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lemontreefantasy · 5 months

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Sails and Anchors pt. 4 (FINAL)

pairing: captain!hongjoong x barmaid!reader

genre: smut

wc: 3k

warnings: fighting, a chase scene, sexy scenes

Part 4 - Raise the Anchor

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hongjoong’s last words echoed throughout your mind for weeks. It was no surprise that after the commotion he caused he disappeared, yet again. You hadn’t heard from seonghwa since then and you dare not reach out to him either. Keeping a low profile was now your main priority but you wondered why seonghwa hadn’t visited you if he was so concerned about your well-being.

A busying pace lasted for as long as you could remember at the bar, not that you were complaining but there was almost no time for you to rekindle your connection with the woman who told you about your sudden inheritance. You decided to take some time off from the bar to pay the city a visit.

“Come sit, darling,” she ushers you to sit.

“My apologies for not visiting you earlier,” you mention.

“Nonsense, I know you are a busy woman. Let us get to the specifics now, shall we?” she says walking into the room with a large tray with a full pot of tea and two small teacups.

“I’m going to be very blunt with you. Your father was very loved by the city. His charity, successful investments and other great feats were building blocks of his career. But as there are persons who love, so are there the ones with jealousy and envy in their hearts. I’m warning you, there will be many persons who will try to come into your life now that he has passed because you are now the sole inheritor of his wealth. Do with that statement what you please, but don’t say I didn’t mention this to you earlier.”

Her stern chat with you had you pensive for the journey back home. It was no secret that your father had assets and a great investment portfolio but you never grew up eating on a silver platter. You had somewhat of a normal life. You started thinking about everyone you had met since the passing of your father.

Were they being nice to me only because of who my father was?

What do they even think they would get from me?

Many thoughts spiraled through your mind.

That was until you saw seonghwa... patrolling the city, walking in your direction.

Suddenly, a hand is plastered over your mouth and you’re pulled into a dark alley way. A mysterious man with the wide-brimmed hat, similar to that of your old lovers’, manages to enter your line of sight. But you realize gaze that now holds you is far from familiar.

He shushes you as he pulls you further into the darkness to conceal the both of you.

“Time’s running out boss… have you decided yet?”

“Give me a few more days. She’s more valuable to us alive.”

You notice the two figures pass by and to your surprise, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Seonghwa and one of his comrades walk past the both of you, failing to recognize your presence in the alley. Confused and scared, you had no idea what to process first. The fact that you made sweet love to Seonghwa and now he is possibly plotting to kill you or that an absolute stranger is holding you against your will in a very suspicious location.

He waits for Seonghwa and the other man to walk a fair distance from you both before asking you a question, “If I let you go, will you promise not to scream or run? I need to speak to you urgently,” Nodding your head furiously, he gently releases his grasp on you and you slowly turn around to face the unidentified man.

“My name is Jongho. I work for Hongjoong. He sent me here to protect you. I must get you back home before I explain anymore details. Please, trust me. We have no time to waste.”

As if you had any say in the matter, you were back home in your study with Jongho. He explained to you that it was to dangerous for Hongjoong himself to explain the mischief that has been going on in the city. Seonghwa was a rogue military assassin. He had been doing undercover jobs and many instances of racketeering. He told you about how the old government had hired Seonghwa to infiltrate the lives of prominent businessmen in order to swindle funds from them. You so happened to be one of his targets. He never wanted you, he only wanted to get his hands on your inheritance to keep the corrupt old governors happy while filling his pocket. It was a crude story of scheming alliances that was way too technical for you to understand but the main concern to you was that Seonghwa was after you. You had no idea how, when or what plan he was devising but you were in grave danger.

After a busy night at the tavern, you soothe your aching muscles from behind the counter as you watch your barmaids tidy up for the night. Putting the glasses on the shelves, arranging stools and tables and packing away liquor bottles, you have a seat and meditate on the day as the roars of drunken men have subsided.

Eventually you bid farewell to your workers and return to your study upstairs. As you close the door behind you, a familiar scent hits your nose and suddenly, your pores raise as you recognize its origin.

Seonghwa’s cologne.

“Hello darling...”

You slowly turn around, trying your best to hide the fear on your face. You could cut the tension in the room with a dull butter knife.

“Seonghwa... what are you doing here?” you ask hesitantly.

“Just paying you a late night visit. That’s all. How have you been doing?” he asks, slowly walking toward you.

“F-fine, I’m fine,” you stammered out to him.

How the hell did he even get in here? Was he waiting in your room all night long?

It was like an alarm went off in your brain. Flight or fight responses kicking in. You knew this man was going to hurt you. You knew he wanted you hold you captive and there was no one around to help you. All those times that Seonghwa spent with you as a lie. A scheming plot to get hold of money. You had to escape, but how? You couldn’t run downstairs, you had no weapon up your skirt.

What the hell am I going to do?

You lunge at Seonghwa and he draws his knife but you knee him in the groin. As he clutches his nether region, you run towards your bedroom window and jump. Adrenaline pumping, you dress linens dancing in the wind of your descent were luckily spotted by Jongho who was ironically on his way to visit you. You could thank your lucky stars when you feel his hands around you as you both find yourselves laid on the stony pathway. You grab Jongho’s hands with haste as you stand up, dragging him away from your tavern.

“We need to hide!”

The both of you scuffle to a dark alley way, similar to that of one which you had both met previously.

“It’s Seonghwa,” you whisper, “he was in my study... he- he tried to kill me,” you whisper as you try to catch your breath.

“We should leave.”

“What do you mean leave?”

“You need to leave this place. It’s not safe for you here anymore,” Jongho insists.

“I can’t leave?! What about my business? What about my workers?”

“You can’t have a business if you’re dead.”

He grabs you by the hand and leads you through the burrows of the outskirts of the city. He covers your head so as to not expose your identity to any of Seonghwa’s men who may be lurking. Eventually you both arrive at the very end of the dock. It’s lonely and dark, with the only light source coming from a decent-sized ship in front of you and the moonlight. As if your arrival was expected, the men on the ship immediately start assembling the gangway for you and Jongho.

“Stop right there! You filthy bastard pirates stop right there!!”

Men.

Seonghwa’s men to be specific, were now emerging from the darkness.

You were being followed.

You and Jongho scramble onto the steps as the crewmen yanked you over and removed the gangway. Jongho sheltered your head and hurried you into the cabin. Clicking noises fade in the distance as the crewmen load their guns and booming shots fill the air.

“RAISE THE ANCHOR!” you hear someone yell.

With his hand on your covered head, Jongho shields you to a storage room in the ship and hides you in an old wooden cupboard. Desperate and afraid, you could do nothing but sit and listen to the gunshots and commands being belted out.

Meanwhile, the deck was chaotic. Rogue officers began climbing the ship just to get aboard only to unfortunately be shot down by the crewmen who were dressed more like militants than pirates. Those who were successful in scaling the large wooden ship were given a fatal beating. But they were good at what they did, and not a single man was able to get to you. It was safe to say that the mission put together by Seonghwa and his men was indeed a great failure.

Thirty minutes later, you feel the ship begin to sway and almost causes you to tumble out of the cupboard. With your brows covered in cold sweat and butterflies multiplying in your belly, you decide to risk your exit as the sound of blasting gunshots had ceased.

You grabbed a rusty kitchen knife and slightly cracked the door open only to see Jongho again, in transit to see you and inform you that the captain was waiting to see you.

The captain…

You cautiously followed Jongho upstairs the to captain’s quarters, where he excused himself and ushered you to enter the wooden door.

And there he was, standing, looking out of the small window in his room as his ship now sailed away from that forbidden city. He turned around and walked up to you with a deadly slow pace. Upon reaching your body, he raised a hand to cup your face making you look him in eyes.

“My sweet girl. I finally have you here with me,” he whispered while softly caressing your cheek.

You remain silent. His gentle touch brought back violent memories of his abandonment. The same touch you yearned for for years, now left a bad taste on your tongue.

“Why did you do all this?” you ask, avoiding his gaze. “The spies, the chaos. Why couldn’t you just leave me be.”

“You know why” he responds, “I told you about him. I always knew the kind of man he was. How could I leave you in that place knowing that his sick mind was plotting against you.”

“So how much of it do you want…”

“I’m not sure of what you’re asking me, darling.”

“How much of it do you want... You wouldn’t have saved me if it meant that some sort of compensation was offered.”

Hongjoong chuckles and slowly steps back.

“You do know that I do not love you any less than the day that I first met you, right? It was my fault for leaving, I acknowledge that. But it didn’t make me care about you any less. On my voyages, all I could think about was your smile, our conversations, laughing at all our silly jokes… I- I had never felt such attachment to anyone or anything in my life before I met you,: he says holding his gaze at the floor.

“The odds just didn’t seem to work in my favor whenever I was in that cursed city. I had to be discreet and you know that. I couldn’t show my face on Seonghwa’s ground, else I’d be in big trouble. That’s where Jongho came in. I knew he was capable enough to keep you safe in case something like this were to happen. Luckily enough, we were docked here when this whole scenario took place, or else... you might not have been here with us right now.”

You lean onto an old wooden wardrobe in the room and eagerly listen to his explanation. The fear and anger slowly dissipated from your mind.

“I know I’ve done some questionable things in the past... things that I will never expect you to forgive me for. But this... this is all I ever wanted for you, for us. Just being here with you, the one thing that we couldn’t do for years.

If you choose to never love me again, I knew that the least I could do was protect you from people like Seonghwa.

As for your question, I’ve seen many places in my lifetime. I’ve experienced many things and encountered wealth beyond my understanding. And despite all those things, I still longed for you beside me. Your love was priceless compared to all those things.“

Hongjoong walks towards you and wraps an arm around your waist with his hand on your cheek once more, holding you mere inches away from his face.

“Stay with me, please. As long as I live, I will protect you.”

As the gap between your faces close, you feel his lips press against yours and the grip on your waist tighten so much as if he was preventing you from running away. Memories flash in your mind from the first time you kissed him. It felt like you were finally home.

Deepening the kiss, a slow and careful tread to his bed ensued. He pinned you down gently but his grip was strong. Taling your wrists in his hands, his head dipped into the crook of your neck to leave a trail of dark red bruises along your exposed skin.

Your breathing heightened as you grabbed onto his silky white shirt for support. Slowly, you felt your dress being pulled lower, to reveal your breasts. It had been indeed a while since you were exposed to anyone, especially like this. But you couldn’t hide due to your restraints. You felt a warm sensation engulf your nipples and Hongjoong groaned against your chest upon hearing your noises caused by his minstrations.

“H-hongjoong…”

“Mmmmm- yes my dear?”

“I need you. I-I need you now… please. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Tell me exactly what you want, princess,” he whispers in your ear.

“I need you inside me, please. I miss having your cock inside me.”

Like a moth to a flame, no extra thought was spared. He immediately ripped your flimsy dress off of you and planted kisses down your torso. Very soon, his hands leave your wrists and begin parting your legs wide open, giving him a full view. You could see his bulge practically bursting from his trousers’ seams.

You feel his hands drape down the sides of your legs until you feel him play the hem of your lace panties.

“May I…?”

“Yes, please dear God.”

You watched as he slowly pulled the white fabric from your legs, now suspended in the air.

Lowering his head, you feel his tongue swipe across the one place you need it the most, causing your body to jolt as you let out a needy shriek. Your hands reach down to grip his soft locks, pushing him into you even deeper. You feel his slick muscle enter you with his thumb lightly massaging your sensitive bud. Pure ecstasy flooded your mind as you felt fingers reach up to play with your breasts.

“C-coming, i’m coming,”

Pulling himself away, he trailed kisses back up to your neck. For sure you would have to hide a few marks tomorrow morning.

You feel his naked member brush along your folds signaling his readiness.

“I need you. Give it to me,” you pleaded with Hongjoong, arms wrapped around his neck.

Slowly you feel him breach your walls, a pain so sweet now filling you up. Oh how you missed this feeling, how you craved it. He knew how badly you needed it. Climbing over you, Hongjoong tilted his pelvis and quickened his pace. A pace so rapid, that your pleasure was too abundant to hear the squeaking bedframe. What you do hear is hongjoong’s heavy groans as he buried his head in the crook of your neck as he slammed into your weeping cunt.

Soon you feel him hit the sweet spot inside of you and your climax was fast approaching. With a few more strokes you whimpered as you contracted around his cock, desperately gripping onto hongjoong’s back.

“Cum for me, darling,” he demands with his face right above yours, eyes piercing into your soul.

“I love you…” you whisper.

“I love you too baby.”

Noises of desperation left your mouth as you reached your high. Hongjoong took the initiative to sit up and hold your legs spread as he watched your body recoil from his thrusts.

“Almost there baby-”

A few seconds later you feel a warm sensation fill you up and the weight of you lover now heavy on top of you. With the both of you exhausted and out of breath, you lay there a while. Drowsiness almost took over your body until you feel a warm embrace cleaning up the mess between your legs and water being coaxed at your lips.

There was no worry in the world for you anymore. Your mind was in absolute bliss. The world could come crumbling down and you would not care. All that mattered was that you were with the one person you loved the most. He was here for you now and there was no looking back.

~ The rustling of the waves colliding with the ship woke you the next morning. Rising to your feet, you walked out into the open deck of the ship where you spotted your lover sitting at the bow of the ship. With a subtle smile, you meet him there. Hongjoong stands to embrace your warm figure, slowly pulls something out of his pocket and kneels before you.

A ring. Encrusted with the finest gems you ever saw. You didn’t care where it came from. It was yours now.

“Stay with me, forever, please. I promise I will never let you out of my sight from now on.”

Placing the jewelry on your finger, he encapsulates his love with a kiss. A gesture to commence the years of adventure to come for the both of you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a/n: happily ever after the end. feel free to reblog/tag ur friends <3

tags: @cat54321 @iwannabemyselfff @stayoffmybyunsworld @quinnofdisaster13 @corvidqueen319 @star-0813 @marievllr-abg @katelynnsqueendom @eclecticranchzonkcookie @supernintendobabe @ateezourstars @voidcupidz @atinyreads @hwaspetals @teezen @joongiesmoon @n0v4t33z @norassimpingzone @licorne-manon @iveivory @quinnofdisaster13 @oingeboinge @calipsou

#hongjoong #pirate hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader

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dollywony · 1 year

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hi girly!! I absolutely loved your yandere miles fairchild fic and I was wondering if you could write another one?

maybe where the reader (female) is a dancer and has been getting letters in her dance bag from a mysterious secret admirer (being miles) who only signs his letters using M.F. or something like that. maybe the reader then gets freaked out because he starts threatening her saying that he knows where she lives and gets really specific on things that only she would know. then maybe when she is asleep in her apartment one night he finally goes to take action and takes her with him. maybe reader wakes up because miles is caressing her face (like he did with kate in the movie) and she wakes up and he confesses who he is and then takes her?

I know this is very specific, and if you can get to this great but if not then don't worry about it.

meant to be - m.f

pairing(s): miles x reader

summary: your secret admirer took the first step in confessing, but you wanted nothing to do with him.

a/n: hey babe ty for requesting!! 💕💕💐 + sorry 4 making you wait!! ☹️☹️

wc: 1.4k+

It's now eight at night and you're beyond tired. Dancing constantly nonstop exhausts your body, but you need something to take your mind off what was going on. The whole situation was creeping you out. The letters you would find after packing was the cherry on top in making you hurl. The one from yesterday was the worst so far.

To the angel of my dreams,

Y/n, you don’t know how much I wanted to fucking kill that man for even talking to you. To make matters worse, you basically threw yourself onto him even after he hurt you. Do you know how much that hurts? Seeing you being unloyal to me. Y/n i'm on my last straw. I know everything about you, yet you seem unfazed. Why is that? Is it because you don't believe me? Is It because you don't believe I'll do anything to you? Believe me doll, i dont want to but youre making it so fucking hard.

You live in apartment complex #127. The pin number is 6250. Don't even bother changing it love, it takes four days for your complaint to actually be dealt with. You know, I still have the paperclip you gave to me that day. It's my best possession.

You drive me crazy darling. Spritzing your miss dior perfume that you received from your sister on christmas daily. It's almost empty though, maybe I'll get you another one.

Your laugh, your emotions, fuck your everything is so worth every penny i hold to my name. You’ll be mine one way or another.

Yours devotedly and lovingly,

M.F

You didn’t even reread that letter, discarding it the moment you were done reading it. Who even was M.F? What did he want? More importantly how the did he know any fucking thing he shouldnt know about you?

It was hard to even try and pinpoint who M.F was. You were in school during the day and as soon as it finished, you would go to the studio. In the studio you would dance and dance until you felt as if your legs were going to break. By the time you would get home, you would instantly pass out. Sometimes it would range through ten to twelve.

Looking through your bag, you discovered the letter he left today. As you tore open the envelope you unfolded the paper.

You were confused. Why did the letter just say today? It was written horribly too, as if he was in a rush. Instead of his usual neat calligraphy, the word was contorted and out of line.

Did he mean he's going to do something today or did he mean today as if he was stopping all letters to you from today? You hoped it was the latter. Crumpling up the letter in your hand, you were wary that he would pop up anywhere. Who knows maybe he was following you right now. Maybe he was in the dance studio with you.

You felt uncomfortable. There was this weird, cold feeling that shot down your body. Your eyes looked at every crevice but you couldn’t find a hint of anyone hiding.

Sighing you finished packing your bag and got up to finally go home. You were tired. Tired of whoever M.F was. Tired of his sick, scary letters.

Getting out of the taxi, you were finally home. Walking up the stairs, you greeted mrs. Abbott next door. She was awfully sweet, always making the best cookies.

“Hi dearie!” She cheered, grinning widely at you. “Hi Mrs. Abbott, how are you?” You replied, sending the grin back. “Oh I'm doing quite well! How about you?” she questioned. “Oh I'm about to go to bed soon, have a goodnight!” you finished with a chuckle. “Alright sweetie! Have a good sleep!” you hear her say as you fumble to get your keys out.

Opening your door, you threw your bag down near your desk. Stumbling towards your bathroom, you couldn’t help but think why M.F had such an infatuation with you. It made your head hurt.

Stepping in your shower, you were quick to clean up. Wanting the day to finally be over, you were more than eager to help. Getting the covers over your body, you swiftly fell asleep unaware of the pair of eyes that emerged from underneath your bed.

Fast asleep, Miles crawled out from under your bed sighing. Seeing you sleep was even prettier up close. He thought, approaching your unconscious figure. Slowly sitting down on your bed trying not to wake you, he let his hand stroke your hair. Your hair was so pretty just like you.

Miles’s grin grew as he envisioned you in his bed as he protected you just like this. Well maybe he didn’t help you, but he felt like he was protecting you. Grabbing your hand, he interlocked it with his. Miles couldn't think of anything that made him happier than this.

