are touching tonight,’ Astarion promises you. ;This is what I want to give you.’

Once he’s assured that you’re fine, Astarion begins moving inside you. You still feel overly full. It’s almost difficult to breathe, that you’re so aware of how deep his cock is inside of you — as if it’s the first time you’ve experienced him before. He murmurs encouragement into your hair and ruts further and further, but when you press your fingers against his biceps, you can feel how he’s shaking too.

‘Let me be yours,’ you say softly, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Let me be with you, Astarion, please.’

‘You are my pretty consort,’ Astarion says fiercely. ‘You belong to me, and I to you.’

His consort, his knight. The one he comes home to, that he ignores all the other lovely people at court for. The idea of it makes your blood warm, makes you feel a little wild and different. You rock your hips back against Astarion’s. Feeling him lose what little of his control pushes you over the edge. You start mumbling nonsensically, thank you, thank you, my prince, my star, thank you, I feel it, Astarion and he growls low in the bottom of his throat. His hips stutter against yours and you know with a little wiggle, you could make him spend then and there.

It’s only when Astarion pushes into you as far as he can go, the tip of his cock pressed as deep into your core as you can handle it, that you remember what a devout worshiper you are. You’re fully aware of how your spine protests the way your back arches up off the bed. You feel Astarion’s mouth hot and desperate against the side of your throat, his hands slowly sliding down your skin to grip your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in harshly to the curve of your ass.

When you dare meet his gaze, you’re mesmerized.

Astarion has always been the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. The height of his cheekbones, the way they flush when you moan his name. His uneven smile, the way his teeth point when he laughs. His intense eyes that take in even your faintest moves. He is sharp and calculated, cunning and keen on dramatics — but underneath, you can see the gentler side. The warmth in his gaze. The way he laughs ugly with you instead of with practiced finesse. You fit rather well together. Perfectly, like a puzzle. Intoxicatingly. He catches you staring and his breath catches in his throat.

You must be quite the sight as well. Astarion always lavished you with the utmost attention, often buying you things you’d never need as a knight. Rings, gowns, circlets and other finery to wear with him on your occasional strolls through Baldur’s Gate when you were off-duty and carefree.

You feel nearly feral at this moment. It takes all your self-control to not rake your nails down his spine or bite his shoulder because you’re too full and he’s too much and you’re almost certain you’re going to explode, but you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him tighter to you until there’s almost nothing else he can do that grind uselessly, desperate sounds coming from both of your mouths as you try to hold on just a little longer.

Without thinking, without caution, you whisper, ‘Inside — Tonight, I want you to — ’

‘Gods,’ he chokes out. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Please,’ you beg. ‘I’ve been good. I’ve been — ’

Astarion burrows his face against your collarbone, whining unceremoniously. That’s when you can feel it, his cum, hot and warm, so wonderful and dizzying that you also forget to be dignified. Your fingers stutter against his skin, and if it was painful to experience, the only proof is the way Astarion hisses at the burn and coils dangerously beneath your touch.

‘That’s it,’ he soothes proudly. ‘You’ve done well, my sweet.’

You murmur, ‘So much.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Astarion says. He pouts his bottom lip. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ you say.

‘Well,’ Astarion allows with a small laugh, ‘I am rather perfect, I agree.’

He groans when he pulls away from you, brow furrowed in concentration. He trembles with exertion, and whatever other plans he might have had are forgotten, for Astarion drops down into his sheets beside you in all his naked and exhausted glory and presses close to you, an arm thrown over your waist.

A pang of guilt hits you at the sight of his closed door. Your armor is thrown carelessly across this floor, and while you wish you could enjoy this moment of bliss with him, you must continue to do your actual duty of guarding the prince. You move, delicate, to stand up. Astarion wraps his other arm around you.

‘Where are you going?’ he demands tiredly. ‘The sun is not yet up. Come back.’

‘My post — ’

‘Fuck your post,’ he snorts. ‘Your only duty is to lie in my bed and look pretty.’

You open your mouth to protest, but Astarion fusses. It’s hard to deny him even though you know only what the Captain of his Kingsguard has instilled in you. The moonlight is a gorgeous embellishment on his skin, and the ridges of his body are enticing enough that you forget your vows for the time being. Your heart squeezes at the tenderness. Astarion welcomes you back into his arms without further complaint. It’s your turn to tuck your head against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body as he cradles you close.

