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standfucker · 4 months

Note

Hello!! I've been thinking about an AFAB reader in the straw hat crew who dresses as a man. Short hair and masculine clothes that cover her up. She doesn't want people treating her differently or going easy on her in fights because of her gender hence her constant charade. Because of this the crew doesn't know that she is actually woman. I'd like to request drabbles of how Zoro, Sanji, And Luffy would react when finding out and where they would. Also, SFW please!

This was fun! ^^ Thanks for submitting a request! I tried to keep these a consistent length and failed. Each one ended up longer than the last... I'll have to keep trying harder to pace myself.

Discovering Your Secret - Monster Trio

CW: chest binding, canon-typical violence, injury (not described in detail), gun violence, battle trauma, nudity, awkwardness

Luffy

Group bathing was one bonding activity on the Sunny that you had to miss out on. Shyness wasn’t like you, but the guys chalked it up to a weird personality quirk and long since stopped questioning it. Some people liked their privacy, no big deal. Really, it was never a problem until Luffy barged into the bathroom one day while you were soaking, the door swinging open so hard it bounced back shut behind him.

You tried to shout that the bathroom was occupied, but it was drowned out by Luffy’s own yell of “GUM GUM CANNONBALL!” The next thing you knew, Luffy had somehow launched himself out of his clothes and into the tub, making a massive splash that took out half the water. It was only by sheer luck that he didn’t collide with you.

Instantly you sank down low into the remaining water so only your head was above the surface. The clear water offered no protection, however, so you had to cover your chest and cross your legs. Embarrassment and panicky fear were rotten feelings to have when you had just gotten relaxed, and you found yourself getting angry on top of it all. This was such a stupid way to be found out, and it was only because your captain lacked any self-awareness.

Luffy came up with a laugh, then opened his eyes and blinked at you for a second. “Oh, hey!” he said, oblivious to your stress. “I didn’t know you were in here! Robin told me she just drew a bath, so I came in. Didn’t hear the rest of what she said–I guess she drew it for you! Shi shi shi.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed, too stunned to speak right away.

Luffy’s brows raised when you didn’t respond. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t like to bathe with others. Sorry!” “Luffy?” you tried, but he kept talking.

”Well, I’m here now, so we might as well share! We can wash each other’s backs.”

”Luffy.”

”What are you so shy for, anyway? You look fine to me.”

”Luffy!” you snapped.

”What?”

”Get out!”

”But I’m already wet!” he complained, and you mentally screamed at his stubbornness.

”Then I’ll get out! But you have to look away!” you barely managed to keep from yelling at him, trying not to lose your cool lest he get suspicious.

Luffy pursed his lips. “Fine, sheesh. I won’t look.”

He turned his head away. You hesitated, then quickly stood up and made to leave. You took one step onto the tub–and immediately slipped, thanks to the water Luffy splashed there a moment ago. A yelp left you as you fell fast.

”Y/N!” Right before you hit the tub, Luffy’s arms shot out and wrapped around you, pulling you safely back inside. “That was close!”

You froze in place, heart in your throat both from the fall and from your new position. Luffy’s arms were wrapped around your torso. He could clearly feel your chest against his rubbery arms. You gaped at him, wide-eyed in shock. Luffy smiled. Then he squeezed you again and frowned. Slowly, he looked down at your chest, then down even further.

”WHAT?!” Luffy yelled in shock, his eyes bugging out. “Y/N got attacked by Iva?! But when did you meet him?!”

You facepalmed hard.You’d heard about Ivankov through Luffy’s stories, so you had an idea of what he was talking about. But he missed the mark so hard it was astonishing.

Luffy quickly unwound his arms from around you and covered his face, stammering. “I’m sorry, Y/N! I had no idea!”

Even though your own face was hot, you couldn’t help but start to laugh, though it was a bit nervous. As you carefully exited the tub, toweling off and pulling on a robe, you contemplated letting Luffy go on believing you were attacked by Iva. But then you would have to make up a story about meeting him, and lying to your bright-eyed captain seemed wrong. He meant well, after all.

Maybe this whole charade was unfair to him. Luffy couldn’t hold onto a secret to save his life anyway, so once he knew, the whole crew would know too. Still…though it would be a big change for you, it would be one less thing to worry about…

You draped your towel along the edge of the tub and perched on it, crossing your arms. “What did we learn about respecting people’s privacy?”

”I’m sorry,” Luffy said, peeking through his fingers before lowering his hands. “I didn’t know you had a reason…I won’t do it again! But when did you cross paths with Iva? During the two years I was away?”

”No, Luffy. I’ve never met Ivankov.” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ve been a girl this whole time. I was just pretending to be male.”

”Whaaat!? Really?” Luffy’s eyes bugged out at you again. “But why?”

You did your best to explain your reasons. Luffy only seemed to grow more confused as you went on, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

”I don’t get it. Nami and Robin are strong,” he said.

“Never said they weren’t,” you replied patiently. “But Nami and Robin get underestimated constantly. Maybe they’re used to it, but I can’t stomach the idea. It’s insulting.”

“Hmm…” Luffy thought for a second. “Does this mean we can’t wrestle anymore?”

“Of course we can! The whole point is that I don’t want you to treat me differently!”

“Oh… Oh! I see!” Luffy said, his eyes lighting up with realization. “Okay then! I’ll whoop your butt like normal!”

A warm feeling filled your chest, and you smiled. Now he was catching on, and he didn’t seem to mind. The relief was almost dizzying.

You asked Luffy to try to keep it a secret for now.

He lasted about three weeks, until he asked you one day, point-blank in front of the others: “Hey, Y/N? Where do your boobs go when you get dressed?”

Zoro

“Behind you!”

Zoro’s shout made you whirl around, raising your weapon, but your opponent was already on the downswing. Their sword cut your chest open from clavicle to rib. Pain sizzled out from the gash, hot and burning, but in addition to that, you could feel that your binder was damaged, freeing your breasts. You grit your teeth through the pain and managed to strike your foe down. Then you hunched over yourself, arms crossed over your chest, quivering. The warm blood on your arms told you this one might be serious, but despite the wound, all that was on your mind was getting found out.

Zoro rushed to your side, mowing down foes as he went until he was there. “Did they get you? Let me see.” But you shook your head. “Let me see!” he insisted, an edge of panic to his voice as blood dripped onto the ground below you.

You looked up at him with visible fear, which he misunderstood. “You’re going to be okay, but you have got to let me see.”

Shaking, you lowered your arms, revealing your wound and your secret all at once.

Zoro’s eyes widened, momentarily speechless. Then he snapped out of it, hurriedly taking off his shirt and wrapping it around your torso. He picked you up, one arm supporting your bottom while the other tucked you against his chest to hide your front. You pressed your face into his shoulder, discomposed from the shock of the injury and from the sudden reveal.

What would he think of you now? All the times you arm wrestled, all the times you sparred, all the drinking contests and shared conversations and shared fights–would you never experience them again? You kept asking yourself those questions as Zoro took you out of the slowing battle.

Chopper was shocked, but promised to keep your secret. However, after he found out that you’d been binding your chest with bandages almost 24-7, he scolded you harshly, going on about how you could permanently damage your body.

At your request, Zoro’s the only one Chopper let visit you in the ship’s infirmary. For a while, Zoro didn’t say anything, just stared at your bandaged chest with an unreadable expression.

“I wanted you to respect me,” you said, breaking the silence. He didn’t respond. “I could never be your equal otherwise. Please understand.”

Zoro looked down at you and gave a heavy sigh, eyes distant for a moment. “...You remind me of someone I used to know.” He sat on the edge of your bed, some softness to his gaze now. “I get it. I get why you hid this. But you’re an idiot.”

”I know. I let myself get hurt.”

”No, dummy. Because you treated the crew like we wouldn’t understand. You didn’t trust us. It makes sense in the beginning, but after all these years?” He frowned at you, and you realize that deep down, he was hurt.

”I didn’t want anything to change between us.” You looked away, ashamed. “Between you and me.”

”It doesn’t have to.”

”You don’t like to fight women.”

Zoro grimaced at the accusation, knowing you’re right. The infirmary was quiet for a minute.

”I’m sorry,” Zoro finally said. “I’ll…I’ll do better. Nothing has to change.” He paused, and offered up a smirk. “After all, I go easy on you anyways.”

You feel yourself tear up at his acceptance, and grinned back at him. “Once I heal up, I’ll make you regret that.” You paused, face falling. “You won’t tell anyone, right? I don’t want Sanji to…you know.”

“Yeah.” Zoro made a face at the cook’s name. ”It’ll stay between the three of us,” he promised. “I still think you should tell them, but it’s not my secret to share.”

”Maybe in time. I’ll have to think about it,” you said, and he nodded.

Zoro held out his hand. You clasped it in a big swing, grimacing when it made your wound sting, and squeezed as tightly as you could.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Zoro said, squeezing back. “Okay? We’re still buds.”

”Okay.” Again, you felt the tears threatening to spill.

”But if you cry, I’ll make fun of you.”

”Shut up!”

Once Zoro realizes you were hindered by the binder for all of your matches against him, he got fired up. All the times he won, you had a handicap–it wasn’t a fair match, he decided. However, there wasn’t really a place on the ship where you could take it off in front of others, so he was forced to remain undecided on the topic of which one of you is stronger.

It wasn’t until you revealed your secret to the others that you and Zoro finally got to have a proper, no-holds-barred sparring session. True to his word, he didn’t hold back, too battle-hungry to care if he touched your chest when you wrestled or exchanged blows. (Sanji snarled in the background, but neither of you were paying him any attention.)

As it turned out, when you let your aching ribs heal and could breathe properly, you were far better than you were before. You ended up almost defeating the swordsman, and he was so proud of you that he threw an arm around your shoulders and noogied your head until you were certain he left track marks in your skull. “That’s my girl!”

Sanji

The impact of your sword against your opponent’s knocked the weapons out of the both of your hands. Undeterred, you dashed forward to take them on barehanded, confident in your unarmed strength. Right as you reached them, they drew a hidden flintlock from their back belt, and touched the muzzle to your forehead.

You froze. The battlefield seemed to fade away, nothing solid or corporeal except for the gun to your head. You couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your ears, feel anything but the cold steel pressed to your skull. Everything rushed through your head in one synaptic burst, a thousand million thoughts of how soon, how final this was. All the years of adventure, ending here. One slip-up. You were going to die.

You couldn’t even feel regret. Just the sensation of your heart beating as if it was in every blood vessel. You didn’t hear the call of your name, nor the shouted “Diable Jambe!”

In the time it took for your opponent to squeeze his trigger finger, Sanji appeared seemingly out of nowhere and kicked the guy’s hand so hard you saw it break. The gun fired into the ground a few feet away from you, and with another burning kick, Sanji knocked him out.

You were in shock, standing there unharmed, but useless. Sanji took notice, calling for you again. When you didn’t respond, he rushed to you and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you hard. “Get it together! We still need you!”

Suddenly the sound, the sensation, everything came rushing back, hitting you all at once. You blinked, glanced at the surrounding battle, then at Sanji’s tense expression.

“Y/N!”

“I’m okay!” you said. “T-Thanks. I’m okay.” With that, you rushed for your fallen sword, ready to rejoin the battle.

It wasn’t your first brush with death, but this one rattled you worse than the others. After the battle you dwelled on it constantly, thinking back to that moment and breaking out into a cold sweat even though you’d just cleaned up. You couldn’t think about anything else, focus on anything going on around you. You skipped dinner, stomach too upset to eat, and were barely able to sleep despite your exhaustion from the day’s battle. You skipped breakfast the following day, and only around lunchtime did your mind seem to catch up to your body. You watched Luffy and the crew mess around, playing and laughing and arguing, and suddenly you realized that you almost lost this forever. Immediately, the urge to cry overtook you with tremendous force. You hurried through the ship’s interior, shoved yourself into a corner, and sobbed into your hands.

Dead. Oh god, you were almost dead. How was it that easy? All the strength you had worked so hard to build, meaningless. How could you have been so overconfident? How could you have let yourself lose so easily? Had Sanji not been there, you would have been gone. Gone.

The tears ran hot down your cheeks, and you bit your tongue to keep from being loud. It could have gone so much worse. Sanji was dependable, but tended to keep his eye on the girls during fights. He only saved you because you were close by. It was sheer luck that he saved you. Only luck.

“Y/N!”

Sanji’s call of your name made you go quiet. You resisted the urge to sniffle, even as your nose ran. If he found you…it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but you’d rather not be caught crying. You spent years building the image of the stoic, masculine fighter, and would prefer to keep up that appearance. Sanji called you again, closer this time, and you cleared your throat.

“Yeah?” you called out.

“Lunch is ready, so hurry on down,” he announced from the doorway, just out of your vision.

It took you a minute to gather yourself, but after washing your face and regulating your breathing, you were ready to rejoin the group once more.

In the weeks following, you dealt with your shock and processed it the best that you could. Eventually you started sleeping better again, your appetite returned, and life seemed to go on as normal…except for one thing: Sanji. He started acting strangely when he was nearby.

It started off small. He was far more pleasant around you than he normally was. Not that you and Sanji held animosity toward each other, but usually he treated you like another male: friendly enough if you weren’t Zoro, but not to this degree. He never really brightened up at the sight of you before. Nor did he ask for your opinion in his upcoming meal plan for the week. At first you chalked it up to him noticing your earlier distress somehow, but after you got better, he kept on acting saccharine.

One day, he brought you a drink. Not served you at the table with everyone else, but went out of his way to bring it to where you were sunbathing on the deck. You could only stare at him until he awkwardly left it by your side, stammered something about the heat, and then left.

Incidents like that kept happening, usually out of sight of the other crewmates, but not always. The others started picking up on it too. At one point, Sanji brought Robin, Nami, and Chopper slices of cake–and then brought you a plate as well. That time, everyone’s eyes were on him, but Sanji pretended like nothing was off.

When he chirped “Hi, Y/N-chan,” to you as he passed by you in the hall, you had enough. You grabbed him and shoved him against the wall, hard. He immediately knew he messed up, but despite your fingers fisted in his collar and your murderous expression, he only flushed red.

“What are you doing?” you hissed.

