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mahoushojo-chan · 7 months

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Astarion x Tav || bed sharing

one forever won't be enough

synopsis: it's a habit they picked up from travelling together. every so often, astarion came to tav at night. it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even if he'd really rather not admit it. instead of lying in his old bunk, astarion chooses not to be alone.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1203

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bed sharing, tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, late night conversations, friends to lovers, song inspo: where do i begin by Egg

ao3: here

concept: bed sharing

At night, Astarion lies in his old bunk. It’s rough, grating, and it creaks every time he shifts, and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t enter trance even if he tried. It’s telling that he would rather lay on a bedroll laid over hard rock than ‘his’ own bed, but the last time he laid in this bed, he was still a slave. Just Cazador’s spawn.

Somehow, it feels even emptier than back then. He doesn't have Petras sleeping in the top bunk, snoring loud enough for him to kick the mattress above. He doesn't have Dalyria in the bunk beside him, hiding a light underneath her sheets while she dove her research into the next topic. There isn't Leon in the corner, whispering sweet comforts to his little girl, Victoria. It’s too quiet all on his own.

Then, even with his new companions, he can't hear Gale patronizing Wyll about this or that kind of magic, he can't hear Karlach playing with Scratch or the Owlbear, and there is no occasional thump of Lae’zel’s late-night training. He had gotten used to all of it as some kind of white noise for the next dawn.

Besides, he thinks, he should get used to his nocturnal schedule again, so staying awake wouldn’t be too bad. It would keep the nightmares away, at least. He had enough of Cazador. He thinks of Tav, who he hopes is sleeping peacefully away.

In the dark, he has to confront the reality that he and Tav are worlds apart. He wonders if she’ll be able to adapt to this schedule.

The door to the Favoured Spawn room opens, the room that Tav had taken, with a quiet creak that only Astarion would hear. Then, the mattress dips, and a hesitant arm wraps around her waist and pulls Tav in as someone nestles in close.

“Mm… still awake, Star?” She mutters, though he’s more surprised to hear that she’s still awake.

“Yes.” Astarion replies in a whisper, because it feels like the night calls for whispers, even when the entire palace is empty.

It’s a habit they picked up from travelling together. Every so often, Astarion came to Tav to sleep. Tav knows that it first started after he first drank from her and she found herself exhausted enough to slip unconscious; but it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even though he’d really rather not admit it. Tav thought it would end after Astarion made it clear that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and she decided to be friends, rather than lovers. It seemed to be what he needed at the time, but she also knows that this—whatever this is, lying in bed together, in the dark, holding each other and whispering—isn’t really something friends do. Astarion has never had any friends, but even he suspects this is something that is beyond friendship.

But this isn’t sexual, either. He can't think of a single conquest who he had done this with because this felt too vulnerable. This felt like a different reality, reframing what it meant to find comfort in the dark.

With a sigh, Tav turns around to face Astarion. He sees her eyes, heavy-lidded with sleep, and he brushes some hair out of her face. It’s never as awkward as it should be.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to face them.” Astarion whispers, truthful and defeated, because holding Tav in the darkness brings about a whole different world around him; one where he can tell Tav anything.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Star.” She says, and it does something to his chest when she whispers his nickname in that tone, with that softness of sleep tinging her voice.

Astarion huffs out a whisper of a laugh. “I do want to. They’re… something like family, after all. They’re the closest thing I have to love.”

“I love you,” she protests, her voice still quiet. He knows this is not what friends do. They are in bed holding each other, now declaring love for each other, in the comfort of darkness. Astarion has never had anyone he had been this intimate with, even in the throes of passion, and he feels that he should think more about what this means.

“Fine, then. They’re the closest thing, other than you.” He drawls affectionately, feeling a tug at his lips even as he rolls his eyes. “But still, they’re not like you. I’m not like you. I can’t be good like you, and I’m afraid they know that. It feels like I’ll have to solve all of this world’s problems to be worthy of forgiveness, and even then, they would be right not to give it to me. They might never forgive me.”

“Then they’d be fools, the lot of them.” She says, and though she still sounds asleep, her eyes look at him with a sincerity he knows. If there’s one consistency about Tav’s behaviour, it’s that she has no patience for fools, and he can’t help but laugh.

A silence passes through them for a moment. “Do you think I’m evil?”

“No.” She says. “Even I’m not nearly as good as you think I am. Out of the two of us, you’re far more special. You make me think anything is possible.”

It’s odd because he can imagine saying the exact same thing to her. He wonders if she was just reading his thoughts and saying the words out loud, and if it was some sort of byproduct left by the mind-reading tadpole. But then again, he can’t at all understand why she would think he was special, and if they did still have the tadpoles, he would wish to see himself through her eyes. He wants to see what she sees in him—this brave, dashing, kind, supportive, heroic man, capable of love and goodness.

He wonders what would happen if he kissed her.

Not that he was particularly sexually attracted to her, though he admits that objectively, she is attractive. He has a working pair of eyes and a good sense of taste, after all. And honestly, he doesn’t even know if she’s attracted to him—he thinks she might be, because Astarion hadn’t met many people who weren’t, but she also never asked him for anything sexual. Even their first night together, he always wondered if she had truly wanted it, or if he was just taking advantage of their desperate, life-or-death situation. All her intimacy seemed strictly… well, not exactly platonic, but not sexual, either. And it didn’t feel quite romantic, either.

But he wonders what she would do. What might she see? What might she feel?

He compromises by resting the crown of his head on hers, and quietly, he whispers, “Thank you for loving me.”

“Of course I would.” She replies, sounding fond, before closing her eyes. He can tell that sleep is about to take her again as she sighs, “Don’t worry about who you think you’ve got to be. Just be Astarion. It’s good enough.”

Her breaths even out, and he does his best to match her, taking in the air she exhales. He runs fingers through her hair again as she drifts to sleep.

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drysaladandketchup · 2 months

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for the "things you said" writing meme -- matthew/leon, 12 :)

Thank you for the request <3 I realised very quickly I have no idea what constitutes a 'mini' fic. I struggle to write 'mini' anything lol. Hopefully this still satisfies :)

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

It takes all of Matthew's willpower not to reach over and smash his phone just to shut up the alarm. All that saves his wallet and an awkward trip to the Apple store is the split-second realisation that the shrieking in his ear isn't his usual alarm.

It's a ringtone. Not his own, either.

He pries his eyes open to find the world through the window is still dark. One of the balcony doors is still ajar, letting in a cool night breeze. He's lying on his side in his own bed, the end of the all-star weekend memorialized by several aches and bruises.

His hips and ass are a little sore too, but that's unrelated. Technically.

The ringing stops. Someone huffs behind him.

Someone. Yeah, no, Matthew knows who it is. They may have met up at the bar once the media was done swarming, but Matthew was far from drunk. Painfully sober, in fact. If he's being honest with himself, he was hoping things would turn out this way.

One more time. One more moment. Because it's been a long time since they were them. Longer still since the sex was just sex, since hate became want. Matthew is strong in a lot of ways, but not against this.

"Davo." Leon's voice is low, and still gruff from sleep when he answers his phone. He sits up on his side of the bed, trying not to disturb Matthew, pulling the covers back up over Matthew's shoulder like he thinks he'll freeze to death in this balmy Florida winter.

Usually Matthew's a heavy sleeper. But never when Leon's around. He makes it impossible for Matthew to completely relax, to let time slip by. Leon's just too big of a presence, almost too much to bear. It was more important that everything linger, to bask in the strange comfort of their relationship, whatever it was. They had so little time. Even less, now.

"I know it's late. No, no, I'm not at the hotel. I'm... I'm with Tkachuk."

Leon says his last name like it's wrong, like it's rotting on his tongue.

When he corrects himself, says, "Matthew", it's better, lighter. Like it's ambrosia.

Matthew remembers when Leon Draisaitl saying his name wouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. When that simple act didn't fill him with fondness.

In the silence, Matthew can hear McDavid talking on the other end, but can't quite make out what he's saying. Matthew tucks up under the duvet, breathing quiet and even, trying to focus instead on the distant sound of waves and the ticking clock on his wall.

Ticking. Always ticking. Time bleeds out when they're together.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep last night, but he wishes he hadn't now. He wishes he'd stayed awake longer, just to... just too see him. To look Leon in the eye, to talk about everything and nothing until dawn, to feel big, too-warm hands on his body more and more and more. He wants to make sure he'll remember how Leon feels, sounds, tastes.

"Connor," Leon says, a warning, followed by a sigh. "I know. I know, okay? It was stupid, but..."

Maybe it was. Matthew has a good thing here in Florida. Better than ever. He was happy to leave Alberta behind and start over. So why did leaving make him feel like a coward?

Because leaving was about Calgary, and the Flames. About his career and his future. It wasn't about Leon. Leon was the wrench in the gears; the one thing he didn't expect to have to say goodbye to, the kind of hurt he never could have accounted for.

"I needed to see him." Leon sounds helpless. He's not the only one.

The only time he's heard Leon so lost was after his team was knocked out of the playoffs last season. The Oilers meant nothing--Matthew was pretty fucking glad considering they'd beat out the Flames--but he never wanted to hear Leon like that again.

He definitely never wanted to be the cause of it. Not like this.

Leon is still mumbling into his phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's... we're good. He's happy."

A hand settles on Matthew's head. Fingers play with his curls, nails scratch his scalp. A thumb presses just behind Matthew's ear, stroking the soft skin where only hours before Leon had put his lips, whispering sweetness and filth in equal measure.

It takes everything for Matthew not to groan, to whimper and surrender, roll over and climb on top of Leon and take all over again. Beg him to take something--everything--from Matthew.

"I don't know," Leon says then.

It's easy to guess what McDavid asked.

He's happy. But are you?

"I can't even tell him I still love him."

Still. Matthew didn't even know there was a before, let alone a still. Leon never said anything. Fuck, if Matthew wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe, he'd roll over and punch him.