Leaning in, he let loose of your hair going to caress your face. As his hand came in contact with your face, he felt euphoric. The feeling of your soft, delicate skin with his hand was so much and more for him. Miles closed his eyes and continued to caress. Being this close with you, even touching your skin made him ecstatic.

Waking up, you feel this sensation on your right cheek. Widening your eyes, you realized someone other than you was here. You see a boy with furious curls sitting next to you. He was rather good looking but that thought left your soul the moment you realized he was touching you.

“Fuck! Get off me!” You shrieked as you shoved the mysterious man off your bed. He grunts as he hits the floor. “Who are you?” You screeched, getting up to get your phone but he had grabbed your ankle making you fall face plant onto the floor.

“Not so fast Angel.” His voice, jagged and raspy, came out. “I need to tell you something.”

“What do you mean tell me something! You freak leave!” You wailed out, distressed from who this man was.

Ignoring your words, he stood up, grabbing you by your wrist and forcefully laid you down on your bed once again. Terrified, thoughts ran through your head trying to piece who this man was. Was he just your typical robber? Or was he here to kill you? Or worse. Was he M.F? Fuck what if he was? What would you even do?

Feeling the presence of the man above you snapped you out of your thoughts. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re scared. In fact, I know everything about you Y/n. You're so pretty and nice and kind.. Fuck. I love you. I love you Y/n.” he blabbered, holding eye contact with you.

“Who are you?” you questioned again, needing an answer right away. You were on edge. What if he was actually M.F? “Darling, i knew you were a bit stupid but this is rather severe.” he chuckled, dragging his finger along your cheek affectionately.

Just as you were going to ask him the question again, he cut you off. “Y/n have you ever wondered what M.F stood for?” he said, getting off you slowly walking around your room. Before you could even answer, he continued on. “M.F, it's rather peculiar you know? Why would he even know that much about you? It's creepy and weird.” Shaking your head in slight agreement, the man had a growing smile.

“Well Y/n, I am M.F. I am Miles Fairchild. I am the man who sends you creepy little letters. The very letters you throw out daily but it doesn’t matter. I know you’ll love me back. Reading my letters instead of instantly throwing them out was a sign that I knew. I knew you were the one. Y/n I love you so much.” The admiration was oozing from his mouth.

Not responding, Miles took this as a cue to step closer to you. “I’m really really sorry Y/n.” He said, shuffling around to take something out of his pocket. “You’re sorry for wh-“ you questioned but got cut off as miles hit the back of your neck, knocking you out.

“So sorry Angel, really.” Miles muttered as he dragged your body out to his car. Shutting his car door, he turned the radio on. Humming along with the tune of the song, he turned to your unconscious figure and smiled.

He was happy for once. He was sure he’d make you happy too.

#dollywony #iris blog #iri writes!!#miles fairchild #miles fairchild x reader #yandere #yandere miles fairchild x reader #the turning #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 18: Traveling with a Friend

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

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, awkwardness

WC: 9k words, 18/?? chapters

Summary: You and Astarion travel together to Waterdeep. Emotions run high as you reconnect and reestablish your boundaries.

Ao3 | [Ch17][Ch19] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

The next morning, you find yourself up earlier than usual. A mixture of nerves and excitement kept you up later than you’d intended last night, but also ensured that you jolted out of bed before the sun even rose in the sky.

You’d finished packing all of your things yesterday– after all, the fear that Astarion may regret his choice to bring you never quite leaves your mind. Ignoring that fear, you sling your pack full of clothing across your back, tie your Bag of Holding to your robe’s belt, and prepare your spells for the day. You tuck Astarion’s Sending Stone in your pocket, set to return it when you get a chance.

Once you’re more than ready, have triple-checked that you’ve missed nothing, you head down the stairs of the manor to wait for your vampiric companion in the entry hall.

When you arrive, you find the man already there. You also find that Astarion might be just as anxious as you are, if his pacing is any indication. He stops once he hears your footsteps and turns toward you with narrowed eyes. Oh gods, has he changed his mind overnight? Is he going to revoke my invitation?

“There you are,” he says, words clipped. “I thought I told you to be ready by morning.”

You try not to let his attitude get to you, to be grateful that he’s given you this chance. But his lack of planning is something you’ve been dealing with for two lifetimes and you can’t help but feel how thin your patience is this soon after waking. “Astarion,” you start, tone carefully level. “You never told me what time in the morning. It’s practically still dawn!”

He huffs at you in exasperation. “You should have known! It takes hours to get to Baldur’s Gate. If we arrive too late, we won’t make the teleportation circle today.”

“And how was I supposed to know your agenda?” you can’t help but retort, your irritation bleeding into your tone. You knew that the two of you wouldn’t be back to normal, but you certainly hadn’t expected such early morning hostilities.

“I don’t know!” he says, walking toward you in a temper. “Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?”

“I’m not a mind reader!” you reply. Though strictly speaking, you did prepare Detect Thoughts today. If anything goes wrong with Astarion, you’d rather have a chance to find out why. “Now, if we’re in such a hurry, can we stop bickering and just get going already?”

Astarion is stopped before you, his red eyes inspecting your face carefully. You wish you could cast Detect Thoughts right now without making it abundantly obvious that you’re prying. It seems as if he’s looking for something in you again, and you wish you could know what that something is. He turns away from you, grabs his own pack, and begins to head to the door without looking back. “Let’s go,” he calls before throwing his door open.

The daylight that streams through his doorway is blinding, and your panic is immediate. You’re rushing forward before you can help yourself, mind addled by fear. Astarion! He’ll burn– it’s almost an ingrained instinct in you, one that fizzles out abruptly.

Because of course Astarion is fine. In fact, he stands in the doorway, looking back at you like you’ve gone mad. “What are you doing, darling?” The pet names are back, but not in the tender tone you’d grown accustomed to.

“I…” You look at him more closely, spotting the sunlight ring on his finger. It’s only natural that he would use one for the trip, but your fear had reacted faster than any logic. “I moved on instinct. I suppose I’ve gotten too used to my memories.”

He scoffs, appearing displeased by your worry. “I don’t need you to defend me against the sun. Just focus on making up for lost time.”

He's right, of course. What would you do against the sun? But again, you’d been so ingrained in the past that your body moved on its own. You shake the sensation, watching Astarion turn to leave.

Now's your chance. You could read his mind, figure out if this whole trip is worth it or not– if he invited you out of obligation or affection and, more importantly, if he harbors any hatred for you. Detect Thoughts doesn't have to be invasive, especially if you just need to understand his mindset, but you feel a touch of guilt nonetheless. You rationalize it to yourself, If I don't find out now, he'll likely never tell me. I'll feel the shade of his disdain the entire trip, whether or not it's there. And you also simply can’t ignore the annoyed set of his jaw or the way his eyes had examined you moments ago.

So, once his back is turned and he is heading down the stairs, you quietly, quickly recite the incantation for Detect Thoughts. It only lasts a single minute, and you’d like to save some spells just in case, so you resolve to get your answers as quickly as possible.

A second later, the spell takes effect and you hear the man’s surface level thoughts.

‘Gods below, I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

You follow after him on the stairs, trying to keep up as you listen in.

‘There’s little to no chance that this will go well.’

As disappointing as his surface level thoughts are, they aren’t much use to you if he's going to keep grumbling to himself. You ask him a question as you chase him. “Say, why did you invite me to join you?”

Astarion looks back at you momentarily, his red eyes shining brilliantly in the sunlight– you’d missed this look in your memories, and it brings you a sense of ease that you don't have time to enjoy. “If you have breath to ask questions, then walk faster,” is all that he replies. In his mind you hear, ‘Hopefully Gale can help nip this ill-fated endeavor in the bud. If not then… I don't know what I'll do.’

Oh good. He hopes to use Gale as a voice of reason. For you. You try not to let your dread show on your face.

Continuing down the steps, nearly reaching the bottom of the long entry staircase, you ask your next question a bit breathlessly, “And why are we in such a rush?”

“We’ll miss the birthday celebration if we don’t hurry,” he replies with a glare, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Internally, you hear, ‘We likely have a few days until the dinner proper, but I don’t think I could spend an entire night alone with them. Not after everything.’

Upon hearing that thought, you want to ask him so very badly about everything that's transpired between you. If he meant his words, if he still wanted you in his life– but you can’t very well just ask that out of the blue. Instead you prod a little more subtly and hope his mind will fill in the rest, “How was your week in the Underdark?”

Astarion shoots you an annoyed look, and his thought comes through before his words. ‘Miserable.’ Aloud he says, “It was fine. We had some lovely family bonding experiences.” His thoughts continue, ‘I had to threaten Petras at least twice a day for being such an oaf, and if Dal gives me one more lecture on the meaning of love, I am liable to murder the entire colony.’

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of you, and Astarion rolls his eyes at you– clearly not finding his own words to be worth a laugh. Recovering quickly, you respond, “Sounds nice.” Almost a minute has passed, and you can feel the spell fading as you both begin on the dirt path out of Astarion’s manor. You ask one final question, “Are you excited to see Gale?”

“Very,” he says to you, continuing to walk without looking back. Despite the sarcasm in his voice, his mind seems to agree emphatically, ‘We can't get there fast enough.’

The spell worn out, your curiosity satisfied for now, you keep pace with Astarion as you walk down the dirt path. You didn't learn anything too novel– and you wouldn't want to pry that deeply anyway– but you feel more comfortable knowing that hatred for you isn't at the forefront of his mind. Hopefully the journey ahead doesn't change that.

You’re not sure what time you’d need to make it to the city for the teleportation circle, or how long the two of you will be traveling, but you do know that your own journey from Baldur’s Gate had taken the better part of the day. You’re starting to suspect that the two of you won’t make it in time for the transport from the way Astarion seems to be eyeing the sun in the sky.

As your travel starts in earnest, you fall into a gentle rhythm as you walk. Perhaps it's your excitement or simply his determination to make time, but your shared goal keeps your mind from wandering too far– keeps it from remembering that the man next to you had torn your heart to shreds only a week ago. More likely it was that that man seemed to be hells bent on pretending that nothing had happened.

“How was your week?” he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eye. His tone has a lukewarm, distant affectation, as if he’s back to keeping you at an arm’s length. It reminds you of when you first arrived at his house.

“It was… fine,” you reply, borrowing his own verdict. It had been exhilarating, it had been frustrating, it had been illuminating– but now that you’re walking next to Astarion, reminded of his presence, all you can remember are the moments of loneliness, the longing you felt for him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

Astarion waves your thanks off. “Think nothing of it. Dal insisted.”

Of course she did, she’d said as much. But he does seem to stand a bit straighter at your thanks. “Well, I still appreciate it. While I originally had trouble sleeping in that room, I’ve grown to quite like it.”

His head turns toward you slightly, almost imperceptibly. “You had trouble? You never mentioned it.”

You shrug at his question, having honestly not found it worth mentioning after that first day. “Like I said, I got used to it. And I wasn’t about to put you out for something as trivial as a few bad reveries.”

“Gods,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?”

“I’m just annoyed,” he says. The look on your face must be alarmed, because he continues, “At myself.”

The alarm likely doesn’t leave your face, but you respond calmly enough, “Erm, why is that?”

“Dal said…” he trails off, steps slowing for a moment as he appears to deliberate his words. “Well. Everyone said.” He looks at you before picking up his pace again. “They said that it was obvious who you were. If only I’d been open to seeing it. I see it now.”

The man’s words send a thrill up your spine, but his renewed speed doesn’t give you the chance to see his face, gauge his expression. You rush after him, managing to get out, “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘hurry up’ or I’ll leave you behind.” You consider another use of Detect Thoughts but think better of it. He would hear and see you casting it in the stark daylight and openness of the road.

You pick up your pace a bit, internally debating whether you should continue to press him on the topic, distract him from his half-jogging jaunt. On one hand, you do want to make it to Waterdeep in a timely manner, ask Gale all of the questions that you can think of. On the other hand, you suspect that all of the reasons Astarion wants to hurry up are the same reasons you would like to go more slowly: he doesn’t want to confront the words he levied against you or what you did in your time apart.

Ultimately, you decide that the silence isn’t bearable, and you maintain a steady, unrushed pace.

The two of you speak as you walk, conversation casual the entire time, as if a thin sheet of ice remains between you. Any words too loud, any emotions too hot, and it’s liable to shatter the ice and any semblance of peace. Your tone light, words equally as shallow, it’s as if you’re nothing more than casual acquaintances.

However, along the way, you do learn a few things.

The journey to Waterdeep would take nearly 45 days by foot, according to Astarion. While you could cut the time to a week by boat, the vampire can’t cross running water anymore, and he doesn’t particularly care to carve out more time ‘just to visit Gale.’

Astarion has never had to make the full trip, as Gale’s connections to both cities gets him an easy Teleport. Through the use of the teleportation circle, the trip is roughly a day or two. They close the Teleport by evening so he typically sets aside two days for travel.

Less than an hour out from Baldur’s Gate, you ask him, “Do you visit Gale often?”

Astarion gives a sigh. Having thawed a bit as you walk, his words and actions sound more like his usual self. “Not as often as Gale insists I should. At least once a year for this silly little birthday dinner though.”

You laugh, imagining how often Gale must bother Astarion, asking him to pay a visit. “What are his birthdays like?”

“Oh you know,” he begins, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Very Gale.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know how I asked you to pack for a few nights?” You nod. “It’s really an excuse to, ugh, spend time together. He never bothers to tell me when the damnable party actually takes place.”

You consider his words, recalling what he’d said just a few hours ago and what you’d heard from his thoughts. “So, we might not miss the celebration?”

“Or we might.” Astarion places a hand to his temple in aggravation. “Though more often than not he drags it out, like one of his rambling tangents.”

I certainly remember those tangents, you think. While you had primarily dreamt of Astarion, your other companions had appeared frequently enough that you felt quite connected to each. You’d actually been very at odds with your previous-self, wanting to listen to everything Gale said, no matter how much of their boredom flowed into you. Much like when you met Halsin, you can’t help the anticipation building in you. The thought of Halsin reminds you to ask, “Does anyone else show up to the dinner? Halsin said he hadn’t seen you in almost a century.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion looks at you briefly, turns back to the road. “When Gale started hosting these, about fifty years back, Halsin and I had already stopped speaking for some time. Some others show. Elminster, Volo. You won’t be surrounded entirely by strangers if that’s what you’re asking.”

While you’re curious to know who all the guests are, this isn’t the first time that you’ve noticed Astarion and Halsin being at odds. “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you speak with Halsin anymore?”

Astarion continues to walk, not looking back at you, not answering your question. He clearly minds you asking, but stops in his tracks before you can change the subject. His sharp red eyes meet yours, looking between them a moment before he says, “Let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye on life, death, and whatever it is that lies in between.”

‘If you find Astarion, be sure to remind him that the cycle of rebirth is a blessing, one that he's been lucky enough to receive.’

The druid’s words ring through your ears as you take in Astarion’s pained expression. Understanding dawns on you as you respond, “Did the two of you… fight after I died in my previous life?”

“Something like that,” the vampire responds, lips pressing into a displeased line. “He kept trying to reassure me, to tell me about the ‘natural circle of life.’ I didn’t want his pity or insipid kindness. And now that you’re here…”

Now that I’m here, I'm only proving the druid right. “I–” I’m sorry? You can’t be, because Halsin understood, far more than you or Astarion do. Hundreds of years of experience, of living in nature and surrounding himself in its domain, only improved his perspective. Death isn’t the end for anyone, simply another part of the natural rhythm of life. “I see. Have you considered reconnecting? He said he would love to see you.” You decide not to mention that he’d like you both to visit together.

Astarion finally breaks eye contact with you, turning back to the road. “Maybe someday. First let’s get this yearly misery out of the way, shall we?”

You agree, accepting a ‘maybe’ as the best you’re likely to get from the vampire.

The city isn’t far now, but the sun begins to hang low in the sky. Just as the gates come into view, you ask Astarion another question, unsure of how he might react. “Are we going to make it to the teleportation circle?”

You see his silvery head shake out of the corner of your eye. You’re walking side by side now, his earlier bursts of speed dwindling alongside his ill-humor. “I doubt it. No matter, we’ll get there when we get there.”

A distinct difference from his attitude this morning, but not one that you’ll point out. “So then… what is the plan for tonight?”

He seems to think for a moment and, as he tilts his head toward you, you catch a bit of uncertainty creasing his brow. “I suppose we should find somewhere to stay for the night. Leave bright and early in the morning.”

It sounds as good a plan as any to you, but Astarion’s hesitance has you on edge too. He seems to be pretending not to care that you’re about to spend a night alone together– that act of pretend is far worse for your nerves than simply caring outright. “A simple but effective plan,” you say, only barely holding back your nervous laughter.

It also sounds like you'll have time in the city, at least for a short while, before nightfall. The perfect opportunity to stop by Sorcerous Sundries before they close and look for some materials for the ring. You don't mention this, but resolve to head out once you find lodging.

As the two of you make your way through the dirt roads of Wyrm's Crossing, a silence falls between you, an anticipation that seems to rush you both forward a bit faster.

You approach the South Span Checkpoint with confidence and an odd feeling of familiarity. Not only had you crossed through here a few weeks ago, but your past-self and Astarion did plenty of times as well. It’s strange knowing that you’re all but tracing the footsteps of your former life.

And, yet again, your body fights you: it takes everything you have not to instinctively grab Astarion’s hand as you walk. It had been a common act for the two of you, holding hands as you walked through crowded plazas and streets– in part for the comfort of having one another, in greater part to avoid having to find each other again every few blocks. You manage to resist though, even as you reach the busy checkpoint.

The guards at the checkpoint regard you both with boredom, and you pass without issue. You still have your writ of passage from weeks ago and Astarion presents his as well. Once you’re out of earshot, you ask a question that had bubbled up when you saw Astarion’s paperwork.

“Do they ever recognize you as one of the saviors of Baldur’s Gate?”

Astarion looks at you, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Darling, surely you jest.”

His mirth confuses you. “I don’t. Why would I jest?”

“Because, my dear,” he says, speaking back to you as you both weave through a crowd milling between street stalls. “So many people have saved this city, only fanatics truly care about one or two in particular.”

His words evoke images of Minsc, Jaheira, the others who came before your past-self and your companions– those that had shown up in history books since then. I suppose that makes sense. Certainly explains why everyone who looks for him seems like a unique type of enthusiast. Lost in thought as you are, you miss the moment when Astarion slips out of your view.

When you finally look up, you’re faced with the backs of dozens of strangers, no silver-haired head to be seen. “Astarion?” you ask, looking left, right, behind you. Panic begins to bloom in your chest and your heart starts to pound. Of course you’ve lost him almost immediately.

