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justporo · 7 months

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An Assortment of Strays

I believe I still owe you guys a drabble about how Astarion adopts a stray kitten. So here you go. @mushy6902 this one's on you again! (Also I only googled what you could give a kitten for improvisation, don't take that as advice!)

Pairing: Astarion/Gn!Tav

Wordcount: 2,2k

After an autumn storm Astarion comes home completely drenched, under his doublet jacket he has a small kitten that's desperately trying to cling to the vampire's chest.

Astarion had gone out to run some errands - probably mostly threads for his embroidery projects and some new tomes he could brood over.

He‘d asked you if you would care to join but you had taken a look outside your tall living room window, seen the autumn storm brewing outside, making itself known with stormy winds and clouds passing over the moon and told him “thank you, but no thank you”.

He couldn‘t catch a cold - you could, and weren‘t very keen on it.

Then you had cozied up in front of the lit fireplace with a goblet of wine - you had adopted Astarion‘s inclination to it in no time - and a book. Surely, it had started to rain cats and dogs soon after. And because you were such a nice and thoughtful person you had already collected some towels for the vampire when he would return and curse the weather, looking like a wet puppy, his white curls all but flattened by the rain and drooping adorably around his pointy ears.

He took much longer than expected though but you weren‘t worried - he was a free man now after all and could do whatever he pleased.

So, you sat and read - Scratch had come over too when the storm had really started going. After your party had split after everything was said and done, you‘d insisted on keeping the stray. So now he lived with Astarion and you in your little townhouse and very much enjoyed being spoiled by you.

Astarion didn‘t bond with the dog awfully much - „rather a cat person, my love, sorry“ - but he still sometimes could be found sitting in the window alcove reading with the dog in his lap, who received some head scratches.

Scratch had almost buried himself under the blanket you had spread over your legs now, when the first lightning strikes had turned into roaring thunder. You were gently patting his head and ears to soothe him while holding your book with your other hand. Focused completely on your reading you only looked up when you heard noises - and cursing - in the hallway.

You put your reading down and softly lifted the dog‘s head from your lap to get up. As you walked in the hallway you saw the expected scene: Astarion completely drenched, hair dripping and cursing like a sailor.

„Gods, I should have listened to you concerning the weather - you were right“, Astarion spat and made and disgusted face. „I‘d say I am right more times than you would like to admit, my love“, you answered with a chuckle and grabbed the towels you had prepared but were startled when you realised there was something more.

The vampire seemed to have something inside his doublet jacket he had obviously tried to keep dry.

„What is it you have there, Astarion?“, you asked curiously and drew your brows together - somehow you were sure that it wasn‘t just books or a precious bottle of „a fullbodied red“ that he was carrying.

The vampire ignored your question. His face lit up when he saw that you were holding some towels: „Oh, good thinking, my sweet, we could really use something to soak up all the godsdamned rain.“ „We?“, you replied confusedly and helplessly held up the towels.

Astarion carefully opened up his doublet and revealed a small furry creature. A small white kitten that was just as drenched as Astarion and desperately tried to cling to the vampire‘s chest: small, scared, miserably shaking and meowing.

„Oh no, who‘s this poor little thing?“, you cooed immediately and opened up your arms with one of the towels opened up so you might wrap the small kitten in it.

„Really? That‘s how you treat a cat you‘ve just met when I am here - your cherished soulmate - just as wet and miserable?“, Astarion complained. „For being so miserable you have an awful lot of breath to waste, my friend.“ Astarion huffed in protest. „Also you are not probably only a few weeks old and loudly meowing for help“, you continued and carefully took the kitten from Astarion who just as carefully handed the tiny little thing to you.

„Oh, I could meow if that‘s what would help further my case with you“, Astarion pouted while you cautiously dried off the kitten.

When the vampire just stood in front of you and said nothing while still dripping all over your hardwood floors you looked back up. „Oh uh, there‘s another towel back there, my love, if you want to dry yourself“, you said and then went back to cradling your small new friend.

Astarion sighed dramatically and walked past you to grab the promised towel. „I already get the feeling, this was a mistake. Your heart so eagerly conquered by a cute little stray you just took in“, he proclaimed theatrically, the back of one of his hands placed on his forehead.

„Hmm, says the cute little stray that I took in and that conquered my heart“, you replied matter-of-fact, not taking your eyes of the small animal and started to walk towards the living room and the burning fire there in the fireplace.

As you passed Astarion who was still trying to get his hair dry you threw your vampire a sideglance though; just to make sure he‘d caught that. And, oh, he had. He smirked and winked at you, having heard exactly what he wanted from you.

You sat down in front of the fireplace. Scratch was immediately up and wagging his tail, smelling the newcomer. “You be nice and keep your distance, Scratch”, you warned the dog. “I guess our new friend is already scared out of their mind!” And so the stray layed down again, his head on the ground between his paws, looking up at you with puppy eyes. His tail was still lazily wagging in excitement.

The kitten was slowly stopping shuddering with the warmth of the fire starting to dry her fur, but she wouldn’t stop meowing. Astarion came over to you after some time after he had put on some dry clothes. “I guess she doesn’t want to be held by me. Will you hold her? I’m going to look for something we can feed her in the kitchen”, you explained immediately after the vampire had sat down on his knees in front of you. You cautiously handed over the towel with the kitten to the stunned elf who started to huff in protest: “No, Tav, please you are the one good with animals…” “You brought the small cat here…” “Yes, but only because-“ You were already out the door and halfway to the kitchen. You searched your brain for what you knew about what you could feed a cat that was still so small. Tomorrow you would have to go out and find proper nutrition for the poor small thing.

You rummaged through your cabinets and finally mixed together some milk, water, yogurt and eggs – at least for tonight that would hopefully suffice. In one bowl you had your improvised kitten food and in another you filled some water. Then you went back to the living room. Astarion had donned the towel and was holding the kitten against his chest where it had calmed down. But she still had her claws borrowed in Astarion’s doublet and apparently they went right through the cloth judging by the vampire’s grimace.

“Watch out, she got you, tiger”, you joked as you kneeled down in front of him with the two bowls in hand. Scratch was up again too and sniffed curiously at the mixture for the kitten. But it was seemingly not much to his liking as he laid down again quickly.