Then again, what did Matthew ever say? They never talked about it. Never let those closet hook-ups and slipping out back doors and little drinks and dinners and overnights excused as practical necessity be anything more than that. A bunch of chirps and half-truths and aborted discussions because it was all becoming too much. There was too much uncertainty. Too many ways it could go wrong.

It did go wrong. It became something. It became real.

Maybe that would have changed something. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. It doesn't matter now. Matthew left, and neither of them said a word about things like love, because it was easier to hope it would shrivel and die with distance and time.

"I know I'm being stupid." Leon pauses when McDavid interrupts, then huffs. "No, I am. Fuck, I really thought I'd get over it. Maybe I will. Eventually."

Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit, Matthew wants to scream.

"Not sure I can, though." Leon swallows so loud Matthew can hear it. Then quieter, like he's not sure he's even allowed to admit it, he says, "I don't really want to."

He's still playing with Matthew's hair, occasionally dragging a finger over his bare shoulder or down his back, tracing imaginary lines across Matthew's flesh. Like he's something to be memorized and cherished.

They're both so fucking stupid. Matthew bites his lip and tries not to choke on the lump in his throat. Could be his heart, climbing right up and out of his mouth. He clings to the sheets with shaking hands.

"I'm not going to fuck up what he's got here," Leon says tiredly, voice thick with tension and pathetic resignation.

Leon's not here to drag him back. He wouldn't do that. So why is he here? Just to torture them both? Being with him doesn't feel like torture. It feels like winning. It feels like defiance and decadence and too much and not enough. It feels like what could have been and what could still be.

He didn't find Leon at that bar and bring him home out of pity, or nostalgia, one last fuck for old times sake. It was... it just was. Not an ending. Not some final goodbye. Proof maybe there could still be something. Getting over it was never an option, Matthew knew that well before he stepped onto the ice as a Panther and found himself staring Leon down all over again.

Matthew's vision is blurring. His eyes sting, warm and wet. There's blood pounding in his ears, and a hand clutching his heart, a vice around his lungs. He hardly remembers how to breathe.

He doesn't catch the rest of Leon's conversation, except something about meeting Connor back at the hotel tomorrow. Meaning he's staying the night, at least. He's staying.

When Leon hangs up the phone, Matthew finally comes up for air. He relaxes his shoulders, listening to the soft thump as Leon taps his phone against his forehead over and over. Then it clatters on the side table. Leon sighs, sniffs, and sinks back under the covers. He tucks right up against Matthew's back, still burning like a furnace, soft muscle and skin brushing Matthew's spine in all the right ways.

He throws an arm around Matthew and finds one of his hands, worming his fingers through the gaps to hold it. His palm is sweaty, not that it matters at all to Matthew. He can't help squeezing Leon's hand a little, but if Leon notices, he doesn't say a word.

Not until he's wrapped tight around Matthew, near suffocating, like any part of them that isn't touching is a sin.

"Love you," Leon mumbles, barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips right to the base of Matthew's neck. Matthew's body can't seem to decide whether to shiver or melt under the heat.

Leon says it like it's inevitable. Painful. Pitiful.

What he's saying is, I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I'm sorry I don't know how to say it now. I'm sorry it's too late, it's the wrong place, the wrong time.

Like he doesn't think Matthew could ever understand. And that's the worst part of it all. They're still not on the same page. Tearing down what they never built.

If Leon's only brave enough to say it when Matthew's asleep, then Matthew will just have to be brave enough to say it in the light of day. He doesn't run, and he won't now that he knows he doesn't have to.

He stares into the night outside his window, listening to Leon breathe, feeling his heart beat through Matthew's chest like that's where it longs to be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe they can stop chasing time long enough to make the most of what they have. To make up for what they've wasted. And whatever happens after, well, maybe they can stop being afraid of that, too.

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #i can take any prompt and shove angst into it just watch me #'mutual pining dumbasses who can't communicate' my beloved trope #i hope it's obvious this is happening during/right after the 2023 asg #i know 2020 was the sacred texts but I feel like we don't use 2023 for mattdrai purposes enough #poor connor always suffering through mattdrai bullshit #leon has a scrapbook full of pictures of matthew and will be like 'remember when my bf left me ;_;' and connor wants to jump off a bridge #'mini' fic they said. i don't think 1.6k is mini. it got away from me. but i have never been concise in my life why start now

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afewproblems · 11 months

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Prompt 53. "I'm flirting with you!" Part Two

A follow up to This Post

@happymediummm I promise the answer to your ask will be up soon in part three!!

Eddie stews in his room for three days following the incident at Steve's house.

Wayne attempts to coax him out with food and coffee, even opening up the pack of bacon they'd been saving in the freezer, anything to try and get Eddie to talk to him.

"I'm just worried s'all," he says softly from Eddie's doorway on the third day, his expression pinched in that way Eddie hates, "you should go out, do something, come on".

Wayne claps his hands together and disappears for a moment only to return with a tape case from the living room.

"Wayne, no--"

"It's overdue Eds, just bring it back for me would ya?"

Eddie groans into his hands at the triumphant expression on his uncle's face as he gets up from his bed and tugs on his leather jacket.

"Since your friends work there," Wayne says brightly, gesturing with the tape as he hands it over to Eddie, "you should see if they waive the late fee for us".

"I agreed to take it back, not talk to people," Eddie grumbles under his breath as Wayne shakes his head and gives his shoulder a squeeze.

"At least you won't be growing mold anymore, sitting there in the dark," Wayne says with a wink, ignoring the indignant scoff Eddie makes.

"Store closes in a half hour kid, you better hurry!"

Shit.

Eddie grumbless petulantly as he hurries out the door, ignoring the way Wayne compares his groans to a haunted house door.

He doesn't smile at the jib, and it doesn't make him laugh for the first time in days as he gets into the van, it doesn't!

The parking lot of Family Video is empty, but what did he really expect on a Wednesday at half past eight in the evening.

The Open sign is still on at least but the low lights in the building and the bright copper glare of the sunset make it so much more difficult to see who is working tonight.

He could just toss the tape into the return slot and wait out the late fees, he's sure another video store will eventually open up in Hawkins, they can take their business there.

Eddie sighs heavily as he shuts off the van and yanks out the key, "dammit Wayne," he mutters under his breath as he gets out and makes his way to the door.

Eddie winces at the sharp jingle of the bell above the door and looks around, his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of Steve and his big, stupid, hair.

Robin waves from the counter as Eddie spots her, she's grinning at him with a sly look on her face as she leans against the counter, the multiple buttons and pins on her vest clink against the glass surface.

"There he is," Robin crows, drumming the counter, "I was beginning to think Steve had kidnapped you or something, were you allowed out for good behavior?"

She seems to realize what she had just implied and winces, shaking her head as Eddie snorts mirthlessly.

"Uh, no, I just came to return this for my uncle," Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes level with the counter rather than Robin's eyes.

She frowns at him, taking the tape he slides across the counter and scanning it without dropping her gaze.

"What's with you?" She says suspiciously.

Robin drums her fingers lightly against the counter, as the large computer beeps acknowledging the return.

"Nothing, tired," Eddie shrugs, he's not about to tell Robin about what happened, though it is weird that she doesn't already know?

Maybe she wasn't in on it, he can't imagine that Buckley would approve of a prank like that on another 'friend of Dorothy' but she was Steve's best friend first and foremost.

A song comes on over the small Family Video speakers, humming in the background.

'All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes

Rosanna, Rosanna…'

Robin wrinkles her nose, her eyes traveling towards one of the large speakers in the corner before looking back to Eddie, a large grin in place.

"God this sappy shit, I told Steve not to put this one on the tape, you must hate Toto".

Eddie shrugs again, glaring at the floor, wishing he could burn a hole into it that he could escape through.

"He did play it…didn't he?" Robin asks quietly, a small trace of anxiety in her voice as she leans away from the counter.

Eddie stops himself from rolling his eyes; if he was being honest, the tape was a nice touch --really sold the whole prank, honestly.

He looks back up to find Robin staring at him, and sighs heavily, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," he huffs, taking a step back towards the front door, Robin's eyes follow his path in confusion, "I wasn't much of a fan of the choices".

"But it's fine right," Eddie scoffs, "he can use his little tape on someone his shit will actually work on next time".

"What?" Robin says incredulously, her face scrunches into a frown as Eddie laughs.

"You know Buckley, I'm surprised you were on board with this?"

"Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about?" Robin hisses, shrill and loud, as she finally walks around the counter towards him.

"Oh don't give me that, he's your best friend, you're going to tell me he didn't tell you about his plan?" Eddie shakes his head as a high pitched laugh bubbles up out of his chest.

"I don't know what plan you're talking about Eddie," she says in a low voice, her eyes wide and angry, "the only thing Steve was going to do that night was tell you how he felt about you".

"Yeah right, Steve Harrington, wants me? And that's not a fucking joke?"

She sucks her teeth, letting her eyes roam over his face, "this was such a mistake, okay, get out".

Eddie sneers sharply, "a mistake?"

"Yeah, I never should have gotten his hopes up".

Robin crosses to the window behind the counter and shuts off the second neon open sign before breezing past Eddie to pull the cord on the other sign, nearly hard enough to yank it down.

No, no, no, no, it's not true, she's just saving face, she has to be…

Robin stands beside the door, a furious glare aimed at Eddie, "we're closed, get out, I need to go check on Steve".

Unbelievable, Eddie does roll his eyes at this and heads towards her for the door, he takes the push bar in his hands and leans on it to swing the exit open before turning to Robin one last time, he wants so badly to have the last word it hurts.

"Better go check on King-Steve, I'm sure he's devastated," Eddie snarls, the furious fire from before burns bright in his chest as he watches Robin stiffen in the doorway.

"I haven't talked to him since Sunday Munson, until just now, I thought he was with you!"

Robin reaches out to grab both doors in her hands.