‘This is where you belong,’ Astarion tells you plainly. ‘You and I belong in bed having forgotten our other duties forevermore. The kingdom may fall to rot and ruin for all I care. As long as I have you, I care not.’ He touches your hip. ‘I know what you must be thinking. That it isn’t that easy. But it is that easy. I’m the prince and I want it to be so. I see our fate in my dreams.’

You allow yourself to daydream and doze for the moment. He’s murmuring sweet things into your hair, and your eyes are so heavy you know when you close them, it’ll be hard for you to wake up if you give in. The ache in your muscles is comforting. It’s a reminder of all the ways Astarion has ever had you, and you can’t help but wonder if this really is where your life was always meant to head.

You do fall asleep. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you fall into a peaceful slumber with Astarion’s hand petting your spine. When you next awake, Astarion is no longer at your side. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring out of the window watching as dawn begins to peek through.

He hasn’t left you entirely alone. He’s draped his many fancy satin blankets over you and somehow managed to coax your head onto a pillow without waking you. You’re almost inspired to fall back asleep at the sight, but the view of Astarion basking in an orange glimmer keeps you from entering the depths of your mind once more.

‘No,’ Astarion says. He’s smiling. ‘Don’t move. I like the way you look.’

‘And how do I look, your highness?’

‘Sated.’

‘Come back to me, my love,’ you say. You try to hold one of your hands out, but you’re still so very tired from before. You press your cheek further into the pillow. ‘’m cold.’

‘I was thinking,’ he says.

‘Enough thinking,’ you whine. ‘I miss you beside me.’

‘Promise me something first.’

‘What shall I promise?’

‘That when I am king, you will help me create my new world,’ Astarion says, peering affectionately at you from over his shoulder. ‘A world where you are both my shield and my consort. A world where no one else like us has to get hurt.’

You start to sit up at that, blood suddenly rushing to your head as you try to think of what he means. Were you not already his Shield, extending your Sword to his greatest foes? Were you not already his Consort in all but proper name? You furrow your eyebrows, too sleepy and overwhelmed, but Astarion is quick to come to your side, to press kisses into your hair and against your ear and at the tears on your cheeks.

‘When I am king, there will be no need for us to hide like this,’ Astarion promises, petting his hand comfortingly down your spine. He shushes you. ‘I will sit on the throne and you will sit beside me.’ When he’s certain you’re done crying, he adds, ‘Or in my lap, if you prefer.’

Somehow, there’s only one thing you can manage to say. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Astarion says. ‘That’s why I will do this for us.’

‘Will it go well?’

He hums. ‘Of course it will go well. I will be king. I will make it go well.’

You say again, ‘I love you.’

‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

‘I promise,’ you say, ‘to help you.’

‘Then say no more, my love,’ he whispers. He kisses the side of your throat again and slowly pulls his silk sheets away from your skin. The cold morning air leaves a trail of gooseflesh down your spine, and he tastes every knot of it with his mouth and tongue. He gives you commands, ‘Let me have you again. You’re so beautiful in the morning light. I need you now more than ever. Gods, the things you do to me.’

You rock your hips back to meet his. It’s an alluring situation straight from your wildest, most longing of dreams — a world where you might sit alongside Astarion as he rules, no longer a simple guard dog to follow commands, but something else. Something sweeter.

It was like marriage but better. The thought of you and Astarion rising to godhood through his own determined means rather than falling into the same song the bards often liked to play on unrequited love. You allow him to trace his fingers down your stomach to that place between your legs, your warm core where you’re certain he’s found his divinity. Astarion presses his cock against your lower back and gives into his own avarice. He bites your shoulder almost a touch too rough and leaves a bruise in the shape of his teeth, reveling in your shocked cry.

You want him.

You want to be by his side, to kneel at his feet. You want to watch him dress in the mornings and fall into his arms every evening. You want to place his crown atop his brow. You arch your hips against his waist, and ponder about the creation of the empyrean heavens above. You will guide him to become celestial.