“Should I set her down so she can feed and drink?”, Astarion asked you. He really seemed a bit overwhelmed with trying to care for the small furry thing. As she clawed at him again a soft “oww” left his lips. “We can at least try but we should pay attention Scratch doesn’t get too close. He would probably be a bit much for our newcomer”, you said and looked at the dog tentatively. But Scratch seemed to have taken the hint and had laid down a bit further and had just started to snooze peacefully.

Astarion slowly and carefully lifted the kitten from his chest, having to remove a claw or two with his fingers. He sighed as he looked down and saw some loosened threads in the embroidery: “I’m going to have to patch that up later.” Then he sat the small one down in front of the bowls. But the vampire did not let go f the small animal before he let one finger caressingly run over the creature’s head and down it’s back. He almost seemed scared that it would run off. But the kitten did not. If anything, she seemed to even enjoy the vampire’s pets.

“She’s so weird. Animals usually don’t feel very comfortable around me – you know, the whole vampirism thing… They feel it”, Astarion said absent-mindedly while he watched the cat slowly check out the two bowls. His red eyes were still observing her, a small warm smile was playing on his lips. Your own heart swelled with affection seeing how much he cared for this small being.

“Where did you find her?”, you asked. The vampire reached out to the kitten again, softly stroking her why she drank a little water. The small blue eyes were wandering around the surroundings – cautiously. But she still moved up her head to get more of the vampire’s pets. “I guess she likes you”, you said with a smile and kept your eyes on her before the Astarion could answer your previous question. “Trust me to get someone to purr”, he smirked. “Eww Astarion, not the time”, you moaned. You only received a chuckle and a smirk in response.

“I heard some meowing while everyone was scurrying from the rain in a small alley. I thought I was imagining it at first but there she was, a small little kitten, sitting alone in a small basket. It was completely drenched and it didn’t look like its mother was still around. Maybe she was the runt of the litter. I… just couldn't leave her there, all alone and cold, in the dark”, Astarion explained, his eyes miles away as he remembered the situation. But you could quickly see that that wasn’t the only thing. It was apparent why he felt for the lost little creature.

“You have a big heart, Astarion”, you told him sincerely which made his gaze flick to yours. But his eyes immediately left yours again. He surely didn’t believe what you said himself. At least not yet. That was okay though, you would tell him again and again until he didn’t doubt himself anymore.

The kitten meanwhile was trying to feed from the mixture you had concocted but it seemed she was only really getting the stuff on her adorable little face.

Astarion kept observing her a little bit more, cocking his head. Then he shook his head and softly grabbed the small creature again. “It’s not going to work like this, little one, if you only keep rubbing your face in your food”, he said affectionately as he made to hold her with one hand. With the other he took some of the mixture with one of his fingers and then held it to the kitten’s snout.

And surely, after a few seconds she licked it off the vampire’s fingers. A big smile crept onto your face and your heart grew in size while you watched the scene. Scratch also had slowly come back and was pushing his nose under your arm so you would let him rest his head on your lap again. You allowed it and kept watching how Astarion slowly fed the kitten. She’d quickly grown more eagerly and had started using her teeth too.

“Oww, will you stop biting me, you mean little thing”, Astarion exclaimed and shook his hand. “Serves you right, now you know how it feels”, you immediately threw in. The pale elf threw you a glance, saying “are you even serious”, but he kept allowing the cat to feed of his fingers until she seemed sated and her eyes grew heavy.

The vampire grabbed the towel that still laid next to him and lightly rubbed the mess of the kitten’s face. You offered Astarion the blanket from before to make an improvised bed for the small one on which he placed the cat carefully so she could get some rest.

“She’ll need a name if we’re going to keep her”, you said as you both watched the fur ball breathe softly. “Well, we already have a dog called Scratch, maybe we can call her Bite”, Astarion replied with a grin. You made a face at him and left the topic for the time being.

“What a fine assortment of strays we are, don’t you think, my love?”, Astarion asked then and looked at you with warmth in his eyes. You leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Fine, yes”, you answered as you made to lay down and put your head into Astarion’s lap. “But we’re not strays anymore, we’re home now”, you said with a smile and looked up at your soulmate. The vampire let his hands cup your cheeks and ran his thumbs over them lovingly: “And how sweet it is being home with you, my heart.”

Bonus: Enjoy this sweet little creature stare directly into your soul!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #baldur's gate iii #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x you #poro writes #kittens!

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i-make-fun-of-spn-characters · 3 years

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I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby.

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants.

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones.

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that.

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that.

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations.

#being serious for 5 seconds #RANTING RANTING RANTING #spicy spicy ghost pepper extract #mail

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breitzbachbea · 2 years

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You should do the blorbo ask game for lfls 👀

I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH, I WAS SECRETLY HOPING SOOOO HARD SOMEONE WOULD SAY LFLS

Send me a fandom and I'll assign blorbos

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): How dare anyone make a parent choose between their children. God, who do I think about the most ... Probably still the Irish and Sicilians at the end of the day. More specifically Harry & Michele, although Charlie is also up there with Blorbo of all time.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): Judging by how when I read HAB and IA with Jani, everytime Feli shows up we went -high pitched scream- BABY!!!! ... it's gotta be Feli.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): I would have said Paddy, but you really do appreciate him so ... Fabio. More love for the one person who has to be responsible because everyone else is a lunatic. Fabio is so funny and interesting and wonderfully layered, but he's doomed to be a functional character. How do you shine amongst a cast like the other five Italians.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): Oh, so many. I am still super infatuated with my old city OCs, which made it as state forces into LFLS. I love Ann-Lizs friends Karolina and Christoph. I cannot wait to flesh out Sören in the HAB rewrite. Shane, shared friend of Charlie, Harry and JJ, is fucking hilarious. I should definitely write more about Kevin driving Alois up the wall by being funnier than his boss. (Alois, fuming after he ran into his ex Markus with a new partner: What does Karin/Karsten have that I don't?! Kevin: Legs. Alois: HALT'S MAUL KEVIN!)