“I–I’m–” Sanji stammered. Blood started to run from one of his nostrils.

“Why are you acting like this?” you demanded. “Being all sappy and disgusting to me. Who do you think I am?”

“I–I’m sorry,” Sanji tried. You grit your teeth, beginning to fear the worst.

“Did you lose all respect for me when you saved my life?” you asked bluntly.

“Of course not! I think highly of you.”

“Too much so, don’t you think?” you had to struggle not to shout. “Is this because you heard me crying last month?”

Sanji shut his mouth, glancing aside and giving away the answer. He nodded.

“Am I weak to you or something?”

“No, that’s not it–” he tried, but you pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back into it.

“I don’t understand! You’re too soft with me. Why are you treating me so nicely?”

“Because you’re a woman, and women deserve the best.” He said it unflinchingly and with conviction, looking right back into your eyes.

The answer was obvious, but a part of you still hoped it was something else, hoped that because he didn’t go overboard with his affections that he didn’t know. Your grip on his collar weakened and gave away along with your hopes, hands hanging limply at your sides.

“When did you find out?” you asked quietly. “Or should I say, how?”

“I saw you crying.” Sanji pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his nose.

“So?”

“You may look and act like a man…but a woman’s tears leave no room for doubts.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Unfair. That’s what this was. Just unfair. Because after all those years living as a male, you got found out because of Sanji’s freakish sixth sense for women. Your sigh was heavy, and you had to rest your head in your hand for a moment.

“Okay, well, we need to set some things straight. You can’t keep slipping up around me, or the others will find out. They already suspect something’s up.”

“I'm trying!” Sanji retorted. “I knew you were hiding it for some reason, so I tried to keep myself in check! Do you know how hard it’s been?”

“How hard it’s been?” You wanted to punch him. “You have no idea what I go through every day just to keep up appearances! Just to earn the regard I deserve! Why couldn't you respect me as a man?”

“I don't respect men.”

“Ugh!” You punched the wall by his head instead. Sanji didn’t flinch. “You have to take me seriously.”

“I am!”

“We can’t keep going like this.” You bit your lip in frustration, trying to think of a solution. Maybe you could use his weird complex around women to your advantage, if he would just stop giving it away. “Okay, listen. Sanji. If you really want to do me a favor, the best thing you can do is help me keep my secret. That means whenever you have the urge to treat me like a girl, you nip it in the bud. Can you do that?”

“I…I’ll try.” Sanji went to take your hand, but you yanked it away.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! You can’t be so familiar.”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard! I–I want to treat you right. I want to be close to you.”

“I want to be close to you to,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “But I. I’d… I’d rather hold onto my secret.”

He looked hurt, which sent a cold pang of guilt into your stomach. Reaching out, you patted his shoulder. “I’m depending on you, do you understand?”

Sanji took in your expression–serious, worried, uncertain–and nodded. The hand that reached for yours instead went over his heart. “I promise,” he said, “I will do everything I can to help keep your secret.”

The talk with Sanji helped massively, fixing his odd behavior around you for the most part. There was one thing he couldn’t give up, and that was giving you a nickname. He called you something in French–“mon petit chou,” he would say–but as it was foreign, you figured it was safe to use around the crew, and let it slide.

It was only a few months later that you learned Robin was fluent in French.

#replies #luciledreamz #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #x reader #one piece imagines #finished requests #zen writes

545 notes · View notes

tasteracha · 1 year

Text

please

word count: 1.7k

warnings: afab!reader, reader x chan, reader calls chan sir, chan calls reader slut (once), oral sex, soft dom!chan

synopsis: you and chan play out one of your fantasies

you’ve thought about it. him coming home, post concert adrenaline still high, still in his obscene concert outfit that makes your mouth water every time you see it. him acting like a stuck up kpop star, displaying the fame that he never lets himself think about, too humble for it. you acting like a fan, someone who only gets to imagine being with him in your fantasies. when it actually happens it catches you off guard, even though he makes plenty of noise coming through the door to let you know he’s home. you talked about it in the morning, laying in bed with drowsy eyes and puffy cheeks, but you didn’t think he would actually do it. you hadn’t been expecting him for at least another hour, at the very least.

he proves you wrong when he enters the bedroom, looking at you in almost exaggerated surprise.

if you’re not in this bed in ten seconds i’m going to climb you like a tree, is on the top of your tongue. he looks phenomenal, dressed in sparkly black with sweat still dotting his brow, like he ran straight here without even saying goodbye to his members and staff. but you don’t say it - that’s not the role you want to play right now.

“bang chan?” you squeak out instead, using your covers to hide most of your body in faux embarrassment. “what- what are you doing here?”

“i’ve seen you.” he says, stalking towards you like a predator. “at my shows. posting about me. writing about me. you think you can look the way you do, talk about me the way you do, and not face any consequences?”

your face burns up, and this time it’s real embarrassment. he’s not wrong - he knows you write about him, even if it’s mostly a power move against everyone else because while there are better writers out there, you’re the one whose arms he comes home to. you’re the one who he shares a bed with, he presses kisses to your skin, he loves you.

“get up,” he orders, breaking you out of your shame, eyes passive as they roam over you. the urge to follow his order washes over you, tempting, but you stay put.

“what?” you stammer out instead, ignoring the way the heat is already starting to form between your legs.

“i don’t want to repeat myself. you do what i say, is that clear?” his voice is firm, tinted with a only do this if you want to that you only hear from years of being with him.

you slowly move out of the covers in response, movements timid as you look down at the shorts and old t-shirt you wore to bed. should you have worn something sexier for him? the thought sends another delicious wave of shame through you, warming you from your head to your toes.

as if hearing your thoughts, he stalks towards you and thumbs at the collar of the shirt, stretching it a bit so he can see your collarbones and notice the lack of bra underneath.

“look at you, ready for me like this,” he growls, digging his thumb into your flesh. “do you dress like this every night, hoping i’ll show up like this?”

you exhale shakily, not knowing if you want to press further into him or step away. the headspace is taking over slowly as your mind goes fuzzy. he removes his hand from you to unbutton his shirt and you hold back a whine of protest.

“no, keep it on,” you say, your own hand coming to rest on top of his, stopping his movements. “please?” you tack on, knowing he would like it. he likes when you beg.

sure enough, he groans and releases his shirt, letting his hand linger against yours for a moment.

“on your knees,” he says, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his cock from his boxers. the jeans are deliciously tight on his thighs, held up without him trying. you’re on your knees before you know it, one second staring into his eyes and the next second eye-level with his hardening length.

“chan?’ you stutter when he moves to tap his tip against your bottom lip. he chuckles, stroking himself a couple times against you.

“that’s not what you want to call me, is it?” he says coldly, dark eyes looking down on you in condescension. you rack your brain, eyes flitting back and forth between his face and the cock in front of yours. mr. bang seems too clinical, too detached, so not that. chris is what you call him when he’s gently rocking into you, whispering declarations of love into your ear, so it’s not that, either. sometimes, when you’re especially in need of control, you call him your pet, but that’s not right. you land on one, testing out the flavor of it on your tongue before trying it.

“sir?” you say tentatively, and he rewards you by pressing his length into your mouth. you moan around him in content, the taste of him hitting your senses making you more floaty than before.

“that’s it,” he moans when you take him a little further into your mouth, and you don’t know if he’s referencing the title or the way you suck him in, but you don’t particularly care at the moment. you bob around his head like it’s where you belong, ignoring the ache in your knees. you don’t know how long you stay there for, letting him shallowly thrust into your mouth while you sit obediently, hands in your lap. you’re twitching to touch him, fingers aching for his skin, but one slap to your hand had you twisting them together instead.

he pulls back after a while, holding himself at the base. his soft noises, moans and growls under his breath, were spurring you on. now with the silence, you feel lost. did you do something wrong? you look up at him through your lashes, tears starting to form.

“oh, sweetheart,” he coos, brushing your cheek with his thumb. you nuzzle into his hand, grateful for the contact. “you did so well for me. but you don’t want me to come in your mouth do you?”

oh. it clicks into place. you shake your head rapidly, tongue flicking out to lap at the drool that’s pooled on your bottom lip.

“on the bed,” he orders, his tone not matching the way he helps you to your feet, letting you steady yourself on shaky legs. he strips you of your clothes clinically, clicking his tongue at you when he notices you have nothing on under your shorts. it’s patronizing, the way he’s looking down at you. it’s lovely. “hands and knees.”

you get into position, listening to the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. you turn your head and pout at him, mourning the loss of the smooth silk that was adorning his body.

“don’t look so sad,” he bites, kneeling behind you and running two fingers through your folds, making you jolt. “you’re so wet already. i can’t have you ruining my nice clothes, hmm?”

“no, sir,” you slur out, so gone for him. his hands grab at your ass, squeezing your flesh between his strong hands before spreading you apart for him. his cock teases at your entrance, making your heartbeat falter. he usually teases you, making you fall apart on his fingers or his tongue before splitting you apart on his cock. not today though it seems, given that he drives himself into you in one thrust. you choke on your breath, arms giving out as you fall to your elbows and let your head smush into the pillow under you.

he starts slow, movements sensual as he lets you get adjusted to his length inside of you. it’s not enough.

“please, sir,” you moan into the pillow, voice muffled but reaching his ears anyways. your body moves back into his involuntarily, making him stop completely, buried in you to the hilt.

“please what?” he says, smoothing a hand down your back to rest on the nape of your neck. he leans forward until his mouth is right by your ear, his breaths tickling your hair. “tell me what you want. beg for it.”

“please, please fuck me,” you gasp out, breath stuttering when he pushes against your neck. “use me, i’m yours.”

he snorts, pulling out almost all the way before burying himself completely again.

“what a good little slut,” he starts up a harsh rhythm with his hips, grunting with the effort. “all mine. you’ve thought about this, haven’t you? while you touch yourself, you’ve thought about me. been saving yourself for me, hoping for me.”

“please,” you drawl out again. you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. for him to stop, for him to keep going and never stop, you don’t know.

“i bet you tell all your friends about me, how you want me so badly,” he continues, his breaths threaded out now, the first sign of him being just as affected by this as you are. “you’re going to tell them about this too, aren’t you? too bad they won’t believe you.”

he moves impossibly faster, burying himself impossibly deeper, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t think were possible. he folds himself over you completely, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder like he can’t help it as he comes inside of you, filling you up. you follow him as he chases the last bits of his release, shaking underneath him and whining when he pulls out and flops down next to you.

you finally let your muscles relax as you collapse into the mattress. he’s panting in time with your breaths, his hand coming to rest against your waist as he pulls you closer to him. you calm down together, breaths returning to normal and heartbeat slowing to something closer to a steady beat than the jackhammering it was running at before.

“that was,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence and grinning at you. “something.”

“we are so doing that again, chris,” you giggle, burrowing into his side as clarity returns to your brain. the press of your bodies against one another is a little gross with the sweat slicking your bodies, but you don’t care. after, that, you need him close.

“don’t you mean ‘sir’?” he says, arching an eyebrow at you.

“say that again and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan imagines #chan x reader

954 notes · View notes

twiceinadream · 11 months

Text

“A More…Hands On Experience.”

Requested: Nope

Prompt: G!P Fem! S/O is a pool cleaner, Jihyo is a very attractive woman who asks S/O to rub oil on her.

a/u: Hey everyone! I’m back with a new fic that I hope you all enjoy. I can’t believe it’s already been 4 years since I started writing on Tumblr and I don’t have any plans on stopping in the near future! I want to thank you all for continued love and support after all these years. I love you guys!

Category: NSFW and Fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

The sun shone brightly over Guri, leaving the town in a beautiful glow. The air held a cool breeze and the warmth from the sun was just enough to heat the skin, more-or-less the day was pretty perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you hummed the last song you had heard on the radio under your breath. You were in good spirits, the weather was great, and you were on to the first client of the day. The house was very beautiful and you couldn’t help but marvel at all of the intricate botany.

The house itself looked quite modern as you walked up the little step to knock. It gave a hollow sound as you waited patiently, one of your hands in your pocket. It didn’t take long before you heard a faint, “Hold on, I’m coming!” From inside the house, the door was opened by the most beautiful woman you had ever seen and her attire - or lack there of - made your mouth go dry, “Hi, may I help you?”

You felt like your eyes were gonna pop out of your skull before you quickly shook your head and cleared your throat, recovering your professional demeanor, “Hi, yes, Miss Park?” The woman nodded and it finally clicked that your client was the Park Jihyo, “Hi, I’m Y/N from Palace Pool Cleaners. We have you scheduled for a pool cleaning this morning.”

It took all of your willpower to not look down since the woman before you was the subject of a very long standing crush and she was currently dressed in a very revealing bikini that was barely covered by a white dress shirt. “Oh goodness, you’re right. My apologies, it completely slipped my mind. I was actually about to lounge by the pool myself, it won’t interfere with your work will it?”

You shook your head, it wasn’t uncommon for clients to be out while you worked. Guaranteed most of your clients weren’t insanely attractive women who had been the object of your affection, but you needed to keep this professional. You couldn’t risk losing your job over a stupid crush, “Not at all, Miss Park. Depending on how much debris is in the pool and all the other little nuances I need to check up on for maintenance reasons. I should be out of here in two hours.”

The brunette smiled as she looked you up and down, you couldn’t help but stiffen your stance slightly as you flexed. Secretly hoping to attract such a gorgeous woman - you were only human after all. “Take all the time you need.”

With that, you gave a curt nod to not embarrass yourself any further, “Thank you, let me grab my supplies from the truck and I’ll get started. Is there a side gate I could use to access the backyard so I’m not lugging everything through your house?”

“Yeah, it’s to the right of the garage there’s a gate, it unlocks from the back so just reach over and it leads straight to the pool.” You nodded in thanks as you turned to leave. “One more thing,” you turned back around to see that the dress shirt had fallen down one of Jihyo’s shoulders and was now exposing a good amount of her cleavage that you fought not to gawk at, “you’re new aren’t you?” You nodded as you responded with a ‘yes’, making the brunette giggle, “I just wanted to say you are a lot easier on the eyes than my last pool cleaner.” You could barely believe your ears as Jihyo left you with a wink and disappeared back into her house.