"Asshole," she scoffs, her eyes never leaving his as she locks the doors in his face.

***

1980, Hawkins, Indiana

Eddie sniffles as he walks home, he can feel blood trickle down his chin from the split lip Paul gave him while his knee aches from where he hit the ground.

He's not even sure what he did.

Paul had been so nice recently, talking with Eddie almost every day, eventually taking him under his wing. Paul was a year above Eddie at their Middle school, and when he had told Eddie to meet him under the bleachers after school, how could Eddie say no?

It didn't help that Paul had soft blond hair, big hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and the nicest laugh Eddie had ever heard.

What Eddie hadn't been expecting was Randy and David, also in Paul's grade, to be waiting for him.

He breathes out a wet sob and keeps walking, scrubbing his face harshly as their trailer in Forest Hills comes into view, almost home.

Eddie reaches into his pocket and winces when he realizes his keys are gone, alongside his backpack.

They must have fallen out of his pocket in the scuffle.

The backpack was a different story.

He limps up the steps of their porch, wincing as the fabric of his jeans pulls at the drying blood on his knee, and knocks on the front door.

"Comin," Wayne calls from inside, "coming, wasn't expectin' anyone-- Ed?"

Wayne's face goes through a series of expressions, from surprise, to anger, before settling on concern.

He leans down and brings his hands up to Eddie's face, turning it gently to see the damage.

"Who did this," Wayne says quietly, he stands up to his full height, looking around the trailer park behind Eddie while tucking him closer.

"It was at school," Eddie sniffles again, his voice growing tight, "I'm okay".

Wayne looks down at him for a moment before shaking his head and moving out of the door to pull Eddie inside.

"Hurt anywhere else?" Wayne asks as he walks Eddie to the kitchen, one arm around his shoulder as though afraid the fourteen year old will collapse at any moment.

"I fell, my knee hurts," Eddie mumbles as he sits at the kitchen table in the corner while Wayne crosses to the cabinets and busies himself with grabbing two clean wash clothes and peroxide from the cupboard above their stove.

It's quiet for a moment while Wayne wets one of the clothes at the sink and makes his way back to Eddie.

He kneels on the floor, balancing his weight on his good knee while the other remains bent at a more comfortable ninety degree angle. His joints creak slightly as he gets comfortable but he still smiles at Eddie all the same.

"Won't you be sore after this?" Eddie sighs, wishing Wayne would just let him go to the washroom now to clean himself up.

"You let me worry about that," Wayne grumbles as he reaches up to wipe the blood and dirt from Eddie's face with the wet cloth. It's warm from the water and Wayne's gentle hand.

"So, you gonna tell me what happened?" Wayne asks softly, as he reaches for the bottle of peroxide and tips it into the second cloth. He tilts Eddie's face to dab gently at the now dirt free cuts.

Eddie sucks his teeth at the sting and closes his eyes.

He doesn't even know where to really start.

Paul hadn't been the one to push him off his feet, that had been Randy, but that hadn't stopped Paul from laughing and calling Eddie a fairy.

David had been the one to take his bag, dumping everything out into the dirt and ripping it until the zipper broke.

Luckily all of his school books were still in his locker, but all of the campaign notes from his most recent D&D game had been in there, along with the worn copy of the Hobbit his mother had given him.

All of it was still sitting in the mud and grass by the bleachers, stomped into the ground by David's white sneakers.

Eddie shrugs as Wayne leans back slightly. He takes Eddie's leg and slowly bends the knee at the joint, his eyes search Eddies for any sign of strain. The only sting comes from the way the jean material pulls at the drying blood from his scrapes.

Wayne breathes out and scrubs a hand over his tired face, his fingers catch on the grey stubble as they slide down and drop into Wayne's lap.

"I'll make an appointment on Monday with the principal," Wayne says as he stands up with a stifled groan, turning away from Eddie who shakes his head like a wet dog.

"Wayne you can't--"

"Edward, what do you expect me to do? You come home lookin' like hell and you won't tell me what happened?"

Eddie bites his split lip hard enough for the faint taste of copper to stain his tongue once more, how could he tell Wayne just what those boys had yelled at him as he sat in the dirt cradling his head, wishing he'd just gone home.

Wayne sighs loudly as he raises his face towards the ceiling, his lips move slightly but Eddie can't make out what he's saying before he looks back at Eddie, his expression worn.

"Okay, okay," Wayne murmurs, walking back towards Eddie, he pulls one of the other mismatched chairs towards himself and sits down, "I won't call, but you have to meet me halfway, alright?"

Eddie hesitates, swallowing roughly, maybe there was a way to tell Wayne without telling him everything.

"There were some boys at school, um," Eddie picks at one of the holes in his blue jeans, pulling at the frayed thread absently, "I guess just, one at first but…".

His eyes burn suddenly as the words rip through him once again.

"He told me to come to the bleachers and then," Eddie's voice wobbles this time as his throat tightens, "there were more of them and they…called me--"

Eddie shakes his head, ducking it down to hide his shining eyes, he doesn't notice Wayne coming closer until he feels a hand in his hair and the dam finally breaks.

Six years later, Eddie can still remember what his uncle told him that day as he cried in his arms.

"People can be cruel, especially when they don't understand, and sometimes that means being careful of who you open yourself up to. But you can tell me anything Ed, and I'll love ya no matter what. You always have home to come back to".

Eddie knew people like Steve Harrington. He'd been around them his whole life.

Sometimes they went by Paul, sometimes by Jason, or Billy.

But that didn't make them any less dangerous, any less capable of inflicting hurt on people that were different.

So, Robin could say that Steve wasn't like that until she was blue in the face, because she was…wrong…

Wasn't she?

Taglist: @ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality

Part Three now up!

#beep boop misunderstandings again #steddie #unrequited love or is it #mutual pining #steve harrington #eddie munson #afewproblems writes #stranger things #now we are getting into some plot #I can't write anything short im my own worst enemy #sigh #we love a supportive wayne in this house #we love a protective robin in this house #we might need a playlist for this guy #part three will be up soon answering the second prompt: I need you to forgive me #angst with a happy ending I promise

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rockingrobin69 · 7 months

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Basic Maths

“Draco said he can’t sleep,” Harry admitted, half-mumbled into his coffee, for some reason blushing over this, mostly concerned, but Ron just hummed and said, “That’s sweet.”

“What?”

“What’s sweet?”

Freckled nose scrunched up. “You said he can’t sleep. Because he misses you. That’s a bit sweet, isn’t it?”

“I never said,” gasping, “Ron, it’s been three days. He can’t be missing me so much after three fucking days.”

The look on his face, exasperated and something else. “Mate.”

“What?”

“You what. Why do you think—no, it’s too early in the morning.” Tapping his shoulder, this tired look that had nothing to do with the fact it was barely six. “Harry, you’re my best mate, but you’re rubbish at this.”

That’s exactly what he was so scared of. Being rubbish at this. He didn’t know how to do—any of this, didn’t know how to, say, think the right words. Worried he’s misinterpreting everything because he’s so desperate for the tiniest of shred of… Enough. Another sip of coffee, miserable: enough.

“Harry,” great, now Ron sounded miserable too, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” rougher than intended. “It’s fine. Let’s just get to work, all right?”

Ron stared at him for the longest moment, but then he sighed, and his shoulders rolled with it. “All right. We’ll talk about this tonight?”

“Sure thing.”

They won’t.

“And he got me another one, although I specifically said not to,” trying for a pout, ending somewhere like a sigh, rolling his eyes at how ridiculous this man was, and Hermione smiled and said, “What a wanker.”

“Right?” twitching in his seat.

“Absolutely. Getting you the pastry you like even though you specifically told him not to.”

“It’s just, every time we go to his place he—‘Mione, he’s worse than Molly.”

Hermione’s eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh. Worse, you say. Harry, you’ve not stopped smiling all day.”

“What? No I’ve not.” Nonsensically offended. “I’m… just wish I knew what he’s thinking.”

The look in her eyes, something terrible, hot and itchy like pity. “Harry.”

“No, I know, I know. I’m blowing it all out of proportions and it’s not a big deal and it shouldn’t be, right, we’re casual, and we’re friends, and that’s a lot more important. There’s no need to overcomplicate it.”

“Harry—”

“It’s fine.” Coughed until he’s convinced himself too. “It’s fine. Let’s just… eat, yeah?”

He could see she was dying to say it, but thankfully, mercifully, she just grimaced and shook her head. “Fine. You’ll figure this out, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He won’t.

“Then he knocked on the door with the scarf in his hands. Gin, I think he went all the way back just to get it.”

“Mad,” Ginny said and stole another chip from his Styrofoam tub. “No, that man is completely mad, so much is true.”

“Isn’t he just. He was soaking wet—I had to convince him to stay and take a bath while his clothes went in the tumble drier.” Left unsaid: how impossibly soft Draco had looked in Harry’s robe, with his hair curling sweetly and his cheeks all pink. How he curled on Harry’s sofa and watched the telly with an arched eyebrow, obviously not following but still enchantingly caught.

Left unsaid how Harry leaned closer just to smell his own shampoo on Draco, how it squeezed his chest so tight he thought he might die. How lovely, how brilliant, how terrible it was to have him this close and this warm and this wrong.

“Harry,” Ginny’s sigh brought him back to the café, to the bright lights and the ache that still didn’t quite leave his belly, “you’re such a bloody idiot, I could strangle you.”

“Hmm? What? Why!”

“Why. He asks me why. You practically have love-hearts for eyes and here you are asking me why.”

Harry grunted something not-quite in English. “I don’t… it doesn’t matter. How I feel. He’s the one who said about keeping it casual. He’s obviously not—” lost the rest of the sentiment to a sigh, bone-crushing. Ginny was staring at him with an open mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” she repeated, sounding dazed. “Harry, you berk, just talk to him.”

“We talk all the time.”

“No, I mean, actually talk to him. Why's that so terrifying? You’re meant to be this fairly-brave man, remember?”