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): I don't think poor little meow meow status can be conferred by the author, this has to be done by the fandom via literary analysis and subsequent interpretation. (Not to mention that technically 80% of them are problematic faves because they're despicable criminals). So I am saying Herakles, because also in the regular Hetalia Fanfics I read, he is just ... the POOREST little meow meow. In LFLS, too, he is a fucking wet rag of a human being and I want to cuddle him. He is so pathetic. I'd die for Teenage Hera, I want to punch Grownup Hera in the face. He has the range of miserable horrid little man.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): I thought so long about this, because is there a character I really like to torment ... I mean, I enjoy comeuppance. Every action has its equal, opposite reaction. Robert, Franci, Arthur ... I think nearly anyone could fall into this. But I am choosing to say Michele, simply because it is the right mix of comeuppance and tragedy. He was doomed since the start of his journey and deserves to fall for his actions, but what had propelled the journey was simply a broken child wanting to be 'fixed', to undo the harm done unto him. (Shoutout to Ludwig though, I still want to write a story one day where I shatter him in a million pieces, to see how he will have to reassemble himself. I think that is an experience most characters in LFLS have already gone through, but he hasn't. I need to ruin the man irreversibly and make him emerge as something entirely else.)

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): Again, most of them at least deserve to rot in jail, if not in hell, but special shoutout to all the absolute fucking garbage human beings from the parent generation. Salvatore, Athanasios, Fritz & Annette, Fernando ... Kazimir as well. Welcome to Hell also to Ulla and Nis. Also Robin's family, Vicki's parents, Connor Higgins, the Acerbi's parents ... and many more.

#beareplies #riva #storie nostre #Sissi can also go to Eeby Deeby. Keine Menschenrechte für BWLer

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klaineanummel · 6 years

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not just where you bump and grind it

Twenty-five-year-old model Blaine Anderson has a very interesting meeting with Vogue's editor-in-chief, Kurt Hummel.

This was written for a prompt I got from @yruablackwarbler here on a tumblr. They wanted model!Blaine and older!Kurt. Hopefully this is somewhat what you had in mind <3 Hope you all enjoy!! See you soon for Klaine Advent ;)

Title from Madonna’s “Vogue”

Read on AO3

Blaine’s Friday shoot ends up running about two hours over, but Blaine is used to that. Honestly, he doesn’t even care. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway. His roommate is out with his girlfriend, and Blaine’s boyfriend is working late, yet again.

Might as well clock in some extra hours himself.

“Can you turn your head a little to the left?” the photographer, Jane Hayward, asks, and Blaine complies instantly. He learned pretty early in the model-game not to question the photographer, or the artistic director. It’s especially imperative not to question somebody when they’re playing the role of both, as Jane usually does.

He’s on his last outfit of the evening, but he’s considering asking if they can do a couple more. He needs the money, and he’s also not ready to go home to an empty apartment just yet.

He could, of course, go to his boyfriend’s apartment and hang out with Mr. Meows, his boyfriend’s cat, but he isn’t sure if that’s sadder than just being alone. Besides, his boyfriend’s apartment is substantially bigger than Blaine’s, meaning his alone-ness would only be magnified.

“Okay, Blaine, can you focus in, please? You’re getting that glossy look in your eye again.”

“Sorry,” Blaine mumbles, bringing himself back to the moment. He’s worked with Jane more than any photographer in his career at Vogue, and he forgets sometimes how well she knows him.

Jane instructs him to change his position, and Blaine does so easily. He and Jane work well together, and he’s glad that it’s her he’s stuck back with. He once got stuck with a contract photographer, and it was the most miserable nine hours of his life.

“Look just beyond my shoulder,” she says, and Blaine does so, knowing the position accents his jawline perfectly.

It also brings to his attention that Kurt Hummel, editor-in-chief of Vogue, has just walked onto his shoot.

“Oh, lord,” Jane says instantly, and Blaine looks back to her to see that she’s lowered her camera and is looking over her shoulder. She smirks when her eyes land on Kurt Hummel. “I knew it,” she says.

“Just keep shooting, it’s fine,” Blaine says, getting back into position.

He watches as Kurt Hummel chats with one of the make-up artists, who looks like she’s about to pee her pants. He shifts a little, surreptitiously trying to get a better look at the older man, though clearly not doing a good enough job, as Jane sighs heavily and says, “You said to keep shooting, Blaine.”

He blushes, forcing himself to look at her. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head, clearly trying to hide a chuckle. “Does your boyfriend know about your massive crush on our boss?”

If anything, Blaine blushes harder. “Maybe,” he says, eyes straying back to the man in question. “Okay, yes, I may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“And he’s okay with it?”

He shrugs. “He thinks it’s cute.”

“Really?” she lets go of her camera near her chest, letting it hang there. “He thinks it’s cute that you spend most of your time here lusting after a rich, older man?”

Blaine looks back to her. “Yes?”

She doesn’t hide her chuckle this time. “You’re the luckiest guy in the world, then, Blaine.”

He sighs, eyes flicking back to the editor-in-chief of the magazine. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay, come on, enough mooning,” she says, snapping her fingers. “We’re almost done here, and I’m ready to go home. Can you manage not to look like a love-struck teenager in every one of these pictures, or should we just call it a day?”

Blaine nods instantly, pulling his eyes away from Kurt. “Yes, of course. Let’s get this done.”

He does manage to focus well enough, despite his accelerated heart rate. He occasionally glances over to see if Kurt is still there, a feeling of pure glee shooting through him every time he sees that yes, indeed he is.

They shoot for about ten minutes before they are forced to stop again, though this time it isn’t Blaine who is the culprit.

Kurt Hummel stands before Blaine, just behind Jane, drawing her attention with a careful throat clear and a quiet, “Miss Hayward.” Blaine’s throat dries at the sight of him this close, and he watches as he and Jane engage in a quiet conversation that he can’t quite hear.

He really looks remarkable for his forty-two years. Tall and lithe, wearing the hell out of a burgundy suit, and eyes sparkling like those of a child. If it weren’t for the hint of grey creeping past his roots, and the lines at the edge of his eyes, you’d never guess he was a day over thirty.

Blaine bites down on his lip as he stares at the man, trying not to be too obvious. Not that it really matters, of course. Everybody at Vogue and their mother knows about Blaine’s crush on Kurt. He isn’t exactly the subtlest of crushers.

He’s staring at Kurt’s face when the man turns to him, like an after-thought, “Oh, Mr. Anderson,” he says, ever the professional, “I should still be around when you’re finished shooting, if you’re ready for that meeting you requested last week.”

Blaine nods instantly, trying not to grin too widely. “Of course, sir,” he says. “I’m definitely ready for it, sir.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up just slightly in the corners, then turns on his heel and marches away.

Blaine watches him go, lips pressed together in excitement.

“Easy there, tiger,” Jane teases.

Blaine chuckles self-deprecatingly, then tries to force all thoughts of his upcoming meeting with Kurt out of his mind, wanting to finish the shoot as soon as possible now.