How strange.

You finally let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding as Jihyo closed the door, the front of your shorts felt uncomfortably tight as you turned to go back to your truck and grab the supplies you needed. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, ‘Fucking shit. I feel like I’m living in a bad porno.’

Once you had gathered everything you needed to get started with the cleaning you made your way to the backyard, through the gate that Jihyo had mentioned before and you almost stopped in your tracks at the sight. The brunette was propped up on a sun bed, sunglasses on her face and the white button down discarded. Revealing her large breasts that were barely contained by the straining fabric of her brown bikini top and the tiny bottom part that left nothing to the imagination that barely covered the woman’s slit.

You could faintly see the marks of an old tan line that she was probably working on getting rid of. Jihyo didn’t seem to pay any attention to you as you went to work as usual. you set your supplies down a little ways from the edge of the pool as you began assembling the pool skimmer. Screwing together the poll and attaching the net to the end as you dipped it onto the surface of the water and began collecting the stray leaves and occasional bug.

You hummed to yourself as you got lost in the monotony of your work - it wasn’t that you hated your job, you actually loved it, it was just simple and didn’t require much thinking after enough repetitions. The pool was a fairly decent size but wasn’t large enough that it took too much effort to get through. After you had skimmed the entirety of the pool you emptied the net into a trash bag you set off to the side and picked up the pool vacuum you had brought with you.

Thankfully, this pool didn’t have an algae problem as the low hum of the motor whirred to life as you plunged it beneath the surface and once again started your methodical walk around the pool’s edge. Making sure to cover every square inch so you wouldn’t have to do it over. The sun began to beat down, the temperature had risen to 86°F (30°C) and without the coverage of clouds or a breeze, you were beginning to sweat.

Once you finally made it all the way around you pulled out the vacuum and switched off the motor, sighing as you reached for the bottom hem of your shirt and pulled it off. You were wearing a black sports bra that covered everything but a low whistle suddenly reeled your mind back into the present as you remembered that you had an audience. You turned to face the woman still lounging in the pool chair, she had shed the white button down and was left in the skimpy bikini, your eyes wandered the the swell of her massive breasts as you bit your lip.

You were trying in vain to reign in your raging hormones as you felt your dick grow half-hard. But it was confined by your boxers and the lining of your swim trunks…for now.

The brunette had noticed your gaze as she chuckled slightly, “You can keep staring, jagi. I don’t mind.” Jihyo smirked as she pushed her chest out further, “I’m very proud of my body.”

You swallowed hard as you cleared your throat, suddenly feeling brave enough to flirt back, “My apologies, I was staring at your heart, but your boobs seem to be getting in the way.”

The singer was a little surprised by the fact that you had willingly matched her energy, “Funny and good looking, a very dangerous combo.”

You smiled as you headed back to your truck briefly to retrieve the bag of pool salt you needed to restore the correct ph levels in the pool. As you came back in, you noticed Jihyo staring as your muscles bunched slightly under the weight of the bag as you carried it over your right shoulder. Once you got back to the edge of the pool you set down the bag with the side of it facing the pool as you retrieved the box cutter from your pocket and created a small triangle at the bottom of the bag as the salt began spilling out.

After all the salt had been emptied out, you crumpled up the bag and stuffed it into the trash. Tying the elastic strings to keep it closed and everything you had taken out of the pool or used stayed in it. you were finally done and you went through without any more embarrassing incidents other than flirting back a little with the beautiful woman.

You made the short walk to where Jihyo was still lounging and stopped a safe distance away as you cleared your throat to grab her attention. The brunette turned her head as she lifted her sunglasses to properly look at you, “Miss Park, everything is finished. I cleaned and skimmed your pool as well as added more salt into it to restabilize the ph levels. If there’s nothing else you need, I can see myself out. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!”

You wanted to heave a sigh of relief as you were able to get out your entire speech and not get distracted by the tempting pillows of softness that called to you. But before you could continue patting yourself on the back for not being a perv, Jihyo pursed her lips in thought before an idea came to mind.

She reached to the table beside her as she retrieved a bottle of sun tan oil, “Actually, there may be something you can help me with.” You nodded, “I need help applying this oil and you seem like such a nice person. I’m just trying to even out my tan lines and I can’t seem to do it properly. Would you mind doing it for me?”

You felt like your head was spinning with lust, “Yeah, I guess, I can.” The brunette’s smile was practically predatory once she heard your consent. She was finally able to set the plan she had been thinking of for the last hour and a half into motion.

“Since you’re new and all, I was hoping I could give you a better perspective on Guri. A chance to get a more…hands on experience.” As the words left Jihyo’s mouth, she released the hold she had at the front of her bikini top as she let it drop and slide off her arms.

Your eyes felt like you were going to bug out of your skull as you stared at the woman’s bare breasts. They were enormous and when she sat back on the lounge chair, they bounced slightly as they settled back into place after being jostled. You swallowed hard as all you could do was stare, “Shit, you’re beautiful.”

Jihyo giggled at the compliment as she reached down for the oil, holding up the bottle in front of you, “Care to help me, jagiya? I can’t do it properly myself.” There was a hint of a pout in her voice as you took it from her, you were very much in shock about everything that was happening as you uncapped the bottle and began drizzling the liquid onto the brunette’s chest. “That’s it, don’t be shy.”

You preened at the words that fell from the older woman’s lips as you watched the oil drip down the pillowy mountains of titty flesh. You reached a tentative hand up to rub the oil into her skin but stopped, unsure if this was what she really wanted you to do. Jihyo smirked as she grabbed your hand and placed it firmly on her breast, “Rub it in please.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the pliant flesh beneath your hand. Rubbing the oil over the singer’s warm skin as you kneaded her breasts. Your movements became more bold as you chanced a pinch to her left nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your client as she pressed her chest closer to you. The tent at the front of your swim shorts was extremely obvious as the outline of your dick stood out proudly. You were painfully hard as you continued to spread the oil all over Jihyo’s chest while fondling her tits, ‘This can’t be fucking real. Whatever I did to deserve this, thank you Universe!’ You mused to yourself as you realized the brunette had been staring at you.

“Why don’t I get you now, yeah?” You quirked an eyebrow in confusion as you paused from rubbing the oil onto the older woman’s taught stomach.

“What do you mean?” Jihyo had a predatory gleam in her eyes as she urged you to stand, she followed suit as her breasts swayed with the movement.

“I think you could use some oil too. It would look just delectable on you.” Before you could speak, Jihyo poured a healthy amount into her hands and began rubbing it onto your abdomen and down your arms. The brunette bit her lip as she felt you up, her eyes drifting down to see a very obvious bulge. You followed her gaze as you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t warn you. I have a…” But before you could continue Jihyo sank to her knees as she kissed the tip of your dick beneath the swim trunks.

“Don’t apologize for who you are. Ever.” The comment was incredibly endearing as your felt your heart grow light.

‘This woman really is amazing.’

It didn’t take long for Jihyo to bring you back to the present as she hooked her fingers into the shorts, “May I?”

It was now your turn to bite your lip as you nodded, “Please.”

In a slow and practiced motion, Jihyo began pulling down your swim trunks. She hit a snag around your erect cock before she was able to get the tight material around it and was shocked to see the sheer size of it in the open. The brunette made quick work of the shorts as you stepped out of them and kicked it away, leaving the singer to stare at your impressive length. You were both long and thick making you the perfect combination as your dick flexed up to your stomach.

“Wow, you’re the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Jihyo smiled as she reached a hand up to begin stroking your cock, “You just keep getting better and better.”

You wanted to respond but your mind was a bit more preoccupied with the sight of Park Jihyo on her knees as she stroked your dick. Opting for a nod and pleased hum.

The brunette leaned forward as she placed a kiss to your balls, moving up so she could lick a long line up the underside of your shaft to the dribbling head. The slightly salty taste of your precum coated her tongue as your hand found its way into her hair, tangling her locks in between your fingers. Jihyo took the tip of your cock into her mouth and she felt a spurt of cum as you groaned at the sudden heat around you, but before she could work down more of your impressive length she felt her head jerk forward as you pulled her closer to your groin.

More cock than she could handle was suddenly filling her mouth as the head of your length hit the back of throat and she gagged. And just as quickly as you had pushed her down on your cock, you pulled her off just as fast as apologies fell from your lips. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be that rough with you, your mouth just feels really g….”

Before you could apologize further, Jihyo took you back into her mouth, but this time at her own pace. You moaned aloud as you felt her throat muscle contract as she took you all the way to the root, pulling back as she ran her tongue along the underside of your shaft. In an attempt to not choke the brunette a second time, you refrained from pulling at her hair as you carded your fingers through it instead. Thrusting forward every so often to chase the warmth that was being pulled off of you.

The head of your dick began leaking in a steady stream as you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten at how close you were to cumming. you let out a guttural moan, “Of fuck, Jihyo-ssi, I’m gonna cum.”

But just as the words left your mouth, the brunette completely pulled off of your length as a few ropes of cum shot out onto the singer’s face. You groaned as your balls clenched but you were left completely unsatisfied without any further stimulation, causing the tightening in your stomach to worsen. “Wh..what the h…hell?”

The ruined orgasm was borderline painful as your abdominal muscles grew taught but there was nothing else to combat the intense feeling. You groaned as you looked down to see your shaft even harder than before as it still rested stiffly against your stomach. But your heart seemed to stop at the view before you, Park Jihyo with lines of your cum on her face. She wore a very proud smirk as you panted, “I’m sorry, Y/N-ah, did that hurt?”

The brunette’s voice was full of false sympathy as she mocked you, which in turn pissed you off further. You growled lowly as you gripped her hair in your fist and pulled Jihyo to stand, still using her hair to guide the forceful movements as you brought her close to your face. “You must think you’re so clever. You’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.”

Jihyo stared up to meet your eyes, accepting the challenge. “Oh, I’d love to see you try.” You pulled her into a rough kiss, void of the sweetness she had expected from you as teeth clashed and tongues wrestled for dominance. And Jihyo had to admit, she had never been more turned on in her life.

No matter what she threw at you, you gave it back to her ten fold, which was how she found herself hovering over your mouth. Her bikini bottoms completely soaked through, but you didn’t even bother to remove them as you pulled them to the side and licked a strip up the center of her pussy. Jihyo moaned at the feeling as she pressed lower trying to get more friction against her weeping folds.

You were arguably too horny to tease and you were quickly getting over your anger due to the ruined orgasm since the taste of the brunette on your tongue was just too enticing to abstain from. It had a sweet yet tangy flavor that you couldn’t get enough of as you ran the flat of your tongue almost to her clit, but stopped at the second, you weren’t letting her off the hook that easily.

But Jihyo was quick with her wits as she bucked forward trying to feel more of your tongue, “How about I give you a true taste of Guri?”

You laughed slightly, “Are you always this cheesy when you’re having sex or is this just for my benefit?” You didn’t give her a chance to respond as your tongue teased at her entrance, taking in more of her leaking arousal. But before you could dive deeper into the singer’s depths you pulled away to place a kiss to her inner thigh, “But, ever since I’ve gotten here, I feel like I’m living in a poorly written porn script.”

To her benefit, Jihyo had the humility to laugh as a genuine smile broke out onto her lips. “Well I’m disappointed that my seduction came off as poorly written porn. Was it really that bad?”

“To be fair, when you wanted me to touch your boobs you phrased it as a ‘hands on experience’.” You chuckled as you craned your neck to suck on her clit briefly, “I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt that it came off as cheesy rather than poorly written porn.”

Jihyo hummed as she lost focus on the conversation as she relished in the feeling of her clit getting the attention it so desperately craved, “I can accept that. But can we save the pillow talk for after, I think there are more pressing matters at the moment.”

You chuckled as you kissed her clit, “I agree. Why don’t you ride me, jagi, I want to see those beautiful tits bounce for me. Least you could do since you spilled oil all over me.”

The brunette smirked as she wiggled her way out of her bikini bottoms so that the two were completely naked, “I can definitely get on top of that idea and get on top of you as well.”

You both laughed out loud but your laughing ceased as Jihyo sank down on your cock. The feeling of being stretched open made the singer moan loudly as the rippling heat around your dick made you groan as one of your hands shot to hold onto Jihyo’s hip, guiding her down till you bottomed out inside of her. She breathed through her nose as she felt her inner walls adjust to the stretch, it had been awhile since she had been with anyone and her fingers were never this thick or this deep inside of her.

The brunette let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as she slowly began to rise up from atop of your cock till only the tip remained inside of her then dropped down. Eliciting a moan from both of you as pleasure crawled up your spines. Jihyo bounced on your lap as your dick had enough curve to it to rub against the spot inside of her that made her see stars when she pulled out at just the right angle. Your eyes were transfixed on her wobbling tits as an unashamed look of lust adorned your face.

You even reached the hand that hadn’t found purchase on the brunette’s hip to continue squeezing and teasing her breasts. “Shit, just like that, good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

Jihyo’s breathing came out in clipped pants as she moved faster, the sound of her skin slapping against your’s made her blush as loud moans fell from her mouth. “God, only for you. You're filling me up so much.”

The singer sounded breathless as she began adding in the occasional rock of her hips to elicit more pleasure against her clit. You groaned beneath her as the hot and tight walls of Jihyo’s pussy gripped your shaft firmly, massaging it in a way that sent your head spinning. Everything felt amazing and the fact that you were even more pent up from the very unsatisfying release from before didn’t help. You felt dangerously close to the edge as you began thrusting up to meet Jihyo’s hips.

“Fucking shit, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum!” Your voice was strained as the idol’s inner walls tightened even more around you. There was only so much more of this that you could take before you were at the end of your wits.

“Cum inside, I’m on the pill. I’m almost there!” Jihyo’s voice raised an octave as her thrusts became a blur of short up and down movements. Not wanting to part from you for long as she reached a hand down to rub at her clit.

The sight of the woman atop you: riding you, touching herself, and her gigantic tits bouncing was enough to send you careening over the edge as you choked on a moan before feeling your abdomen contract and your balls tighten. Ropes of your cum shot deep inside of Jihyo as the feeling triggered the singer’s orgasm in turn and caused her walls to clench rhythmically around your cock.