It’s with a near untamed fervor that Astarion tears through his sheets to get to you. He slides his knee beneath yours and pushes it forward, his breath warm and hiccuped against the blade of your shoulder. He doesn’t hurt you and he never would, but he slides his cock inside, the tenderness of earlier forgotten.

‘Be loud,’ he encourages you, groaning, his hand still scrambling against the arc of your belly. He sounds debauched. ‘Let them all hear. Let them know.’

He fucks into you like he wants you both to grow together. One body and one soul. You’re glad for it. It only intensifies the burn from the evening and pushes you to a place you’ve never been before. You’re almost certain you see sparks in your vision, but you do as asked. You don’t swallow down your moans. They’re taut, sharp, staccato ah-ah-ahs that match the sun’s rise.

It’s almost sweet how hard Astarion fucks into you. His princely demeanor is gone now, the control he tries to exhibit. He moans freely as well and kisses without meaning. Your shoulder, the back of your head, the nape of your neck, and he’s babbling things that don’t make sense. But you’re no better. Your cheeks are so warm you’re feverish, hands clenched in his sheets, and the pleasure borders on welcomed pain when he sits up behind you, knee still forcing you to be pliant, as he drags his cock in and out of you from behind. Astarion is watching again, one hand on your lower back, the other on your ass. When you try to hide your face in mild embarrassment, he scolds you.

‘Let me see you,’ Astarion rasps. ‘Let me see, I want to see everything — ’

So you let him, shifting and arching as much as your back will let you. Your muscles feel strained. Your mind is hardly there. But the prince has asked, and it would be rude of you to not heed his call. It’s not as though it matters. You’re easily distracted by the way he presses himself in and out of you, intoxicated by the gravitational pull he’s created between you. You can’t help but lean into his every touch, to mewl, to whine the exact way he likes.

You wonder what Lord Gortash would think of his loyal dog if he saw it now. You were taught the blade and the bow, how to use a lance and a shield, and you were never meant to be anything more than a warrior given to the ground so that he could get on the good side of the king. There isn’t much of your life you can remember before you were brought to the steps of the throne room and thrown down before the prince and his father. All you remember is looking up and seeing an angel smiling down at you.

So you arch your back and push up into your elbows, looking over your shoulder to catch Astarion’s eyes. He’s constantly looking between your face to make sure you’re alright and looking down at your hips where your bodies meet. He has the audacity to blush. It makes him look sweet and less severe.

‘More — ’

The fairest thought you have is that you’re not sure you can take more. There’s something ferocious building in the pit of your stomach, a volatile hunger unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your almost delirious with how much greed is inside you, how you long to do this all day if you could. Sitting pretty on your hands and knees and belly while Astarion ravishes you — forgetting your duties and the kingdom — but it’s somehow worse than before when you’re aware that he would do the same. Gone is any sense of decency, replaced by something carnal, something infernal.

Just when you think he might be done with you, Astarion pulls out and drags your body along. He lays handsomely in the center of his pillows, a deep blue and rich satin and silk display, and pulls you into his lap. His bottom lip is ruined from where he’s bitten it in an attempt to maintain control.

He arranges for you as he likes. He tilts his head to the side as if looking upon a painting. Finally, he coaxes you upwards and whispers kind encouragements as you guide and slide his cock back inside of you. You aren’t sure how far it can go, but then it goes deeper and deeper and deeper until you’re sick.

‘Oh,’ you cry sweetly. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t — ’

‘You can,’ Astarion promises, rubbing his thumb across your hip. ‘You can do anything. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were created for this.’

You sit atop him, your ass flush against his hips, and try desperately to not squirm in his lap. The wiggling makes it worse, you think. You feel swollen around him. He feels thickest inside of you. And you can’t help but lean forward as he rubbs his hands up and down your spine, kissing your temple and cheek and jaw. You can kiss him better this way. You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, taste his words.

‘I love you,’ you say over and over.

‘I know,’ he murmurs, kissing your tears.

And you do cry in this position, overwhelmed and stuttering. Astarion guides your hips back and forth across his so that he’s not necessarily drilling inside of you, but watching how you dance across his cock. He always watches so intently as if he’s afraid to miss anything you do. He guides you intently, humming, tensing beneath your thighs as you try to balance yourself with your hands on his belly.