You’re about to yell his name louder when a hand grabs yours from the crowd.

You give an appropriately terrified yelp, but the cold fingers and familiar pale skin calm you. Looking up to see an amused set of red eyes staring at you stills the rapid beating of your heart. “Darling, it’s a miracle you made it to me with your head so high up in the clouds,” he says, voice barely carrying over the bustling conversations. “Keep this up and I’ll pickpocket you myself.”

No smart remark reaches your lips, no brilliant defense. Because all you can think of is that his hand is in yours again. You hope he can’t hear the satisfied sigh that escapes your lips.

His hand doesn’t leave yours as he pulls you through the throngs of people. It doesn’t let yours go, even as you both narrowly dodge a man pulling a cart of cabbages. It doesn’t let go even as you walk by the Flaming Fists in Wyrm's Rock Fortress. Maybe in another lifetime, were you someone else, holding his hand like this would make you both look like a couple.

By the time you reach the entrance to Baldur’s Gate, his hand is the same temperature as your own. It’s only when the guards at the gate ask to see your paperwork once more that you break apart.

Once you’re in the city, Astarion turns to look at you. You think you spot a softness to his eyes before they harden once more and he says, "I suppose we should get lodging before it gets too late. It wouldn't do to get the last available room."

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest. The sleeping arrangements weren't something you'd paid any mind to when it came to missing the teleportation circle, but now that you’re in the city, it's all you can think about.

Astarion doesn't grab your hand again, but you do a fine job of keeping up with him as he makes his way to the Elfsong.

You'd stayed here just weeks ago and reveled in how unchanged it is since being rebuilt, but walking in next to this man brings on a wave of nostalgia far stronger than before. The familiarity doesn't die down as Astarion walks up to the barkeep, asking for a room for two. The memories that flood you are not your own as you see one of his elegant hands slide a few gold coins across the table, his other hand gesturing enthusiastically as he makes a deal with the man at the counter.

When he turns back around toward you, room key in hand, he seems to be just as lost in thought as you are. "Shall we?"

You nod, following behind him in a daze.

Maybe this is why he'd completely redone his house. Memory after memory comes unbidden as you walk after him. The time that you'd all played cards, just at that corner table. The time you'd convinced a drunken stranger that you were visiting royalty. All those times that you both snuck away from everyone, up the stairs for a moment to yourselves.

It feels like one of those moments now, as the din of the Elfsong falls away and you both walk up the creaky, wooden steps to the second floor.

He unlocks the door to your shared room and you both file in in silence. A small sliver of relief shoots through you upon seeing two beds, but the relief is short-lived when you look up to see Astarion's eyes trained on you.

"What?" you ask, worried at the lack of legible emotion on his face.

"It's strange," he replies, sitting down on one of the beds with a slight chuckle. "I wasn't expecting this all to feel so…"

"Familiar?" you offer, taking his lead and dropping onto your own bed in a relieved huff.

"You feel it too, I take it?" After a quick nod from you, he continues to elaborate, "I've stayed here for years since…" Since I died, your mind fills in easily. He continues after a silence with, "It's different this time."

You hum appreciatively, not sure how to put the nostalgia that you're feeling into words. Naturally, you try anyway. "It's– it's almost as if we've just been here. As we climbed the stairs, I was remembering one of the times we snuck up here, away from the rest of the group. You'd been so impatient to get away that we nearly got caught by Shadowheart and…" The rest of your words die on your tongue. You’re afraid that you've gone too far, tread too deep into a now painful memory.

But when you glance at him, Astarion is simply staring at a floorboard between you, a small, melancholy smile on his face. "And I just about broke an ankle trying to scramble up. I remember that time."

Your heart jumps in your chest at his pensive state, wondering how you can preserve the moment, bottle it up like a tonic for your soul. Nothing that beautiful ever lasts though, and he looks up at your awed, frozen stare.

Luckily, the fondness that glazes over his eyes lingers as he says, "Mmm, the lot of us made this place a home of sorts I suppose. Though you may remember as well as I do, darling."

"Yes," you reply, turning away from his gaze. "I received quite a few memories from that time. Not all fun and games, of course, but it was still nice."

“I’m glad,” he says, with a wistfulness to his tone that makes your heart ache. “It’s somewhat gratifying to know that our adventures live on, in some form or another.”

You laugh a bit, and the two of you sit in silence for a long, lasting moment.

Astarion breaks the silence by clearing his throat and you look up at him as if summoned. “It’s a tad late, but I wanted to thank you. For joining me. I know the last that we spoke…” His eyes narrow in a wince. “I said some hurtful things.”

Oh gods, you think. We need to have this conversation sooner or later, don’t we? And you do, despite all of the muscles in your body clenching instinctively, the fear that courses through you telling you to run. “I recall,” is all that you can manage between breaths. The feeling of loss is encroaching on you, threatening to overtake you.

Then Astarion snaps you back to reality.

“I know my apologies have been, well, wanting, as my siblings like to say.” He smirks at you, despite the serious set of his eyes. “But should you have room in your heart or soul for another, I am sorry for the words I said. I can’t take them back, nor can I fix the hurt I’ve caused, but I can assure you that I regret every word I said in anger.”

For all of the apologies Astarion has delivered since you arrived on his doorstep, this one feels the most sincere. His eyes don’t waver, his voice is steady and sure. While he’s right, that none of this fixes the pain, nor the feelings left behind, you do feel something relax in you at his words. A tension that had carried you through the day finally eases.

However, one last, persistent issue needs to be addressed. “Thank you. And, though I wish I could apologize myself, for crossing your boundaries, I’m afraid I have no intention of stopping my research to help the spawn.” You’re surprised by the strength of your own voice, the confidence that you feel.

Astarion seems to notice it as well– the lines of his jaw clench, his next breath comes a bit short. “Yes. I suspected as much. And it’s your life– or lives– to do with as you please. I should know better than to try to stop you myself.”

Right, you think. That’s why you’re taking me to Gale. He doesn’t know that you know that though, so you simply say, “In that case, thank you for that as well.”

The vampire tilts his head toward you slightly in response and continues, “That being said, I am not about to attach myself to someone stubbornly set on a mission from the hells.”

“I can understand that,” you reply, bowing your head a bit to hide the disappointment that is surely on your face.

“So,” Astarion starts, clicks his tongue with a ‘tch.’ “Until you’ve either given up on this endeavor or died once more trying, I want to make it clear that we are strictly friends.”

Friends.

The word sounds like a discordant melody crashing into a quiet space. It feels fumbling and childish, incorrect and out of place. How could two people whose histories, bodies, lives have been intertwined for centuries find themselves back at friends, time and time again?

And yet, it’s more than you could ever hope for, the lifeline that will keep you afloat. So, while it feels like a step back, it’s one that you will take each time it’s offered to you. “I will always be happy to be your friend, Astarion.”

Your eyes meet once more, staring across this familiar treading ground, and you find peace in each other’s gaze.

The moment passes, and you decide that it’s time for you to leave if you want to make it to Sorcerous Sundries before it closes. Besides, better to leave now, while you’re both friends, than to muck it all up again by allowing a memory to fog your judgment, instinct to move your body. “Speaking of my endeavors, I need to go to the shop. Perhaps we can reminisce a bit more once I return?”

Astarion seems surprised as you rise from the bed, but he recovers quickly, pursing his lips at you disapprovingly. “Very well. But be careful. Night is about to fall and the city gets rather dangerous after dark.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply, smiling at him as you prepare your coin purse, deposit your pack on your bed. “I happen to know that all of the vampires left the city a while back.”

He snorts and shoos you with his hands. “Gods. Out with you, so that I can lock you out of the room for your poor attempts at humor.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, laughing and walking toward the door. “I do promise that I’ll be as alert as I can be.”

“Knowing you, darling?” he asks, leaning back on his bed. “I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much.”

It's odd but, despite everything, you end up leaving the conversation like a pair of old companions who haven't spoken in a while– falling into a comfortable rhythm that neither of you want to break.

A sense of purpose still drives you forward though. So you leave him in the room, somewhat flustered by the shift in your dynamic, but not unpleased.

You’re familiar enough with the city at this point that you make it to Sorcerous Sundries without too many extra twists and turns– and, despite Astarion’s misgivings, without losing your life or money. You had visited the establishment on your way into the city, grabbing various spell components, refilling your ink, and generally getting a lay of the land. So, when you enter this time, you’re only mildly gobsmacked by the treasure trove of magical goods before you.

In Neverwinter there are plenty of magical shops on the same level as Sorcerous Sundries, but something about a new magical shop provokes a special kind of thrill in you.

You walk up to the counter, finding a simulacrum of a tiefling taking care of the shop.

“Hello and welcome to Sorcerous Sundries! What can I do for you?” it asks.

“Hello,” you reply, quite used to treating simulacrums like their real world counterparts. “Would you happen to have an item that can create water?”

It’s not ten minutes later that you’re leaving the shop with a Decanter of Endless Water, several spell components, a brand new notebook, and a much lighter coin purse. I’m lucky my parents sent me off with so much gold , you think. They would have had no clue that I would end up spending this much already. When I end up back in Neverwinter, I'm afraid I'll have a stern lecture waiting for me.

The night is still fairly young and you debate stopping by a smithy to purchase more metal or perhaps seeking out an old haunt from your prior life. But nothing sounds quite as appealing to you as making your way back to Astarion.

Can I truly spend the rest of the night alone with him? you consider as you make your way back, dragging your feet as you ponder. I know we're ‘friends’ again, but just the thought of being in that room, so close. It may prove to be too much.

You pause outside the Elfsong, staring up at the window to the room you're sharing. A quick movement passes behind the curtains, and you wonder what Astarion was up to while you were out. Perhaps he expected you to be out longer.

Maybe I'll get a meal before I head up, in case he wants a bit more alone time, you decide.

That's how you spend the next half hour eating alone along the Elfsong's bar, trying out your new decanter in a borrowed cup. By the time you finish your meal, you're certain it will be helpful, but equally certain that any blood you make from it won't satiate a vampire.

Luckily you have one such vampire to test your ideas on. If he is amenable to the tests. You decide to wait until you’re both safely in Waterdeep before you start creating rivers of fake blood.

You make your way upstairs, knock on the door to your shared room, and speak, "May I enter?" The man inside grumbles something, which you take as assent. You find Astarion on his bed where you left him, a book balanced on his lap, a sour expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, dreading the possibility that he’s spent the last hour changing his mind once more.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, eyes focused on his book. “Simply enjoying my book. Alone.”

Oh, I suppose he did want more alone time. “I’m sorry, I can leave you be for a bit longer if you’d like–”

“Ever so helpful, aren’t you?” he snaps. Then, realizing what he’s said, wipes a hand over his face and looks up at you. His eyes are conflicted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I suppose I just didn’t realize that my company was that disagreeable. It’s a rather uncomfortable thing to come to terms with.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, closing the door behind you and stepping in now. You set down your spoils and turn toward Astarion. His entire demeanor, his body, looks to be on edge, like something has been chipping away at him.

Astarion closes the book in his lap, and you note that the cover is upside down. “It’s just this damned tavern. I know I can’t eat, but I guess I got used to sharing meals with, erm, you. Them.” He drops his head and mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t even know anymore.”

He’d mentioned before how difficult it had been for him, trying to reconcile who you are, who you were, but he’d recused himself every time it got to be too much. Here, sharing a room in the Elfsong, neither of you could run away from the roiling storm of his emotions.

Faced with his hanging head and the hunch of his shoulders, you haven’t a clue how to approach the man you can only call a friend. You almost wish this was a memory, if only for your emotions to come through clearly, your next course of action to be predetermined. But, of course, you are the only one capable of dealing with the consequences of your own actions.

You approach him slowly, cautiously, and call out his name. “Astarion?”

The man lifts his head up to you, and you find torment twisting his fair features. His breathing seems shallow and rushed. The lines around his mouth deepen as he reads your expression and he only replies, “Please don’t.”

“Don’t?” you ask, stopping just short of his bed.

“Don’t look at me like that– With that infernal pity. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look fine, and you don’t feel pity. It’s hard to parse out your emotions, but you mostly feel bad. The idea that he’d been suffering alone, that he had harbored this turmoil, all without letting you in… it hurts. Whether or not he loves you, he said he cared about you. He claims to be your friend and friends don’t shut each other out like this.

“I know you don’t want to get more attached to me,” you say, taking another step. “But I promise I am only doing this as a friend.”

You don’t give him time to react, to protest your presence, before your arms reach down and envelop his form. It’s an awkward angle, with his body hunched, curled on his bed, yours draping over him like an unwelcome cloak– he stiffens under you at first.

Then his tension melts.

His hands come up, grasping at your elbows and holding you in place. His soft, silver hair tickles your neck as his head leans into your chest. His whole body angles toward yours, as if seeking your warmth desperately.

You cling back, tilting your head into his. Your hands grip his sides tightly. Your presence is firm, your warmth his to take.

You hold him like that for a time, neither of you wanting to pull away from the simple, beautiful feeling of holding one another. Initially, you’d held him for his sake, but you find that the longer you stand there, the more your own soul settles. If a soul could crave, this is what mine would yearn for.

Eventually, Astarion’s breathing slows. He inhales deeply one last time, gives a soft shuddering breath that ghosts across your skin, and pulls away. “Thank you,” he says, eyes not meeting yours. “You’re… a kind friend.”

Your throat feels tight, whether from disuse or from emotion, you can’t quite tell. You clear it and respond, “You’re welcome. I’m more than happy to help.”

Detaching your limbs from his body, you feel so awkward, so out of place standing before him. Barely more than a week ago you’d been wrapped in his arms, he’d been whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he caressed every inch of you. But this? It feels as if you’re both truly, utterly stripped bare before each other.

“It’s getting late,” he says, looking up at you finally. His eyes are dark in the candle-lit room, and his expression is difficult to read. He’s certainly calmer though, less on edge than he was when you entered the room.

“You’re right,” you say, taking a step back. “We should rest up so that we make it to Gale bright and early tomorrow.”

Astarion gives you a short nod and whispers, “You’ll tell me if your reverie bothers you, won’t you?” His unspoken words are clear to you, You’ll allow me to be there for you, as you’ve been there for me?

“I will,” you respond, turning to your bed. “Promise.”

You get ready for bed in silence, and when the time comes for Astarion to snuff the candle he murmurs into the dark room, “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

Perhaps it was the memories of the day, but that night you dream of the Hero’s life. Much like your real life, you seem to be on a trip to Waterdeep.

Gale Dekarios stands before you, holding an orb of magical light above you. You recognize it as a simple Light cantrip.

“Could you hold that a bit higher?” you hear yourself say.

“With pleasure,” he responds, adjusting accordingly.

You seem to be holding a set of tongs, a piece of heated metal bending between them, a careful hand pulling with a pair of pliers. “Thank you. Astarion never sits still long enough to help with these, you know.”

“I am well aware, my friend,” Gale says with a slight chuckle. “It’s a miracle he agreed to join you on this trip.You would think he’s allergic to magic with the way he avoids visiting.”

Your own responding laugh is softer, your hands remain steady as you warp the still warm metal. “He secretly enjoys it,” you reply. “And you know, if anything happens to me on our next journey…”

“Now, now, I have the utmost confidence in you– everything will go swimmingly, just you wait.” His words are warm, confident in you.

“I know,” you say, pressing the two ends of the metal strip together, ensuring that they’re flush to each other. “But if anything were to happen. You’ll make sure he’s okay, right?”

Gale looks a bit offended when you look up at him. “Of course I would! I would be quite the atrocious friend if I did or said otherwise.”

You feel satisfaction at his words, nodding. “Good. Now would you mind a quick flame to weld these ends together?”

The wizard helps you close the loop off, and you’re left with a recognizable ring, one of the prototypes that you’d designed together. It had been one of the ones you’d marked off with the blacksmith’s initials. It’s a clean design, a simple thin band made of silver with room for an inlay along its ridge.

“What do you think?” you ask him, holding it in your palm once the metal cools.

“Why it’s a beautiful little thing, isn’t it?” Gale says, appreciatively. “Silver though, a might bit too much for a vampire perhaps? I know I recommended it, but it may sting.”

“True. But first we’ll have to wait and see how the mage’s magic works. If it even works,” you say with a sigh.

Gale hums thoughtfully, inspecting the ring. “It may be a tall tale, but I’d still say it’s worth a shot. Besides, your intuition has never led us astray before.”

You laugh at that, some guilt coursing through you as you say, “I don’t know about that. Remember the time that you nearly got blown off Ramazith's Tower?”

The wizard shudders at the memory. “Your intuition rarely has led us astray.”

The two of you continue at work, discussing the merits of different shapes of rings. Some are better for integrity, some for holding magic– together, you with your knowledge of metals and metalworking, Gale with his knowledge of enchanting, you refine and iterate through the night.

The entire dream you pay rapt attention, wishing more than anything that you could interject, ask your own questions. All the while you remind yourself, I will have my chance. For now, I must just listen.

You wake from your reverie bright and early. Astarion still slumbers, and you debate heading down to breakfast without disturbing him before deciding that he would very much not like that.

So you read through some of your notes with last night’s dream in mind, waiting for the vampire to wake up.

When the man stirs, sitting up with a slightly tousled head of hair, it’s all you can do to stop yourself from emitting a happy little sigh. After a week without him, waking to his presence is more refreshing than you can put into words.

“Good morning,” you say, smiling at him and tucking your papers back into your bag of holding.

“Morning,” he says, looking at you cautiously. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod, assuring him that it was not tossing and turning that woke you early. “I dreamt of Waterdeep actually. I spent the night crafting with Gale.”

Astarion snorts at that, though he does seem relieved. “Sweet hells, those were some dull nights. I swear, it was like the two of you were out to bore me to death.”

Your heart catches in your throat. The two of you… He included you. It feels odd getting worked up over such a small word choice, seeing as almost everyone else treated you as your former self. But he’d always maintained a clear distinction.

However, the man in question did not even seem to notice the slip. He continues, “Well, I’d like to think Gale has matured some since then.” Astarion snickers under his breath. “We can’t all be blessed with eternal beauty I suppose.”

You recover your bearings, registering Astarion’s jabs. The Gale of your dream last night was still quite lively, if lined with a few more wrinkles, hair salted with a few extra streaks of gray. “Is he, erm, well? ” You don’t know how to tactfully ask if he’s on death’s door, but Astarion seems to understand what you’re implying.

“Oh, he’s perfectly healthy,” he says, stretching as he rises from bed. “Much like Elminster, someone as adept at magic as he is knows full well how to extend his life without complications.”

You nod, knowing as much from your own wizardly studies. “I’m glad. I’d love to get to know him better. I think I’ll be able to learn a lot.”