Jihyo finally let out the scream she had been suppressing as she tilted her head back up to the sky as she came. Her release squirted out onto you ever so slightly as she felt your hot load in her womb. She sighed as her walls gave one final squeeze to your shaft after she had milked you for all you were worth. Jihyo looked down to see that your eyes had closed and a blissful smile graced your lips. She could tell you were awake, but barely.

That’s when her exhaustion seemed to hit her as well, she didn’t bother moving too much as she leaned forward to rest her body atop of yours. She could feel your dick softening a little inside of her as she placed lazy kisses on your neck, “That was amazing.”

You had started tracing random patterns on her naked back that she found oddly soothing, “I think amazing might be an understatement.”

Finally, you two broke the scene that the two of you had built as you wrapped your arms around your girlfriend. Placing a kiss to the crown of her head, “Thank you for doing this with me. I know a scene like this was a little weird.”

Jihyo grinned as she cuddled closer to you, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, jagiya. I haven’t cum that hard in a long time”

You laughed slightly before a yawn cut you off, “Tell me about it. You even squirted!” The idol could practically feel the smug smile on your face as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, Y/N-ah.” Jihyo yawned as she felt her eyes start to droop, “I’m gonna nap for a little, the whole thing really tired me out. I love you, jagi.”

You smiled as you pulled your girlfriend as close to you as humanly possible, “I love you too, Jihyo-ah.”

#twice #fortwice #twice imagines #twice prompts #twice smut #twice fluff #park jihyo #twice jihyo #park jihyo x g!p fem reader #g!p reader #twice x fem reader #twice x reader #twiceinadream

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mastercucco · 4 months

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Play Stupid Games (NSFW) - Link x Reader

Link and Groose get into a friendly competition (in NoNutNovember fashion), and you have been tasked to be Link's "Dick Chaperone".

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Explicit Contains: unresolved sexual tension, friends-with-benefits type of situationship, you and Link are established fuck-buddies Word count: ~1,5k Read on Ao3 A/N: Reader inserts are my guilty pleasure and I wanted to try writing one myself! I rarely write anything in English (it's not my first language), so I'm a bit shy to post this – but too embarrassed to post it in my own language, so here we are :´) Please note that all characters in my writing are adults (we're not canon compliant in this house). For reference, I imagine Link and the Reader to be in their early/mid twenties in this one.

PLAY STUPID GAMES

It all started nine days ago with Groose being his usual snarky self, making his usual snarky remarks, and Link finally snapping and trying to knock Groose’s teeth out.

“Oh you’re such a pissbaby,” Groose mocked while Link, being held back by Cawlin and Strich, was flailing his fists with a furious expression and a hot-red face.

“Why so sensitive today?” Groose laughed. “Didn’t have enough time to give your tiny nub a rub? Is that it?”

From there, the argument somehow led into Link’s masturbation habits, and how Groose was “so much more of a man” because “he could hold a nut for weeks”, unlike “pissbaby-Link” who “can’t stop fidgeting with his cock for even one day”. And Link, who was so riled-up he couldn’t think straight anymore, didn’t say no when Groose suggested a “friendly competition” between the two of them.

Now it is nine days later, and you’re lying on a mattress on Link’s bedroom floor and listening to him toss and turn under his blanket, because somehow it is now your duty to inform Groose if Link busts a nut before he does. Groose has put a lot of faith in you, considering how little you care about Groose and how often Link and you like to mess around.

Link’s bed frame creaks in a steady, quiet rhythm. You listen to it only for a few moments before you huff, annoyed.

“Stop humping,” you snap. It’s already past midnight and you’re tired of this stupid game. It was exciting and even arousing the first few nights, trying to keep Link from touching himself; teasing him and making him so horny he had trouble standing straight. But not anymore. Not after nine poorly slept nights.

The creaking stops and Link’s bedclothes rustle when he turns to lie on his back.

“I feel hot,” he says.

“Drink some water.”

“The water’s warm.”

“Then get up and go get cold water,” you snap again. His bed frame keeps creaking when he sits up.

“I can’t,” Link says, “I have a tent up.”

And whose problem is that? you want to ask but hold your tongue. You turn around to give him an annoyed look instead. Link’s hair is a mess and even in the dim moonlight you can see his cheeks are burning red. He doesn’t wear a teasing smirk like on all the nights before; he fidgets with the hem of his nightshirt and looks uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

“You’re being an idiot,” you huff. “Just go masturbate.”

“You’ll tell Groose.”

“So what? Groose is a dick and this ‘competition’ is dumb.”

“He won’t shut up about it if I lose!”

You groan. “You two are such idiots…”

“You could just… not tell him,” Link says, lowering his voice. The corner of his mouth is slowly rising. “Help me out a bit. I’ll make it worth your time. Please?”

And there it is. The smirk.

Your face flushes, not because you feel flustered but because Link thinks you would entertain this stupid game they’re playing any further than you already have. You give him a stern look and turn your back on him. The air is still for a while, and then you hear Link stand up. He paces around a few times before walking up to the window and opening it. The hinges screech. Loudly. Everything in Link’s room seems to make an awful lot of noise after midnight.

And then it suddenly gets quiet again. Suspiciously quiet. You stretch your neck and take a peak at Link. He’s leaning against the windowsill, legs apart, and slightly rocking back and forth. You’re about to tell him to stop humping again, but pause to think before you open your mouth. Why do you care if Link wins the competition or not? Why should it concern you if Link cannot keep his hands out of his pants?

At this point, do you even want Link to succeed in this stupid game any longer?

Your face flushes again. You’ve been an idiot. You’ve been such an idiot. If you wanted Link to quit the game, you should have just done something about it.

You push the blanket away and get up. Link is so absorbed in his rocking that he doesn’t even realize you've walked up to him until you press yourself against his back and sneak your hand between his legs. His hips buck when you gently grab his crotch. The cloth of his night pants is thin and leaves little to no room for imagination. You stroke him with your fingertips, your touch light as a feather, and only take a pause to feel the wet spot at the tip of his cock. Link whines your name and slaps your fingers, but he doesn’t push your hand away.

“Stop. I’m too worked-up already,” Link groans, but when you try to move your hand away, he grabs your wrist and presses your palm back against his erection.

“You’re giving me mixed signals,” you say.

“I am not,” Link insists. He slowly lets go of your wrist and braces himself back on the windowsill. You keep your hand in place, but stay still even when Link thrusts impatiently against your palm.

You’re already starting to question your decision to end the game for him. Knowing Link, he would only ask for another chance to beat Groose if he were to lose. And you don’t think you can handle another round of this.

Link thrusts his hips again. You do nothing. His cock twitches, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

“So you don’t mind losing to Groose?” you question – even though you already know the answer.

Link half-laughs, half-groans. “I’m not going to lose,” he says, “I’m not going to shoot a load.” He sounds way too confident for someone who’s been moaning about being desperate to “shoot a load” since night one. You give him a light squeeze, just to see how serious he’s being, and his knees immediately buckle. You’re certain he has no control over it.

“I know you well enough to know that you’re not going to be able to hold it,” you say.

“Oh c’mon!” he moans and pushes against your palm so hard your hand hits the wall. It gets wedged between the bricks and his cock, both rock hard. The wet spot on his crotch is very obvious now.

“I will tell Groose,” you warn him.

“Please don’t.”

“What even is the point in all of this? What are you trying to prove? That somehow you’re more of a man by keeping yourself uncomfortably horny all the time? How does that even make any sense!”

Link doesn’t answer. He wiggles his hips to find a comfortable spot in your palm to gently rub against.

“Link,” you warn again. You try to pull your hand away but it won’t budge.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he mumbles, his mind clearly more occupied by the satisfaction of hand humping than whatever you’re trying to scold him about. “Can you squeeze a bit more?”

“No,” you huff and let your fingers relax.

“Just squeeze it.”

“No, Link.”

“Oh come on!” he whines. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Nine days,” you correct.

“I need this so bad!”

“You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.” You finally force your hand away from between him and the wall to give some weight to your words. Link turns around to face you faster than you are able to take a step back. He tightly grabs your wrists.

“Work with me here,” he pleads. “Just a quick handjob. It isn’t that big of a deal. I’m sure Groose is beating it every night anyway, he just says he doesn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t! No one would, that’s the thing! For some reason I need a dick chaperone while he is allowed to sleep alone and jerk off as much as he wants without anyone finding out.”

“Well,” you say, smirking, “I could fuck Groose. Then we would know for sure.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Link as appalled as he is now.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you’re quick to add, “I wouldn’t touch him with a long stick and you know that.”

“You’re an ass,” Link huffs and lets go of your arms.

“But actually,” you say, “that wouldn’t be so bad of an idea…”

“Fucking Groose?!”

“No, you idiot! Ask someone else to fuck him!” You give his crotch a scolding squeeze, but it only makes Link's knees buckle once more. His surprised laugh is out of breath. He leans forward and pulls you in a little closer.

“Or you could just give me a quickie right now,” he murmurs in your ear, his words almost nothing but a warm breath on your skin. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

You think back at how your entire friend circle mysteriously found about the first time you and Link fucked, just a day later, and you shake your head. Keeping secrets definitely is not his strong suit.

“I’m not going to help you lose,” you say. “You would just want to have another go at it if – and when – Groose hears about it.”

Link lets out a miserable groan. “This suuucks. You suck. Hard.”

“Tonight?” You cock your eyebrow. “No. But after I find someone to fuck Groose…?” You lean into his ear, “I can suck as hard as you’d like me to.”

Link’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that a promise?” he barely manages to whisper.

You kiss his cheek. “It’s a prize.”

#the legend of zelda #skyward sword #skyward sword link #link x reader #link x (y/n)#link x you #reader insert #my writing #fics #spicy

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misc-obeyme · 2 years

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When It's Pouring Rain

OKAY listen it's been about a million years since I wrote fanfiction of any kind and I am nervous about posting this, but I'm making myself do it anyway! The thing is, I'm always thinking about the scenarios that are talked about in the daily chats, but that we never actually get to see. So this is a short scene of what I imagine happened after the daily chat called When It's Pouring Rain. (I included the chat because I feel like it's needed for context!)

Mammon x GN!MC

Warnings: None? It's pure fluff, I just wanna take care of this guy. Oh but it might be OOC, like I said I haven't written fic in a while.

MAMMON: It’s a downpour! I’m soaked! I was even wearing my favorite jacket. What a waste.

MC: I’ll come get you.

MAMMON: Don’t worry about it. You don’t wanna get wet too, do ya?

MC: I’ll run a bath for you.

MAMMON: I’d like that! A little rain won’t stop me now that I know I got you waitin’ for me. I’m on my way!

Although the bathtub was already almost full and you knew Mammon was going to be home soon, you were still worried about him. Thinking of him running home in the rain really caused your anxiety to spike. You couldn’t help turning the water off, grabbing your umbrella, and going outside to watch for him. As soon as you saw him coming down the path toward the House of Lamentation, you ran out to meet him, standing close so he was sheltered under your umbrella. He was near enough that you could feel the warmth of his body despite the chill of the rain all around you.

“What’re ya doin’ out here?” he asked. His voice was so close to your ear that you had no trouble hearing him over the sound of the raindrops hitting your umbrella.

“I came out to meet you,” you said. “I was worried about you.”

Mammon frowned. “Didn’t I tell ya not to worry about it? You’re going to get wet.”

“I’m not getting wet,” you pointed out. “I’m under the umbrella. And you are too and that makes me feel better. Now come on inside. The bath is almost ready.”

Mammon allowed you to grab his hand and tug him toward the door. When you got inside, you shook out your umbrella before closing it and setting it aside. Then you took hold of Mammon’s hand again and went straight to your room.

“I ran the bath in my bathroom,” you said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“C-course it is,” Mammon said.

When you reached your room, pulling Mammon inside and closing the door, you stopped and looked at him. He was thoroughly drenched.

You touched the ends of his dripping hair lightly and frowned a little. “You really did get soaked, huh?” You let your fingers trail down the front of his jacket, which was also full of rain water. “Your jacket might be okay if we dry it quickly. Is this real leather?”

“Of course!” Mammon said, shaking the rain out of his hair. “The Great Mammon only ever wears real leather!”

“Give it to me so I can dry it off,” you said. You pushed the jacket off of Mammon’s shoulders and he shrugged out of it, letting you take it and drape it over your arm.

“Now you should get into the bath quickly before you get sick,” you said. “I’ll dry off your jacket and then I’ll bring you a towel, okay?”

You pushed him toward your bathroom door then went to your closet. After doing your best to get the water off his jacket, you took a fresh towel and went back to the bathroom. You knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for a response before going in.

Mammon was in your tub, eyes half closed. Once he realized you were standing there, he sank a little further into the water. The blush that started on his face ran all the way down his neck.

You placed the towel on the counter, then sat down on the floor at the other end of the tub. You leaned your arms against the edge and propped your chin on them. “I’m sorry you got soaked. Are you feeling any better?”

Mammon seemed to be having an inner struggle of some kind. He was certainly embarrassed that you were sitting here watching him in the bath, but he was also happy to be with you. Happy that you were being so attentive to him. That you had been worried about him.

“Yeah,” he said as he seemed to relax a little. “I’m feelin’ a lot better now.”

You smiled at him. “What were you doing out in the rain anyway?”

The blush that had begun to fade deepened again. Mammon looked away. “That’s none of your business, human!”

You laughed softly. “Oh, so you were getting yourself into debt, then?”

“No!” Mammon protested, looking back at you. “It ain’t like that!”

You trailed your fingertips in the water lazily. “Hmm. Well whatever it was, I hope it was worth getting caught in the rain like this.”

“I dunno about that,” Mammon said. “But gettin’ caught in the rain is worth it if it means I get to come back to this.”

It was your turn to blush. Mammon wasn’t often honest about his feelings, but when he was, it made your heart race.

You splashed him lightly, missing his face entirely. You stood up before he could retaliate. “Let me go get you some dry clothes.”

When you came back from his room with a pile of clothes in hand, you left them on the bathroom counter, then settled on your bed to wait for him to get dressed and come out.