Meant to be, was the point exactly. If she asked him to step into a burning house to save him (and not that it was a fantasy that Harry spent so much time dreaming about, in frightening detail)—but this was something else. Harry’s never learned how to… won’t be able to handle this particular loss. After everything, this would be the thing to break him, of that he was sure.

“Just talk to him. You’ll see, everything will be all right.”

It won’t.

“Just wondering if, erm, you know when he’s meant to be back, or…” his voice died into a croak. Pansy, still with her arms crossed, glared.

“No idea. Now, if that’s all.” Going for the door, and Harry’s heart—

“Wait!” with his foot forward, with his chest writhing, “wait, it’s not all. I don’t understand why he’s so angry. What did I do? Pans, please.”

Must have been the tone that got to her, the crack in his voice, because Pansy’s frown softened. “You two will be the death of me. I swear, if I have to listen to him whining one more time—”

“What is he whining about? Why… he looked so miserable. And now I can’t eat anything or get any sleep and I need to know, I need to know why he’s so upset and how to make it right. How do I make it right?”

Pansy’s wide eyes. “What… you’re joking. Why he’s upset? Not even you are that clueless.”

“But what if I am. What if I am, and I’m losing my mind. I miss him so terribly it’s like my belly’s on fire and it’s only been a couple of days and please, I just, don’t understand why he’s angry with me when I’m so bloody—” exhausted, and terrified, and mostly exhausted. Not the lack of sleep: the lack of Draco in his life, the lack of his smile and his snarl and his cologne, and his hair and his eyes and his hands.

“Shit,” Pansy said, something flashing on her face. “You’re bonkers for him too, aren’t you.”

Wasn’t really a question, but Harry still nodded, tragic. Swallowed. Swallowed again. Bonkers for him too. “You’re not trying to say…” but he couldn’t even finish. She was, he thought, trying to say. “Why didn’t he just—tell me? I’ve been—he’s—no, that’s not possible.”

“Not possible,” Pansy said.

“No, no. He would have—I’ve been—for years. He’d have said something. I couldn’t be more obvious if I fucking tried.”

“Have you met Draco?” sneering again. “Our Draco?”

Something like laughter, hot and terrible, itchy up his throat. “Okay, yes, but…” not sure how to, what to, so panicked because he couldn’t face losing him, not Draco, their Draco, his Draco. “How do I make him realise. That I—too. That I, more.”

Sighing dramatically: “I think you know how.”

Already taking a step back, still shaking his head, his whole chest fluttering with giddy panic: “I—I have to—”

“Go, you arsehole,” but she was smiling.

What if Draco refused to speak to him? What if he wouldn’t listen. What if it was too late. What if he didn’t want Harry anymore? Harry tried to breathe.

He couldn’t.

“Idiot,” Draco was laughing, dear and too bright in his arms. “I can’t believe you…”

“I can’t believe you,” delirious with joy, burst open with affection, “you git, why didn’t you just tell me.”

“Beg pardon? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

On the sofa, curled around each other, and this humming in Harry’s ears that could only be contentment, that could only be burning, aching relief. “Dunno. Suppose it was… I couldn’t bring myself to risk it. I was too scared.”

Draco’s eyes were so grey and so close. “I thought I was so obvious. I thought—”

“I know.” Couldn’t believe he just gets to kiss his nose like that. Couldn’t believe Draco’s arms around him or the little sound he made when Harry nuzzled his neck. “We were maybe being a little silly.”

“A little,” Draco said, fondness dancing in his eyes. “Come here.”

Harry would, always, always. “Kiss me, you silly man.”

“Impatient, are we. I’ve only wanted this for, what… what are you doing, you berk!” to Harry, lifting him in the air a bit with the jump and settling again, closer, ever closer. Draco’s laughter rang in his ears, soothed something in his writhing belly.

“We’re not casual,” Harry said. “I’m so serious about you, Draco.”

“Not casual,” he nodded. “Is this what you wanted? Are you happy?”

Too much for words: he was.

(Flufftober day 5. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#drarry fic #flufftober2023 #prompt: X+ 1 #casual to non-casual #mutual pining while already being in some sort of relationship #just that bottomless hunger for more #it's very soft though #1500 words #rockingrobin69

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pizzaqueen · 11 months

Text

464 words of pre-slash pining fluff for day one of @steddie-week / rated G or T

It’s not as tight a fit in the listening booth as Eddie hoped it would be, but it does get him closer to Steve than he’s been all day. (Well, except for when he draped himself all over Steve at their table in the food court, or when they were pressed close in the photo booth, Eddie goading Steve into making goofy faces, or when their knees were resting together at the movies earlier.)

But they’re in their own bubble here. The rest of the world completely shut out. Just the two of them, one set of headphones, and a song shared between them.

Eddie has the album at home, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Steve knows that, but he didn’t resist when Eddie dragged him in here with one hand curled around Steve’s wrist, the other clutching the album they’re listening to now.

The song is so familiar and it fades to the background as Eddie watches Steve sidelong; the drums keep time with the beat of his heart, the howling guitar could be the singing in his blood. He catches Steve looking at him, once, twice, three times, his pulse skipping whenever their gazes lock.

This is almost everything Eddie wants. Listening to music with Steve, forgetting about the world beyond the song and the space between them. It would be perfect if he was sure that Steve’s heart is beating as hard as his, that his skin tingles at the nearness of Eddie, the way Eddie’s skin is tingling, now, being so close to Steve. The way his stomach swoops, and his chest feels full to bursting, how he’s every single fucking hopelessly in love cliche whenever they’re together, and even more when they’re not.

But he doesn’t know. He has no fucking clue. Sometimes, maybe, he thinks—hopes—but how can he be sure? He’s out of his depths here. It drives him crazy but, fuck, in moments like this he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Steve shifts, their hips bumping together, the brush of his arm against Eddie’s sending electricity through him. It draws Steve closer and he doesn’t move away, so they listen to the rest of the song pressed close, like the booth is half the size.

“So”—Eddie pulls his side of the headphones away from his ear when the song ends—“what did you think?” He bites his lip, kicks Steve’s foot.

“I think I liked it.” Steve’s gaze flicks outside the booth, then fixes back on Eddie. His eyes twinkle, warm and dark, and he turns so he’s facing Eddie fully. He licks his lips and leans in, saying, “But maybe we could listen to it again?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, a smile forming, “maybe we could,” and he starts the song over.

#Steddie #Steve x eddie #Steddie fic #Steddie fanfic #steddieweek2023 #(it’s running on utc so it’s officially started so I’m posting this now 😜)#anyway Cue one of the store employees being like uh… guys… you can’t actually stay in there all day???#guys??? …guys??!!!#But Eddie and Steve are just making mutually pining goo goo eyes at each other while listening to Slayer or something lmao #(also i didn’t specify a song and it might’ve made more sense to be queen but I thought it was funnier if Eddie was swooning listening to…#some thrash and especially funny thinking of Steve swooning right back lmao)#also I wrote this and then remembered the song prompts 🤣#okay a bunch of people liked my post about if I should post this so I’m posting it!#(post no longer looks like a real word lol)#pizzaqueenfic

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peaches2217 · 2 months

Note

Given it’s like 2 degrees where I live: 🥶!

🥶 - Cold

First Snow

Inspired by this piece by the exceptional @akiiame-blog!

~~~

Gonnnng! Gonnnng! Gonnnng!

Mario’s stomach dropped into his feet hard enough to make him stumble. The clock in Toad Town’s central square rang the hour out, ten resounding, musical gongs that rattled his very bones. They pushed him to sprint faster once he recovered his footing, and though the frigid air burned his throat and lungs like fire, he forged ahead with unprecedented determination.

Of all days to get distracted by snowfall! Now he would have no choice but to take the pipes at the base of Castle Hill. They would shave valuable minutes off of his commute, but the shortcut wasn’t particularly fun, being sized to accommodate creatures who reached three feet tall at the tallest.

Though the closer to the castle he drew, the more he saw that he was hardly the only one who’d fallen victim to the snow’s charm. Toads spilled from their homes and places of business and even from the schools, filling the streets (and forcing Mario to dodge and leap over them at every turn) to make snowtoads and pelt one another with snowballs and share warm drinks with their friends. That was his out, he decided quickly, and he practiced his wording as he flew through the pipes. You know I’m never late, Princess, please forgive me! I’ve never seen the town so crowded this early. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

Surprisingly, the castle grounds looked much the same as the town itself did. Straight out of the final warp pipe, Mario was met with a flurry of merriment, everyone from visiting families to familiar staff and groundskeepers mingling about, frolicking and playing or otherwise watching their children frolic and play.

And straight ahead, on the bridge gapping the frozen moat, a form in all shades of gold and pink towered over those Toads. She caught Mario’s eyes as soon as he looked her way, and suddenly he felt far warmer than an extensive run could ever make him feel.

“Mario!” Peach’s cheery voice carried with ease as they began in one another’s directions. A luxurious pale pink cape fluttered behind her as she approached, tied in the front with a white bow to which her favorite brooch was fastened. Beneath it, a dress that looked nigh identical to her favorite day-to-day dress, but with long sleeves hidden beneath wool-trimmed gloves.

Mario gulped. Somehow, she was always more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her.

But the warm glow of her presence chilled as they reached one another, and he was forced to acknowledge that he had let her down. He knew his tardiness bothered him far more than it would bother her; admittedly, he was a bit miffed (but undoubtedly grateful) at how easily she overlooked his every fault. Still, he would be remiss to not hold himself accountable. Pulling his cap from his head, he drew in a deep breath—

“Please forgive me.” The words came not from his lips, but from Peach’s.

“...Princess?”

“I had hoped my letter would reach you before you left home,” she continued, casting her eyes aside, her smile turning regretful. “The Public Council will be postponed to next week, in accordance with the First Snow. I’m truly sorry to drag you out here on such a dreary day…”

Mario’s first response was relief. He hadn’t let his beloved Princess down after all! And as much pride as he took in being Peach’s personal guard, attending the monthly Public Council with her was perhaps his least favorite obligation. Standing still and not offering his own opinions as Counciltoads and townsfolk alike shouted over each other about every relevant social and political talking point — for three hours — was a challenge that tired even him. Letting out an exaggerated Phew! and wiping not-so-imaginary sweat from his brow, he slapped his cap back over his hair, and this elicited a small chuckle from Peach.

His second response: confusion.

“First Snow?” Glancing briefly away, he took in the clusters of Toads enjoying the winter scenery once more, and this time he recognized Councilmembers and Chairholders and, well, everyone who usually spent their work days inside the castle walls. And here they were, outside, having themselves a jolly old time. “So today’s like a holiday?”

A matching confusion flickered across Peach’s features. “Yes, of course. You’re aware of…” And just as suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she pressed a palm to her reddening cheek. “No, you’re not aware, are you? I don’t think you were here the last time it snowed!”

Mario couldn’t help but beam at her embarrassed gesture. Even he hadn’t realized it at first, looking out his frosty window that morning. This was only his second winter in the Mushroom Kingdom, and last winter brought nothing but barren trees and the occasional patch of ice, nothing resembling the powdery luster that blanketed everything in sight today.

That Toad Town hadn’t always been his home became easier to forget with each passing day. He wondered, with a bristle of excitement he couldn’t quite put a name to, if Peach had momentarily forgotten as well.

“Hey,” he said, rocking on his heels, “since I’m already here, maybe you could… explain it all to me? I’m always up for learning new things about the MK! And clearly I’ve still got a lot to learn, yeah?”

Bold of him, perhaps, trying to petition royalty to give him their free time. Surely there were thousands of other tasks Peach would have been better off seeing to. But some nagging feeling in his stomach told Mario that she would much rather spend the morning with him than tending to dreary administrative duties, and he would sooner fulfill that desire and his own desire to be at her side for as long as possible than turn around and head back home.

Peach blinked, and in that fraction of a second he swore her face lit up. But if it did, she got it under control quickly, leaving him with nothing more than a gentle smile and the fluttery feeling that he had made the right call.

With a gesture of her head, she turned gracefully and began towards the castle gardens, and he dutifully fell into step beside her.

Oh yeah. This was way better than having to stand through Public Council.