Maybe this evening won’t be such a bust after all.

It feels like an eternity passes between Kurt leaving the shoot and Blaine finally standing in the elevator, pressing the button for the building’s top floor. In reality, it only took around half an hour longer to finish the shoot, and then another half hour to change and get his things in order.

Still. All he can think about is this meeting with Kurt. He really hopes they’re going to be discussing what he thinks they’ll be discussing, because otherwise he is going to be very disappointed.

The elevator doors ding to announce his arrival, and he walks out with a pep in his step. The top floor is almost completely deserted, as basically everybody has gone home by now. He thinks he sees a couple of lights on under office doors, but for the most part it’s a ghost town. Even Kurt’s secretary isn’t sitting in front of his office, just waiting to give him a withering glare and a snappy, “Do you have an appointment?”

Today, he walks right past her desk and right up to Kurt’s door, knocking on it lightly.

“Come in,” Kurt calls through the door.

Blaine opens it carefully, trying not to come across as too eager, even though it’s a lost battle. The minute the door is closed behind him and Kurt raises his eyes to Blaine’s, Blaine is across the room and in Kurt’s lap.

“Oh, hello,” Kurt purrs, hands going down to Blaine’s hips to steady him as he practically climbs on top of Kurt. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

Blaine grins down at Kurt. “We were already running over when you got there,” he says, leaning his face down toward Kurt’s. “Almost ready to wrap up. Can I stop talking and make out with you now?”

“Always so eager,” Kurt teases, but he tilts his head up as he does it, parting his lips ever so slightly in a far too tempting invitation.

Blaine covers those amazing lips with his own, hands tightening on Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt pulls his body closer, his torso tipping toward Kurt and bringing his hips into contact with Kurt’s stomach.

“Missed this,” Blaine whispers, their lips brushing as he speaks. “You’ve been working so much lately.”

“Issue comes out in two days.”

Blaine groans. “Working. So. Much.”

Kurt chuckles. “What about you? I feel like every time I go down to the studio you’re doing a shoot.”

“I’m booking as many as I can,” he says. “Hoping you’ll see me and remember your poor boyfriend, suffering without you.”

“Oh, my poor boyfriend,” Kurt coos. “What can I do to make it up to him?”

Blaine pulls back a little and raises an eyebrow, licking his lips. “Let me ride you in this chair?”

“Blaine,” Kurt groans, head falling back. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I think I just did,” Blaine says. He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on. I know you have lube and condoms hidden here somewhere.”

Kurt’s cheeks turn slightly red, and it brings Blaine so much joy to be able to do that. He climbs off Kurt’s lap and raises an eyebrow. Kurt stares at him for a moment, then sighs and gets out of the chair, heading toward the bookshelf in the corner of his office.

Blaine takes the opportunity to quickly rid himself of his pants and underwear, making sure he’s bent over facing away from Kurt for when Kurt turns back around.

He hears his boyfriend’s gasp, and within seconds there are hands on his ass, palming the cheeks and spreading them slightly.

“Fuck, Blaine,” Kurt whispers into his ear. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

Blaine smirks, feeling Kurt’s cock rubbing against his lower back. “I think I do,” he says, pushing his ass further into Kurt’s hands. Kurt squeezes tight, one finger dipping down to tease at his hole. Blaine gasps.

He turns in Kurt’s arms, leaning up a little to kiss Kurt again, bringing a hand up to the nape of his neck to keep him in place. Kurt keeps one hand on Blaine’s ass, fingertip rubbing over his hole, while the other deftly undoes the buttons on his shirt. Blaine shrugs out of it as soon as he can, leaving him standing naked before his still fully-clothed boyfriend.

With a grin, he pushes Kurt back into the chair, then takes the lube and condom from where Kurt had set it on his desk and shoves the lube into Kurt’s hand. Kurt watches, eyes dark, as Blaine undoes his belt, pops open his pants button, and lowers his zip. Blaine’s cock throbs as he pulls Kurt’s cock out of his underwear and pants. He carefully places himself back in Kurt’s lap, straddling his legs precariously on the chair.

“Finger me,” he whispers, draping his arms over Kurt’s neck, condom dangling from his fingers. “Please.”

“Love it when you beg,” Kurt whispers back, kissing him briefly, before focusing on uncapping the lube and spreading some around his fingers. As soon as that’s done, he awkwardly tucks it between his thigh and the chair, bringing his wet fingers back down to Blaine’s ass, parting his cheeks carefully with his dry hand.

“Oh, god,” Blaine hisses as he feels Kurt’s finger breach him.

He’s always loved the feeling of something in his ass, ever since he discovered he could finger himself back when he was sixteen years old. Still, though, nothing has ever felt as perfect inside him as Kurt’s fingers or Kurt’s cock. Every time feels like the first time, and it makes goosebumps erupt all over Blaine’s skin.

“Why are you taking so long?” Blaine whimpers as Kurt pumps a single digit in and out of him. “You know I can take more.”

“Yeah, I do know,” Kurt says, tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to Blaine’s chin. “But it’s been almost three weeks since we’ve done this, and I want to savour it.” He sucks gently at the spot where Blaine’s jaw becomes his neck, careful not to leave a mark. “Do you have a problem with that?”

He pulls his finger out, then pushes it back in, accompanied by a second. Blaine moans, head falling back slightly.

“Not enough of one to make you stop,” he manages to say, rocking his body gently against Kurt’s, moving his hips to the rhythm of Kurt’s fingers.

As promised, Kurt takes his sweet time fingering Blaine open.

Blaine both loves and hates every second of it.

By the time Kurt has been pumping three fingers in and out of him for almost five minutes, Blaine feels about ready to burst. His cock is dripping pre-come, and his ass is desperate for more.

“Please, fuck me now,” he groans, pressing himself against Kurt tightly, desperate for some friction on his dick. Usually Kurt would ream him out for daring to get pre-come on his shirt, but he can tell that Kurt is pretty far gone, too.

He grins up at Blaine and says, “As you wish,” before removing his fingers from inside of him.

Blaine lifts himself slightly, ass clenching around nothing, and tears open the condom package, rolling it onto Kurt’s dick as quickly as he can. Kurt follows the action up by covering his latex-covered cock in lube, carelessly tossing the small bottle out of the way when he’s done.

“Get down here,” he practically growls at Blaine, who is more than happy to acquiesce.