Astarion moans at the sight. He sounds positively wrecked. You decide that you want to hear him sing for you again, so you raise your hips this time and slide them back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, treating it more like trying to hit a tricky shot with an arrow rather than taking and un-taking every inch of his cock. You’re trembling so much that you seek out his hands, guiding them away from your hips so he can tuck them under your thighs for help.

‘Ah,’ Astarion says hoarsely. ‘Fuck.’

And that’s how he helps you, his hands helping carry your weight so that you can bounce on his cock and enjoy every minute of it. The physical strain is worth it. You know Astarion likes to watch, possessive of the way you look and ride, and his eyes shine with a certain kind of deviance that you’ve grown to love.

It’s a long way from where you started as a poor soul standing on the steps, but you lean forward and kiss your raison d'être on his open mouth, savoring the way his bruised lip tastes in your mouth, enjoying just how much he enjoys you. The sunlight warms your skin and basks Astarion in a golden glow, so impossibly handsome that they should write songs about the way he looks after a night of lovemaking. He groans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard enough you’re almost certain he’s drawn blood.

You don’t mind it. You welcome the rougher things, enjoy them as much as he does. You lean back, hands now behind you on his thighs, and try to not feel too self-conscious about how open you’re being with your body. You’re encouraged to do it. His reactions are what drive you to be better. Because Astarion’s eyes widen slightly to take in the sight of your legs spread apart as you sit on his cock, your skin shining with a delicate veil of sweat. He comes with a rough moan.

Gods, you could listen to the sound of him all day.

You fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Your limbs feel like nothing after a night of increasingly more difficult sex, but it’s worth it for the way he spoils you after. Astarion kisses you nice and slow, lips and tongue and teeth, as if an apology for the roughness you willingly endured. He cradles you close to his body. He always seeks your warmth, always tries to press as close as he can.

It’s your turn to preen under his careful ministrations. Astarion pushes your sweaty hair back from your face and runs the tips of his fingers across your cheekbones and forehead, following the delicate lines of your bone structure. He lightly pinches your cheeks as if to savor the heat of your blush, but it doesn’t hurt when he does it. He kisses them better. He helps you slide back down into his sheets and takes note of the mess, smoothing his fingers against the bruises and love bites he’s left as gifts against your skin.

Astarion takes gentle care as he lifts your hand. He admires the ring on it and watches as he slides his fingers into yours so that his ring can crowd the empty spaces of your fingers. He kisses the back of your hand like a proper prince and then unceremoniously collapses down by your side, boneless and lazy.

‘You’ve made a mess,’ you accuse him sleepily.

‘I made you happy,’ Astarion corrects.

You reach out and touch his throat. ‘You’ve ruined your sheets.’

‘These sheets are perfect, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like you.’

Later in the morning, after you’ve rested again despite your attempts to stay awake, you’re coaxed back into existence by Astarion’s lips dancing softly against the nape of your deck. You’re almost certain he’s going to ask for more — a thought that startles you — but instead he lifts you from the depths of his blankets and carries you to a bathing tub in the corner of his quarters. He lowers you into freshly warmed water, and you try to not let how much you long for him show.

‘The maids — ’

‘They’ve seen you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But they did not care. You should have heard the way they swooned over us.’

He lavishes you again with rose petals and fancy perfumes and soaps. He guides a cloth over your skin and even massages a rather determined knot in your hip. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You’d let him pamper you for the next month if you could.

‘I will have you like this often,’ Astarion warns. ‘Tonight. Every night. You have no idea what you’ve done to me. It’s like you’ve enchanted me.’

He’s climbed in with you at this point, tucked behind you so that he can style your hair in a plait. He likes the way it’s gotten long. You can tell how hard he’s thinking by how silent he is. His fingers trickle water down your spine and occasionally trace the shape of a petal against your skin. You shiver and allow him these idle distractions, basking in his touches and singing while he allows himself to wander in his lost thoughts. You fall asleep again briefly, lulled into a dream by the warmth and the relaxing scents of the many perfumes and Astarion humming softly in your ear.