Astarion’s resulting glare is pointed. “I’m going to regret bringing you, aren’t I?”

You shrug, dropping your legs over the edge of the bed and getting up. “I’m afraid it’s too late to rescind the invitation. I think you know as well as I do that I could and would follow you if need be.”

The threat is lighthearted, jovial even, and the vampire’s responding smile is blinding to you in the morning light. “You’re a veritable scourge upon my sanity, you know.”

His tone is surprisingly seductive and you feel a heat building in you. You turn away from the distinctly unfriendly thoughts that come to your mind and say, “I know. Shall we get going?”

Before you leave, the two of you stop downstairs for a quick breakfast. You claimed you could have gone without, but Astarion demands it, saying that, with a self-sacrificing fool like yourself, it was up to him to make sure that his mortal friend gets the sustenance they need.

Mortal meal time out of the way, you find yourselves at the permanent teleport station– the very same one you entered the city through over a month ago. You recognize the mage running the teleport station as the one who’d welcomed you in: Thomas, you recall.

“Good morning, Thomas,” you say with a wave.

“Good morning!” he responds, waving back enthusiastically. He’s an eager man, passionate about his craft. Conjuration magic isn’t your specialty, so you’d asked plenty of questions when you came through. “Why, isn’t this a pleasant surprise! What are you doing back here?”

“I’m actually on–”

“On a trip with me,” Astarion interjects, stepping up to Thomas with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Oh, good morning, sir.” Thomas seems taken aback by Astarion’s sudden appearance, but turns back to address you, “Well, it’s lovely to see you again. It’s not every day you get someone coming in that’s so knowledgeable and interested in your work.”

You smile at Thomas, understanding all too well, but feel the burn of Astarion’s eyes on your face all the while. “I would love to ask some more questions, but I’m afraid we have to get going today. Maybe next time I come through?”

“I am always happy to answer more questions!”

Thomas looks downright joyful at the idea, though his smile dies when Astarion cuts in, “Or maybe we’ll return by boat. Who really knows?”

“I doubt that,” you say, shooting Astarion a warning look. “For today, we’d just like passage to Waterdeep, please.”

Ever the professional, Thomas doesn’t push on your less-than-subtle bickering, merely agrees to set up the circle, takes Astarion’s note of passage from Gale, and goes to prepare the spell.

As the two of you move to get into position, you mutter to Astarion under your breath, “What was that about?”

“What was what?” he replies, smiling at you with false warmth.

“How rude you were to Thomas,” you hiss. “He’s only been utterly polite.”

Astarion scoffs, looking at you in disbelief. “Polite? Oh my dear, I’m so glad you have me as a friend.”

You only give him a confused, concerned look.

“As somewhat of an expert, I know a wretched flirt when I see one. Thomas has anything but innocent intentions,” he explains, glaring at the man who’s hard at work inscribing sigils. “It’s my duty as your friend to protect you from such scoundrels, of course.”

Oh great, you think, rubbing your temple with one of your hands. He’s evoking friendship in the name of jealousy. At least, it seems like jealousy. “He’s just doing his job, Astarion.”

“Darling, no one is that eager to do their job. No, he’s thinking of doing other things,” he says, lowering his voice as he insinuates what exactly Thomas would like to do.

You can’t help the heat that comes over you. While you’d planned on letting the matter drop, you feel the need to defend Thomas. “Hush, Astarion. Stop attributing your lecherous feelings to the poor man.”

The look Astarion gives you is one of sheer shock. Whether at your blunt comeback or at the feelings he may be trying to smother, you’re not sure.

Before he can recover, Thomas calls, “The circle is ready! Safe travels to you both, and, erm, I may or may not see you on your way back!”

You wish you could say something to assuage the mage, but his magic envelops you both a second later– a blinding flash of purples and blues obscures your vision and after a few rapid blinks you find yourself in Waterdeep’s teleport station.

“Oh good,” you say, finding Astarion still staring at you. “I was worried you’d stay behind to keep terrorizing Thomas.”

“Very funny,” he grumbles, turning away from you. “Let’s get to Gale’s before you accidentally woo some other unsuspecting sap.”

He makes me sound like some kind of philanderer, you think as you follow after him. Not that you were capable of philandering. He’d made that abundantly clear. A rage fills you as you think of the things he’s said about you and your attractiveness. Your thoughts darken further as you remember how you’d changed your appearance for him those weeks ago. I suppose he did say he liked my face eventually…

Now here he was, getting jealous. Which was it? Are you some kind of alluring temptation or a cruel joke sent by the gods? You want to know. No, you need to know.

The man is walking ahead of you, leading you past Waterdeep’s teleport mages, out of the building. Before you both reach the door, you call out, “Astarion.”

“What?” he says, stopping to look back to you. His brows are set in an angry line, but you can tell it’s more frustration than anger.

“Do you truly think that Thomas was flirting with me?” you ask. Astarion’s eyes narrow at you and when he doesn’t answer you immediately, you continue, “I know I’m no monstrosity, but I’m certainly not a catch like some people.”

“Nonsense,” he mutters, opening the door. “How do you manage to be the smartest imbecile I know? I know Gale for gods’ sake.”

“What does that mean– oh my sweet celestial plane.”

With the doors open, the city of Waterdeep lies before you.

Your own city of Neverwinter is beautiful– a bustling city full of crafts and trade. Baldur’s Gate is, well, the Gate– a diverse city, bursting at the seams with people, places, and things to do. But this? This is the City of Splendors.

From your studies, you’re well aware that this city is the pinnacle of many things. They have the best artisans guilds, scholars whose renown extends across the Realms, Archmages like Gale. You can tell from your first look at the city that it’s steeped in history and wealth.

Astarion looks at you, bemused, his earlier ill humor forgotten as he asks, “You haven’t been here before have you?”

“Only in my memories,” you reply, awestruck as you step out of the building and begin looking around.

“Stay close then,” he says, holding out a hand. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

All of your worries have evaporated in the face of a new, wondrous place. I’ll have to ask again later, you decide, taking Astarion’s hand and beginning your trek through the city of Waterdeep.

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

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mysticalrambling · 1 year

Text

Dance with Me? (C.E)

My Main Masterlist is here.

Chris Evans Masterlist is here.

Summary: a song can be associated with many memories...

Warnings: none.

._._._._.

Seldom, do you and Chris ever throw a party. You both love your friends, yes but with all sincerity, the pair of you prefer to much rather sit at home, cuddle, watch a couple of sappy romance films; just enjoy a mundane intimate night. However, you both are actors and with that, comes the responsibility of maintaining your social lives.

Planning a party is dreadful and still to this day, one of the reasons you try to delay doing things like this to the last minute possible.

“Darling, you look great,” near the entryway, he keeps his gaze trained on you as you keep fumbling with the back of your dress.

“As if. I can’t get this stupid dress to knot. My hair is all kinds of frizzy today and my makeup looks horrendous.” A scoff makes its way past your lips the moment you finished your little rant.

“Say whatever you want; I’m standing by my statement.”

“You and your politically correct statements.”

He knows that you don’t exactly approve of his recent endeavors so he tries to steer clear of the conversation. “Darling, you don’t see what I see.”

“What? An insufferable mess?”

“No, the prettiest woman alive.”

“Nice save, dumbass.”

Walking towards her, he speaks in a playful tone. “We still on that nickname?”

“Yes, for all eternity. I addressed you as dumbass in my vows so it’s legally my obligation.”

Crowding you up from the back, he gently takes a hold of the silk belt hanging loose by your sides and tugs you backwards flat against his chest. Teasingly, you glare at him through the mirror but he doesn’t really seem to care. Tying it in a perfect knot, he places a kiss on your shoulder and murmurs with affection lacing his voice, “Can’t wait to take you out of this dress.”

“How romantic.”

“It’s the best way to express m’love.”

“Sure, dumbass. Go downstairs and entertain the guests, just have to make some improvements.”

“See you on the other side.”

As he starts to walk out, you call after him with a hint of sarcasm dripping from your tone, “Stop being such an actor.”

“Too far gone, can’t stop now, darling.”

You can’t help but laugh as he leaves.

Some people are very punctual because the moment the clock struck eight, a stream of cars came pouring into your driveway, one after the other. Chris didn’t want to rush you because you have been pretty stressed out lately. Your new upcoming project might have been a source of it so Chris was trying to give you space.

“Any new projects you working on, Evans?” Pulling him out of his thoughts Robert came to stand right next to him.

“You’ll get to know with the rest of the world.”

“You seriously think your fans don’t know that you’re starring in the Gray Man?”

Mouth a gape, he couldn’t formulate a proper sentence without stuttering. Sometimes, he truly did forget his fan base’s crazy devotion to him. Thank God, you weren’t here because you would’ve never let him live it down.

The small group formulating around him subtly shifted their attention to the stairs and Chris didn’t have to turn around to guess who had captured their attention.

“Can I have this dance?” Turning around to face you, he let a smile grace his lips. After your first party together where you asked him for a first dance, it has been like this ever since. You like to recreate moments; be it your first date or your first dance.

“Of course, m’lady.”

Swaying to the beat of the song, he soon came to a realization that it is the same song you both danced to the first time. A loud laugh escapes him when he realizes that you are behind this.

“You really are something else, babe.”

“And you love me for it.” Lips close to his ear, she lightly whispers to him.

What would I do without your smart mouth?

Drawing me in and you kicking me out

You've got my head spinning, no kidding

I can't pin you down

What's going on in that beautiful mind

I'm on your magical mystery ride

And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me

But I'll be alright

“You’re so cheesy.”

“What? I just really like the song.” Dipping you in his arms, he brings you a little bit more closer than you would deem appropriate for a public setting. Oh, but who are you to complain. “Boy, you really are not good at this whole dancing thing.”

“Excuse me, mister? I’m not the one with two left feet.”

“If I ask any other girl to dance with me here, they won’t constantly be stepping on my feet.”

“What makes you think any girl would like to dance with you, old man?”

He speaks after bringing you back in his arms, “Babe, everyone wants me. Now hush, my favorite part is coming.”

'Cause all of me

Loves all of you

Love your curves and all your edges

All your perfect imperfections

Give your all to me

I'll give my all to you

You're my end and my beginning

Even when I lose I'm winning

You know that you shouldn’t be tearing up at these words but it is a reminder of all the good moments with your husband. Your first kiss, your first date, your wedding and now your first baby.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wha- What?”

“Don’t stop dancing, Chris. We don’t want everyone to know.”

After getting his bearing back, he whispers softly, “I’m so lucky to have you and our life is perfect.”

“I wouldn’t change anything about it.”

“Nothing, baby.” A gentle kiss at the end of the song sealed the promise of forever between you both. “Perfect time, I guess.”

“Perfect time.”

._._._._.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

A/N: There was a note from editor that I think I should keep to myself for now💀 @peculiarpenman. Hope you all enjoy this because it has been sitting in my drafts for too long😊

P.S. poster credits: @peculiarpenman

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._.

#rachelleblodgettwrites #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans blurb #chris evans au #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans angst #chris evans x wife!reader #chris evans headcanon #cevans #chris evans x you #imagination

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atolua · 1 year

Text

𖥻 LIXIE’S BROWNIES ˒ 𝐞𝐭𝐚. winter of 2023

EDITION .. he’s a 10 and his girlfriend- she’s not his girlfriend? oh.. oh.

FEATURING .. han jisung ˚ ft. hwang hyunjin, felix lee and yang jeongin

CW(S) .. felix’s brownies (self explanatory) & hyunlix supporting han’s silliness

MONA SAYS .. istg writing this made me feel even more single than i already am

lua could tell that something was amiss.

yes, jisung was being his usual loveable self. but with the persistent scuffing of his feet against the floor, as well as his fingers tapping upon his desk, she knows something is on his mind. the issue is that he doesn't know how to tell her..

yes, she figured that out too from the way his mouth opened before closing shortly.

after letting him beat around the bush for five more minutes, she decides to speak up, “penny for a thought?”

“uh, oh yeah! i have something for you!”

he hastily scrambles out of his chair and runs out his bedroom. he comes back with a white box in one hand and a plate in the other. despite the tremble in his hands, jisung manages to set the two items down on his bed, then pushes the box towards the young woman.

“what's this?” she holds the mystery thing and inspects it. given the panic that flits over jisung's eyes after she gives it a little shake, the content is delicate. “is it.. fancy food?”

he chuckles and shakes his head. “maybe~ why don't you open it and see if you're correct?”

the nudge is all she needs to pull the flap open. it would have been nice to get a warning, because her mouth almost drools at the sight of felix's homemade brownies.. no wait-

“you made these, didn't you?”

“what- how could you tell?”

“the top is a little burnt, plus this batch has a lot of chocolate chips.”

“well i know how much you like his brownies so i asked him to teach me..” jisung bashfully explains while heat crawls up his neck.

she leans over and kisses his cheek, unintentionally fueling the fire as she does so. “don't worry, darling. i'm sure they still taste as good as lixie's.”

seeing as how the dessert's already sliced into pieces, she picks up one and puts it on the plate. but just as lua goes to take another slice, the flap slumps over again, concealing the goods.

a small pout crosses her lips. this time, when she opens the box, she pulls the flap all the way backward so it won't fall again. but then she sees the words written right on the center of it, and her eagerness to try jisung's baking is put on halt.

it can't be helped, not when the scribble on the flap reads:

i might not be a good baker, but i’m sure i can be an amazing boyfriend.. what do you think?

now it's her hands that are trembling. she lifts her gaze to meet those syrup-tinted eyes that glisten with hope. (there's a hint of nervousness too but it's mostly hope.)

“it's been a few months since we started seeing each other, and i think i've been able to prove that i'm a good date..” he takes her hands in his, gently squeezing them as he does so. “so, if it's okay with you, i'd like to show you that i can be your great boyfriend. if you say yes, i'll start by learning how to make even better brownies so you won't have to worry about getting a stomach ache.”

she giggles at that. tears are pooling in the corners of her eyes, but they aren't out of sadness. if they were, she wouldn't have smiled and answered, “yes.”

“y-yes? you said.. you said yes, right?”

“yes, han jisung, i'd love to have you as my great boyfriend. and in return, i'll be your great girlfriend.”

it's impulsive; him leaning in to steal a kiss from her lips. and it's different from their first—this one lasts ten seconds longer than that. by the time lua snaps out of her daze, her boyfriend (the butterflies in her stomach are having a frenzy over this development) is running through the dorm, looking for his other members who also didn't have any schedule today.

“it worked! it really worked!” she hears yelling and clapping, most likely from felix and hyunjin.

obviously the announcement could be heard throughout the whole dorm since jeongin stops by and tells her, “good luck, noona. you're in for quite the ride.”

“i know,” she glances at the box of brownies and smiles fondly. “but i wouldn't have it any other way.”

❑ TAGLIST .. @stealanity @ateezivy

#୫ ⋄ … cupid ˖ better an oops than a what if #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #han imagines #han scenarios #jisung imagines #jisung scenarios #stray kids x oc #skz x oc #ateez addition #kpop addition

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fanficfanattic · 3 months

Text

Two hits under the cut. One is my platonic A/B/O where Sam is an alpha that accidentally starts the team becoming a formed pack.

The other has Roy not realize he’d started calling Jamie pet names until someone else pointed it out.

Sweet Alpha Sam:

“Jamie, have you been feeling more present in your body, looser of limbs, and getting more restful sleep? This past month?”

Jamie starts to breathe in to answer and then lets it out in a rush when Sam continues with, “And be truthful. To yourself and to your alpha.”

Jamie shudders then, purely platonically, and not because of a command. Sam ain’t like that. Jamie trusts him, something he’s only just now realizing. He hasn’t trusted someone new, other than Keeley, since accepting Simon as his stepfather. When he was a teen.

Sam sees the understanding light Jamie’s eyes so doesn’t fight him when Jamie whines and then tucks his face into Sam’s shoulder. He can feel the blush against his bare skin, and then Jamie’s lips as he whispers “Oh.” It is more than enough answer for Sam.

He just tightens his hold, making it a proper hug, and whispers “I got you, Jamie. Got your back and your number.

You’re a cuddle bug. And that doesn’t make you soft in any kind of bad way. It makes you you. Just Jamie; the footballer and friend and omega and brother and sweetheart. Gonna protect your sweet little heart too. Only the best can court you, only the best can join our pack.”

Jamie whined again, and Sam felt a few tears wet the collar of his shirt. Realizing this was going to take some time for his friend to process, Sam maneuvers them until he can sit on a bench with Jamie in his lap.

Mean(ish) Dom Roy:

“Didn’t want you to stop, thought you might if I made a big deal of it, didn’t realize you didn’t know you were doing it. I’m sorry.”

To which Roy tried to untangle the mysterious mind of Jamie Tartt. “Don’t apologize for liking it, I’m just making sure you didn’t feel uncomfortable. So were forcing yourself to endure it b/c you were worried I’d be angry.”

“But you ain’t been that kind of angry since you started trying to help me. Angry still, but like your baseline angry. That don’t scare me none. It didn’t before, you know, what with purposefully riling you up and all.”

“Good to know. And good to know you like it.” His voice deepens and darkens as he steps into Jamie’s personal space. “You like being my sweetheart? My baby? My darling boy? My lovely? You like being a good boy for me?”

He doesn’t bother to hide his smirk when Jamie’s eyes dilate, when he moans a bit, when he blushes hotly and stutters and his hips subtly squirm.

“Ye-yeah Roy. I do.”

“I love it too.”

Then he steps back out of reach. “Your whole face is pink right now, did you know? Gives you away. Your kit doesn’t hide how much you like it either. Unfortunately, you might have to ice it down because training starts in a few minutes.” He does laugh, finally, when saying that makes Jamie whine.

“No fair! That were meeean Roy.”

#jamie tartt #sam obisanya #platonic alpha/beta/omega #roy kent #royjamie #roy x jamie #roy/jamie #sadistic loving dom roy kent #d/s dynamic #wip wednesday #ficwip

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teataglia · 2 years

Note

omgeeee this is for your milestone event!! <33

this was so hard to do >:( bc i have a fewww too manyyy 😓😓

my selfship with chrollo!! we can’t stand each other half of the time :,(( but the way he is just so mysterious and loyal to himself and his troupe. sfw!!

song

tea’s note: omg thank you for submitting!! i am so so so sorry this is so late :,) im sure you probably forgot you submitted this by now hahahaha. anyways you and chrollo are literally made to be, you’re so cute together, but i also live by the motto that there is no such thing as too many selfships sooooo, enjoy <3

milestone event!

pairing: chrollo x gn!reader

warnings: none!