Kurt’s suit pants feel odd under his thighs, especially contrasted to the feeling of his cockhead rubbing against Blaine’s asshole. He bares down on it, forcing Kurt inside of him. He’s not in the mood for any more of Kurt’s teasing.

Thankfully, Kurt doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that anymore either. He places one hand on Blaine’s hip, keeping the other at the base of his own cock, and helps the younger man sit himself on his dick.

Blaine breathes out deeply as he fully seats himself on Kurt’s lap, his cock deep inside of him. He can feel it throbbing in his ass, and clenches his muscles around it, loving the sound of Kurt’s moan when he does it.

He begins to roll his hips slowly, getting used to the feel of Kurt inside of him after so long. Kurt moves his other hand to Blaine’s hips as well, helping to move him up and down on his cock, watching him with a smile on his face and pupils so dilated his eyes are practically black.

“Love watching you do that,” Kurt breathes, eyes never leaving Blaine’s. “Love watching you bounce on my cock.”

“Just watching?” Blaine asks, raising an eyebrow, increasing his speed minutely.

“And feeling,” Kurt rasps out. “You have the tightest ass in the world, Blaine. Fucking made for my cock.”

“I know,” Blaine agrees instantly. “I know.”

They fall back into silence, the only sound in the room that of their skin smacking together, and the chair creaking slightly under their shared weight.

“You know,” Blaine says, clenching his ass again. “I think Jane thinks I’m cheating on my boyfriend with you.”

Kurt gasps as Blaine rolls his hips expertly. “She thinks you’re cheating on me with me?”

“At least emotionally,” Blaine replies. “To be fair, she doesn’t know that my boyfriend is you.”

“Because she’d think I was your sugar daddy, right?” Kurt teases, squeezing Blaine’s hips.

Blaine laughs. “You are my sugar daddy,” he teases right back. “I would have never got that gig at Luna’s if it weren’t for you.”

“So, not your sugar daddy, just your career advancement daddy,” Kurt says, beginning to move Blaine’s hips with his hands, forcing him to go faster.

“You know it,” Blaine replies. “Though don’t expect me to start calling you ‘daddy’ in bed.”

“I would never,” Kurt promises, thrusting up into Blaine particularly hard and making him cry out.

Blaine tightens his hold on Kurt’s shoulders, then asks, “Did I tell you that that producer I met at Luna’s called? He wants to sign me on for an EP.”

“Blaine!” Kurt says, hands tightening on Blaine’s hips. “You couldn’t think of any better time to tell me that?”

“Sorry, I just remembered now. You’ve been so busy lately…”

“I know,” Kurt says. “I promise things will calm down soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine says, leaning down to kiss Kurt gently.

“Okay,” Kurt repeats. “Now, can we please stop talking about things that aren’t me fucking you?”

“Oh, yes please,” Blaine whimpers, quickening his pace. “I’m close.”

“I am too,” Kurt says.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, thrusting down hard. “Really?”

“Hey, there,” Kurt says, pinching the skin around his hips, making Blaine gasp. “Was that a dig at my age?”

“Obviously,” Blaine replies. “You usually last a lot longer than me.”

“Well, that’s because you’re twenty-five, and haven’t practiced taking your time enough.”

“I think we’ve been practicing plenty,” Blaine says. It’s true, too. Ever since he and Kurt started dating six months ago, he’s had more sex than he’s ever had in his life.

Although, he supposed not as much lately.

“Three weeks, Blaine,” Kurt says, as though reading Blaine’s mind. “It’s been three weeks.”

“The longest you’ve ever gone without getting some ever, right?” Blaine can’t help but tease.

Kurt leans up and nips Blaine’s bottom lip. “You’re particularly feisty today.”

“Must be all the cock in me.”

“I like it,” Kurt chuckles.

He brings a hand down and wraps it around Blaine’s cock, something he only ever does when he’s about to come. He knows well enough by now that Blaine can hold off a decent amount of time, as long as Kurt doesn’t touch his cock. As soon as he touches his cock, it’s all over.

Indeed, within minutes Blaine feels his stomach tightening, and his head falls back as he comes into Kurt’s hand and onto his own stomach. Kurt groans and comes inside of him, clearly pushed over the edge by Blaine’s ass clenching around him as he comes.

Blaine falls limply against Kurt, knees giving out as soon as he finishes. “Oh, god,” he whimpers. “My thighs are going to burn tomorrow.”

“This was your idea,” Kurt reminds him.

“I know,” Blaine sighs. “Don’t regret it, either. I needed that.”

“So did I,” Kurt replies, pulling Blaine close and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “So did I.”

“Hey,” Kurt says as Blaine goes to leave. Blaine stops in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at Kurt. “Do you want to move in with me?”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, really,” Kurt says, walking over from where he’d been lounging against his desk. “I hate going home to an empty bed, especially on nights like this.”

Blaine smiles, nodding instantly. “Of course,” he says. “I’d love to move in with you.”

“Good,” Kurt says, leaning down to kiss him when he reaches him. He pulls back a touch, then asks, “What about going public?”

Blaine freezes. “You… you want to go public?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says. “I mean, we’ve been dating for six months. Everybody knows you have a thing for me. Is it really that big a deal to confirm that I have a thing for you, too?”

“I thought you were worried about the talks,” Blaine says. “You know, the judgement.”

“I don’t care,” Kurt says, shrugging. “Let them think what they want.”

Blaine’s face slowly blooms into a smile. “You’d really be okay with it? With people knowing you’re screwing a twenty-five-year-old model?”

“No, Blaine,” Kurt says, cupping his face tenderly. “I’m okay with people knowing I’m in love with you.”

Blaine’s smile grows even wider. “I love you, too,” he says, beyond happy to finally say those words out loud.

“Good,” Kurt smiles. “So. You move in, and we come out as a couple?”

Blaine hums. “Only if you let me ride you in that chair again sometime soon.”

Kurt laughs and pulls him into a hug. “I think that can be arranged.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaineanummel fic #klaine au #yruablackwarbler #thank you so much for the prompt darling!#sorry this ended up basically just being smut #with a bit of plot oops #age difference

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moonylady · 7 years

Text

happy belated birthday @magnusragnor ♥

elle you are an incredible person and an amazing writer, i couldn’t be more grateful to have met you and call you friend. love you!!

i am so sorry it took me so long to post this but i hope you like it

(the biggest thanks to @maghnvsbane who was the most patient beta i could have asked for and went above and beyond when helping me with this)

Sometimes Alec reminds Magnus of a cat.