~~~

“Our kingdom boasts an idyllic, seasonable climate all year long, as you’ve no doubt noticed. Our summers are never too hot, and our winters are never too cold. That’s why the Mushroom Kingdom is the world’s foremost leader in power-up exports: this is among the few places where they can flourish in the wild year-round.”

Mario would never cease to marvel at Peach’s talent for making the mundane sound magical. She clasped her hands in front of her as she spoke, her brilliant bluebird eyes sparkling as she prattled off what should have been mildly interesting but otherwise unremarkable facts. Yet he was unable to tear his gaze from her face, and her every word stirred a powerful curiosity within him, her love for her kingdom radiating so strongly outward that he felt it just as deeply.

Tour Guide Mode, he had affectionately dubbed it. Peach had agreed that, should the whole “leader of a nation” position ever fall through, she would make a pretty good tour guide.

“That is to say,” she continued, looking back over to him, “freezes such as this only happen once every few years. For that reason, the first snow after a long stretch of more traditional weather is always declared a holiday.”

Mario chuckled dryly. “That would’ve been nice growing up. Me and Luigi, our mamma would have to drag us to school by the ear when it snowed. And even then, we’d spend all day staring out the window and daydreaming about being out there instead of cooped up inside.”

Peach reached out absently as they passed another snow-capped shrub, its frozen leaves rustling beneath her fingers. “Did it snow often in Brooklyn?”

“Pretty often, yeah. At least around this time of year.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I would love to see it for myself.” The fondness in Peach’s eyes grew more resplendent still, and Mario could feel himself blossoming beneath it, like a flower opening its blooms to the sunlight. A laugh bubbled in his chest.

“I promise you didn’t miss out on much, Princess. Brooklyn snow was always sludgy and gray. Kinda depressing, come to think of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” At the next shrubbery, he blindly mirrored her actions, sweeping a pile of loosely-packed snow to the ground. “That’s why I had to book it this morning! We saw all this fluffy clean snow and ended up chasing each other around in our pajamas. We were neck-deep in the most intense snowball fight the Mushroom Kingdom’s ever seen when I realized what time it was.”

Peach giggled at this information, a gentle teeheehee that released tiny clouds of vapor into the air before her. “What fun! I’ve always wanted to be part of a snowball fight.”

Mario was more than prepared to continue, to draw more giggles from her with descriptions of two grown men all rosy-cheeked and dusted in snowflakes with icicles freezing from their nostrils — but he stumbled at her words.

“...You’ve never been in a snowball fight?”

Peach was only two steps ahead of him when she registered his absence, and she turned to face him where he’d frozen, her delighted grin growing a touch dour.

“Growing up, I was… encouraged to pour my energy into more productive pursuits,” she confessed. As Mario caught up, she steepled her fingers together and cast her gaze to the dense gray sky above them. “Toadsworth thought it unbecoming to dirty my dresses in the name of any game without clear rules. Better something more clear-cut like tennis or golf, he’d say. Keep the senses sharp.”

Her smile warmed once more in nostalgia, yet as she directed it towards him, he saw the slightest gloom beneath that glow. “There weren’t any children my age to rope into a good snowball fight, anyway. I’m happy to live vicariously through others! Oh, but enough of this gloomy tangent. Won’t you tell me more about the snow in Brooklyn? Come, come.”

Though as she resumed their walk, Mario remained where he was. The melancholy in her gaze… no. It was foolish, he tried to reason, thinking that someone so refined as Peach might be genuinely saddened by such a silly topic. But the heaviness that lingered in his heart implored him to give the thought consideration — and, above all, to do something about it.

Peach was his Princess, his charge in many respects, beautiful and composed and perfect… but she was still human. She was just as likely to long for life’s little pleasures as he was. And above all…

“You needn’t be so formal with me, you know,” she had told him only a few months earlier. “You are my friend.”

At the time, Mario had agreed, but was far too hesitant to accept her invitation. Now? For a few blissful and dangerous moments, he was finally able to internalize those words.

He was her friend, and she was his in return, his closest and most cherished friend. He watched her back as she strode forward, his knees bending and his hands scooping and shaping on their own. Just as he was charged to protect her, he felt compelled to humor and address and banish whatever childish sadness lingered within her. And honestly, what sort of friend would he be if let her miss out on such a commonplace tradition?

The notion that launching a projectile directly at a ruling monarch’s head was probably a bad idea didn’t hit him until said projectile left his hand, and by then, it was too late.

Peach squeaked on impact, nearly entangling herself in her own cape as she whipped around to face her attacker. And what could Mario do? He certainly couldn’t look away, not when she stared at him with such unbridled shock, a halo of snow still clinging to her hair. Color rose into her cheeks, but he couldn’t interpret the whirlwind of emotions that flickered across her face, and something told him he didn’t want to.

Oh, he’d done it. He’d really messed up.

“I’m— I’m so sorry!” What was he supposed to do now? Bow? Bowing sounded right. “That was improper,” he uttered sheepishly, bracing a fist over his sternum and bending at the waist and squeezing his eyes shut as if he could undo what he’d done if only he couldn’t see it. “I should— that’s not… I-I should be acting like—”

“Mario.”

Mario looked up immediately at the utterance of his name — and was promptly blinded by a flash of white.

He sputtered and swiped at his face, shocked into newfound alertness by the icy cold against his skin, and the most wonderful sound rang in his ears all the while: laughter. Peach’s laughter, tinkling and light. Shaking his head to clear the snow that still clung to his bangs and eyebrows and mustache (his cap falling to the ground in the process), he found, when his vision cleared, that she was giggling into her left hand, brushing the right against her skirt.

She had— she actually—

“Yeah,” Mario found himself saying before his brain caught up with him, “yeah, I deserved that.”

The color that flooded Peach’s face settled into a dusty pink, and as she closed the gap between them, Mario felt his own skin undergo a similar transformation. Some mix of relief and giddiness and the usual Peach-induced fluster kept him stuck where he stood, unable to do anything but blush and smile nervously.

“Don’t dish out anything you can’t handle being served in return.” Peach stooped elegantly, brushing the snow from Mario’s fallen cap before setting it back on his head. “Or, put simply: it’s on.”

“W-what—?”

Before the ringing in his ears cleared (and, indeed, before he even realized his ears were ringing), Peach fled from him, hiking her skirts and rushing ahead a good few meters before stooping once more to gather snow between her palms, and only then did Mario’s brain catch up with the rest of his body.

He threw himself to his knees in the knick of time, Peach’s second snowball zipping overhead. Taking advantage of his stupor, huh? Once more pulling his cap into place, a wicked grin spread across Mario’s face.

“Ah! Not so fast, Princess!” he called, fumbling hands forming a rushed retaliation. “You should know I’m a battle-hardened snowball fight warrior!”

The snowball he launched barely missed its target; Peach squeaked again, jumping clear of the attack, and then she was preparing her counterattack the moment her feet returned to the ground.

“Well, I’m far scarier than any warrior!” she called back. “I’m a politician!”