An unfortunate reality of dating the head of the Phantom Troupe is that he is often away on very important, very dangerous missions. Who knew being so important also made you so busy? Well, you did, and you accept it which is one of the many reasons Chrollo loves you. But even after so many trips, the goodbyes never got easier.

Chrollo packed last night but he still wakes up hours before he has to leave because he knows he needs a few hours to prepare himself. Even now, years into your relationship, having to turn away from you, unsure if he’ll ever return is the hardest part of his job. It’s not that Chrollo fears death, in fact he welcomes it. Or used to welcome it. He used to exist solely for the existence of the Spiders, giving his entire being to the goal of its survival. But ever since you came into his life, he’s had something to fight for. To live for. And every time a new mission rolls around, Chrollo is forced to part with you, his newfound driving force.

It’s painful, but it must be done. Or at least that’s what he has to remind himself every farewell. And this one is no different.

He stares down at your peaceful features as you lie next to him. The pure expression on your face makes Chrollo’s heart skip a beat and the unconcealed innocence makes him want to hold you close forever, never letting you out of his sight. The mere possibility of harm coming to you has a lump forming in his throat, which he clears abruptly, waking you.

“Oh, love, you’re awake,” you reach a hand to cup his face, your thumb rubbing soothingly over his cheek. Your groggy tone and the sleep that collected in the corner of your eye doesn't go unnoticed by Chrollo. He takes you in – all of you – and he swears he’s never seen you look so perfect. His eyes slightly sting as reality crashes down on him, reminding him of his impending departure.

“Do you need help packing any more things?” you offer tentatively, eyebrows furrowing as you search his face. Of course you already picked up on his apprehension and unease. You can read him like a book.

“No, I’m all set, darling. Why don’t you go back to sleep, hmm?” Chrollo covers your hand with his, biting back any emotion that could possibly show on his face, pushing it deep within himself so he can’t show you just how much you affect him. His main motivation, however, is that he knows you’re devastated at the thought of separation, and he knows he must stay strong for the both of you. Otherwise he may never be able to leave.

“Why don’t you come join me?” you suggest slyly. Obviously you could not have tricked Chrollo, the infamous head of the renowned Spiders, but you could certainly try to push his buttons. The ones that only you have access to.

The only reaction you get out of him is the twitch of the corner of his mouth. To the untrained eye, this wouldn’t even be worth a second thought. But you know this near imperceptible tic truly signifies an internal war that Chrollo is waging against himself. An intellectual battle where he ponders all possible outcomes, weighing every option’s pros and cons. You can practically see the cogs of his mind turn as he calculates what would maximize efficiency and benefits for him, and in this case, you as well.

As your relationship progressed, you slowly started familiarizing yourself with his brain processes, recognizing patterns in his decisions, leading to your uncanny ability to predict the choices he would be more and less inclined to pick.

“Think of it this way,” you attempt to reconceptualize the two options. “You can either get out of bed now and make us both one last delicious breakfast that we can share together before you go. Or-”

“Or I lie down with you now and am unable to muster up enough willpower to get up later. Yes, both very tempting choices,” Chrollo cuts you off, now allowing you a chance to spin the options in your favor.

“I was going to say that if you lie with me now we'll get to spend more time together, as well as the net amount of physical contact increasing,” your arguments are too sound and Chrollo dives into your arms. He hugs you close to him, large arms encircling you, cradling you gently.

“This is why I wake up hours before I have to go,” Chrollo mumbles. “Five more minutes, and then I get up.”

“Suit yourself,” you pet his head, running your fingers through his soft black hair.

“Maybe you should become a Spider,” Chrollo chuckles lowly.

“What was that?”

“Your ability to weave such a convincing web of lies remains unparalleled.”

You lightly smack his head. “That’s enough out of you.”

“And look at that combat prowess.”

“Four more minutes.”

#｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ᴛᴇᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇs #selfship 200 milestone <3 #chrollo fluff #chrollo x reader #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n

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late-to-the-party-81 · 2 years

Text

It's all about experience

AN: And we're about 2/3 of the way through. This is my first time writing for Stephen Strange so I hope that you enjoy. As always when I include Peter, he's aged up.

I’m using dialogue prompts from this post by @nightprompts and they can be found emboldened in the text.

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Beta’d by @lunarbuck

Dividers by @firefly-graphics, banners and covers by me.

Pairings: Switch!Reader x Subby!Peter Parker. Switch!Reader x Dom!Stephen Strange

CW: Cuckolding and Age difference, Explicit sexual content, Smidge degradation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Dirty talk, aged-up Peter Parker, mild Dom/Sub dynamics, mentions of non-monogamy as a valid relationship choice.

Word count: 3.4k

You knew something was up with Peter when he arrived at your dorm. He was acting more anxious and jumpy than usual. It was only after a few drinks and some heavy petting instigated by you, that your genius boyfriend let you know what was on his mind. Between gasps and moans, as you ground down on his lap and tugged on his hair, he finally let his fantasy spill from his lips.

“I want to see you get fucked by another man. An older man. I want to be told you need him cos I’m not good enough.”

A cuckolding kink; not what you were expecting from your angelic looking boyfriend (not to say he was purely vanilla, but still), but it made the rest of your evening even hotter than usual as he fucked into you with abandon as you whispered dirty thoughts in his ear about how this mystery man would fuck you so good, as Peter could only watch…

You forgot about it for a week or so, brushing it off as just a fantasy, a moment between the two of you, until Peter brought it up again.

“I was… wondering… would you do it?”

You pottered around your kitchen, glad your dorm mates were out.

“Do what, Petey-baby?”

“You know… be with an older man. While I watched.”

You stopped in the middle of sorting out the spice cupboard and turned to him. Although you two were currently in a monogamous relationship, it was more out of convention and lack of discussion than any aversion to non-monogamy.

“I haven’t ever really thought about it. Are you saying it’s something you’d be okay with? That you wouldn’t be jealous?”

“I wouldn’t be jealous at all.” He walked over, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his forehead against yours. “It would be hot.”

“Anyone in mind for this fantasy of yours?” You pressed kisses over his jaw, revelling in his little sighs.

“Not really… I mean, one guy springs to mind, but I don’t know if he’d do it and whether you’d…you know…find him attractive.”

Your hands snaked up his t-shirt, and you started to tweak his nipples as you nibbled his lower lip. He rubbed his hips up against you, and you could clearly feel his erection pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“Tell me, baby. Who do you wanna see fuck me? Who is it you think is going to fuck me better than you? Make me scream? Who has the skill to show me just how pathetic a lover you are?”

“Dr. Strange! Stephen!”

Peter shuddered in your hold as he whined out the name. His head dropped to your shoulder as your hands slid down his body. You smiled to yourself when you realised your sweet boyfriend had cum in his pants…

Extracting yourself from his embrace, you hopped up on the counter, spreading your thighs, pulling your underwear to the side and guiding Peter to where you needed him. As he ate you with abandon, you detailed to him all the ways you’d scream on Stephen’s cock. Peter came again into his hand as you came into his mouth.

A week later, Friday afternoon, you received a text from an unknown number.

Be ready for me, darling girl. 8pm. I’ll collect you. SS

A shiver ran down your spine and straight into your panties. Were you really going to do this? You couldn’t deny the thought was intensely arousing. Dr. Strange- Stephen- was a very attractive man. And it wasn’t just his physical attributes. You’d met him a few times when he’d popped in via portal to chat to Peter about the odd thing. His general aura of competence, and smugness, borne of the fact he knew he was far above you, nearly everyone in fact, intellectually.

With Peter, you were the more experienced, normally the ‘aggressor’ in your shared bedroom antics. You knew that wouldn’t be the case with Stephen; he’d be totally in charge, and you found the idea titillating. Would you be able to submit to him? Probably. You shivered again before heading to your bathroom to prepare for your evening.

7.55pm

You paced back and forth in your living room, waiting for your doorbell. You smoothed down your black skirt and straightened the back seam on your stocking, trying to tamp down your nerves. Such was your heightened state that it took you a moment to notice the yellow-gold sparks and put two and two together. Or course he wasn’t going to pick you up in a car. The sparks turned in a circle, which grew in size until it was fully formed.

Stephen stood on the other side, full sorcerer regalia, including his sentient cape, holding his hand with his long tapered fingers towards you. You placed your hand in his and stepped over the portal threshold.

You looked around at the interior of the Sanctum Santorum, the grand staircase, the wall hangings, and large stained glass windows.

“Welcome, darling, to my humble abode.” Stephen’s lips twitched up in a small smirk and you felt the heat rising in your cheeks, at the same time trying to suppress the urge to giggle. That was not you!

He hooked your arm into the crook of his as he led you up the staircase and through the maze of corridors. The lights burned low in their embrasures, casting shadows as you walked. It should have been eerie, but it actually felt intimate.

“So, sweet one, tell me - are you fully onboard with this idea of the Spider-child?”

“Doctor…” He interrupted you with a raised hand.

“Please, call me Stephen.”

“Stephen, then. He’s not a child; he’s 25.” Stephen made a dismissive sound.

“As I said, a mere child.” You raised your eyebrow at him, challengingly

“I’m not that different in age.”

“Ah, but you have always struck me, in our interactions so far at least, as someone mature beyond their years.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his compliment.

“Well, to answer your question, I am on board with it. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

He paused outside of a pair of double doors, letting go of your arm to open the door and usher you through.

“A feisty little thing, aren’t you? Well, you can change your mind at any time. Just say…..let’s see…” He tapped his index finger against his lips. “Just say ‘webspinner’.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggle this time as you walked into the Doctor’s chambers.

A large, four-poster bed was central in the room, dark red curtains tied back. And there, in the corner, in an armchair was Peter. His arms lay on top of those of the chair, hands gripping the ends in anticipation. His eyes met with yours, and he shot you a small smile before your focus was pulled back to Stephen by his hand on your chin.

“Eyes on me, darling girl. Ignore him now. He’s insignificant, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

His hand slid up to cup your face, and you could feel the spiderweb-like scars on it. His thumb brushed over your cheek and you looked up into his ice-blue eyes. They were hypnotising. Your own hand raised up and brushed over the greying hair at his temples.

“You are a very handsome man, Stephen.”

“And you are a very beautiful, very alluring young lady.”

“Shut up and kiss me already.” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper but laden with desire.

He smiled as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, gentle at first, but as you wound your arms around his neck, he kissed you harder. His free hand slid around your waist, drawing you closer. His beard and moustache tickled your face, a strange and unfamiliar feeling.

You didn’t know if it was just him or because of the whole situation, but your arousal built quickly, with you kissing him back just as ferociously as he was kissing you. You didn’t notice that he was moving the pair of you until he suddenly sat down on the edge of his bed, drawing you down with him to straddle his lap. Your short skirt rode up, exposing the top of your stockings, and you heard moans in stereo; from Peter in the corner where he had a view of your skirt fabric tightening across the ample globes of your ass, and from Stephen when he caught sight of the strip of flesh bared between the stocking tops and you rucked up skirt.

“Like what you see?” You whispered against his mouth, drawing his lower lip between your teeth and giving it a slight nip. His hands ran up your back, caressing you through the thin material of your top, and he chuckled.

“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you?”

You ground lightly on his lap and tilted your head to the side coquettishly.

“And do you like a naughty girl, Stephen?”

“Mmm, very much indeed.”

He rolled the pair of you then so that you were flat on your back on his opulent bed, his slim hips situated between your thighs, your skirt now doing duty as a belt. Stephen ran his hands up and down your legs, feeling the silkiness of your stockings and the softness of your skin before they inched up to take hold of your skirt and peel it down your body. He discarded it somewhere over his shoulder theatrically, and you giggled.

He pushed your top up slightly to bare your soft navel and pressed his face into it, his lips kissing gently nipping. He made his way upwards, pushing at the fabric as he went, until you grasped it yourself and tore it over your head, throwing it away with the same abandon he’d shown your skirt.

“Does Peter ever make you feel this way, darling girl? Like a work of art ready to be worshipped?

“No…”

“He makes you do all the work, I bet. Waiting on you to tell him where to touch…” His hands skimmed over your lace-covered breasts. “Where to kiss…” He sucked one pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric, and you gasped at the sensation. “But don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Just leave it all to me, sweet girl.”

His mouth returned to your breast, his hand cupping your panty-covered mound, applying just a small amount of pressure. He teased you like that for what felt like an age, moving back and forth between your breasts until your chest was heaving and his hair was a mess from where you’d been tugging on it.

You tried to sit up, but he gently pushed you back down.

“Relax…”

Staring up at him, you watched as he carefully divested himself of his clothing. First the cloak, which flew off to another corner of the room as doom as Stephen snapped open the clasp. Next was his blue leather top, which he pulled off over his head.

You were biting your lower lip as he undid his pants, pushing them down to his ankles. His body was lean and toned. Dark hair dusted his chest before coming together in a thicker line that led down into his straining underwear. Your eyes widened slightly. Fuck!

Kicking his pants away, he crawled back over you. Your hands roamed over his chest and his arms, tracing his other battle scars. He may be powerful, but he didn’t heal like Peter, despite the magic he wielded. But there was definitely something alluring about a body that had experienced life, that had lost some of its smoothness and softness.

“Are you ready to continue, darling?”

His lips trailed across your collarbone, intermittently sucking harshly before laving the spot with his tongue.

“Please!”

Stephen drew the straps of your bra down your arms with a gentle touch before one hand snuck behind your back to undo the clasp. Then, just as carefully, he peeled your panties down, leaving you clad only in your stockings and heels.

With his head level with your sex, he smiled before blowing gently over the sensitive skin. You shuddered and let out a moan.

“Just think, dear one. I’ve barely started with you, but I’m guessing it would be all over with Peter by now. Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on…”

Without taking his eyes off you, he leant forwards, nuzzling his way between your folds before licking a stripe up you. You groaned deep in your throat, your back arching as you surrendered to the pleasure. Your hands tangled in the coverlet of the large bed, red and gold fibres twisting under your assault.

You’d admit you’d been sceptical about how different sex with Stephen would be - it wasn’t as though Peter didn’t know what he was doing or couldn’t take instruction, but what you were experiencing now, this was the touch of experience. He teased you, touched you, gently. He was carefully and fully learning you, learning what you liked and what you didn’t, without any input from you other than the trembling of your thighs and the soft needy sounds falling from your lips. He traced you and tasted you, building you up slowly. His hands, that helped him channel such power, caressed the skin of your inner thighs, every so often brushing against the edges of your folds.

Your orgasm crept up on you, building and building gently and easily until it washed over you like a summer breeze, carrying you high as you cried out and then swaying back down to the here and now.

“Oh, fuck!”

You stared up at the swags of fabric covering the top of the bed, sucking in deep breaths. Stephen moved over you again, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him deeply and moaning as you tasted him on your lips.

“More, darling girl?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Stephen. Please!”

His cock brushed up against your thigh, and you reached down between you to clasp it in your hand, feel its length, girth and weight, and you moaned as you thought about how it would feel inside you. You stroked it, teasing a pearl of pre-cum out of the tip and smearing it over his head.

“Then come here…” His arms wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you up onto his lap. He was sitting back on the edge of the bed, but this time you were facing the other way around, your back to Stephen’s front, his cock wedged up between you. As you looked forwards from your perch, your eyes met Peters. He was staring at you, lust clearly etched over his face, his arousal evident. Stephen’s arms wrapped around you, one caressing your breast and teasing the nipple back to a point, and the other pushed your thighs apart, baring your glistening pussy to your boyfriend. Your head rolled back onto his shoulder, and the sorcerer whispered into your ear.

“Ride me, dear one. Take my cock, slide it into this pretty pussy of yours and take what you want. Show your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend how a real man can please a woman.”

Peter whined, and you sighed as you rolled your hips, rubbing your clit up against Stephen’s fingers.

“Come on, sweetheart…” He was almost purring, and when he nipped your earlobe you squeaked. Planting your feet on the floor and one hand on his knees, you raised yourself up, reaching between your thighs for his length. You swirled his tip around your folds, mixing his juices with yours. The hand on your breast moved up your body, resting lightly around your neck.

“Stop teasing…” His fingers pressed, slightly making you gasp.

You sank down.

“Oh God!” Your eyes rolled back into your head as Stephen filled you. How could one cock feel so different from another? Peering out from under your eyelids, you saw that Peter had leaned forwards, eyes trained on where you were being stretched wide.

You made a tentative movement, lifting up slightly and then sinking back down, taking more of Stephen’s cock inside you. He hissed in your ear, and although you couldn’t see his face, you imagined that he was struggling with the sensations as well.

“How does it feel, darling girl? How does it feel to be fucking an older man while your boyfriend watches?”

“Good. So very good.” Your breath hitched as you moved again, riding Stephen harder, faster.

“Tell me. Tell me how I’m making you feel.” His lips and facial hair tickled your neck as he kissed you, returning to pluck and pinch at your nipples as your breasts bounced and to swirl the fingers of his other hand around your clit.

“I…I feel so full. And– and so sensual. Desirable.” You sucked in a stuttered breath as you moved up and down. “I like that he’s watching me. Seeing how another man wants me. Can please me. It feels amazing. Oh!”

Your second orgasm was fast approaching, and you knew it wouldn’t be as gentle as your first. Stephen’s cock was brushing over that sweet spot inside you, and the sheer eroticism of what you were doing was setting you aflame.

“Fuck! Stephen! Keep touching me, please. Oh God! Gonna cum. Gonna…”

Your body tensed as pleasure ripped through you like lightning, and you screamed. Without warning, Stephen rolled you both again so you were on all fours on the bed, and he was standing on the floor behind you. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into the supple flesh, and he started to fuck into you with abandon.

“Could he do this? Could that pathetic boy bring you this much pleasure? You need a man to slake your appetites, keep you satisfied. Maybe I’ll keep you? Turn you into my cumslut to fuck whenever I feel the urge. Take pictures of your beautiful face in the throws of ecstasy and send them to Peter?”

His words were a litany of filth, painting an erotic image in your brain of you lying fucked out and sated within these very sheets.

You came again, an explosive pleasure that stole the breath from your lungs. You felt wetness between your legs, and you realised you’d squirted for the first time.

“Yes!” Stephen growled in your ear before he was groaning out his own pleasure, pumping you full of his cum, bearing you down to lie flat on the bed as he continued to thrust into your pussy. You were aware of a small cry from the other side of the room, one that signalled Peter reaching his own orgasm as he watched the pair of you.

For the next few minutes, the only sound in the room was that of three sets of lungs breathing heavily. Your eyes were closed, and you were warm from where Stephen lay half on top of you. When you heard a strange flapping noise you opened one eye to see the cloak hovering in front of you bearing a damp washcloth. You smiled and took the proffered item, feeling a bit silly when you muttered a quick ‘thanks’ under your breath.