He can’t remember the first time the idea formed in his mind, but it had probably been before they started dating. Back then, Alec had acted like a stray cat, wanting affection but so afraid to receive it – letting his guard down one moment just to be defensive the next, wary and hissing every time he felt threatened. Magnus had found himself reacting in kind, scared of doing something that would only spook him further, instead extending a cautious hand and holding his breath, hoping it will be perceived like the offering it was but knowing it could be scratched instead.

Now that they are together, the image Alec conjures in Magnus’ mind is that of a content, spoiled cat. Never shy about seeking affection when they’re alone, closing his eyes and melting every time Magnus runs his fingers through his hair, practically purring when touched in the right places – and Magnus delights in discovering and exploring all the right places.

But right this instant, standing in the entrance of their living room, his jacket and shoes still on after being out all day, Magnus muses that Alec is the picture of a lazy sunbathing cat. He’s stretched out on his stomach on the sofa, one arm tucked under his head as a pillow and the other hanging off the edge, fingers resting on the floor. His breathing is deep and slow, his back rising every time he inhales as he naps in the fading light of the sunset; long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. Shades of orange and pink dance over his face, making him scrunch his nose adorably, not bothersome enough to wake him.

To complete the picture, and this is Magnus’ favorite part, there’s an actual cat – a mix of white and grey, not very big, resting on Alec’s butt and sleeping just as soundly.

Eyes still fixed on the scene in front of him, Magnus discards his coat on a nearby armchair, taking off his shoes at the same time he approaches the sofa.

Silently, he grabs his phone out of his pocket and takes several pictures. This is the sweetest view to come home to, so he wants something to remember it by, something he can look at later and relive the warmth pooling in his chest right now. Besides, it’s not like he actually needs an excuse to take pictures of Alec. And his butt. He may or may not have a folder in his phone dedicated to such beauty. Sue him, it’s a nice ass and he appreciates it as he should.

Magnus slowly lowers his phone, suddenly realizing he’s grinning, that he probably has been from the moment he opened the door. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, Alec’s uncanny but entirely natural ability to make him smile, the way his mere presence makes Magnus feel light and happy and safe. But it does. This beautiful man will never cease to amaze him, Magnus is sure.

Perched on the coffee table, Magnus feels his smile grow, but also turn a little wistful. He can still remember a time when he thought he would never get to have something like this. That he would never feel like this again, his ability to open up completely to another person damaged beyond repair. That no one could love him, all of him, and in return he wouldn’t allow himself to love them. That building a home with someone will always be an unfulfilled dream.

And now he’s here, sitting in front of his sleeping boyfriend and cat, basking in the domesticity of it, the normalcy of it; tranquil and content. He cherishes every second and every little snore Alec makes, because nothing has felt so right before.

You just needed to find the right person, whispers a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Ragnor’s.

At the thought of his lost friend, Magnus feels a twinge of pain in his chest. He doesn’t wonder if he will ever stop feeling it, he knows better than that. But he also realizes that it doesn’t darken this moment. It makes him wish for Ragnor to still be here, for him to be able to share this bliss with his friend and hear him groan about it while still being utterly happy for Magnus, for Ragnor and Alec to have met each other. It makes him wish for so many things. But as much as it hurts, it’s bearable. It’s longing but not despair, not anymore.

“Hey.”

Magnus looks down at the sound of a raspy voice interrupting his thoughts and he’s met with a sleepy Alec squinting his eyes at him. Magnus moves a little to block the sunlight filtering through the window and he’s rewarded with a thankful smile.

“Hello.” He answers, extending his hand and caressing Alec’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

Alec’s eyelids dip closed and he hums at the contact, but doesn’t move much otherwise. Magnus realizes it’s because he can feel the cat still sleeping on him and doesn’t want to disturb him.

His boyfriend is just too adorable.

“Good nap?”

Alec grunts softly in affirmation and opens his eyes again. Despite the sleepiness still clinging to his features, his gaze turns appraising, moving over Magnus’ face slowly.

“Did something happen?”

Magnus blinks at the question. He didn’t think he looked especially melancholic, but then again Alec can be incredibly perceptive sometimes.

He smiles softly and caress Alec’s shoulder when he retreats his hand.

“Nothing happened, darling. And even if something had, the view that welcomed me certainly would have made everything better.”

Alec maintains his inquisitive look for a second but doesn’t push; instead he twists his head to see the cat that’s still perched on his butt, refusing to wake up.

“I honestly don’t know when he got there.” He says with a lopsided smile.

Magnus didn’t think it was possible, but the soft feeling that manifested in his chest the moment he crossed the threshold, expands even more, grows stronger. He always feels like this every time Alec shows, in whatever way, how comfortable, happy and safe he feels in their home, how he can let his guard down here without a second thought, content and secure. While Alec hasn’t moved in officially, his presence is all over the loft: his books on the shelves, the brand of coffee he likes in the kitchen cabinet, his aftershave in the bathroom. It’s been awhile since Magnus stopped considering this place his and it became theirs instead.

“Now you will never be able to get up.”

Alec snorts at Magnus’ dramatic exclamation but still refuses to move beyond propping himself on his elbows.

“Don’t worry. I’ll rescue you.” Magnus says with a wink, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice.

He leans forward and lets his fingers scratch the cat behind the ears. The little thing starts purring, pushing his head into the touch. Magnus coos at him and runs his hand along the cat’s back, trying to coax him gently from sleep. Alec arches a brow at Magnus when his hand goes a little lower, and Magnus answers him with his most innocent look.

After a minute or so, the cat decides to get up, stretching lazily. Then, he proceeds to knead Alec’s butt, one paw at a time for a while. Once that little massage session is done, he jumps down, rubs himself against Magnus’ legs and meows expectantly.

Magnus smiles, completely charmed, waving a hand with an elegant flourish to replenish the cat’s food bowl.

“You spoil him too much.” Alec tells him, but it’s not even half as stern as he probably intended.

Magnus shrugs, because it’s true and he’s not apologetic about it in the slightest. He turns to his boyfriend again, who is now sitting up and leaning forward to kiss him hello, soft and lingering. When Alec pulls back, he takes hold of Magnus’ hand to drag him onto the sofa. Magnus goes willingly; he always does.

Alec settles himself against Magnus’ side, head resting in the junction between his neck and shoulder. Magnus turns his head and kisses his temple.