Thud! The attack hit Mario square in the left shoulder, and he cried in mock-pain, launching himself to his feet to make a show of stumbling around before jumping back into the action. And that was how the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom and her guard spent the next twenty minutes: circling one another, flinging fistfuls of snow to and fro, and filling the chilled air with harmonious laughter.

~~~

The fireplace in Peach’s drawing room was… excessive, put one way, at least ten feet wide and six feet tall. Mario couldn’t help but keep a wary eye on it as he sipped his coffee. One gust of air and that fire would flash over and burn the whole castle down, he was certain of it.

“I suppose I’ll be getting an earful from Toadsworth tonight,” Peach sighed beside him. Mario chuckled regretfully; the old steward had immediately coaxed them inside upon crashing their game in progress, tutting in disapproval at their unkempt appearances and rambling on about the colds they would catch unless they settled in and warmed their bones immediately, “and I shouldn’t have to tell you that falling ill is the last thing we need for you, Princess.”

Even so, taking his leave after delivering their hot cocoa and black coffee some ten minutes later, Mario knew for a fact that he’d seen Toadsworth smile. An old and tired smile, with some odd nuance behind it that he couldn’t name, but a smile nonetheless.

“Just tell him I challenged your pride and it was all my fault,” he offered in the present moment. Then, with a wink, he joked: “He knows I’m a bad influence.”

“Yes, that’s just what I want: two of my favorite people butting heads for my sake.” Peach smiled over her cocoa in good humor, and Mario did his best to smile back just as evenly, but hearing her affections spoken so plainly (if indirectly) sent his heart into a stutter that made his hands feel suddenly weak. He tightened his grip on the mug in his grasp and swallowed thickly.

But if he intended to respond, the words died quickly on his tongue. The oversized fire illuminated Peach’s disheveled silhouette, frazzled strands sticking out all over her head, her bangs still slicked down with sweat, a downy blanket draped over her shoulders and obscuring her wrinkled and ever-so-slightly stained dress. But seated on the chase just inches away from him, she looked… happy. She hummed as she drank her cocoa, and the flames before them danced in her eyes, orange and red against cool blue, staggering in their brilliance yet serene all the same.

To see her so content wasn’t a surprise, not really. But something about the sight still left Mario short of breath.

Only when her gaze shifted towards him did he realize he was staring, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. There was… there was love in her eyes, he realized not for the first time, a love she expressed towards him and him alone.

Though his heart could certainly hope, Mario knew deep down, or at least convinced himself he knew, that the love she felt for him wasn’t the same love he felt for her. But that made it no less sacred to him, and he knew he’d cherish her love in whatever form it took until the day he departed the earth.

Even so, an all too familiar ache seeped into his chest at the thought, more biting than any chill could ever be. Suddenly, the affection she graced him with felt unbearable. He looked back at the fireplace with an uneasy sigh.

“Mario?” He could hear her concern, soft but prodding, and Mario took the opportunity to finish his coffee and recompose himself. The bitterness of his drink dulled the unwelcome bitterness within him well enough for now.

“Honestly,” he said at last, staring down into his empty mug, “days like today… I wish they’d never end.”

Peach didn’t respond, not right away, and Mario worried at first that his melancholy smile might look a touch too melancholy. But finally she spoke, gentle and quiet and maybe just a bit sad: “I wish so too.”

#super mario bros #smb #mario #princess peach #mario x peach #mareach #peaches' fancy fics #peaches’ prodigious prompts #the comic that inspired this is like. THE representation of their mutual pining phase for me #there's an attempt at formality but at the end of the day they just cherish each other and want to make fun memories together #they mean everything to me your honor #sneaky link to a past fic in here too~

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dumplingsjinson · 1 year

Note

Oblivious mutual pining in which A sees B in formal wear for the first time?

List of “you look amazing and now I’m even more in love with you. send help” prompts

“You… You look stunning in that,” Character A says, swallowing as Character B approaches them. “Likewise,” Character B says, a shy smile gracing their lips.

“Oh my God, did you see [name]? They looked so fucking good and I panicked and made a complete fool of myself when talking to them so I bolted. I want to fucking die—” “Now, let’s calm the fuck down and not be this dramatic.”

Character A getting distracted from their current conversation when their eyes land on Character B, slowly taking in what they’re wearing. “Holy shit,” they whisper.

Character A unable to function around Character B after seeing them in that suit/dress, their brain melting whenever their eyes land on them and they have to turn their face away before Character B catches them glowing like a traffic fucking light because of them.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night.” “I wasn’t. I was just… Distracted.”

“You look like you came out of a fairytale.”

“We uh… We’re kind of matching?” “Oh. Yeah, we are. We look kinda good like this, don’t we?” “Yeah. Yeah, we really do.”

“Oh, wow.” “That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?” “It— it isn’t. For once, it isn’t.”

“Look, if you’re going to make fun of me—” “I wasn’t going to. I just… Wanted to let you know how amazing you’re looking today/tonight.”

“So I might be smitten for [name] beyond repair.” “You’ve only just realised?”

#writing prompts #fluff prompts #prompts #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #idiots in love #idiots in love prompts #mutual pining prompts #pining prompts #request

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miakate-writes · 1 month

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Can you please do mutual pining/obviously-in-love-but-both-are-too-shy-to-say-it? Literally the blood in my veins 😭

Mutual pining romance prompts! 🌸🎀

spending ALL their time together

physical contact whenever possible

like they will literal start blushing and stuttering over the brush of a hand

never seen apart

people are always asking them things like “where is A?” “why aren’t you with B?”

and they never get sick of it

if the other person’s name is bought up in a conversation, you best believe they are listening STRAIGHT AWAY

what did they do? what did they say? who were they with? did they have fun?

they wanna know it all because this is half of the information they can get about them due to being to shy to pester for info ALL the time so they have to depend on other ppl 🥺

[a/n: tysm for this request, i’m getting to requests as soon as i can, still getting out of burnout and i’ve got exams this week so bear with me 🫶🏻 if you have any requests then pop them in my asks! you’re always welcome here 🎀]

#mutual pining #pining #pining prompts #romance prompts #writing prompts #book tumblr #writing #dialogue prompts #friends to lovers #bookblr #writer #writerblr #friends to lovers prompts #best friends to lovers dialogue prompts #love prompts #unrequited pining

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geraskierfanficprompts · 18 days

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Prompt #1

Jaskier takes all of Geralt's comments to heart and stops singing around him. Geralt notices, and is horrified, as despite his emotionally constipated snarks, he adores Jaskier's music and finds him very talented. One day, Jaskier is singing at camp while Geralt is out hunting. Geralt comes back and Jaskier immediately stops singing and apologizes. Geralt tells him not to apologize and asks why he thought he had to, thus the secret comes out, and Geralt makes up for his previous comments with lots of love and praise toward Jaskier and his talents.

#fanfiction prompts #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #witcher fanfiction #fanfic prompt #writing prompt #story prompt #plot bunny #fluff #angst with a happy ending #light angst #getting together #mutual pining #friends to lovers

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pendarling · 2 months

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Bracelet Exchanges

"What's this supposed to mean?" Hero raised the bracelet to eye level and took in the smooth braided leather attached to a small bell.

Sidekick smiled sweetly, "Aww, who gave it to you?~" Their thumb ran along it. "It's a tradition during the festival that when someone likes you they'll give you a bracelet." They played with the bell. "And listen to that sound!"

They didn't get it, probably because this was Hero's first time attending the festival. They've never heard of a tradition like this, but whatever Sidekick said was likely true. In that case, Hero felt flattered to have been approached by a stranger and given the beautifully decorated piece.

The duo walked around for some time until Sidekick paused in their step. "Augh… maybe I shouldn't have drank so much at the cafe…"

Hero looked around and spotted a bathroom, "I'll wait for you out here. Why don't you use the restroom?"

"Ugh… my bladder is about to burst. Make sure not to get lost without me." They called back as they walked toward the door of the small building.

Hero watched them as they left, their eyes concentrating on the door until they could see Sidekick again. Hopefully, they didn't take too long. Sidekick had a habit of staring into the mirror for longer than needed.

A heavy weight landed on Hero's shoulder, and they snapped out of their thoughts, "You look lost." A familiar smile appeared, and Hero took a step back.

"Villain?"

"The one and only." They pointed at themselves confidently.

"Wh-what're you doing here?"

As if offended, Villain scoffed at them and dismissed their question, that cunning smile making its reappearance again, "Y'know, I had a feeling you'd be here, some stupid arrangement like this could easily lure the good little citizen in you right out."

Hero frowned at their comment; they made it seem like they were a lot more susceptible than expected. "I'm not easy to lure…" They grumbled, annoyed.

Villain aimlessly let their eyes explore their surroundings. "Really? Because right now there's hardly anyone around to notice you're dissaaperance."

Hero clicked their tongue, "This place is full of people."

"It's a lot more psychological, Hero. I'm more likely to get away with a crime solely based on the assumption that no one will step in to help you."

Hero looked at them, puzzled.

"The bystander effect. Search it up."

Their adversary had a bizarre way of making jokes; they sarcastically laughed and turned away. Just how long was Sidekick going to fix their hair? The door poured out dozens of other guests; children buzzed around with balloons and colourful hula hoops too big for most of them to utilize.

It was a summer afternoon and, by the looks of it, midday. Hero wiped the sweat from their forehead. They couldn't blame Sidekick for taking that many drinks, they supposed; it was sweltering out here.

The bracelet on their wrist chimed at the motions of their hand. Villain, who had been quietly observing them, took note of the small leather band. Their hand instinctively grabbed Hero's arm. "And what do we have here?" Hero turned their attention back at Villain. Their interest was piqued all over again, "Looks like our hero has an admirer now, hm?" They sneered.

Even though Villain's remarks were usually playful, this moment felt a bit… guarded. Hero was slightly put off before recovering their voice, "What? It's just a dumb thing." They pulled their hand away.

It didn't look like Villain took too kindly to being disregarded; their demeanour changed, and they crossed their arms. "Fine. Keep that shitty toy if it makes you happy."

Hero only shrugged but didn't notice Villain had already walked away until it was too late.

Sidekick had returned by then and looked the same as when they left. For whatever reason, keeping Sidekick busy for ten minutes had done Hero a favour.

"You're back."

Sidekick seemed much refreshed as they adjusted their clothes, "Yeah, there was a lineup in there. I'm just lucky there was still toilet paper."

The sun still beat down on them; Hero squinted in the distance, partially looking for shade and partly searching for Villain. They didn't like their abrupt departure; it wasn't like their usual self to leave without saying goodbye.

"Wanna get lunch?" Hero began walking toward the scent of food.

"Yesss, please." Sidekick patted their stomach, "I'm starving." They came up along the fence of the festival, a row of food stalls of all kinds stretched down the walkway.

The formation that they were sorted into allowed guests to be served from both sides of each food stall. Luckily, the city thought ahead and duplicated certain popular foods like the deep-fried corndogs, fries, and ice cream stalls several times around the area.

"Oooh… I'm thinking pizza." Sidekick said they waited for Hero's response.

The pizzas sold here were always larger than average, and Hero didn't have as big of an appetite as Sidekick. They glanced around for a second option. "I think I'll just get a poutine."

Sidekick pulled out their wallet and gave them ten. "They sell the good orange juice there, Hero pleeease get me one." They pushed the cash into their hand. "Keep the change."

"Ah, no, I'm not taking your money." They handed it back to them.

Sidekick shoved it in their direction again, "Just take it, just take it."

"No, I can't-- I can pay for your drink."

"I don't need it, it's extra change; pocket money."

Hero shook their head rapidly, but Sidekick eventually won and spun on their heel into the crowd as soon as they ensured Hero's grip on the note was firm.

"Sidekick!" their voice was chased away by the noise of the crowd. They might as well go along with what they were asked.

When Hero eventually made it to the stall, they spotted Villain again, as if they were in no way a threat to the other citizens. Their eyes met, and Hero had discreetly pushed their bracelet up their arm and out of view.

Villain beckoned them over. They were unsure if they should bravely face them, but now that Villain knew for sure Hero had seen them, it wasn't like they could leave.

"Waiting to eat too?"

"Just felt a little hungry." Hero mumbled.

They chuckled, "We have the same eating schedule, huh?" They grabbed their arm and pulled Hero into line with them.

"Villain, I can't step in front of other people." They hesitantly tried leaving, but Villain kept them close.

"Don't worry about it, these people will get their turn eventually. What's a few extra minutes gonna do?"

They didn't want to say they were surprised at all when Villain paid for their lunch and even for Sidekick's drink, but they were undoubtedly flattered to have it happen. They set it down on a nearby table and packed in the bottled orange juice and bill into their bag.

Hero shyly thanked them, although they knew Villain's eyes still stared harshly at the little leather bracelet. They honestly had forgotten about its significance, but Villain had made their point pretty clear earlier, so it should've been a sign.

"No need to thank me, consider it a gift." They reached out, and Hero flinched, "I'm not going to kill you, Hero." They laughed and took their other hand, slipping on a small chain bracelet.

They stood awkwardly, too intimidated to leave but unwilling to stay. "What's this?"

"You don't know anything about this tradition?" Villain grinned widely; a sort of satisfied realization must've hit them. They weren't sure what the deal was with every other person expecting Hero to know so much from what little information they'd been given.

"Why are you asking me like I'm supposed to be taking an exam afterwards?" They closed their bag and swung it back over their shoulders. Villain couldn't believe it. Hero wasn't even aware of the implications behind the bracelet. They didn't mind a little obliviousness from their rival as long it kept them entertained.

They licked their lips excitedly, "Enjoy your lunch, and don't take that off until the end of the day." Hero curiously stared at them for further insight, but Villain had only left them to their own devices as they made their way out of view.

As Hero returned to the pizza parlour, they found Sidekick sitting at a table under the shade of a tree. "Oh, thank God," Sidekick took the bottle from them and immediately rested their cheek against the calm exterior. "You're my saving grace, Hero." They reached an arm out to them, "I wanna tell you a secret." They leaned in as Hero pulled out their poutine and a wooden fork. "I honestly only came to this festival for the food and drinks."

Hero laughed, "You're so predictable." They took a bite and recalled the cash still in their bag, "Sidekick," They pulled it out and handed it to them.

"What? You're paying me back?'

They shook their head and swallowed whatever was left, "No, I--" they stopped themselves, "uh-- a kind stranger, paid for our stuff." If Sidekick knew they ran into Villain, they would worry. They couldn't have that while they were enjoying time together; it would ruin their day. Besides, Hero was always away at work; they might as well not make their break day about it.

Sidekick didn't mind much attention to what they said aside from slowly nodding as they drank from the bottle. They set it down and watched Hero for a few extra seconds, "You got a new bracelet."

They pointed at their wrist. Hero redirected their eyes to the silver chain. "Oh, yeah."

"Wow~ even as a citizen you're still popular with the public."

Hero smiled softly; if, in this scenario, Villain had counted as a regular person, then it would be true. "I wonder why it's different though." They played with it.

Sidekick pulled out their phone, "Give me a second. I wanna know too."

"Not even the all-knowing Sidekick has an answer?" Hero nudged them slightly with their foot, and Sidekick pushed them back in response.

"Shut up. I know that the leather one means they like you. Or loyalty, or something."

Sidekick looked up from the screen. "Okay sooo…" They scrolled, "There's a wooden bracelet that means desire to marry, a black one with a red stone is lust."

Hero scooted closer to Sidekick and tried to decipher what they could from the screen. "Where's the chain?"

Sidekick sat up, "Hold on. I can't see with your hair in the way." They watched Sidekick's eyes dart left and right as they read the page, "Okay, so the chain one basically means all three."

"All three?"

"Who the hell gave you that?" They took Hero's wrist, disbelief written on their face as they studied it. "Geez, they must have it bad for you. There's only like a hundred of these in the city."

Their eyes widened. "They aren't sold?"

Sidekick shook their head, "Tradition says you gotta give it away to another person. When you do find someone you like you gotta hand it to somebody new so they can give it to their love interest next, never sell."

Hero blushed deeply. They didn't consider that Villain might've liked them like that. Maybe they were naturally born stupid at blatant advances. "Oh…" they played with their hair, their other hand working at the fries around the gravy, too swept up in their thoughts to properly eat. Maybe they'd see Villain again, and next year, they'd give them a chain bracelet, too. It was only fair that they expressed their gratitude in some form.