Mammon came out of the bathroom wearing the clothes you had picked out for him. He sat on your bed beside you. Though he wasn’t too close, you could feel his warmth and you could smell the scent of your soap on his skin.

“Warm now?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Thanks, MC.”

You moved just a little closer and let your head rest on his shoulder. Mammon immediately put his arm around you, as if by instinct.

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t ask me to take a bath with you,” you said with a smirk.

Mammon squeezed you. “Oi! I ain’t Asmo!”

You laughed. “I’m just teasing you. Are you hungry? I can make you some ramen.”

Mammon looked down at you. “You’re bein’ awfully nice.”

You pulled away to look at him directly. “I don’t often get opportunities to take care of you like this. So just indulge me, okay?”

Mammon seemed to be trying to suppress his reaction. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes were sparkling. “Whatever ya want, human.”

others in this series:

Barbatos | Solomon | Lucifer | Leviathan | Simeon

Asmodeus | Diavolo | Beelzebub | Belphegor | Satan

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #mammon x mc #obey me x reader #of course i'm writing about mammon this guy lives in my head rent free #misc writes

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arachnidamoon · 10 months

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Sickness: Hashira! Douma x Tsuguko! GN! Reader

The Ice Hashira wasn’t used to getting sick. His breathing style had gotten him used to the coldest temperatures, making him immune to most sicknesses. Most of the time, at least. But the few times he did, he turned into a whiny, spoiled child. Making you, his Tsuguko, take care of him.

“(Y/N), I want you to feed me!”

Douma whined as soon as he saw you enter his room with a tray of handmade food on your hands. As much as you wanted to complain due to his endless requests, the way he looked at you with his manipulative puppy-dog eyes prevented you from doing so. Even if it was obvious he was using his sickness as a way for you to pamper him, he was too adorable to say no.

So you sat next to him, putting the tray with miso soup and white rice on your lap. Your chopsticks picked up a decent amount of rice, which you offered to him. The warm, fluffy rice touching his lips.

“Here."

“It is too warm, (Y/N)! You don’t want me to burn myself, do you?”

Douma pouted, watching as you heaved a sigh. Still, you indulged his wishes, blowing some air on the rice — cooling it down before offering it to him again. Once the temperature of the rice was to his liking, he started eating. He could definitely get used to all of this pampering.

As you kept feeding him, you wondered if he was acting more childish than usual due to his sickness or if it was his true nature. In reality, it was more due to him barely receiving any sort of affection during his life. He was only loved whenever someone wanted something in return or were blinded by his good looks.

Your affection was different. Genuine. Making him love you. So much.

An almost inaudible, satisfied hum escaped his lips as you finished giving him his meal. Leaving the tray on his nightstand, you decided to stay for a bit longer.

“How are you feeling?”

“My flu has only worsened, my dear Tsuguko. If only I received proper, constant treatment for a day, I would recover far quicker.”

Douma faked his teary eyes, trying to make you feel bad. His hand was resting on his chest, making the whole act feel more authentic.

Truth be told, the Ice Hashira had almost recovered already; he was just faking to make you stay with him. He would gladly continue doing so if it meant he would get to spend more time with you. He liked your company. Way too much.

“I see. I’ll stay by your side until you fully recover, then. Does it hurt somewhere?”

Douma took your hand in his, guiding it closer to him.

“Here.”

The Ice Hashira had rested your hand on his chest, looking at you with a flirty and sly gaze. As he saw your cheeks turning rosy, he smirked. Ready to tease you even further and, hopefully, make some romantic advances as well.

“I think it is because you have stolen my heart, my dear. It aches whenever you aren’t around.”

What had been your attempt at taking proper care of him ended up turning into a flirting attempt from Douma. His grasp on your hand was tight; not willing to let you go.

Being too flustered to react, you adverted your gaze. The reddish flush on your cheeks was too cute for the Ice Hashira.

“Their reactions are always so pleasant to watch!” He thought as he decided to continue with what he was doing.

Douma kept flirting with you non-stop, with compliments coming one after another. It got to a point where you started begging internally for him to stop, your cheeks only turning redder. To your embarrassment, your mentor kept going. Not caring at all.

“So adorable.”

“Your skin is the softest, sweetheart.”

“You are -”

Before he could continue, you ended up pressing your lips against his. Cutting the Ice Hashira, making him silent. He was ecstatic to see how everything had turned out as he wanted, kissing you back and deepening the kiss as soon as he could.

Douma rested his hand on your nape, bringing you closer to him. Oh, how good you felt in his arms! How right it felt!————————————————————

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear! I ended up making you sick.”

It had been a week since Douma recovered and since you two started dating. Either for the constant visits or due to the fact your mentor kept asking for kisses as he was recovering, you ended up feeling sick. You lifted your head from the pillow, looking at him softly. Trying to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, Douma. Is all fine.”

So kind.

So precious.

The Ice Hashira removed the towel from your head, dipping it again in cold water. Once he had removed the excess liquid, he placed it back where it was. His fingers softly brushed the strands off your face, admiring your features.

“I will take care of you.”

For the first time, Douma had a genuine smile on his face. The Ice Hashira finally got what he had long desired. You — his beloved Tsuguko.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #douma x y/n #douma x reader #upper moons #douma #kny douma #demon slayer douma #doma x reader #doma x you #doma x y/n #fluff #kny au #Upper two

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

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i'll never be satisfied

steve rogers x fem reader

words: 1k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** needy steve, desk sex, clothed sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do that), lapslock.

a/n: reposted from ao3! i've shared the link so if you'd rather read it there you can :) any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

the door firmly shuts behind the weight of your body as steve presses you against it, his hand blindly fumbling for the lock and clicking it into place, his attention otherwise preoccupied. his mouth is latched onto your collarbone, no doubt sucking what would surely be a noticeable mark there. you gasp and bury your hands in his hair, fisting the strands, unsure whether you want to push him away or closer.

you’re positive everyone will tease the two of you later, but you can’t find it in you to be embarrassed just yet.

you’d wanted to have an end-of-summer barbecue with your friends before the weather gets too cold and steve had agreed easily. you picked out a sundress you’d gotten on sale a few weeks ago for the same reason and had a light sweater to shield you from the brisk breeze as the sun lowered to evening.

steve’s been glued to you the whole day, unable to keep his hands to himself, no matter how many times you shoo him away. he let you finish your food before pulling you back into the house with the flimsy excuse of checking the garage for more beer, even though you knew the supply had not dwindled that much.

so, here you are in his study, panting for breath as steve drags his hands down your torso to the hem of your dress, dipping them underneath to trail up your thighs.

“what’s gotten into you?” you question when his lips kiss their way up to yours.

“you just look really beautiful today,” he explains, “been wanting to get you alone for hours. i tried to be patient, but i can’t help myself anymore. need you.”

his fingers ghost along your covered pussy. your head tips back against the door with a dull thunk. steve doesn’t waste any time and dips his fingers inside your underwear, gathering some of your wetness and spreading it up to your clit, rubbing in circles and making you bite back a moan.

“steve, we can’t do this right now,” you try to reason, even as your hands tug him closer.

“i’ll be quick,” he replies, promises, “i’ll make it worth it.”

you open your mouth to make another halfhearted attempt at dissuading him, but he chooses that moment to sink one of his fingers into you and you are unsuccessful at holding back your moan then. he’s got you right where he wants you now and you easily succumb to him. he works up to three fingers, until you’re begging for more, but he steps back, removing his fingers.

“what? no, please, don’t stop,” you say desperately.

he hums, licking his fingers clean as he assures, “not stopping, just gonna move you to the desk, sweetheart.”

as he pulls you away from the door, you wriggle out of your sweater and go to do the same for your dress, but steve stops you.

“leave your pretty dress on. you look so beautiful, baby. wanna fuck you in it, please.”

your ass meets the desk and steve picks you up and settles you on top of it, pressing his way between your legs. he cups your cheeks and kisses you, softly at first, but it quickly turns frenzied. you suck on his tongue and he groans deep in his chest.

instead of letting you bend over the desk, he bunches your dress around your waist and nudges you to lie back. you try to help him get your underwear off, but he pulls them halfway down your knees and leaves them. his jeans and briefs get similar treatment, only yanking them down enough to free his cock. at the sight of it, you lick your lips, trying to spread your legs further but your underwear prevents it. steve gathers your legs together, wrapping an arm around them as he positions them on one of his shoulders.

“please,” you beg, squirming.

he shushes you, grasping his cock and guiding it into you in a slow, careful thrust. you whimper, feeling both relieved and that much more desperate for him to start fucking you ruthlessly.

“you’ll have to try to be quiet, sweetheart. do you think you can do that for me? please?” he asks, giving an experimental thrust.

you gasp, hands scrabbling to hold on to something but coming up empty. “yes, yes, please, steve—“

“be good for me.”

the pace he sets is steady, sharp, makes your toes curl and eyes roll back into your head. you do your best to keep your noises in, cutting off any cries that try to sneak past your lips, but after a while it gets harder and harder. your legs being held together is creating the most delicious pressure where the two of you are connected, has your orgasm building persistently. steve’s own orgasm must be close too, his thrusts coming faster and harder. one particular thrust catches you unexpectedly and has a whine spilling out of you.

“you’re getting too loud, baby,” he warns.

“sorry—i’m sorry, please don’t stop,” you plead as you grip the edges of the desk. “i’ll be good, promise, please.”

he stops thrusting and you whimper pathetically, but he ignores you as he pulls one of your legs free of your underwear, now wrapping your legs around his waist and bending over you, covering your mouth with one of his hands. without preamble, he begins fucking into you roughly, and you’re suddenly thankful for his choices, because your consistent cries are muffled now. you fist your hands in his shirt, clinging to him as he fucks you so perfectly. it doesn’t take long after that, and soon you’re clenching around steve’s cock and moaning through your release, steve following just a moment later. he stays inside you as you both come down from the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck,” you finally breathe.

his lips quirk in a half-smile of agreement. carefully, he pulls out, making you shiver at the sensation. it’s then that you feel his come starting to drip out of you.

“let me clean you up,” he murmurs as if reading your mind.

you expect him to grab tissues or something, but rather, he kneels down and holds your legs open and is eating you out with no warning. you whine in oversensitivity, trying to wiggle away, but he’s determined and you’re swiftly brought to a second orgasm that leaves you panting and exhausted.

“there,” he says, his voice raspy, patting your hips, “now i’m satisfied.”

#avengers fic #marvel fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x you

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soopersara · 7 months

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Union

Zutara Week 2023: Day 3

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

Everyone seems to know that Zuko and Katara plan to get married someday. The only question left is when they'll finally get around to it.

For what feels like the dozenth time in a row, Zuko checks his own pocket. In his thick polar leopard fur parka, even a set of solid gold hair beads and combs is small enough, light enough to feel insubstantial. Still, he is aware of its presence. Almost too aware of it at times.

“I’m surprised the two of you haven’t gotten this all settled before now.” There is a familiar look in Hakoda’s eyes, the same one that Uncle gives him every time the subject of marriage comes up. A look of curiosity and impatience that usually comes just before another casual inquiry about when Zuko plans to marry Katara. But Hakoda isn’t quite as pushy as Uncle. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d decided to elope before you made it back to the South Pole.”

Zuko offers a sheepish shrug. “Apparently that’s not the proper way to do things. I’ve thought about it every day for months now, and I doubt Katara would have minded, but I don’t need to make her life any more difficult by proposing the wrong way.”

“And what about my life?” Kanna thumps her walking stick against the floor. “I’m not getting any younger here. If you two don’t hurry up, I’ll never get to meet my great-grandchildren.”

Hakoda frowns. “Mother.”

“It’s a fact of life, dear. We can’t all be King Bumi and live as many centuries as we please.”

“I’m going to ask her,” Zuko says. “Before we go north again, I swear.” His pulse quickens at the sound of his own admission, and he checks his pocket for reassurance. The engagement gift itself is as close to perfect as he can ever hope, but he’s less sure about his ability to actually propose. “I’m not sure about kids yet, but you’ll at least know if she wants to marry me before we leave.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that part.” Kanna waves a knobby hand at him. “I’ve known my granddaughter long enough to know the look she gets in her eyes when she’s made up her mind. She’s decided what she’s going to say. And frankly, I don’t think she would have dragged you all the way down here if it was no.”

Though Zuko’s heart still races, he manages a smile before Katara bursts into the house, cheeks flushed with cold, and hair glistening with ice crystals at its tips.

“There you are,” Kanna says. “We were just talking about you, weren’t we, boys?”

Zuko feels his face flush, and Katara looks from him to Kanna and back again. “Well, that’s always reassuring. Thanks, Gran-Gran.” Before there can be any further response, Katara grabs his hand and pulls back toward the door again. “I think we’re going to leave before you fill my boyfriend’s head with any more embarrassing stories.”

He makes no effort to resist, and before he knows it, Katara has led him out into the snow and halfway down the street toward the burgeoning waterbending academy.

“So how bad is it?” she asks, looping her mittened hands around his arm. “Did they tell you about the time when I froze all my dad’s underwear to the side of the council hut because he wouldn’t let me keep an otter penguin in our tent?”

His eyebrow creeps ever so slightly upward. “You did?”

“Okay, I’m going to take that as a no, and also as a sign that I need to stop giving away my secrets.” Still walking, she buries her face in his arm. “Stop me the next time I try to embarrass myself, okay?”

A snort bursts out of him. “I would, but I know for a fact that Uncle tells you so much worse about me every chance he gets. Even Sokka is too busy to tell me any embarrassing stories about you most of the time.”

“I’d really like to keep it that way.” They make it only a step or two farther before her mood seems to lighten again, and she pulls just far enough back to steer him around a corner. “Maybe you can come with me to watch waterbending lessons tomorrow instead of spending the whole morning alone with Dad and Gran-Gran.”

He certainly isn’t opposed to the idea. Any excuse to spend more time with her is always welcome, even if all that entails is sitting quiet at the sidelines while Katara guides a group of noisy, energetic children through their waterbending forms.

He agrees, and as Katara leads him past the bending academy, pointing out all the practice space and sparring areas, he checks his pocket one more time. The combs and beads still rest there, exactly where they should be, and Zuko lets out a long, slow breath. Two opposing impulses battle inside his chest—on the one hand, he’s been waiting to find the right moment, the perfect moment for weeks now. If she’s going to remember this for the rest of their lives, the least he can do is propose to her properly.