Sitting up to clean yourself off, you started to feel slightly self-conscious. What was the etiquette now? Stephen shifted behind you, dropped a soft kiss to your shoulder and slipped off the bed, pottering around the room, out of your peripheral vision. Peter appeared in front of you, crouching down by the side of the bed.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“I’m fine, Peter. It was…good. I hope that’s okay with you?”

He grinned at you, his boyish features alight.

“More than okay. I can’t wait to get you home.” You chuckled at his enthusiasm. You were sure that he was still half-hard inside his damp jeans.

“Calm it, you crazy kids.” Stephen was dressed now, or at least partially, and the cloak had your clothes gathered up, depositing them into your grasp. “Let’s get you two home.”

He started to move his hand in a circle, opening a portal from his room directly into yours. When it was stable he took your hand in his and dropped a small kiss to your knuckles.

“I had a wonderful time, darling girl. If the pair of you ever want to repeat this, I would be more than happy to oblige.” You felt the heat spreading up your throat and across your cheeks at his statement. “Oh, and Peter - treat this young lady right. I haven’t decided if I was entirely joking when I talked about stealing her from you.”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @sheismarvelousworld @strangeprincex

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober 22 #late writes #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #peter parker x reader #stephen strange x you #peter parker x you

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virgin-mojitos · 1 year

Text

STEVEN GRANT SFW ALPHABET -- PT 3

*hides behind steven* hEEeEeEeEEeeYYY hoWwWw are YOUU? im sorry ill leave my apology to the end but for now as my first part of the apology, i give you this. enjoy!

Melt – What do you do that absolutely makes them melt?

I mean, im literally the adorblest? So anything I do steven finds endearing. No im just kidding. I think the little quirks you might dislike about yourselves steven will most definitely find endearing, might I even add that he will quickly take a picture of you and save it (or make it his lock screen depending on how embarrassing it is…steven is a big tease my mind won’t be changed)

So like for example, your concentrated face? You might furrow your eyebrows, he might just come over and hold your face in his hand and straighten the crease between your eyebrows with his thumb if he thinks you’re gonna give yourself a headache…he might kiss it, depending on how sappy hes feeling…

If you pucker your lips while doing something (I envy you, god has favorites and its you) he WILL come and kiss you (threat)

Aaaaand if youre like me and stick out the tip of your tongue when youre deeply concentrated (its very embarrassing that’s why I don’t study with a group of people) he will sneakily take out his phone and take a picture…and set it as his wallpaper while dying of laughter

BONUS: “wha-? Steven why are you laughing at your phone?” “oh nothing dar- *steven catches a glimpse of his wallpaper* “HAHAAHAHA” “WHATS SO FUNNY SHOW ME- GASP HOW DARE YOU” and then its uncontrollable giggles again…traitorous steven

Nicknames – What do they call you, and what are their favorite things to be called?

My British boi, ‘love’ ‘darling’ ‘my love’ all the cliché british nicknames honestly. Maybe a flower if you remind him of one ‘sunflower’ ‘rose’…might I even add that these are the nicknames he calls you in the bedr- NOPE NOPE bad Layla this is SFW *sprays self with holy water using water gun*

Oh deary, I think he also loves to be called ‘love’ or ‘lovie’ (its my favorite) but also I read this in another one shot where jake calls steven ‘mr sunshine’ AND I THINK ITS PERFECT!! Just yea that mmm. MR SUNSHINE (go check it out its so fucking good and the author is very talented and just- sorry sorry heres the link

Obvious – How obvious do they make it that they like you?

Not as obvious as you might think, but yes obvious enough

Puppy dog eye FOR DAYYYYSSSSS

Secret admirer sort of person me thinks?

Like he would definitely “accidentally” overhear a conversation youre having with one of your friends about your favorite chocolate or flower or book that you cant find in any library…and you would mysteriously find them on your desk – THAT IS IF you are quite intimidating or might come off as unapproachable in public (same, I swear we do not bite…ish). That is until you form some sort of friendship and then hes just VERY obvious but – I was gonna say he wouldn’t make the first move but I remembered how steven kissed Layla in episode 4 (no not me Layla, unfortunately) and made the first move! So don’t worry about making the first move if youre too shy or scared, steven will help…and potentially fuck it up because of his nerves and he will need your help, please help the poor guy.

HOWEVER if youre a ball of sunshine in public (I envy you) then you could both be idiots in love but please take your obvious mutual puppy love eye out of my face, im trying to eat my salad here..

Pets – Do they have pets? Do they want them?

yES pets! Gus the second my baby. He takes such good care of his fishies, will occasionally give them food that theyre not supposed to eat (LIKE SPRINKLES STEVEN???) but that’s because he likes to share his food.

Im also in love with the HC that the moon system has a cat (thanks to my baby girl jake) and her name is luna (ha ha). Hes a bit wary of having a feline but that’s just due to his protectiveness over gus, but he will definitely warm up to luna after a while (jakes her favorite tho)

Quiet – How are the calm, quiet moments with them?

Dreamy sigh. The quiet moments are definitely the highlights of his and your day. Especially if you are also ND and youre just overstimulated or just, had a loud day? Is that even a thing? A day where it was just too much. Too much noise. Too much people. Too many people. Those days. So yes the calm moments are all you ever want sometimes.

Romance – How romantic are they? What are their go-to ways of being romantic?

Come on now, come on. Were talking about steven ‘I got chocolates and flowers to a date I don’t have recollection of planning’ grant. That steven. Of course, my boi is romantic

Also, steven reads a lot, his special interest might be ancient Egyptians, but at heart steven is one of us. He defo reads romance books, classic or modern. And the occasional erotica of course.

He just has a lot of things he wants to try and experiment with. Like ice skating as a date? (marc might need to intervene because marc is born on ice, just for the sake of the body not ending up black and blue) but besides marc potentially high jacking the date, youre all good.

Just little cutsy date ideas he read about. Hes also very creative with his date ideas, so most of you guys’ dates is very fun

GIFT GIVINGGGGGGGG

PHYSICSL TOUCCCCCCHHHH

Safe – What makes them feel safe and comfortable around you?

Hmmm. So it’s a pretty tricky thing with steven. I don’t think it would take much for steven to trust you? And with the wrong people this attribute can be totally misused and abused or taken for granted.

Hes been lately made aware of that (via jake) and he goes to be closed off for the days after receiving the news. Hes just walking down the street with his jacket held tightly around him and just nervously looking at everyone, thinking back to every time his kindness was taken for granted.

BUT THEN enter you! Youre so sweet and just accepting and just- hes rambling.

So he tells you about his tendency to overshare and trust easily, so, you smile softly at him and put a hand his hand and tell him “steven if im taking advantage of your kindness you wont know it!” IM KIDDDINGGGGG, but if you indeed say that to be a little shit (like moi) you tell him that youre joking and give him a hug and rub his back “ I would never take advantage of the thing that made me fall in love with you darling” and thats when he finally relaxes into your embrace.

HHHIYYAA im so sorry for this delay i had exams last week and was not the freest. so as my apology pt 3 and pt 4 are gonna be posted within hours of each other!!! woooOoOOoOoo and the crowd cheers!!!

also i listened to this playlist while writing, its not mk related or anything its just a good playlist?? im rambling im sorry.

as always REBLOGS AND LIKES HELP BOOST MY EGO

(if you want more of these for the rest of the boys just tell me!)

#steven grant x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #sfw alphabet #drabble #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight #marvel

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the-scifi-blob · 8 months

Text

piece of a Penumbra Podcast fic!

opposite of a meet-cute (meet-heist?), aka Buddy & Vespa's origin story

just the first two scenes, written while procrastinating on studying

“Don’t pout, darling. It’s unbecoming.”

“You—“ Vespa’s so mad she can barely get the words out. Her whole face is likely red by now, and she can feel the handle of her dagger against her hip, her pulse racing frantically beneath it. “You stole from me, you – you big—“ She stutters on her words, trailing off.

“Big what, dear? Hurry up now, we haven’t got all day.”

Across the dirty bar table, Buddy Aurinko taps her fingers against whiskey-stained wood. Her nails are perfectly manicured, and if Vespa glances up, she’ll be sure to see Buddy’s dark-red-rouged-lips quirked upward in amusement.

The woman is dangerously perfect. She reminds Vespa of that Saturnite movie star (what was her name? Heplin? Auburn?) who’d starred in the first and last romantic comedy she’d ever watched, back on Ranga five years ago. The actress had been in her heyday at the time, with wide doe-eyes and curling hair, but Vespa hasn’t really kept up with her career since. There are no movie theaters in Outer Rim prisons, after all.

Besides, it’s not like Vespa has any time for movies these days. Or dangerously perfect women.

“You know, I really thought you’d be able to use that mouth of yours more creatively.” Buddy leans forward, her wavy red hair falling into her left eye. “You certainly weren’t holding back last night.”

Her single visible eye glimmers in the light. The bar they’re sitting in has dirty lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, a cheap attempt at decor, but when Buddy Aurinko leans forward, the glow catches on the curves of her face, and makes her red hair look like flames.

“That’s–” Vespa feels her face heat up. Goddamnit. This situation really isn’t doing any favors for Vespa’s cardiovascular health. She gives her thigh a hefty snap-out-of-it pinch under the table. “Stop trying to distract me, you thief!”

“Thief? That’s a rather mighty accusation.” Buddy leans back, and the effect disappears; the dim bar lighting throws half her face into shadows. The other half pulls into a smirk. “This wouldn’t be a continuation of yesterday’s roleplay, would it? Handcuffs aren’t usually my cup of tea, but I’m willing to make an exception if–”

“My score!” Vespa shouts too octaves too high. “You took my score after we had sex last night!”

Around them, the few tables peter off into a shocked silence. The smile slips off Buddy’s face.

This whole thing has been a huge mistake. Last night, Vespa had been sitting at her usual dingy underground bar after work, sipping her usual disgusting beer from a red-rusted metal cup. (Everything tastes a little like rust on Mars. Even after a month, Vespa’s still not used to it.)

Then a shadow had appeared to her right, and years of training had her fingers darting to the butcher’s knife hidden at her belt – until she’d turned, and almost spit her beer onto the most striking red hair she’d encountered. Buddy Aurinko’s hair, tied into an updo, had looked like fire. Even after months on this rusted-over desert of a planet, the view was welcome.

Strangely familiar, too, although the nagging deja-vu was quickly shunted to the back of her mind.

“Are – are you looking for something?” she’d stuttered at the woman, face flaming.

“Isn’t everyone?” Buddy had drawled, leaning in as her fingers danced little patterns on Vespa’s chair. “What are you looking for, gorgeous?”

One thing had led to another. All of it a huge mistake. Vespa’s fatal flaw, apparently, is beautiful and mysterious women. She’d rolled awake the next morning to an empty bed and piano score missing from the floor beside her mattress, a face-down business card in its place. Same time, same place? it had read.

She’d flipped the card. Aurinko Correctional Facilities, and the memories had come pouring back: the alarms going off, the click of her cell door unlocking, the fan of red hair she’d followed to a tenth floor fire escape, and then finally to the outside world.

She’d placed, with sudden dread, exactly where she’d met Buddy Aurinko the first time.

The prison warden’s daughter. The one who’d pulled the Aurinko Correctional Facility alarms and masterminded the prison break of a lifetime. The unlikely source of her freedom -- who had somehow, strangely, tracked her all the way to this Martian dumpster.

“Give it back,” Vespa growls. Well–-tries to growl, and hopes her voice doesn’t sound too much like a petulant whine.

“Careful, Ms. Ilkay.” Immediately, Buddy’s face is more guarded. “An underground bar in the Cerberus Province isn’t a good place to draw attention. This place is crawling with thieves and criminal runaways.” Her eyes are still shining as they skim the bar’s crowd. She’s elegant as ever, but Vespa spots the miniscule tensing of her shoulders. Vespa hasn’t spent years as an assassin, in the old life she’d left behind, without being able to catch every one of her opponents’ tells.

“Guess we fit right in, then,” Vespa grumbles, slumping lower in her seat.

“Depends how you read things. I’m the warden’s daughter, and I let you walk. So you’re not really a runaway, are you? And I don’t typically charge for my services, but.” She clicks her pristine nails against the tabletop again. “I’ll consider that score your gift of gratitude. I’m quite a fan of piano compositions.”

“Giving me my freedom is not a service. I don’t owe you my music.”

“Oh, not for that!” Buddy clicks her tongue. “I’m no Board of Fresh Starts body trader. Lives aren’t for sale.” Her fingers inch forward again, tapping a rhythm on the table by Vespa’s elbow. “No, the score is an advance payment for what I’m about to give you.”

“And what exactly would I want from a solar planet brat?”

“A job,” Buddy says.

Vespa blinks at her. “What.”

“A job. You’re a good medic, from what I’ve seen over the past few months. You’re smart—enough to see past all my father’s tricks at the Aurinko Correctional Facility. Plus you’re a specialized assassin from Ranga, which means you know how to fight. Even if I haven’t seen you in action.” In the strange lighting, Buddy’s lips twist into something that could be mistaken for disappointment. “You’re bored at your current job, aren’t you? I’d be bored if I were a trained assassin who had to sit around nursing people’s hangovers all day.”

“...You’ve been following me?”

“Of course! What type of crime boss would I be if I didn’t scout my talent?”

“You.” Vespa scoffs. “A crime boss.”

“I’m recruiting you to be my partner in crime, darling, not a parrot.”

“Look.” Vespa sighs. “I don’t know what joke you’re trying to pull, but the Cerberus Province isn’t a place for somebody like you.” She looks pointedly at Buddy Aurinko’s manicured nails, and her silk dress that screams Venus craftsmanship. “It’s dangerous to stay out here too long, and not just because there aren’t any radiation shields.” She swallows, looking away from the woman in front of her, who’s likely spent her life in shimmering places vastly different from the Martian desert outskirts. “Go home, okay? That’s the best advice I can give you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Buddy’s eyes darken. She lifts up the hem of her silk dress, revealing a black strap along her thigh, and a string of knives and handguns. That’s hot, Vespa thinks, then immediately squashes down the thought like it’s a wayward beetle. “Well. It’s a good thing I take advice about as well as a cat takes to water. I don’t appreciate condescension, Vespa.” She lets the dress drop, morphing back into a wealthy socialite. “Seeing as I enjoyed last night, though, I’ll forgive you this once.” Rising from the table, she throws another business card down on the table. “We’ll continue this conversation in two days. Someplace less crowded.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Vespa says, when she finds her voice again.

“Not yet. You’ll find that I can be very persuasive, darling.” Buddy winks, then turns, the dress swishing and sparkling and turning heads behind her. It takes another two minutes after her disappearance for Vespa to shake herself from stupor and down the rest of her lukewarm beer.

Another five to realize that she’d forgotten to demand her piano score: the entire reason she’d dragged herself here for a dangerous second dose of Buddy Aurinko.

Life in the Cerberus Province is… well. It’s life, which means most days are no better than a pile of Martian rabbit shit.

Vespa works at one of the government-underfunded pop-up clinics at the edge of town. It’s as terrible as it sounds; she spends her time bandaging up the bar-fight wounds of drunk thieves in their sixties, and doing her best to avoid their whiskey breath while she works. Sometimes, the screams of runaways from the Board of Fresh Starts will pierce the air – moments before they come barreling past security and into the clinic, their filtration bracelets flashing red, bodies already half-melted by radiation.

She isn’t allowed to touch the Board runaways. Government policy.

At night, she returns to a small two-room apartment, where her mattress sits in the opposite corner from the kitchen stove, and a door on the left wall opens to a tiny bathroom. It’s small, the heating scarce, and there’s a bar downstairs whose noise spills through the walls at night. The rent is atrocious. But it’s still a room in a concrete building, far enough underground to avoid the worst of the solar radiation.

Living like this, she’ll last another five years. Probably.

Sighing, Vespa toes off her shoes at the apartment entryway. Red dust puffs into her face. She coughs it out. “Stupid desert,” she mutters under her breath.

The eggs, she discovers when she pulls them from the fridge and tries to crack them into a frying pan, a half-hearted attempt at dinner, have started to fry in their shells. A white lump flops into the vegetable oil. “Stupid radiation,” Vespa mutters. She pulls a dagger from the scabbard at her hip, stabbing at the mess until it bursts.

As she cooks, she can feel the edges of the card Buddy had left on the bar top digging into the front of her thigh through the fabric of her pocket. It feels heavier than paper ought to be, but Vespa thinks maybe that’s just because she still can’t get those stupid shimmery eyes and flaming red hair out of her head.

Aurinko Correctional Facilities, the business card reads in a sleek sans serif typeface—but Buddy has scratched out the printed text with blue ink, and written in the margins, in a loopy cursive messier than Vespa would have expected: welcome to the Aurinko crime family. There’s an address underneath, and then a time. Tomorrow, 8pm.

When she’d first read it, Vespa had noted the strange way Buddy Aurinko wrote the ‘f’ of family—the end of the letter curling leftward in a little scroll-like spiral.

It’s a stupid thing to notice.

Ten minutes later, Vespa is seated on the floor beside her mattress, spearing pieces of scrambled egg with her dagger. “Stupid eggs,” she mutters when a piece flops onto her shit-green army pants. She daggers it and pops it in her mouth anyway. It tastes metallic, which should trouble Vespa more than it does.

Radiation sickness is inevitable in the Cerberus Province. Vespa knew this, but her stubborn ass had still jumped onto the first ship to Mars after the mass breakout from Aurinko Correctional Facilities — courtesy of Buddy Aurinko, self-proclaimed rebel and daughter of the warden. After ten years in that psychological hellhole, she’d been desperate to get as far away from the Outer Rim as possible.

Part of her wonders what she’s even trying to do here. It’s not like she’s accomplishing much with her freedom: Just work and household chores and more work, in a dry and endless cycle. Averting her eyes from radiation burns and blood filtration bracelets when she’s at the clinic. Turning into a lovely solar radiation slow-roast when she’s at home. She didn’t grow up with any far-fetched romantic aspirations for her own life, but still … her ten-year-old self would probably scoff at the life she’s leading now.

If only her father could see her.

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, nausea grips her stomach. She puts her plate down, taking deep breaths until it subsides.

It’s been over a decade since she’s last seen him. She hasn’t once gone back to the wooden shed they’d shared, at the edge of Ranga’s second largest swamp – although the shadows of that first home seem to dog her heels wherever she goes. You don’t grow up in the Rangian swamps without expecting to start survival training at age six and be dead by thirty-five.

Now that she’s out of that place, with more time on her hands than she’d ever thought she could have, she can still feel the ghosts of Ranga all around her, like a grip she doesn’t know how to break. Whispering – often in her father’s voice – that even if she were to make it to the bustling center of the solar system, she’d feel no happier, no less alone, than she does right now.