~~~ MASTERLIST

#mutual pining #enemies to lovers #fluff prompt #heroxvillain #villainxhero #hero x villain community #hero x villain #villain x hero #pining #pining prompts #jealousy prompts

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her-storybooks · 2 years

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Self-Made: Aaron Hotchner and Y/N

Summary: Prompt – Making Something For Someone Else. The BAU gets a visitor who tares through the bullpen and leaves everyone in puddles of mush and exploded hearts. Be Warned: Major Fluff ahead! Author's Notes: When I tell you this made me broody, you better believe it.

The squeal from Penelope was what alerted Y/N to the visitor in the BAU. She jumped up and down excitedly making Y/N laugh and turn in her chair.

“Baby Hotchner!” Garcia gushed, opening arms as Jack leaped from his father’s embrace and into magical Aunty Penelope’s cuddles.

“Well, hey there little man!” Morgan greeted, rustling Jack’s hair as Penelope picked him up.

“Hi.” He greeted in his small cheeky voice.

“I thought it was your day off?” Y/N raised an eyebrow as Hotch walked into the bullpen in his jeans and t-shirt.

“Jack wanted to come and say hi.” He shrugged.

“Or you wanted to come and check up on us, and you’re using your sweet innocent son as an excuse.” Y/N jibed as she crossed her arms.

“I am offended at the suggestion.” Hotch grumped falsely. “I’ll have you know; Jack and I were busy all morning making something very special for you all.” Hotch’s hand appeared from behind his back, presenting a large paper bag with mystery goodies inside.

“Presents!” Garcia beamed as she tickled Jack’s sides. He laughed ferociously as he wriggled out of her trap and ran over to his dad.

“I want to give them out!” he ordered his dad.

“Okay, okay.” His dad hushed pulling out the first wrapped box and handing it to his son. “You remember where Miss Jereau’s office is?”

“Miss Jereau?” his son scrunched his face.

“Henry’s mum.” Aaron reminded him, confused at his son’s forgetful memory.

“That’s not her name!” Jack laughed. “You mean Aunty JJ! Silly Daddy!” Jack giggled and began sprinting up the stairs to JJ’s office.

“My mistake.” Hotch chuckled as he watched his son run off.

“He’s so cute!” Garcia continued to fuss, pressing her palms to her chest as if her heart was going to escape.

“He’s beautiful.” Y/N smiled at Hotch. She had been at the BAU for almost 9 months now but was still yet to meet the Mini Hotchner.

“Thank you,” Aaron smiled sincerely.

“Get him in a suit and he’s going to be a real heartbreaker like his dad.” Morgan teased, waggling his eyebrows not so subtly at Y/N.

“Dad!” Jack shouted from the top of the stairs. “I need Uncle Dave’s gift!” Hotch rolled his eyes playfully and carried the bag over to his son. Y/N stood and watched with a blush across her chest as she watched Hotch in ‘Dad Mode.’ She played with the necklace around her neck absent-minded as Hotch lifted the small, wrapped box with one hand, passing it over the railings to his son.

“Oh, I know that face!” Garcia sang.

“What?” Y/N questioned as she noticed Garcia’s and Morgan’s teasing smiles at her.

“Someone’s swooning.” Morgan playfully flicked Y/N’s necklace out of her hands before she batted his hands away.

“I am not!” she scolded him!

JJ left her office, walking calmly down the stairs with her opened box in her hands. She joined the others with a bright smile on her face.

“Have you seen this?” she laughed happily.

“No! What is it?” Garcia begged. JJ lifted from the box a large pink pompom ball with googly eyes and blonde strands of string poking out from the top to form hair. In felt-tip, Jack had drawn JJ’s necklace gifted to her by her sister when she was little. Little popsicle sticks had been cut into small pieces and painted to become shoes glued to the bottom.

“Oh, My God!” Y/N beamed and melted.

“That is so cute!” Garcia laughed.

“What I tell you? Boy’s gonna have game!” Morgan chuckled, sitting himself down on Y/N’s chair and resting his feet on her desk. Y/N frowned and pushed his feet off her desk.