But on the other hand, his patience with himself is running thin, and the brilliant warmth of her enthusiasm strains his resolve to its breaking point. If he doesn’t ask her soon, he might well lose his mind.

So when their winding path takes them to the far side of the village, he can hardly bring himself to stop alongside her.

“Oh, spirits, we should probably go back before you freeze out here.”

“What?” Though his face tingles a bit when a breeze passes by, though he’s certain that his cheeks are crimson from the chill, he doesn’t feel cold. Not enough to turn back, at least. “No, I’m fine. It isn’t that cold.”

Katara raises an eyebrow.

“It isn’t,” he insists. “I was just—thinking.”

“About what?”

Under the intensity of her gaze, his mouth goes dry, and it takes all his will to keep from checking his pocket again. Instead, he nods toward the path leading out of the village. “I was thinking that there’s probably a great view from the hill over there. Especially around sunset.”

Her lips twitch into a crooked smile, and the grip on his hand tightens ever so slightly. “You do realize that the sun isn’t really going to set for a few more days, right? If you want to wait out there until sunset, you really will freeze.”

“In that case, I guess I can settle for half an hour. But I think you’re underestimating my ability to keep myself warm.”

“I could never. You’re the one who keeps my feet warm every night.” She bumps him lightly with her hip before starting up the path. “But you might be underestimating the South Pole’s wind.”

It’s all that Zuko can do to keep his composure as they make their way up the sloping path. But he waits, and when they reach the crest of the hill, Katara stretches before turning a brilliant smile back on him.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Freezing or not, this view is worth it.”

Though Zuko has trouble focusing on the landscape, he can’t help but agree with her. The afternoon sun paints shining bronze streaks through her hair, and her eyes shine as bright as he’s ever seen them before.

He grasps her hand before she can go any further. “Katara—I wanted to ask you something.” His heart sits in the back of his throat. Despite her family’s confidence, despite his own suspicion that Katara will say yes, he can’t seem to push the worry away.

“Oh?” She looks up, and her gaze pierces him.

Silently, he thanks the spirits that it’s cold enough to keep his mittens on so that Katara won’t know how much his palms are sweating. He fumbles in his pocket until at last his fingers close around the little box of combs and beads. “Being with you has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Every day that we’re together, you mean more to me, and now—” He succeeds in extracting the box from his pocket and fumbles to turn it right side up.

Before he can finish, Katara lets out a squeak of surprised excitement and claps her hands to her mouth. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

Zuko blinks, and a surprising amount of tension leaves his chest and shoulders all at once. “You—you realize I haven’t finished the question yet. Right?”

“Oh! Right, I knew that.” She makes an apparent effort at bringing her expression back under control, then motions for him to continue. “Go on.”

Despite his best effort at solemnity, a smile breaks across his face. “I’m not sure I can remember what I wanted to say anymore. I swear I had this all planned out yesterday.” Looking down, he clears his throat and slides open the richly engraved lid so that she can see the beads and the combs lying in neat rows inside their case. “But I love you, Katara. And even if I can’t remember the right words, I would be honored if you would marry me.”

This time, Katara isn’t content to merely smile at him. This time, she springs forward and throws her arms around his neck. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Zuko laughs, and as his arms close tight around her waist, the world seems to slow.

Right now, with Katara in his arms and the future opening up around them, all the urgency in the world is gone.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zutara week #zutaraweek #zutara week 2023 #zutaraweek2023 #Union #soopersara's scribbles

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pandenewie · 1 year

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08 - It’s Giving Control Freak

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Being a pushover is one of Jungwon’s many… quirks you could say. He often finds himself using his rare off-time running around and doing favours for anyone who asks. It’s not rare for him to spend his afternoons in a random classroom, offering his help to whatever teacher needs it - much like today.

Except Mr Jeon isn’t here yet, and as much as Jungwon wants to have faith in his friend Ni-Ki, the one who set him up with this task, it wouldn’t be the first time the younger boy had set him up.

The clock strikes 10 past 3 - marking a marvellous 15 minutes that Jungwon has been waiting. Just as he’s about to go home (setting a mental reminder to email Mr Jeon and apologize for leaving) the door to the classroom opens and shuts.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Jungwon’s eyebrows furrow at the familiar voice, turning around to see a confused Y/n standing by the door. “Uh… I’m waiting for Mr Jeon.”Jungwon says, a slight waver in his voice. This is the first time he’s even made eye contact with Y/n since their… disagreement. Let alone spoke to them.

“Mr Jeon hasn’t been here all week.” Y/n says blankly. Oh. Well… that would make sense. Jungwon isn’t in any of his classes, so it’s not like he would have known.

“That explains why I’ve been waiting I guess… but why are you here?” Jungwon asks. From what he knows, Y/n doesn’t hang around after school. They’re not in any clubs or extracurriculars, and they’re certainly not the type of person to offer up their time like Jungwon is.

“Detention.” Y/n mumbles, almost embarrassed. Jungwon’s eyes widen at their words… they got detention? He can’t help but feel a little guilty - as if it is his fault.

“Uh… can I ask why?” He speaks hesitantly. Y/n sighs, fidgeting with their top as they avoid eye contact. “Skipping class… yelling in the halls… and… dress code.” Y/n mumbles, their voice almost going silent at the last part of the sentence.

Jungwon doesn’t know what to say. Well, he knows what he wants to say but he likes to think that his self-control is impeccable. Another one of his quicks. Unfortunately, his self-control seems to have clocked out for the day. Four words leave his mouth before he can even fully comprehend them himself:

“I told you so.”

Y/n’s head snaps up at Jungwon’s words, their eyes narrowing as his own widen in shock. He didn’t mean to say that… at least not out loud.

“Oh fuck off, Jungwon.” Y/n scoffs, turning around to leave the classroom. “I’m just saying… actions have consequences.” Jungwon mumbles, his eyes widening even further when he realises Y/n heard him. He mentally curses at himself to stop talking.

In the blink of an eye, Y/n is face to face with Jungwon, their index finger jabbing at his chest as their words cut through the air. “I don’t need you to tell me that actions have consequences, I’m not an idiot. But if you would focus on something other than yourself for once, you would see that no one likes the dress code. I’ll get detention every fucking day if I have to until it’s changed. Because unlike you, I sacrifice myself for other people.” And with that, Y/n turns around to leave once more.

Jungwon is the definition of being stretched too thin, and for possibly the first time in his life, he feels his restraint snap. All senses of rationality go out the window as Jungwon strides towards Y/n, ripping their hand off the door handle and turning them around to face him.

“You have spoken to me maybe twice ever, and both times have done nothing but yell and insult me. Who the hell are you to say that I don’t care about people? Do you have any idea how hard I have to work? How many people depend on me?”

“Oh boo hoo. It’s almost like that’s your job, Jungwon.” Y/n spits. “You’re literally the president of the student council, you signed up for this!”

“Name one member of the council other than me.” Jungwon challenges calmly - a stark change from the aggravation in his voice just moments prior. Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, they’ve never seen him like this. He squeezes their wrist and they quickly try to rack their brain for an answer…

Nothing.

“Exactly.” Jungwon mumbles, stepping back from Y/n’s frame and collapsing into his previous chair. Y/n watches curiously as he buries his head in his hands, letting out a tired sigh.

“I know the dress code is unfair, Y/n. But I can’t fix that. Not when I have all this other stuff on my plate. So please just… leave it.” Jungwon sounds almost desperate, and Y/n mentally curses at themself as guilt starts to form in the pit of their stomach.

Their body seems to move on its own as Y/n cautiously takes the seat next to him. The atmosphere is awkward and uncomfortable, and Y/n has to bite back a snide comment. They’re not that mean.

Swallowing their pride, Y/n lets out a sigh before mumbling a quiet “I’m sorry”. They can practically see the way Jungwon’s body tenses up at the words. He hates it when people pity him - hates feeling vulnerable.

“You can… stop, y’know. It’s not your job to do everything.” Y/n says quietly. “Who’s gonna do it if I don’t? Jungwon asks, awkwardly shifting in his seat. “Even if I did… pull back. The guilt of not doing things is just as bad as the burnout of doing it all.”

Well… now Y/n feels like shit. They always assumed Jungwon did everything for selfish reasons - that he wanted to be the centre of attention, the one with all the praise. Little did they know, he does it all because he has to. He was right, Y/n can’t name a single other person on the council this year. They thought it was because Jungwon was stealing all the spotlight, but it’s actually because he’s the only one doing the work. Heck, he probably does more than some of the teachers do.

Glancing at the time, Jungwon sighs as he rises to his feet. “I should go, I’ve still gotta finish my essay for tomorrow’s class.” He says, causing Y/n to look up at him confused. “You have an essay to write, and yet you were gonna spend your afternoon helping some random teacher clean their classroom?” They ask in shock. Jungwon smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he nods. Y/n shakes their head, sighing as they go to move past him - knocking their shoulders together in the process.

“I don’t get you, Jungwon.” Y/n mumbles. The words cause an awkward chuckle to escape Jungwon’s lips. “That makes two of us.” He finishes his words with a sound of confusion as Y/n jingles the doorhandle once, twice, three times.

“Is it jammed?” Jungwon asks curiously, moving his hand to push hard against the door. “Probably… yet another thing this stupid school needs to upgrade.” Y/n mumbles, ramming their shoulder against the wooden surface.

“You got a paperclip by any chance? Or like… a really thin pen?” Y/n asks, rummaging through their back to find any form of sharp object. Trust the one day they forget to bring extra bobby pins for the girls, to be the day they get locked in a room.

“Paperclip.” Jungwon says, holding the small piece of metal in front of their eyes. Y/n quickly takes the item from his hand, mumbling a quiet thank you which causes Jungwon’s ears to perk up - a small smile spreading across his face.

The smile quickly turns to a look of shock as Y/n stretches out the paperclip, quickly shoviving it into the lock. “Hey, wait… you’re gonna pick the lock?” Jungwon asks, pulling Y/n’s hand away from the door. “That’s destruction of poperty.” He adds, earning an eyeroll as Y/n yanks their hand out of his grasp. “Would you prefer we stay locked in here till tomorrow morning?” Y/n asks sarcastically. When Jungwon doesn’t respond, they go back to their task - the lock releasing with a click in no time.

As Y/n turns around to grab their bag, they furrow their brows at the sight of Jungwon crouched over a desk, writing what appears to be a note. “Watcha doing, Prez?” Y/n asks, pulling the piece of paper from his grip. “Writing an apology note for the broken lock.” Jungwon says matter-of-factly. He takes the paper back and grabs the tape from Mr Jeon’s desk, fastening the note to the classroom door.

“Oh my god, you really are a goody-two-shoes.” Y/n can’t help but laugh. “Oh, and here’s your paperclip back. Think of it as a souvenir.” They add with a wink, placing the broken paperclip in his hand before turning around to leave the classroom. Jungwon shakes his head as a small chuckle escapes his lips. He looks down at the paperclip sitting in his palm, before stuffing it into his pocket and following Y/n out the door.

The hallways are silent and dead as the two students make their way out of the school buildings. They walk side by side, but without spearing each other so much as a word or glance. Eventually, Jungwon breaks the silence with a sigh. Something Y/n has noticed he does a lot. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Y/n can’t help the laugh that escapes their lips, causing Jungwon to look at them confused. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That was your definition of yelling?” They ask sarcastically, causing Jungwon to shrug. “Well… kinda.” He mumbles, causing Y/n to roll their eyes. “You really are too nice, aren’t you?” They ask before silence falls between them once more. A few moments pass before the peace is broken once again, only this time by Y/n:

“Just to be clear, I still don’t like you as a person.”

“That’s okay… the feeling’s mutual”

“Watch it, Yang.”

“Sorry.”

TAG LIST (closed): @kang-yeosangs-initials @kpopstanmeg @b1ndignity @soobiverse @dudufodd @mikadorbs @pagesofmiracles @tya0 @ilovewonyo @bringer-ofchaos @huening-ly @ifearjwn @callmeblondie @run2min @straykids-riley (can't tag) @rikimylove @chaechae-23 @lacimolela @n1ght-maring (can't tag) @luvvsjungwonn @yenqa @tzuyusluv @viyqe @vocaloshin @deadgirlwalking3

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bg-brainrot · 3 months

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

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

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

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

WC: 9k words, 14/?? chapters

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

Ao3 | [Ch13][Ch15] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing you feel is cold.

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

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

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

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

What you see makes your heart drop a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The eleventh day, you disturb the routine once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, he bites.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nose a little lower. No, higher."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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love-on-mars · 11 months

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hi hun! I hope your doing well! I have a request for you..I sent one In before but idk if you got it or not it was under anonymous so I’m gonna send it again if that’s okay! And if you see one in ur inbox just like this just delete it because it’s me! So could you write something wear mick is dating this girl who’s a virgin and she’s like supper innocent, like she’s never had sex, or masturbated or literally anything(and ppl make fun of her for it..) ..Ik ppl go through that because there super scared and been hurt through there life. As someone who finds sex scary because I’m a virgin..anyways mick ends up fingering her for the first time, they don’t actually end up having sex..and the reader just breaks down because they were maybe rlly overwhelmed and scared and insecure..and mick just comforts them and praises them and tells them how proud of them they are..super fluffy pls and aftercare if you can you don’t have to!

HOLY FUCK THATS A LOT SORRY BBY 😵‍💫 IGNORE THIS IF U LIKE I WROTE A LOT!! Anyways ty have a good one!

Dude this is so cute! Don’t worry about the resend I don’t mind! I’m a virgin myself so I know the feeling of apprehension towards intimacy. Hope you enjoy this!

Mick Mars x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut (MINORS DNI), reader is unsure, but this is completely consensual! Mick is a sweetheart

Hands (18+)

“Mick….” You whimpered softly. You were currently straddling you boyfriend’s lap in the most intense make out session you two have had in your relationship this far.

After the whirlwind of the Girls, Girls, Girls tour he met you. He was head over heels, but due to the weight he gained from his alcohol problems he didn’t want your first time with him to be while he was in his words, “A fat pig.”