“We still haven’t named him.” Alec murmurs.

Magnus makes a sound of acknowledgement and sighs. They found the little guy a week ago when they were walking back home from a date. Meowing loudly in the back of an alley, shivering and still wet from the earlier rain, he looked and sounded miserable, but there was a a bit of hopefulness alongside the prominent wariness in his eyes when they approached.

Magnus’ heart had gone out to the poor thing. When he looked at Alec, his boyfriend was already taking off his jacket so they had something to wrap the cat in, completely disregarding the fact that Magnus could summon a blanket. In true Alec fashion, there he was, trying to help in anyway he could, putting this small yowling creature’s comfort above his own, honest and unhesitant in his desire to aid.

After Magnus managed to convince the cat to let himself be wrapped and carried, they walked back to the loft, not wanting to put him through the additional stress of a portal in his current state. After a warm bath, a magical instant dry, some food and a lot of more meowing, the cat looked much better.

Magnus is pleasantly surprised and a little relieved that the feline seems to be adjusting so well to living with them. They found him in a street that had many restaurants, so maybe someone had been feeding him. Then again, Magnus always loved cats and probably even this ferocious, fluffy creature could feel the protector in Alec.

They hadn’t talked about it at all, but after a few days it was obvious that by some tacit agreement, the little guy was staying. Alec’s words just confirmed it.

“How about Chairman Meow?” Magnus suggests suddenly, as if he had just come up with the name.

It takes a second but when realization hits, Alec groans at the terrible pun and hides his face in Magnus’ neck. Magnus laughs and the furball meows loudly from the other side of the room.

“Don’t encourage him” Alec mutters petulantly, his mouth moving against Magnus’ skin.

Magnus is not sure whether his boyfriend is talking to him or the cat, but now that he has what he considers their cat’s approval, he totally needs to defend his case.

“See? He likes it.”

When Alec lifts his head to give him an unimpressed look that seems to say ‘he just wants more food’, Magnus decides it’s time to stop playing fair. He turns fully towards Alec and lifts one hand to cradle his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. Alec leans into the touch and tips his head slightly, a silent invitation for more. They kiss softly and unhurriedly, lips molding together.

“You know you like it too.” Magnus murmurs when they pause to breathe, faces close together and noses brushing.

Alec’s sigh against his mouth tastes like victory; the way his smile touches Magnus’ lips feels warmer than the last rays of sun disappearing behind the city skyline.

“Chairman Meow it is.”

331 notes · View notes

samurulantis · 7 years

Note

Alternate Ending (Maybe if he never met Isen?)

(Decided to go with a slight alteration. Thanks for the ask @nati-kun!)

(Alternate Ending - Samuru never left home with Isen)

So many years had passed since Samuru made a very vital but mistaken choice. He fondly recalled the plucky Hyur he'd met during his brief dabble with magic, who saved him from a hoard of angry imps on that fateful day. Even if Isen had brushed him off rather quickly, Samuru had been determined to follow him and learn more about someone he viewed as strong and confident; Two things he severely lacked in himself. When Isen offered for Samuru to go with him, the Elezen had nearly jumped at the chance.

Yet this time there would be a difference. His father would forbid Samuru from leaving, with a Hyur of all things, to go against what he considered Gridanian values. Instead of standing up to the man who intimidated him so greatly, he decided that perhaps father did know best. This rogue was all but a stranger to him, and maybe he was better off to stay home. Even when Isen protested to this choice, Samuru held his ground fast. This was for the best, it had to be. His father wouldn't lead Ru astray, would he?

With a huff, Isen had turned to take his leave of the Arcanist with jelly for a spine. Ru stood on his porch and watched as the rogue marched off until he disappeared into the thick forest, leaving him behind.

Samuru snapped out of his daydream, recalling that very moment from eons ago. He adjusted himself in the bar chair, adjusting the uncomfortable Woodwailer uniform with a wince. How he hated the damn thing, yellow certainly not his color. He adjusted his ponytail and reached down to grab his bow and quiver, rising from the seat.

"Hey Lantis, your shift done for the day?" Came a nearby voice. The Miqo'te woman was dressed in the same uniform, a co-worker it seemed.

"Aye. I am about to head back to my apartment, pet my cat and just sleep until the next Astral era." He'd mumble, waving a hand in the air as he took his leave. He had long since abandoned his ambitions of being an Arcanist, following the command of his father to pick up a Gridanian profession.

Samuru had always felt clumsy with the bow, his fingers covered in callouses from the hard wood and constant tugging at the taut string. Now and then he could hit his target with decent accuracy, but more often than not he was put on grunt duty due to how inept he was. This was cause for a great deal of mocking from his comrades, a miserable day to day existence.

Arriving at his modest apartment, he'd toss that acursed bow and quiver into a corner haphazardly with a grunt. "I hope they randomly burst into flames." He'd grumble while letting his hair down from that dreadful ponytail. A quiet 'meow' came from under Samuru's bed, a tiny calico cat emerging to greet the frustrated male. He'd scoop her up and cuddle her to his chest.

"I hope your day was better than mine, Grace." His brows knitting as he gave her head a little smooch. "I'll feed you in a moment--" His words were cut off as he heard a knock at the door, turning with a squint. "Who in the seven hells?" He put the cat down and turned to open the door, now face to face with an Elezen man.

"Arthurioux...I didn't expect you today. Please, come in." Stepping aside so the rather well to do male could step inside.

"Samuoux." Arthurioux said rather plainly, which caused the beauty to cringe. How he hated his birth name, and yet he knew his father would kill him if he ever changed it.

He recovered though, stepping forward to lean in for a kiss. He was promptly stopped with a single gloved finger smushed to his lips, standing there with an awkward blink. He'd lean back and look at the male in confusion, a man who bled arrogance and looked down on his smaller counterpart.

"Ahem, yes sorry." He'd state as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I fear I come with some unfortunate news. It seems that we must end our relationship. My parents have decided that I should be with someone a bit more...refined." His words cold, lacking any depth or care for the one whose heart he was breaking.

Samuru stood there in stunned silence, staring at him for what seemed like an eternity. "Surely you're joking. We've been together for the better part of a year. My father adores you and Gods know that is a rare thing. How can you be so empty about this situation? And what in the fucking hell do you mean 'more refined'?!" He grit his teeth, balling his fists as a fire ignited behind the oncoming pool of tears.