At least here, everybody calls her by her name. Nobody looks at her twice when she steps into the women’s restrooms, and nobody even bats their third eye at her green hair or tattoos. She’s spent her whole life yearning for this type of anonymity. Now that she has it… well, she’ll take what she’s given without complaint.

A cockroach hops two inches from her foot. Nose wrinkling, she squashes it with the blunt handle of her dagger. Gross. Well, maybe a little complaint.

When she’s done with the eggs, she rises, scrubbing off her dishes in the rust-caked sink before setting them by the stove to dry. Then–only because the edge of the card is cutting into her thigh, irritating her to no end–she digs it out of her pocket, and flips it over again to the side with Buddy’s messy scrawl ruining the typeface.

welcome to the Aurinko crime family, it still reads. The ‘f’ of family is still as ridiculously frilly as Vespa remembers. And…Vespa isn’t stupid enough to trust a rich solar heiress like Buddy Aurinko. She traces the letter with her calloused left thumb, though, and thinks about that pesky leak in her bathroom roof, and the Martian dust she can’t seem to keep off her floors and furniture, and the way all her work days have seemed to blend together into an endlessly bleak stretch of time as of late.

She’s got no idea what Buddy is really after. But whatever it is – it can’t be any worse than what Vespa’s already been through. Can it?

#the penumbra fandom #buddy aurinko #vespa ilkay #canon compliant (I think?) up until s3 #lots of juno to catch up on hehe

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cactuswaterscactusfields · 1 year

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Never About Us - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Blood and Roses

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5.2k

For anyone who has trouble imagining a sith din, here’s a link to a Tumblr post with something I made on mandocreator.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, violence, cursing, mentions/threats of sexual assault, mentions of death/threats of death. Descriptions of injuries, Trauma, descriptions of weaponry/making things up about ships and weapons. Descriptions of massacres/mass violence. Indirect mentions of s/a. A small, meager amount of fluff. A lot of intrusive thoughts. Eating. Let me know if I missed any!!

I tried to differentiate POVs in this one, so each is marked at the start of their POV.

Translation Guide:

Cyar’ika (mando’a): “darling” lit. “darling, sweetheart”

Aruetyc (mando’a): “traitorous” lit. “traitorous”

Darjetii (mando’a): “sith” lit. “sith, dark-side user”

Thank you to Geo and Wren for betareading this! Literally would die without you both.

Din POV

Din looks down at the saber in his hand and presses the small button on it. Its scarlet blade de-extends back into the hilt, and he’s left staring at the small cylinder of metal that ties him to this life like a noose.

He’s angry.

Angry at the fact that a Mandalorian like him is still alive, his superiors didn’t tell him that’s who he’d be going after, angry that you got away, angry that you tricked him with a little bit of mando’a. You froze him with nothing but two words from a dead kriffing language. He flexes his fingers in and out on the hand not holding the saber, and the creaking of leather is all that comforts his rage on this backwater hellhole of a planet. And now he has to find you again—if the others don’t find you first. If they find you, they won’t show you the same mercy that he did. The confusion begins to replace his rage, and he looks out toward the horrible orange desert outside this little sandy town that he’ll be buffing out of his armor for weeks. Now, the question is at the forefront of his mind. If the Mandalorians were already extinct when he was born, thanks to, according to Lord Vader, some insane war between clans, how are you alive?

He knows your name, knows your age, knows your face when it is contorted in pain, knows the style with which you run, the size of your footprint, and yet he doesn’t know this one garishly outstanding detail. Regardless of how you survived, he needs to find you. He needs to find you soon, and he needs to find you alive so that he can question you. You know something he doesn’t know. And that…makes him scared. No, not scared. He can’t be afraid. Fear is a weakness. He is not scared. He’s…concerned. Yes, that’s it. He’s concerned.

A throat clears off to his left, and he turns toward it. He focuses on one of the stormtroopers standing in front of him, and for a moment, he’s tempted to choke them. But, that’d be a waste of a man and a waste of energy. Din’s spilled blood, sure, but it takes so long to get new troopers, and frankly, the bureaucracy and paperwork he would have to do to explain how one of his troopers was mysteriously found strangled to death in the middle of a shitty shipyard on Geonosis is not something he would like to do.

He tilts his head at the trooper, who visibly shrinks away from his gaze.

“Sir, if you’re ready, you’re needed back on the destroyer.” The trooper’s voice is shaking like a leaf. He can almost imagine the trooper’s face, pale as a sheet of paper, sweat dripping down his face. It’s funny, almost. Din is struggling so much with this question of these people, and yet these fully grown men in their plastoid composite suits are terrified at the thought of pissing off the Mandalorian inquisitor. Din can’t blame them, honestly. A killing machine who is sensitive to the force, who uses the dark side on a regular basis, and top that ice-cream sundae with the fact that he’s an incredibly adept wielder of a plasma blade? One would be stupid not to be at least a little afraid of him.

He begins to walk back toward the center of town, where his transport ship lies. He looks back up at the sky one last time, and he can still see the vestiges of the Razor Crest’s ascent into the cosmos, slowly fading with the winds of the upper Geonosian atmosphere. He will find you again. He just needs to figure out where to look.

–

Your POV

Your eyes slowly open, and the first thing they’re greeted with is darkness. Darkness that your eyes can’t hope to adjust in, where the only breaks from the absolute black are the small red and green lights–

Wait, where the hell are you?You sit up quickly and look around, and you see small green and red lights on the walls..you hope they’re walls. Your mechanic brain jumps into action, trying to figure out a pattern in the lights. And then it hits you like a hyperdrive jump, crushing your mind with the implications and absolute danger of your situation.

You’re in a ship.

You feel around, and your saber is next to you. Your fingers hesitantly close around it, pick it up, and you press the button. The gorgeous orange blade greets your eyes like a siren call, providing something to look at other than the blackness. You’re in what looks like a standard bedroom, unchained to anything, and the bed below you is..soft? It’s an actual bed, not just a cot or a sad sorry spring-laden excuse for a mattress. There are a few blankets on it, and you’re under some. They’re soft. They’re warm. They’re furry, as if something was hunted to create these. As you look down at yourself, you realize you’re missing something–your winter gear, your bag, your shoes, they’re all gone. You’re in the tank top and shorts you wore under your winter clothes, almost as if someone got you comfortable.

It comes back to you, then.

His visor, the body, the blood, your ankle, the leather gloves that were your salvation or damnation, that crimson red saber that haunts your waking dreams and leaves you sleepless, he’s the one who captured you. He’s the one who took you, what you assume is out of those Hoth caves judging on the warmth you feel in the ambient temperature around you, the one who saved your life from that trandoshan, who kept you from succumbing to hypothermia or blood loss.You look down at your ankle, and you’re greeted by a set of bandages, tinted orange and clean under the light of your blade. It doesn’t hurt much, but you can still feel an ache in the tendons that were damaged or snapped in the shot, and you’ll be hard-pressed to walk on it for long periods of time. That’s not what matters right now, though. You’re in an unfamiliar ship near a Mandalorian Inquisitor hellbent on killing you, and you’ve got no way to defend yourself beyond your saber.

Not a great set of circumstances, but it’s better than the Hoth death trap. You slowly get to your feet, and your ankle begins to ache immediately. As you step off the bed and instinctively let out a soft whimper of pain, the door on the wall in front of you opens, and you’re face to face with a black visor.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

His helmet tilts as he looks down at you, and you can only imagine the kinds of things going through his mind. Is he going to kill you? Torture you? Put you through things that Gakrux could never even think of? As your mind runs through the thousands of different options for your immediate future, trying to figure out if you can escape the situation you’re in or even possibly fight off the Inquisitor, take control of the ship, maybe take it to another planet where you live out another person’s life for a while until the empire finds you again, he steps forward.

You step back quickly, and his helmet turns slightly to look at the orange blade in your hand.“Put that down. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice, ever rich like honey flowing through rivers on a planet long at peace away from the threats of the empire, pulls you to the present. You grip the saber tighter, and the orangey burnt light reflects off the red of his cape with a violent clash of conflicting shades. It hurts to look at, and you look back up at him. The T of his visor blends so well into the darkness surrounding you both, it’s almost hard to distinguish.

He reaches out toward your saber-wielding hand, and you instinctively slash at it. A rookie mistake, though, as he easily dodges your clumsily-swung blade and catches your wrist, squeezing it until you drop the saber, which deignites as soon as it leaves your hand.

You’re both plunged into darkness, but you can feel him looking at your hand, and for a moment, you sense from him that he’s curious. It’s small compared to his, and the leather glove that separates your skin from his creaks. It’s soft, well-worn, and well-made. It has creases defining where his hand bends, and the cleanest part of his glove, the back of it, is shiny enough that it reflects the small green and red lights emanating from the walls.

He holds his hand out, and a light overhead comes on, bathing you both in a harsh, stark white light that it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to. He releases your hand, and you grasp it. It hurts slightly from where he gripped it, and you can feel blood rushing to the area, warming it slightly.

“Little Mandalorian, are you hungry?” He watches your face, studying your response. You look slowly up at his visor and, judging by the way your cheeks are now warm, you’re showing your surprise very visibly.

First, the Mandalorian Inquisitor saves your life, and then he asks if you’re hungry. What the maker is his endgame? Is he going to poison you? No, that wouldn’t make sense, why would he have saved your life on Hoth if he wanted you dead? Why would he have gone out of his way to a backwater planet and killed the trandoshan if he was going to poison you later? Is he gonna slip some kind of drug into your food and make you a mindless slave? No, he could just do that with the force if he really wanted to. Why is he offering you food? Does he genuinely care about you? Why, then, did he hunt you on Geonosis like a bounty hunter?“Why do you want to know?” You blurt out your thoughts, and he’s surprised by the delivery of your first words to him since Geonosis. He tilts his head as he studies you further, and his hand drops to his side.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days.” Straight and to the point. He definitely fits the model of how you’d expect a fully beskar-clad inquisitor to act, but it still doesn’t answer the question. Your stomach, however, is very pleased with his answer, and it’s decided to rumble at that exact moment, revealing how hungry you actually are.

“That answers my question.” He turns to leave with a swish of his cape, and as the door shuts behind him, you’re left alone again. For a Mandalorian Inquisitor, he trusts you a lot more than you’d imagine a regular person with a traumatized purge survivor with a lightsaber and nothing to lose on their ship would.

You sit back down on the bed, and you finally get a chance to fully study your surroundings. It’s clean, with metal walls, the bed, a small metal table next to the bed complete with a small holo-lamp, and shining walls that haven’t been lived in. You stretch, and as you’re finally beginning to get comfortable for the first time in force-knows-how-long, he reenters.

He’s holding a tray with utensils, a napkin, and a plate of some kind of food, and it’s..not gray for once. It’s actual food, what looks like bantha steak, some kind of vegetable you’re definitely too pressed for credits to afford, some kind of mashed vegetable, and a glass of…water. Maker, he has drinkable water for every meal. Your eyes widen significantly at this, and he tilts his head. He crouches down to your level, and slowly hands you the tray.

“Are you alright?”His voice is rough like he’s not used to asking people the current status of their person, which doesn’t surprise you. He looks up at your face, reading it like a book for any glimmer of emotion or pain.

“I..I’m fine. Sorry, I haven’t had a lot of water in my life.” You rush through the latter half of your sentence, realizing halfway through your sentence that you’re saying too much but you can’t stop talking and maker he probably hates you and you accidentally spilled the beans and now he’s going to kill you or mind control you and you’ll never see your father again and–

“Couldn’t imagine going my whole life with only sonics.” You can hear the hint of a smile through his modulation, and your intrusive thoughts are, for the moment, quelled.

“Do you have a shower on this ship?” Hope. It burns in your heart like a flame, and you can just imagine it. The water running down your skin, cooling you off after a hot summer’s day, cleaning the oil and grime from you, wetting your hair and cleaning all of the sand off from the crevices that the sonic can’t reach. A small smile tugs at your cheeks and lips, and then you realize what you’re doing is so stupid. Asking a fucking inquisitor who might be holding you prisoner if he has a shower on the ship that you’re not exactly allowed to leave?

“Yes. You may use it.”Just what exactly is his endgame?

–

Din POV

Din is sitting in the commanding seat at the helm of the Star Destroyer that the Empire assigned him, and he’s tapping his gloved fingers on the leather of the seat’s arm. His mind wanders back to your face, terrified under the light of his blade, staring up at him as you slowly lose the life in your small, innocent little body, and the words pulling themselves from your lips that have left him so, so, so confused.

Aruetyc Darjetii.

Traitorous Sith.

He could translate it in his sleep, it’s some of the simplest Mando’a out there. Two words. Two, damn, makerforsaken words. Regardless of the implication that a Mandalorian is calling him a traitor, all of his training under the Emperor should not have left his body frozen at the sheer voice of a Jedi that should have been easy money for him to kill. You are untrained, terrible with your blade, and not a fast runner, so why did he let you escape? And why, once again, that eternal question floats into his mind on a cloud made of sleepless dreams and waking nightmares, why are you alive?

He looks back at the hyperspace that surrounds him on all sides and leaves the view panels of the grand ship he’s at the helm of practically psychedelic, and he twists in the chair to face the exit at the back of the multi-level room.

“Do not bother me.” He stands, and walks with rigidity a stormtrooper commander would be proud of. These black-and-white lit halls have defined all of his life, except for the few rare excursions he gets to go kill some survivor or some tragic soul that happens to subscribe to a different belief system than what the Emperor agrees with, from the moment he was found as a child to now, elbows-deep in metaphorical blood and frozen by two simple words.

He arrives at his room, and it’s not much to look at. A cot in the corner, a closet built into the wall with multiple iterations of the same black and gray flightsuit, an armor cleaning kit underneath the flightsuits, and a dummy in the middle of the room made of something he can hit a lot with his saber without melting it apart.

He sits down on the cot, and closes his eyes.

And he begins to meditate.

Images of bent and molten metal, broken plasteel, torn and frayed wires, sparks flying reflecting against harsh gray walls. Ice. Hot. Cold. Tears pour down bleeding cheeks, saltwater mixing with the blood and dripping onto snow. Lava running down a streambed made of cruel gray ash, dust swept into the sky, a scream, the beeping of a soulless red light.

He reopens his eyes.

You’re going to Hoth, and you’re going to die there.

Not if he can help it.

–

Your POV

You finish the mashed vegetable, and it’s so good you could just melt into the floor. It has flavor, texture other than questionable sauce, the meat was marinated in something that gave it just the right amount of salt to complement the natural flavors of the animal, the vegetables were crunchy and small enough that you could eat one with each mouthful, the water was so cold and delicious and perfectly washed out your mouth between bites, you’re euphoric.

Your first full meal of something other than rations for…you don’t even know. You drink the last of your glass, and sigh. You pat your belly, and all you want to do is sleep. You haven’t eaten that much in even longer than the time you’ve lived off rations, and you’re so comfortable and it’s so nice and cozy under all these blankets. You would fall asleep..except for the fact that there’s a Mandalorian Inquisitor in the corner of your small bedroom.

“Did you enjoy it?” His voice is quiet, as if he’s not really there.

“It was delicious. Thank you.” Why are you buddying up to a Mandalorian Inquisitor? And why are you almost worried about him? Your mind flicks up an escape plan, and if you could just slip past or maybe wait till he sleeps–if he sleeps–you could possibly steal the ship, send it somewhere, maybe abandon it and catch a ride to a different planet until he finds you again?

“You can go take that shower now. I’m going to go fly the ship.”

He gets up and leaves your bedroom, and you’re left alone again for the nth time. You get up after a few moments of sitting alone and walk out of the bedroom and you’re greeted with a small hull instead of the empirical hallways you were expecting. It’s…peaceful. Quiet. The only thing that greets your ears beyond silence is the soft hum of the ship running. There is a small ‘fresher in the corner with a little nightlight, gleaming a warmish orangey yellow. It lights the floor dimly, but beyond that orange break, you can’t see anything but the dark. The orange light reflects off a nearby ladder, which you assume leads to the cockpit. What kind of ship are you in that has a bedroom? Not your Crest, that’s for sure. You wonder what happened to it as you walk to the refresher, feet gently tapping on the cold metal flooring. Last you know, it was on Hoth in an ice cave being burnt, along with all of your gear, clothes, healing supplies, and even your extra rations. You mourn the loss of the credits, but maybe you could ask the Mandalorian what happened to them once you’re done in the shower.

You feel on the wall on the inside of the bathroom, and your hand lands on a switch. You press it, and once again you’re blinded by the brightness of an angry white light with no warmth. Once your eyes adjust, you see the simplicity that makes up this little corner of your new world. A small metal toilet, a sink, a little mirror, and a shower that you’re surprised the Inquisitor can fit in, wide as he is. But that’s not what matters.

You have a shower, for once in your life. You slowly strip down to nothing, and turn the knob inside the shower, and as if sent from the maker himself, water begins to pour into the shower, flowing slowly down into the drain and beyond that into the water recycler. It’s water. After a moment, steam begins to float up to the ceiling, and it swirls into the fan that constantly cycles the air in the small set of rooms you’ve been introduced to over the past two days. You step in, and it’s like heaven. Heaven as it pours down onto your aching skin, heaven as it floods down the various cuts and bruises that have scarred over or not quite healed right, heaven as it takes down the last few granules of sand that have managed to cling to you like leeches. You dip your head into the stream and close the plasteel door behind you, and you feel it right down to the skin of your scalp. You can’t help but let out a giggle, feeling your fingertips begin to wrinkle. You’ve heard before of this phenomenon when you lived on a planet with water maker-knows-how-long-ago, where skin tends to change with water. A bright color catches your eye, and you see..soap. Soap in the corner of the shower, soap you can use, soap you can scrub with. You take some of it and lather it through your hair, and as you absentmindedly scrub, your mind wanders.

–

“Your confidence will be your downfall, little one. What makes you think you will get out of here alive?” His voice is harsh, cruel, cold. It’s intelligent, holding knowledge beyond anyone you’ve ever met, even your father.

“I am doing it for my family. Not for loyalty.” You know that voice. It’s familiar. Pained. You’ve heard it before in good times and in bad, lightyears apart and separated by memories and hyperspace lanes. It has held you through nightmares and through wonder, given you life when all you can see is death.

“Family is weak. You could be so much more.” The voice holds malice, you wish you could tell the one you know that he is in danger.“I know.”

–

The shower sputters to a stop, and you’re jerked back to the present. You’ve been sitting in there for probably close to an hour, and the shower’s automatic timer has set off. At least you got all cleaned off, and the soap’s all rinsed off. You turn the knob to the off setting, and step out. There is a clean, fluffy white towel resting on the sink counter, and you slowly wrap it around yourself, drying off.