You of course didn’t mind, In fact you were relieved. You had told him that same night that you had never had sex before.

It was an…interesting conversation. You were sure the always horny Marsman was gonna laugh it off and push you anyways, but you were wrong.

He understood that it was something you had never experienced before, although he had a hard time believing you had never touched yourself before.

‘Are you that innocent?’ He thought to himself. He always thought that you were the most precious thing this world had to offer, you were always so cuddly yet touch starved at the same time. He thought you where a bit sensitive, which is true, but you were just inexperienced. It all made sense.

“I’ll wait as long as you want. When you’re ready we can try, just know I want you to be as comfortable as possible and don’t feel any pressure to please me. Ok?” He smiled as he held your face in his hands.

And that led you here, you on Micks lap while he ravishes your mouth. He looked up at you, “you’re so beautiful”. “O-oh…” you blushed, you became flustered so easily. Mick thought it was the cutest thing, while you found it embarrassing.

He slid his hands up and down your waist, causing you to shiver. “Can we try something?” He asked. You gave it thought, usually you said no and kept making out with him. But this time you just couldn’t ignore the ache between your legs.

“Only a little…I don’t know If I’m ready to actually….” You stammered, “don’t worry. I’m only gonna use my fingers, ok?” He reassured you.

“It will get you warmed up at least to the feeling.” He smiled, you looked up at him and nodded.

He got up and led you to the bedroom, where you laid you down to get you as comfortable as possible. By the way you were looking at him he knew that you were already beginning to have second thoughts.

“Hey, if you want to stop we can. There’s no shame, love.” He said softly. You shook your head, “No. I want to try, I feel bad for making you wait Mick.”

“Ok….I’m gonna take off your shirt and pants ok?” He said, needing your approval before going further. He loved and respected you so much, and always asked your consent before doing anything that could make you uncomfortable.

You nodded and helped him out. You covered your chest despite wearing a bra out of embarrassment, not used to being this vulnerable in front of him.

He caressed your thighs gently, kissing and nibbling the flesh gently to ease you into the feeling. He traveled up until he reached your clothed crotch, kissing the fabric of your underwear gently.

He looked up at you one last time, silently asking to touch you.

As you nodded, he used his thumb to pad at your covered clit causing a small whine to come out of you. “O-oh my…” you stammered, not used to the feeling of anybody prodding around down there.

He continued to stroke you through your panties to warm you up, until he hooked his fingers into the waistband to take them off. “Don’t worry Angel, I’m only gonna use my fingers ok?” He softly said in reassurance.

“Just…please be gentle…” you whimpered out. He leaned up to kiss you sweetly as he slid off your underwear, you shiver at the sudden exposure.

He glides his fingers through your folds gently, looking up at you to make sure you’re comfortable. You whimper out a small, “Fuck…”. He smirks up at you, “Awww, so sensitive…don’t worry my love. Just give me the word and I’ll stop.”

“No…keep going, I’m ok.” You say, wanting to go further for both him and you. His thumb rubs your clit gently, causing a small jump and moan from you.

“So wet…” he sighs as his other hand slide through your folds again. Your thighs shake a bit as he continues to rub your clit, he kisses the inside of them sweetly.

“I’m gonna go inside a little, ok?” He asks, wanting to keep you comfortable. Despite his demonic presence on stage, he’s a sweetheart around you. You’re the only person that can turn him into goo and soft like this.

You nod. “Ok…it may hurt just a little. But is normal, I promise I’ll be gentle sweet thing.” He says.

Hearing his praise and reassurance eased your racing heart. You couldn’t be happier to be his, thankful for his love and patience. You teared up knowing he was your forever, never in your life had you trusted anyone more than him.

“You ok?” He asked before he went in, noticing your tears. “Yeah…I just…a lot of people look down on me because I’ve never done anything like this before. Other partners I’ve had get impatient and leave and just…I love you so much. I’m so grateful you’ve been so sweet and patient with me Mick.”

He smiled, and leaned up to kiss you. “My sweet thing. I’m used to girls throwing themselves at me, as much as I hate to say it. It gets so old and overwhelming, plus girls like that only want me for my money or fame. I’ve never seen your innocence as a bad thing, or something to take advantage of. Just as how you’ve never taken advantage of me like other people have. I’ll wait as long as you need love.” He soothed as he wiped your tears.

After a few moments of sweet nothings and kisses he asks if he can continue. You nod, “gentle please.” He smiles and starts kissing down your body, stopping at your navel.

His thumb rubs your clit again, he applies more pressure gradually as he slips his middle finger in your dripping warmth.

You squirm a bit at the feeling, the slight burning pain causing you to whimper out. “Shhhh baby it’s ok” He soothes. He pumps in and out a few times, before inserting his ring finger.

He decided to do only the two fingers, not wanting to cause you more discomfort. He slides his fingers in and out slowly, hearing your moans assured him you were enjoying it.

The feeling was strange, but good. Between his thumb on your clit making small circles, and the fingers going in and out of your heat. You felt something only short of ecstasy. You’ve never felt pleasure like this, having it intensify when he curls his fingers up to stroke your g-spot.

“Oh!” You exclaimed. He smirks up at you, knowing all of the spots that could drive you crazy. “Mick…ah~” you moan out, enjoying the feeling of his fingers.

Suddenly you felt this tightening, like a chord in your belly is being wound up. “Mick…I…”you moaned out, unsure of what this feeling was. “It’s ok baby, cum for me. You’re doing so good.” He praised.

Hearing his soothing words sent you over, your first ever orgasm rushes through your body. You cry out in pleasure, all of these new feelings and experiences become too much. You shake as you come down from your high, and a small sob leaves your mouth.

Mick looks up at you in concern after he takes his hands away from you. He stands and walks to the side of the bed to hold you, he strokes your face as he asks, “Are you ok baby?”

You nod, “Too much…” you whispered as you leaned into him. Understanding how overwhelmed you were, he decided that was enough for the night. He’ll take care of his own needs later, his focus was completely on you.

“Come on, I’ll take care of you sweet thing.” He says as he picks you up gently. He sets you down in the large bathroom he has as he runs a nice soothing bath for the two of you. He puts in some bubbles and scents, along with some salts for his back.

You watch him, finding this rare side of him adorable. He may be a hard ass around others but his love for you is something that others would have to see to believe. You knew that he was only like this with you, see as according to Tommy, “He genuinely hates everybody.”

He helps you stand up and took off your bra for you. You blushed at his gaze, now being fully bare in front of him.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He says as he kisses your head. “Don’t worry, we’re done for the night. You did such a good job!” He praised as he helped you into the large square tub.

You smile, “why don’t you join me?” You asked, gaining just a little bit of confidence.

“If you say so, my love” he says as he takes off his clothes. You hadn’t seen him naked at all before, even without a shirt. Turns out you weren’t the only one who was self conscious.

Mick didn’t like the way he looked, the AS caused him to be hunched over a bit, and the Girls tour had caused him to gain weight from drinking so much. Even though he lost weight there was still some belly left that he was determined to loose.

He stepped in and sat behind you, despite the room to sit next to you.

You leaned back to lay on him, he massaged your shoulders with some body wash gently to soothe your still slightly shaking body.

“So, would you say I’m officially good with my hands?” He asked smugly. You giggle at his comment, feeling comfortable being vulnerable with him at last.

“Definitely.”

#mick mars #mick mars imagine #mick mars x reader #motley crue #motley crue x reader #1313 #smut #fluff

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giggly-squiggily · 9 months

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The Gentlest Of Bulls (Fire Emblem: Three Hopes)

Heyo! Guess who wrote a Fire Emblem fic and completely forgot about it? This gal!

Okay but really- it wasn't so much I forgot about it but more so I forgot I never shared it. This is for the lovely @gladdygirl18! It's been a hot minute since I've touched anything Fire Emblem related but I hope y'all enjoy this little ol' fic!

Summary: Felix makes it a point to carry Dimitri to bed- literally. Sometimes antics occur.

It started off as a joke. Kinda.

When Dimitri gave Felix the more-or-less official title of “right hand man”, the first thing the newly promoted soldier did was throw him over his shoulders and lug him to bed. If asked, Felix would give various reasons why he did it.

“It’s the middle of the night; you’d probably get lost.”

“It’s training- people get stronger carrying others.”

“You’d be in here forever moping- at least mope where you can sleep.”

“Stop asking questions, boar prince.”

Before long- it became a habit. If Dimitri lingered too long in his thoughts all alone, if he was training himself to near exhaustion, if he was starting to slip and forget to take care of himself; Felix was right there to pick him back up- literally.

“Felix, while I appreciate the gesture- I can walk back myself.” Dimitri was once again being carried piggyback style- his toes just grazing the dirt path beneath feet as Felix hiked him up further. He was grateful for nightfall- there was no one to bear witness to his burning face as Felix stubbornly refused to put him down. “I promise I’ll make it to bed.”

“You said that last time, and then I found you by the river.” Felix sounded a tad breathless- was Dimitri too heavy? “I’m this close to locking you in for the night, but knowing you, you’d probably bust the door down in your sleep.”

“That was years ago! I couldn’t help my sleepwalking!” Dimitri protested, feeling his ears start to burn. Even embarrassed, he couldn’t hide the laugh in his voice as the memory took shape in his mind. A young prince, so dazed he didn’t bother opening the door properly- he just walked right through it.

“Yeah yeah, just like you couldn't help breaking that one sword when you were nine?” Felix rolled his eyes, affection warming his annoyed tone. “You were like a bull in a china shop back then. Some say you still are- how many needles did you break learning to sew?”

Dimitri didn’t retort with words. Instead, his hand reached out to squeeze Felix’s side, mid-ribs. The swordsman jolted with a yelp, nearly dropping the blonde on his ass. “Don’t you dare- Dimitri!”

“What? Too bullish for you?” Dimitri was grinning- he could hear it in his voice. The hand squeezed again, lighter this time and far more ticklish. “Come now- don’t tell me my right hand man is as frail as fine china.”

“Shut the hehhell up!” Felix grunted, trying to retain his balance while the other continued his game, fingers pressing into various parts of his ribs with gentle pressure. “If you keeeheep dohoing that I’ll droohohop you in the stahahables!”

“That’s all the way on the other side of camp. You can certainly try.” Dimitri’s hands wormed their way up to Felix’s armpits, making him properly stumble. “But I can’t say you’ll make it all the way there.”

“Dahahahmnit you bohohoar, Stahahahp!” Falling on his front, Felix twisted and turned, trying to ward off the other’s hands as Dimitri sat comfortably on his hips, thumbs pressing into the centers of both arms. “Yohoohohohu’re a pahahahhahain!”

“And you’re too ticklish to be sassy. Don’t think I forgot about this one spot.” Dimitri’s hands dropped to Felix’s waist, squeezing. That earned him a rather embarrassing squeal. “Or this one.” He reached back and skittered his fingers against Felix’s thigh, nearly taking a heel to the head. “And of course- this one. I believe this was Sylvain’s favorite.” He ran a finger down Felix’s spine, slowly with just barely any pressure. The Swordsman arched with a squawk, his laughter near silent at each new touch. “Your back has always been pretty bad, huh?”

“BOOOHOHOHOAR, ENOHOOHOHOUGH!” Felix cried, cheeks red and eyes wet with mirth. His laugh faded in and out with each new prod and scribble, and he pounded a fist into the ground; hoping it would alleviate the feeling. “THIS IS EMBAHAHAHARAHAHAHSING!”

“Am I a bull in a china shop?” Dimitri asked.

“OF COHOOHOHURSE YOU AHHAHHARE!”

“Wrong answer.” Fingers came back to his spine, muting his laughter once more.

“Wanna try again?” Dimitri asked as he moved his hands back to Felix’s sides, squeezing beneath his ribs. The swordsman buried his face in his hands, trying to muffle the sound while his arms pressed tightly to his sides. “Hm?”

“FIIHIHIHNE, YOHOOOHOHUR NOHOHOHOOHT!”

“Not what?”

“A BUUHUHUHULL IN A CHIHIHINA SHOOHOHOP!”

“What am I then?” Dimitri traced fingers against Felix’s neck, making him shrink up and wheeze.

“DIHIIHIIMA STAHHAHAHAP!”

Dima. The blonde felt his heart tighten at the old nickname. Felix hasn’t called him that since Glenn died. Releasing him, he sat on Felix’s left, watching the other gasp for air as he curled in on himself.

“Yohohohu freaking suhuhuck.” Felix groaned, going to glare. “Whahaht the hell are you smihihihling about?”

“Nothing. I just…I miss this.” Dimitri nodded, gesturing between them. “I missed playing with you like this.”

“Whehere not kids anymore.” Felix’s response was automatic, but he didn’t sound firm. If anything, he let himself melt into the grass- strands of black hair falling into his face from where they escaped his ponytail. “We’re in the middle of war.”

“I know that. I just…I guess it’s nice. To forget about it all for a moment.” Dimitri tucked a knee against his chest, resting against it. “I know I shouldn’t be. As their king and leader…”

“Shut up. I don’t need you getting all weepy on me.” Felix reached out and flicked his leg- the move useless against Dimitri’s armor. “I get it. It was…nice. It felt like before.” There was a new flush on Felix’s cheeks, one that made the blonde smile. “I guess I don’t mind moments like that from time to time.” Then he glared, cutting through the moment briefly. “But if you ever tickle me again, I’m gonna cut your head off clean from your shoulders.”

Anyone else would have cowered in fear. Dimitri only laughed. Before long- Felix was laughing just as hard, their voices carrying through the abandoned campyard.

Thanks for reading!

#FE3Hopes #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #felix hugo fraldarius #platonic #but can be read however you see fit #I love them your honor #Squiggily was feeling ill this week so back up fics it is! :D

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brokenjere · 2 years

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bad in the bones (c.f) (ch.3)

a/n: hey all! hope you enjoy this chapter! lmk what you think and if you wanna be added to the taglist💖💖

synopsis: Yn and Conrad hang out by the beach and she tries some subpar blueberry muffins

catch up here

I can’t sleep. I lay in bed, tossing and turning until my back starts to hurt and my eyes burn because they won’t stay shut. I throw the blanket off of my body and go downstairs.