"This is it exactly, such foul language. Really Samuoux, you're too old to be using gutter slang like that. My family has already introduced me to an Ishgardian noble and he has been rather delightful. What is it you have really done with your life other than play puppet to your father, as good a man as he may be?" Arthurioux stated boldly, huffing at the upset man. "If you wish to only do things halfway, then I am sure there is some bar dweller that'll suit your fancy."

"How dare you!" Ru shouted, grabbing the nearest book at his disposal, flinging it hard at the source of his misery. It knocked him right in the head, causing the man to stagger and give Ru a look of shock. "You don't like gutter slang? Oh you're about to get an earful, you half-wit fop!" He'd continue to advance, grabbing another book to start whacking Arthur with with each seething sentence that left his mouth. "I didn't much care for you anyway! Yes, that's right...I thought you were a pretentious, boring, unmotivated spoiled brat. Oh and would it KILL you to participate in intimacy, rather than laying there like a dead rat?! I've seen corpses with more enthusiasm than you. Oh and one more thing, I don't think the way you laugh is cute at all. It sounds like an obnoxious trumpet struggling to play underwater!"

"Sam--" He tried to interject as he was beaten back toward the door.

"No, shut up. You don't get to speak over me anymore, or parade around like some big shot. You're nothing, do you hear me? NOTHING! Now get the FUCK out of my home. I never want to see your bland, stupid face again!" Promptly shoving the flabbergasted noble right out, slamming the door in his face.

Ru stood there for several moments, huffing angry breaths while clenching his make-shift weapon in his hand. Eventually he managed to take a seat, cupping his face with his palm and letting out a sob. How had he gotten here? He couldn't understand why his life had fallen into such utter misery. It was then he glanced at the book he'd grabbed, his brows knitting when he read the title. It was one of his old Alchemy books from his youth, a tome he'd long since put away and forgotten. He feathered his fingers along the spine, biting his lower lip as a realization finally hit him.

With a new flash of determination he promptly rose from the chair, throwing off his uniform to change into a comfortable shirt and pants. Once his cat had been fed, he'd grab his satchel and rush out the door. He was done being a welcome mat, and certainly done with being told what to do. As much as he hated to admit it Authur had at least one good point; He was a puppet to his father. Now he had many years of neglect to make up for, and only one person was on his mind now. But how could he hope to find the rogue now? Long gone, disappearing into obscurity with no real direction to start with. Yet Samuru couldn't stand to live one more day like he had been.

His search began where he'd last seen the man almost two decades prior, which turned up very little. Weeks passed, traveling from one side of Eorzea to the next. The name 'Isen Yumemiru' was either met with confusion or disgust, many not wishing to speak about it before moving on. This left Samuru frustrated, but he wouldn't let himself give up. Not again.

Shortly after arriving in Kugane and once again being turned away, Samuru flopped down at a table with a wince. "This is hopeless..."

"Excuse me." Piped up a voice of an older man, who approached the table where the Elezen sat. "Sorry but I couldn't help to overhear. But did you say Isen Yumemiru?" He asked. He was an older Hyur, dressed in poor man's attire and obviously knowing a hard life.

Samuru nodded quickly. "I did. Please, no one else will talk to me. I've been searching for weeks and I just want to know where he is, that's all." He stood shortly after, giving the old fellow a desperate look.

"Sure, I can take ya to him. Follow me lad." He murmured, motioning over his shoulder. Samuru didn't hesitate, nearly tripping over himself to do as told. Sure this could've been a ruse or a trap, yet he didn't give a damn. It was the best lead he'd had and he was going to take it.

The pair walked for sometime, heading into the countryside just outside of the glorious city. Entering a local cemetery, the look of confusion on Ru's face began to morph into worry. When they stopped at a particular headstone, his fears shifted into reality. Isen's name was crudely carved into stone, with his birth and deceased date. It was only months prior that he had met his end, and this left Samuru in a state of utter disbelief.

"Not really sure how someone as sweet as you knew him." The old man began, letting out an annoyed sniff. "He was a pain in my arse. He'd come into my bar and start shite almost nightly. Good with the ladies, but bad with just about everyone else. He was a bitter bastard, barely cracked a smile unless he was piss drunk. Most knew not to fuck around with him, he killed without hesitation. Seen it with my own eyes, y'know?"

Samuru swallowed thickly, clutching a hand to his throat to try and contain the lump that began to form there. "H-How...how did he...?" His voice cracking, still reeling from the shock.

"Die? Ah, prick finally picked a fight he couldn't win. Tried to take out five big ol' brutes at once. Managed to get a few of 'em before he got a knife to the throat. Honestly if I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted to die. He was always miserable y'know, guess he had nothing to be happy about. But anyway sorry fer yer loss if he was important to ya. No one ever really comes here to visit the tosser. If yer here though, maybe there was something redeemable about him after all." With that the old man turned to take his leave, thinking his job here as done.

Samuru stared down at the stone for a long moment, taking in a shaken breath as the harsh realization came through. He'd never be able to find Isen, not like he knew him. Even if the brute was still alive, he likely wouldn't have been the same scrappy Hyur he'd met so long ago. Slowly Samuru lowered himself down on his knees, bowing his head.

"I realize this is twenty summers too late, but I'm so sorry. I wish I had gone with you that day, more than I can express. I don't know where I would've ended up, or how my life would've gone. But surely it had to be better than where I am now." He'd frown, wiping moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I...I was too late. I wanted to find you, one way or another. Oh Isen...what happened to you? I knew you were troubled, but never could I have figured how much. Did you have anyone love you, or care about you? I would have...I would have tried so hard." He felt himself choke up, gritting his teeth as he fought the sorrow. "I've never forgotten you, and I never will. Please don't feel alone anymore, I'm here now. I'll come visit you and bring flowers. No one...should be abandoned. This I promise here and now. I am going to live my life how I desire, and do the things that make me happy. I'll be a puppet no longer, if for no other reason than to honor the man who saved my life."

He pushed himself up to stand, dusting off his pants as he tried to compose himself. "So thank you Isen. Even if you never once believed it, you have done good in your life. You rescued me twice." He'd lift his head and move to step back. "Farewell old friend, until we meet again." He then turned and took his leave of the lonely gravestone, his heart heavy and yet somehow still hopeful.

#askru #writing prompt #sad #isen yumemiru #samuru lantis #balmung #ffxiv #altenrate ending #TODAY IS THE DAY OF SAD APPARENTLY #nati-kun

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