Astarion washes your chest again to avoid having to leave the bath. He’s in one of his contemplative moods, eyes somewhere a thousand miles away, lips twisted in curiosity. You would’ve stayed forever as well, but the water is slowly getting colder and you’re beginning to shiver. You look over your shoulder at him. You watch as his eyelashes flutter and close as if he too is moments away from falling asleep, but then you see it. A sign of melancholic hope.

‘You and I belong together,’ you tell him.

‘We are the greatest match together the world has ever seen,’ Astarion agrees. ‘There is no one else.’

‘It is an honor,’ you say. You catch a petal in your palm and show him.

He pulls your fingers up to his mouth with his own hand guiding you. He kisses your palm and the petal, and then each of your fingertips one by one.

‘I’m doing this for you, you know,’ he murmurs.

‘You are doing this for us,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘We are a family.’

‘We are more than a family,’ he insists. ‘We are more than lovers. Our souls belong together.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you say.

Whatever world Astarion is imagining, you’re beginning to see it too. A world where being a king means more than throwing extravagant parties and hosting masquerades and balls and ignoring those in need. Astarion cares because you care, and that makes your heart squeeze dangerously. You are with Astarion when he usurps his father’s court. He had called them weak-willed men in front of his own council, his lip curled in distaste. They had allowed a shadow ruler to take his father’s place for years, had controlled the crown like a puppeteer would his prized puppet. And now, Astarion has pulled together enough favor to overthrow those who had betrayed him, who had betrayed you, and who had betrayed Baldur’s Gate most of all.

‘I believe you are sitting in my chair,’ Astarion calmly tells Ketheric Thorm.

The removal of the pretenders is fairly certain. Ketheric’s own daughter Isobel aids in his arrest. The installation of Astarion’s council is relatively easy with such esteemed replacements. Wyll Ravengard takes his father’s place as Lord Commander of the Flaming Fist. Karlach takes Enver Gortash’s place as leader of the city guard, betrayed as you were, and her eyes burn with heat when she pulls him from his tower. Gale and Shadowheart had been planning the entire thing for years behind the scenes, favoring Astarion against the old court. All you do is stand beside Astarion with your hand on the hilt of your blade though no one dared raise their arms against him.

Astarion’s coronation takes place later that week, and even with all the planning, he does not allow you to stray from his side. You are with him when meeting with the emissaries Lady Lae’zel and Lord Halsin and Lady Jaheira. You are with him during his fittings. You are with Astarion the night before when he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You are there the day of his coronation. He is dressed in brilliant reds and off-whites and wears a crown with rubies. You stand alongside him in the armor he commissioned for you styled after Dame Aylin’s and hold the sword gifted to you from the crown.

It is a wedding as well.

A wedding of peace and resilience. A wedding of love and understanding.You drop down before him to one knee and swear anew your vows, though now they taste sweeter on your tongue. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, the Consort of the Chosen. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. When you rise, Astarion kisses you.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #* et toi，et moi

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already.

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie.

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing. If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket.

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet.

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like.

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

Oh.

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs.

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic.

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality.

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week. She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot.

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?”

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her.

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips.

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to.

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment.

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before.

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back.

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone.

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?”

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy.

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips.

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night.

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.”

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive.

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room.

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him.

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade.

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why.

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it.

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike.

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late.

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.”

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t.

“We… are.”

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.”

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.”

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.”

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once.

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.”

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding.

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you.

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds.

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning.

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet.

Yet.

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you?

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you.

So why is that all you could feel right now?

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he?

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?”

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time.

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.”

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening.

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real.

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened.

I could never hate you.

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past.

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate.

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.”

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you.

Almost.

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now.

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.”

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does.

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips.

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.”

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.”

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.”

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about.

I could never hate you.

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?”

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference.

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility.

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.”

You deserve my honesty.

I could never hate you.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.”

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night.

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust.

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop.

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point.

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest.

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.”

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated.

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question.

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?”

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar.

“That’s my question,” you confirm.

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly.

It’s not a good baseline question.

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.”

“Got kicked out? Why?”

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you.

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.”

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly?

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.”

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.”

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #gotta blast off to the gym now lol

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