I had a hard time sleeping after the breakup. It was like my soul was so torn up that I couldn’t possibly find any peace. Even at night. Even in the dark. That’s always when it felt the worst.

Susannah’s house is quiet when everyone is asleep. You can hear the ocean, even so far off in the distance, through the walls. I feel like I need to tip-toe around so I don’t wake anyone. The only light in the kitchen is that of the moon and the refrigerator when I open it for a bottle of water.

I decide to sit outside. It’s still nice out, even at night. There are no mosquitoes or bugs, just the calm air and the soft swishing of the water. I hear the tree branches brush together and then see a head pop out of the brush. Dark hair. Tall. Same red hoodie he was wearing earlier. Conrad.

I follow him, choosing my steps carefully. He must be going down to the beach. I didn’t know they had their own stretch of it. I follow the path that connects the backyard to the sandy shore. Small, paved, covered with trees. It leads right up to the patio where their pool is. It was really perfect. Conrad is still in front of me and he pulls something out of his pocket and lights it. “What are you doing?” I ask, forgetting my own voice and the fact that I had been following him.

Immediately, I’m embarrassed. My face flushed so hot I pray he can’t see it when he turns around. He looks amused. “Have you been following me?” He asks. I swallow my words. I don’t need to incriminate myself even further, I think it’s fairly obvious the answer is yes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him. He nods and takes a hit of what I think, now that I can see it, is a joint. “Pot?” He nods.

“Do you want a hit?” He asks me, extending it toward me. We’re a few feet apart, so I have to walk toward him to grab it. I’m no longer under the safety of the tree canopy. I am now fully on the beach, exposed by the moon. I take the joint from him and take a hit. It burns my throat and my lungs but I suppress the cough. “Do you smoke?”

“I don’t.” He laughs at me and I can’t help but chuckle along with him. “Occasionally, I suppose.” I really only smoked when Josh did. And he really only smoked at parties. Sometimes, I’d pretend to inhale it and then blow it out really fast so that it didn’t make me cough. I didn’t really like the feeling of being high. It made me feel like I could float away and I didn’t want to float away. I wanted to keep my feet planted on the ground. “I thought Belly said you were an athlete,” I say.

“I quit, remember?” I nod.

“So you’re a stoner now?”

“I guess so.” He laughs and then I want to pry.

“Why did you quit?” He tenses and takes another hit before shrugging his shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me,” I say.

“I stopped liking it,” he says. I nod and he gestures toward the beach. The ocean lay out in front of us and I forgot that we had stopped moving for a second. “Wanna go down?” I nod eagerly.

Conrad laughs and we walk toward the water, our fingers brushing as we walked next to each other in silence. My flip-flops cause too much friction against the sand and my feet and I stumble in it. “Oh, hold on,” I tell him and reach down to take off my sandals. He waits for me, watching me intently as I struggle. When I finally get them off, I carry them between my fingers. Conrad reaches out to them. Or me. “What?” I ask, laughing between my words.

“I’ll carry them.”

“They’re sandals not bricks,” I tease. He shrugs and reaches for them and I hold them up higher, knowing he’s taller than me and can reach without a lot of struggle. When he reaches for them, I step backward, keeping them out of his reach. He stumbles forward and puts his hand on my hip to steady himself in the sand. I feel it. The electricity. But I ignore it. He laughs as we play keep away until eventually, I bring the shoes down from in the air and let him take them. “Fine, you win,” I conceded.

“It’s not about winning,” he says coyly, with an air of cockiness and proudness that would have turned me off if I didn’t know it was a front. Conrad is not egotistical. I know that in my bones. With both of Conrad’s hands full, I get a smirk on my face and I look over at him. “Hhm?”

“Wanna race?” He chuckles at me, thinking I’m joking and when he realizes I’m not, he holds up his hands. One with my shoes in it and the other with a joint and instead of caring, I shrug and start running in the opposite direction, toward the water. I hear him laugh behind me but then he takes off. I can hear his footsteps coming up closer to me as he gains his traction and then I’m on the ground. “You jerk!” I call, squirming from under his arms. “That’s not fair!”

Conrad holds me down in the sand. It’s getting everywhere. In my shorts, toes, and t-shirt. I have grains of sand in my bra. “It’s not fair for you to initiate a race when I have my hands full. It weighs me down.”

I look and see his hands are now empty. “Where are my shoes?” I laugh as he points behind us and I see them in a pile in the sand. “Did you at least save the joint?” I aks like I really care. The joint wasn’t important to me. I bet he threw it in the wet sand, smashed it into the ground, and then threw my shoes away, too.

Conrad reaches in his hoodie pocket and pulls out the unlit joint. It has burnt edges and is smaller than before but he saved it. Of course, he did.

I push him off of me and we sit up, looking at the water. “I’m sorry about the bonfire,” he says. The mood shifted from playful, funny, and carefree to serious, and somber. I shudder.

“What about it?” I ask quietly.

“Fighting with Belly. It was dumb and immature.” I’m quiet for a moment while Conrad studies my face. I think he’s looking for a reaction, a response, anything. I’m quiet until he can no longer bear the quietness. “I’m just going through some stuff. Stuff Belly doesn’t know about. And Nicole, I don’t know. She’s familiar.”

“And Bells isn’t? Familiar?” I don’t care about the fight. I care that he was rude to Belly but their fight is their fight alone and not mine.

“She is but Belly is like a sister to me.” He shakes his head, unsure of what to say next and so I speak instead.

“She says you’re different this summer. Quieter.”

“That’s true.”

“Don’t hurt her,” I say. I look at him for real now. Really face him. The moon illuminates his face only on one side but his eyes are bright.

“What do you mean?” I roll my eyes at him.

“You know she likes you. Everyone knows.” I don’t know if I should have given him that information. Did everyone know? I thought they did but maybe Conrad didn’t. Maybe he was an oblivious teenage boy with no sense of the obvious but something tells me he’s not. He’s more observant than he lets on.

“What’s your story?” He asks, changing the subject. “Why’d you come with them?”

“What did they say?”

“Not much.

If I have to guess, he was lying. I’m sure Laurel told Susannah plenty, probably about my parents and how Josh dumped me and that I was sad, miserable, and couldn’t possibly be alone all summer but maybe he was going easy on me.

“In what regard are you asking?” He bumps his knee against mine. It’s bony and hard and I smile up at him shyly.

“Anything. Why are you here?” He asks. I ponder this for a moment. What seems like such an easy question with an easy answer, suddenly isn’t so easy anymore. It was a lot of things, really. If I had been born into a different family or my mom wasn’t so selfish or maybe if my dad had loved me more, I wouldn’t be here. But that’s not the only reason I’m here. If Josh hadn’t dumped me or if we weren’t going to different schools or maybe if we had never fallen in love in the first place, I wouldn’t be here. If Laurel wasn’t such an amazing woman and Susannah so selfless and gracious, I wouldn’t be here.

“I guess I just needed somewhere to reset, you know? Start over.” It’s vague and impersonal and Conrad doesn’t really seem to accept the answer but he shrugs anyway.

“I guess I get that.”

“Thanks for having me,” I say. I know it wasn’t his choice and maybe if it was he’d have said no to having a strange girl in his home but I say it anyway because I’m grateful. “I’m sorry I told you to shut up.”

“I deserved it,” he laughs. I shrug and lay back in the sand. I don’t care if it gets in my hair or under my shirt because I’m already covered in it from Conrad tackling me. “I was being a hypocrite.”

“Do you think she’ll agree to be a Deb? Laurel thinks it’s dumb, too, I think. Our family has never been filled with those kinds of girls. Nicoles.” We never had a lot of money. My mom married into it and we had a nice house and I never had to want for much but we never had this. We didn’t have a country club to join in the summer and an ocean in our backyard.

“I don’t think it’s really like her. Do you?” I stare at the back of his hoodie. The up and down of his back as he breathes. He fumbles with the joint between his fingers. It went out in our race and he has yet to relight it. I wonder if he will.

“She’s changing, you know? Belly’s growing up. She’s not a kid anymore.” This fact is true. I wonder if while I’m away at college she’ll grow even more. Grow and grow until a huge pine tree I no longer recognize.

“I know. I’ve always seen her as a little sister but, she’s different this summer. I guess I have you to blame for that?” Conrad lays back down with me now but he looks up at the stars. He points up. “The Little Dipper.”

I try to see it but I can’t. “Where?” He shoves his finger up again as if that will help me see it better and then he traces it around. Creating lines between the stars that build the constellation. “I see.” He drops his arm back down and folds his hands over his chest. “Do you like her? Belly?” I ask to cure my curiosity more than anything. After years and years of pining, did she even stand a chance?

Conrad looks at me. His face is shadowed by the moon and sand and there are granules in his eyelashes that I want to brush away. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

I get that. I get that a little more than I want to but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I grab the joint from inside of his hoodie pocket and hold it like a cigarette. “Are you gonna relight this?”

“Do you want me to?” I nod and Conrad props himself up by an elbow, leaning over my body. I run my fingers along the paper wrapping while Conrad pulls out his lighter. When he pulls it out, I hold the joint to my lips. He flicks the lighter, slowly inching it toward the end of the joint. It goes out and he flicks it again but it doesn’t light. He struggles a few more times until it lights again.

I take a hit when it’s lit and hold the smoke in my chest, letting it burn until I can’t anymore and then I let the smoke go, handing the joint over to him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t become a stoner,” he teases. I hear the laughter in his voice and roll my eyes at him. I didn’t think I have an addictive personality but I can admit to the fact that my entire body aches whenever Josh isn't around and for the first few weeks after our break-up, I felt like I was going through withdrawals. The aches, the mood swings, the irritability. Eventually, it wore off but sometimes I still think I smell him in the wind and see his face in passing by cars.

I come downstairs to the smell of muffins. Fresh, warm, blueberry muffins. I peek my head into the kitchen and see the lot of them all gathered around the kitchen island. “Yn, come in here!” Belly calls, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the group. “Conrad went and got muffins this morning.” Just like Susannah said he would. He smiles shyly at me from across the counter and I reach forward to grab one.

Everyone watches me intently as if I’m a zoo animal on display and they’re all waiting for my party trick. Jeremiah wiggles his eyebrows, Belly has a smile as wide as her face, and the moms stare at me with amusement. I eat the muffin. “It’s good,” I say and watch all their faces fall in disappointment. “Did you guys want a firework show?”

“Not all they’re cracked up to be, huh?” Conrad asks. He eats his own muffin, clearly enjoying it but maybe he gets it, too. A muffin is not going to change the world. A muffin is not going to make the pain go away.

“Oh, come on,” Belly groans and grabs my wrist and drags me through the house and up the stairs. We plop down in her room and I see all the clothes spread out on her floor. It looks like a tornado ran through the place.

“What happened here?” I ask, looking over at her. She has her eyes closed and her arms folded behind her head. She peeks an eye open at me and shrugs.

“I needed to find an outfit to wear.”

“For?” There are jeans, t-shirts, tank tops, and bras. All of it is just thrown on the floor and forgotten about. What could she possibly have been getting ready for?

“Remember last night when I kind of ditched you?” I did. After she ranted about Conrad for two entire cups of beer, she said she needed a minute. I let her go and found Steven. All of his attention was on a girl. A really pretty girl with an accent that made her sound years more sophisticated and she was certainly out of Steven’s league. Her name was Shayla, I learned. She was a Deb. She had rich parents. She planned to get a dress from New York. She went on and on and I was intrigued. When she spoke, it was impossible to not want to listen.

It was hours before I saw Belly again. She didn’t turn up until we were leaving but I didn’t see much of her. She was talking to one of the boys inside of the Jeep and she looked like she was arguing but then she stormed off and I didn’t see her again until this morning. Some cousin I was. She could have been kidnapped but at the moment, I was so drunk I don’t think it mattered.

“Well, I met a boy. He brought me home last night. His name is Cam,” she explains.

“A boy?“ She nods.

“That’s why I didn’t come home with the guys. He took me home and asked me to go on his whale-watching boat this morning. I was looking for the perfect outfit.” How did I not know this? My cousin, Isobel Conklin, the careful, the perfect, the reserved: met a boy and was going to go whale watching with him.

“Whale watching?” I laugh, ignoring the rest of the story for now. I didn’t even ask the boys where she was when I got in the Jeep. Conrad and I sunk in the backseats like little children, being scolded by Jeremiah for getting so drunk. I honestly don’t remember much except his knees brushing against mine and the small overhead light illuminating all of our faces.

“Yeah, he’s going to school for marine biology. He’s really nice and cute,” she says, brightening up as she talks about him. Then she sinks down and says, “I just wanted to look good.”

“Isobel Conklin has three boys on her arm this summer?” I get up and start flinging her used and abused clothes onto the bed. I remember my first date with Josh. I was filled with butterflies from the base of my throat, eating my words, down to my stomach. I wanted to find the perfect outfit too. Something he would remember me by. I think I ended up wearing a bright yellow dress but he took me bowling so he probably got peeks up it as I tossed the ball down the alley.

“Not three,” she clarifies but I give her a look. “Okay fine, but Cam is the only one I actually think I have a shot with.”

I shrug, not caring to explain further. I don’t know what to say and I want to keep last night with Conrad in a little folded piece of paper that was kept safe in my back pocket. I don’t ever want it to see the light of day.

“What about you? Any guys?” She asks me finally. I shake my head. “You gotta get over him,” she says. Josh. Him means Josh and over means forgetting and forgetting means not to love and how can I not love him?

“It’s not that easy, you know,” I tell her. Belly has never had her heart broken. Not for real, anyway. Not where it mattered. “What if he was the one?”

“He wasn’t.” I stare at her. She’s right and I know she’s right but I don’t believe her because why else would he look like that when the light hits his face and why else would he make me feel like my entire life is falling apart now that he’s not in it. I don’t know what to say.

“Maybe so,” I decide on. “Maybe so.”

taglist: @marajillana

#conrad fisher one shot #conrad fisher rec #conrad fisher #tsitp #conrad fisher x reader #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp imagine #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher fan fic #conrad fisher imagine #conrad x reader #belly conklin #jenny han #team conrad

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