“Whoah!” Rossi’s loud roar came from his office as Jack presented him with his own gift! Rossi ran Jack out of his office, using his own pompom figure to scare and chase him. The pompom was bright orange, with curly black hair plopped on top! The PomPom had neat brown popsicle stick shoes and a miniature Italia flag poking out from the side. Jack squealed with joy as he ran down the steps and leaped into his father’s arms. The bullpen was alight with laughter as the Hotchner boys and Rossi re-joined the group by Y/N’s desk.

“Please, Please, tell me I’m next to get my gift?” Penelope whined to Jack who continued to giggle.

“Daddy, can I have Aunty Penelope’s gift now?” Hotch pulled out a sparkly pink box with bright neon ribbon wrapped around it, delighted in how Garcia’s face transformed into genuine shock. She made baby grabby hands, desperate to see her little PomPom figure. When she pulled it out, it was as extravagant as her. It was bright purple with multi-colored hair and fashionable pink glasses. Jack had drawn on bright red lipstick and covered the feet in as much glitter as possible. Garcia attacked Jack with kisses and tickles whilst Aaron passed a box to Morgan. Morgan’s green PomPom didn’t have any hair on the top but had bushy black eyebrows sitting on top of the googly eyes. Black shades had been attached to the top of the PomPom, easily taken off, and placed on the googly eyes.

“Look at that!” Morgan laughed. “The most handsome PomPom in the land!”

Tutting and laughter bounced across the agents until Jack crawled up to his father’s side and tugged on his shirt. He motioned for his dad to crouch down to his level and whispered something in his ear. Hotch looked at his son seriously and nodded firmly. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small blue box with flowers doodled on the side with a white pen. Jack held the box carefully as if it was a bomb about to go off. He slowly crossed the circle and stood in front of Y/N.

“Are you Y/N?” He asked nervously. Y/N smiled kindly and crouched down to the boy’s level.

“I am!” She whispered as if the two were having a private conversation. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jack. You’re Dad has told me lots of amazing things about you!” Jack blushed as he presented the box to Y/N. “For me?” he nodded enthusiastically and stepped back, watching as Y/N opened the box. Very slowly and carefully Y/N pulled out a light blue PomPom figure with googly eyes and a little cardboard crown glued to the top of her Y/H/C thread hair.

“Daddy said you have Y/H/C hair, sparkling Y/E/C eyes, and are as pretty as a queen! That’s why I gave you a crown.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat to a rosy red and her chest tightens immediately. “Do you like it?” Y/N looked up at Aaron and noticed how he too was bright red, refusing to meet her eye. Y/N smiled and leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“I love it.” She whispered. Jack giggled and blushed just as hard as Y/N. He ran to his dad’s side and hid his face behind his dad’s back. Y/N stood up from the ground and placed her mini-PomPom proudly on the top of her desk shelf, safe and protected from the ground below. She managed to pull her eyes towards Hotch and meet his gaze. “Thank you.” She mouthed silently. Hotch nodded and smiled bashfully before picking up his son.

“Come on, let’s go find Emily and Reid.”

The Hotchner boys walked away, in search of the next lucky reciprocates of their gifts. Y/N stared deeply at Hotch’s back as he carried Jack, the two boys laughing and smiling with one another as they talked.

“Oh yeah,” Morgan broke the silence, patting his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Definitely swooning.”

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Astarion x Tav || sickfic

can you keep me close? (can you love me most?)

synopsis: her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "you're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.

an excerpt of 'cause my love (is mine, all mine)

word count: 1435

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bard!tav, half-elf!tav, hurt/comfort, sickfic, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, the usual at this point, song inspo: someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic

ao3: here

concept: sickfic!!

Tav isn’t really sure what’s happening.

Actually, the whole past twelve hours have been a little blurry—memories and movements kept blending themselves in a non-cohesive way, she kept forcing her limbs to move but they would trail sluggishly behind, and she isn’t sure where she is right now.

When she feels something cool on her forehead, she finally startles.

Her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. Then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "You're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.

Ah, naturally. She had never expected to receive her very own angel. It seemed more likely that the gods would send an eerie, skeleton-like old codger, draped in tattered robes, who would speak in cryptic riddles to assist her, or a dream guardian that, in reality, turned out to be a peculiar, haughty tentacled creature with aspirations of dominating all other races in the world with mind-controlling parasites.

She squints and blinks repeatedly until Astarion comes into sharper focus. He's seated in a chair, legs crossed, arms folded, and appears quite displeased. She vaguely recollects a caregiver mentioning bringing some medicine, and fervently hopes that her current company isn't the result of that promise. After all, her companion is one of the last individuals she wishes to see right now.

The situation is rather embarrassing. She's cocooned in blankets that are overly warm, her hair is in disarray, she can't quite manage to open her eyes completely, and her muscles are protesting, urging her to remain at rest. She's determined not to let Astarion witness her in this state or feel sorry for her.

Her first instinct is to apologize, especially under his scrutinizing gaze. Instead, she insists, “I’m dying. Can’t you be a little nicer?”

“Oh, goodness me. Perhaps I’ll just leave you to suffer this horrible affliction alone,” he offers, hand on his chest in mock offense as he gets up, pretending to leave.

“Good. You don’t need to take care of me—”

She reaches out for her hat and makes an attempt to rise, but Astarion places his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her back onto the bed. His touch, once more, carries a soothing coolness, alleviating the hot discomfort and muscle soreness. "Oh, no, no, no. Absolutely not. I am not suffering another heart attack because of everyone’s favourite idiot again," he admonishes her, and she blinks in surprise, as it almost seems like he's expressing genuine concern for her.

“I’m not everyone’s favourite idiot,” she protests, weakly, even as he presses her back into the mattress to lie down.

“No, but you’re mine.” He says, perched on top of her. He's leaning above her now, effectively pinning her to the bed. He senses her slight movement beneath him, though it's hard to discern if she's merely shifting or genuinely attempting to break free, given her frail state.

Nevertheless, he gazes down at her from above, her hair splayed across the pillowcase, her face flushed, eyes half-closed, disheveled clothing, and heavy breaths. He realizes the position he’s in and releases her quickly, flustered. He hides this by opting to fetch a drink of water from his waterskin for her.

“You—you could have said something, you know.” He continues, smoothly. “Before it got this bad.”

“You had other things on your mind. Didn’t want you to worry about me,” she mumbles, but Astarion detects the slight slur in her words. He lifts the glass to her lips, eyes lingering on its shape, and she takes a sip of the cold liquid, letting out a soft moan of relief.

“Don’t want you to get sick, either.” She adds, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Thinking your companion is going to die after they randomly collapse is very worrying, so you know.” Astarion chides, putting away the waterskin. “And also, I’m far too dead to contract such a simple illness. Dalyria says it’s from exhaustion—something you’re suffering from more than me, for once.”

He’s really sure that she’s dying now. She does not retort, and against all odds, it seems that she actually managed to fall asleep again. It makes sense to him that her sickness might be getting slightly worse. When he first touched her forehead, it felt scorching to the touch, and she's now buried beneath several layers of blankets, almost swallowed by the bedding.

Astarion takes in the sorry state of the room. There's a soiled towel nearby with remnants of vomit. He observes her shivering, her clothes clinging to her body, drenched in sweat.

Astarion sets out to gather some supplies—more towels, additional water, and some rations. They were running low on food, but as long as she could sustain herself, he wasn't too concerned.

He watches her as she drifts in and out of consciousness, noting her increasing confusion, likely due to the worsening fever. She mumbles about things he can't quite make out as he settles with a book to keep her company while he monitors her condition.

He glances up from the pages periodically as she rests on the makeshift bed, wrapped in old, dusty blankets. Astarion stokes the nearby fireplace to provide warmth, even though she appears to be sweating profusely, so he's unsure if it's the best idea.

She did seem to be relieved by his touch, though. To check on her condition once more, he reaches out and gently brushes her hair to the side to touch her forehead. She initially flinches, and he moves to withdraw his hand—until she grips his wrist. It’s a feeble hold, but she keeps his hand pressed against her face.

He realizes he doesn’t feel repulsed by her actions at all. It’s true, she’s using him—quite literally, as some sort of relief—but it feels like she needs him in this moment. He can’t pretend not to like the thought of being needed, even wanted by her.

He wonders, as an extension of that line of thought, if he would be okay with kissing her. Reflecting on his past experiences with the drow, he remembers the familiar, lingering disgust and self-hatred that typically arose. However, Tav doesn't evoke any of those emotions within him. His hand drifts, and his thumb traces her bottom lip gently. It's not smooth or plump; it's dry and cracked. Somehow, that makes it feel more authentic, and the question lingers in his mind.

But he doesn’t need that. He can get physical affection from anywhere. He just… likes this. That’s all it is. That’s all it has to be, right? This is rarer—he wouldn’t give this up for the world.

So he doesn’t allow his thoughts to wander beyond that.

But seeing her reluctance to let him go stirs something within him. It’s a tug at the depths of his chest, an undeniable ache. Well, if he could be of help to her like this, then who was he to deny her? After all, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared moments like this before.

He proceeds with caution, making every effort to avoid disturbing her as the bed slightly dips underneath his weight. He pulls the blanket over both of them and he draws her near, and she emits a soft sigh as her arms instinctively encircle him, warming his chest.

In the absence of a clock, Astarion loses track of time as he remains in bed beside her. He devotes most of it to observing her, running his fingers through her hair with a gentle touch. It's an act one might do with a lover, although she remains unconscious. He could murmur tender words, and she would remain unaware. Even if she happened to hear, he suspected her current state of mind would prevent her from retaining the information. No, this is for his own solace, and he finds it strangely comforting.

#astarion romance #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 #writing #astarion headcanons #astarion x mc #mutual pining #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x dark urge #sick fic #mahoufiction #sickfic #fic ideas #writing prompt

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