You pull back on the tank top and shorts that you had been previously dressed in, and you’re..comfortable. Happy, even. Sure, there’s that part of you that is still shrieking about how you’re in a Mandalorian Inquisitor’s ship and probably going to die before the end of the year, but your rational brain still comforts you. If he wanted you dead, you would have been dead by now. You’re going to get out of this somehow, you know it. You’ve been in sticky situations before. None of them have involved escaping his ship. Your hindbrain, eternally ruining the mood for everyone involved. Especially you. You wish you could turn it off, but you can’t. It’s kept you alive for this long, anxiety be damned. You’re a purge-surviving force-sensitive mechanic without parents, and your father sent you off into the reaches of hyperspace with no kriffing clue where you were going, your hindbrain almost purrs to you. The fucker has an ego too.

You finish getting dressed, and you finally have a chance to look in the mirror. You see..exhaustion painted on a once-happy face. Your cheeks, the way your eyes flit up and down, studying yourself. That little blemish right there that has plagued your whole life, and even though you tell yourself no one can see it, they can, and the scars from Gakrux or a narrow escape or a game of sabacc gone wrong tell a story on the canvas that is your life, your lips, the circles under your eyes, the little sad smile you get when you think no one is looking. It’s you. It’s your scars, your past, your future, the skin and bones and muscle and ligaments and right down to the DNA and midichlorians that flow through your veins, it’s you.

A crash sounds out outside the fresher, and your hand flies to your side–right. No saber. You left it in the bedroom like an idiot. You slowly open the door, to see the Mandalorian standing at the base of a now..broken ladder. He’s holding one of the metal rungs in his hand, and two others lay at his feet.

“I..broke the ladder.” He looks at you slowly, and you can’t help but laugh. A Mandalorian Inquisitor, one of the most powerful things in the empire, a warrior trained from birth to kill without mercy using every tool at his disposal, gifted abilities with a laser sword that most people couldn’t hope to dream of, and he gets done in by a ladder. A kriffing ladder. You continue to laugh, trying to pull some air back into your aching lungs, and he tilts his head. Has he never seen someone laugh before?You finally stand up straight after almost dying from how funny the irony is, and you have to hold your stomach for a moment.

“That was funny?” He speaks slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

“Yes. It was.” And..the humor is lost. You can’t let your guard down around him. You can’t be weak around him. You can’t be afraid around him. He could kill you with a snap of his fingers, a twist of his hand, a single flick of that damn blade that lays so apparent at his side. So, you resort to coldness. Just like before. Brute, dark, straight-to-the-point coldness. You’re a Mandalorian, in the same room as someone who is your enemy, so it’s only natural you’re supposed to be cruel toward him…right?

Then why did he save your life?“I..need to ask you something.” He tastes the air before speaking, as if his very words will poison the very fabric of the universe around you.

“What is it?” Short, to the point, you rattle off the words as if you’re speaking to a broken droid.

“How are you alive?”Huh?

“I survived the purge that you people brought around.” It’s simple. Even a baby could figure it out, honestly.

“What purge?” Genuine confusion radiates off of him, again, and you freeze. You sense he’s telling the truth, and that’s the worst part. How does the Mandalorian Inquisitor not know about the Purge of Mandalore?

“Show me. Show me what you’re talking about.” His hands land on your head, and before you know it, you’re pulled back to that day.

–

“I remember the purge.” Your words echo like a thousand voices layered over one another, as fire rains down from the very heavens. Screams echo out as a child’s pendant is crushed under the foot of a droid, while ash chokes a crying mother to death. A helmet falls to the ground, a blaster hole in the side still smoking from an unseen weapon. A light passes over a group of seven very small children huddled together under a mass of concrete and metal, and a pair of eyes close as seven blaster shots ring out.

Your hands grip his armor like a lifeline, as he rushes through the ruins of what once was your home, Sundari. It was your home, once upon a time, but these metal men showed up and decided that you were too much of a hassle. More blasterfire rings out as the sky darkens with the pouring of smoke from your city, as flames blaze all around you. Your father stops running, and looks around. As you look around, he’s been surrounded by several metal men. “Cyar’ika, my beloved cyar’ika, close your eyes. Please.” His voice holds so, so much desperation. It’s rough, modulated, scratchy. His helmet looks at you slightly, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel wind rushing past you and the screeching of metal enters your little ears, and your father is running again after landing on…you hope somewhere safe. You reopen your eyes, and you’re on a rooftop. The area that the metal men had trapped you is getting far away quickly, and the metal men are all crushed. He jumps again, and you land on the dirt road that was once a favorite street to play on with your friends, before…the metal men and the men in the white armor showed up. You hear more blaster fire, and a chunk of metal scratches your lip. You yelp in pain, and his arms tighten around you.

“You will be okay.”You look off to the side, and for a moment, you see a blaster put to a mandalorian’s head, all in blue, and she ignites a blade made of stars and void before cutting through the metal man in front of her. The darksaber. That’s Bo-Katan Kryze, you know her by name. You’ve never met her, but your father used to tell you that she was part of the ruling family of Mandalore before a usurper took over. He won’t tell you the usurper’s name. Your father wouldn’t tell you a lot of things, but one thing he did tell you is what is happening right now.

He didn’t tell you that he wouldn’t be coming with you.

And so, you both wind through the streets, passing by smoke and fire and ember and ash and death, trying your damn best to survive, trying to preserve the other. That’s how it always was, you and your father. Preservation of each other above everything else. He was your world, you were his. After your mother died, it was just you two, and so you adapted. You learnt what he had to teach (and some that he didn’t, but he doesn’t need to know that your pickpocketing skills exist), learnt the way of society, and learnt the way of the mandalorian.

Who would have known that that way would be what is condemning you to death? You feel wetness on your cheeks again as your eyes sting, and you’re crying. You bury your face into the hard beskar of his shoulder, and you hear a blaster shot ring out, and your father stumbles to a stop. You see his shoulder blade smoking, the shot having landed right in between the plates of his beskar’gam. He sucks air through his teeth, and he continues forward after twisting and crushing the metal man who had shot him. You hold on tighter.

You close your eyes, and images of the darksaber falling into an empirical-engraven gloved hand paints itself in your mind, cutting down T-visored helmet after T-visored helmet.

–

“That was the Purge.” You pull his gloved hands off your head, and he watches you. And for a moment, his façade cracks. And then you feel it. Rage. Senseless, bloodcurdling, tear-this-ship-apart-with-his-bare-hands rage.

He steps back. The rage is consuming him.

“I need to go.” His voice is spoken through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, and he cuts off the emotions that were painting your vision red.It’s silent. You can’t read him.

And for once, you know for certain that you know nothing at all.–

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

~Cactus

#mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #female reader #x reader #fanfiction #star wars #fandom

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scarletwritesshit · 1 year

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🍷 Kaeya x Yae Miko 🍷 Over a Glass of Sakura Wine

Kaeya gently swirled his cup of sake in his hand. The strong, fruity aroma circulated amongst him and Yae Miko, sweetening the air between them. He made care to not spill any of the drink on his sleeve, or splash it on the table in front of him or Yae. The swirl of the clear liquid seemed to fascinate Kaeya ever so briefly, before he directed his attention to the vibrant pink kitsune sitting next to him.

“So,” Kaeya said, turning around on the stool, “you come here often?”

Yae was swirling around her wine in a similar manner, only with more speed as she had less risk of it spilling out. She took a sip before responding to Kaeya’s question.

“When I’m not fulfilling my duties as a shrine maiden, yes. I frequent Uyuu during any free time that I may have,” Yae said, picking up a stick of dango and taking a hefty bite out of it. “How about you?”

“This is my first time here. I’m in Inazuma for some…business…so I figured that I would stop by and give some of the local specialties a try,” Kaeya said. He took a sip of his sake. “Strong. I like it.”

“You came to a fine place indeed, darling. Uyuu serves only the best food and beverages in Inazuma City.”

Rather pleased with the flavor, Kaeya gulped down the entirety of his sake. He was a bit taken aback by its potency, but was pleasantly surprised by the experience.

“You can say that again. It’s been far too long since I’ve had something this strong.”

“My, someone’s thirsty,” Yae remarked.

She tapped her claws on the rim of her wine glass, making a loud ting-ting-ting sound. The restaurant attendant’s attention was caught, and he turned to see Yae staring him down with a demanding gaze.

“Another cup of sake for this fine young man here, please,” Yae called.

“You really don’t have to do such a thing. A beautiful lady like you shouldn’t feel obligated to show such kindness to a strange outsider.”

“Oh, don’t worry one bit about it. It’s been quite pleasant meeting you. Besides, I’m a regular here. I’ve worked my way into acquiring some…special discounts.”

Kaeya’s interest was piqued by Yae’s cunning implications. He wondered, just how deep did this fox’s swindles go? It’s one thing to be a regular guest, but if Yae could easily persuade her way into getting discounts at a popular restaurant, then she must hold more secrets than meets the eye. People who frequent this location would kill to have the type of discounts that she was given behind the scenes, so why her, of all people? Guuji privileges? Blackmail, even? He was intrigued, to say the least.

“Special discounts, eh?” Kaeya said, suggestively. “Just how deep do your tricks run, little fox?”

“Tricks?” Yae said, with a sly giggle. “I assure you that I am not pulling any tricks.”

“Now now, you have the eyes of a mischievous spirit. Something dastardly is brewing in that head of yours.”

Yae gave Kaeya a sly grin.

“Of course my thoughts would be occupied. A writer’s mind is always bustling with ideas.”

“And with an active mind comes the potential of a lot of sneaky plots brewing, no?” Kaeya remarked, smiling in return.

The attendant returned with another cup of sake and sat in down in front of Yae. He took Kaeya’s empty cup, and walked off without saying a word. Yae watched him as he walked away, as if there was something she wanted to shout to him from across the table. Instead, she slid the full cup of sake across the table to Kaeya.

“You’re awfully suspicious of me, aren’t you? That means a lot coming from a man with an eyepatch,” she said, reaching out to his eyepatch. Kaeya dodged her attempts at prying at the mysteries underneath.

“It takes one to know one,” Kaeya said, jerking his head back with a smirk. “You know a lot more than what you’re letting on yourself.”

“Hmm? And how so?”

“You’re a kitsune, meaning you’ve been around long enough to know some things. Excluding other yokai, the only other person to have lived long enough to be a witness would be the Shogun herself.”

“A witness to what, exactly?”

“Khaenri'ah, and its fall.”

“I knew you had sneaky motives, but alas, I am the wrong one to ask this sort of thing. I would’ve been too young to recall any sort of vivid detail, and besides, what you seek is on the other side of Teyvat,” Yae said, sipping her glass of sakura wine dry.

“I see…” Kaeya said, swirling his new cup of sake and once more distributing a fruity aroma through the air between them. He looked at her as if he was still suspicious that she was indeed hiding something.

“What more can I offer than the tales of Inazuman kitsune that have nothing pertaining to your goals, unless you of course, are interested in hearing about my heritage?”

“That is quite all right. While I am indeed captivated by your beauty, tales of Inazuma’s past will not bring me closer to what I seek today.”

“Beauty? You flatter me.”

“It’s the truth,” Kaeya said, taking a sip of his drink. “Mysterious and beautiful…”

“Haha, someone seems to be feeling the effects of too much sake already. Though I have to admit, you are quite handsome yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re just saying things,” Kaeya said.

Yae giggled as she went to take a drink of her wine, realizing that she had neglected to order another serving for herself. Kaeya snorted watching her absentminded failure.

“It seems I have neglected to order a second serving for myself. How silly of me,” she said, tapping on the glass and pointing to it being empty.

“A little distracted, are we?”

“I have to remain careful, otherwise, you’ll pull a fast one on me,” Yae said, picking up her stick of dango and taking another bite out of it.

“A fast one? What are you implying? I give into the temptation to pet those gorgeous ears of yours?”

“I never know with the likes of you. Since when have you seen a Khaenri'ahn and a kitsune in the same restaurant together?”

Kaeya once again gulped down his cup of sake.

“Since now, apparently. How could I not be here, though? This beats Mondstadt alcohol any day of the week.”

“You mean dandelion wine?” Yae said, gesturing to the menu. “We have that here, sort of.”

“That stuff is nothing. Inazuma gets lower quality leftovers imported, that is, when the Mondstadters leave some to spare. You have to try the genuine stuff.”

“Hmm…but how will I get some if it’s so popular over there?”

“Simple. I take you to Angel’s Share myself. Nothing’s better than getting it right from the source.”

“If it weren’t for the atmosphere right now, I would assume otherwise that you were inviting me out for a date.”

“It can be one, if you’re interested.”

Yae tapped her now full glass, with the echoing of the sound waves creating ripples in the sakura wine. She thought intently for a moment.

“That doesn’t sound half bad, but one problem remains, and that is who will attend to the Grand Narukami Shrine in my absense.”

“Just tell them you’re leaving on account of a foreign relations trip. In a way, it’s not completely inaccurate.”

“I’ll think about it,” Yae said with a smile. “You’re too good of a catch for me to just throw back into the water anyways.”

#genshin impact #genshin kaeya #yae miko #kaemiko #fanfic #fanfiction

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anabsolutefreak · 30 days

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Chapter 15: Entangled and Enchanted

This is a canon adjacent full campaign based story involving my original TAV character, the full BG3 crew and, of course, our favorite undead high elf. I created this story to help me get through an exceptionally difficult time in my life and so, you might notice Tav's story is a little more atypical than some. Be advised that the story I have created has some mature themes including violence, kink, mental health and self harm. I will be placing warnings on each individual chapter when any of these themes are included so please be aware. Summary: Embrae loses her temper when tensions between Lae'zel and Shadowheart threaten to turn violent again. Astarion finds himself in a spot of mortal peril without a hero in sight. MATURE CONTENT: Violence and mentions of trauma. As always, I thank you so much for reading. Any comments and suggestions are more than welcome. :D

Embrae awoke slowly next to the sound of the river and the soft music of the morning. She was lying still naked on the moss at the base of a cottonwood tree and she felt pleasantly boneless and light. She hadn’t dreamed, she realized. That hardly ever happened. Her relaxation was replaced by nausea and lightheadedness, however, as soon as she sat up. Her muscles were also dreadfully sore. She grimaced, putting her forehead in her hands.

Astarion chuckled. “You weren’t joking about your ability to handle alcohol, were you?

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion next to her, pulling on his trousers. As she reconstructed the night before in her memory, she turned scarlet.

“Oh darling, now you’re bashful?” He tutted and leaned back on his hands, grinning at her. “Surely you remember; you didn’t imbibe that much.”

“I remember.”Her blush deepened but she smiled ruefully. “I was just replaying it.”

“And who can blame you?” he asked with a little wave of his hands. “You know, I’d love to laze here all morning with you darling, but we should probably get out of here before the tieflings get us into any more trouble.”

She groaned internally. “I’m sick of having so much to do.” Halsin would be waiting at camp to discuss where she might find a potential cure; then she was planning on getting as much out of Shadowheart as she could about her mysterious artifact. There was also the Gith Crech to consider, she remembered as she pulled the shirt over her head— and they had to go back to the grove before Dammon, the blacksmith left with the other tieflings. Karlach had managed to turn up some infernal iron and she was anxious to give it to him.

Astarion watched her ruefully as she pulled on her pants and he sighed. “I do rather like it better when they’re coming off.

She laughed and felt a flush creep back up her neck. “Well,” she said. “It is still early.”

He chuckled. “Insatiable one, aren’t you? Don’t worry, there’s time enough for all of that darling, but not now.”

She stood and stretched her sore muscles and tried to blink away the headache behind her eyes. I wonder if the tadpole gets inebriated too… She had felt almost comfortable with him, she realized. Now, after last night, she felt almost more awkward and less sure of herself. She wasn’t sure where to look— what to say. She knew the feelings she had for Astarion were almost certainly, much more advanced than his own. She was shocked to find herself holding back tears at the thought.

His cold hand touched her shoulder softly. “Are you quite all right my dear?” he asked her, pulling back his hand when she turned to look up at him. His face was relaxed but his eyes betrayed tension. Or maybe she was projecting, she scolded herself.

She drove back the worries in her mind. “Yes, of course. It’s like you said— I just don’t have a stomach for alcohol.” She forced herself to smile brightly at him (like putting on a mask). “Come on— you were right: we have a lot to do.”

***

“I trust you enjoyed your evening,” said Halsin, his voice awkwardly formal as he stood before her and the others at camp .“It might be a while before you’re afforded another like it.” The big man shifted from foot to foot as though he were unaccustomed to standing on them. She supposed that remaining a bear for weeks would probably have that effect.

“You said you might have some advice about our tadpoles?”

“Indeed,” sighed the Archdruid, “I’ve been studying the Ilithid tadpoles for some time now. Those infected but who have not yet changed into mind flayers worship what they believe to be a god— the Absolute. The heart of the cult resides at Moonrise Towers. I’m sorry to say that I believe that to find the answers you seek, you will have to go there… I believe that Moonrise is the source of this infestation.”

Embrae glanced at her companions. They looked as skeptical as she felt. “So, you’re suggesting we go to Moonrise and infiltrate the same cult that is trying to enslave us and eventually transform us. That sounds… safe.”

“I can assure you it’s not… and not just for the reasons you think.” Halsin sighed, his eyes filled with sadness. The lands around Moonrise are infested with a terrible curse— the shadow curse. It is a darkness which seeps the life out of the very earth itself and turns anyone it touches into unimaginable terrors.”

Even better, she groaned to herself internally. “The cultists must get to and from Moonrise somehow…”

“I would imagine so. But I know not how. Taking the Risen Road will lead you to the towers,” he explained. “—-an easy enough journey to begin with. But the Shadowcurse lays thick across the land… but barring help from the cultists, you could go under… the Underdark. It would be dangerous in its own right. The Underdark is full of vicious creatures and untold perils…but I still believe it to be infinitely better than crossing the shadow-cursed lands…”

“Well isn’t that just peachy?” said Astarion bitterly.

“I am sorry I don’t have better news for you… Whatever you choose, I do wish to travel with you. The Shadow Curse. I feel— a responsibility to try lifting it if I am able.”

Embrae frowned. “What about the grove. Don’t they need you there?”

“The grove will be fine. I have appointed a new Archdruid, whom I believe will be much wiser and a better leader than Kagha. Now, I must go where Nature bids, and I believe she bids me to do what I can to lift the curse.”

“Well, please then, by all means… It sounds like we have a lot to think about. Thank you Halsin.”

***

“We must find the Crech!” Snapped Lae’zel. They are the only ones who can purify us from the worm.”

“So you keep saying,” Shadowheart replied. “But I still feel decidedly uncomfortable trusting my health to—”

“To what, k’chakhi,? Lae’zel hissed back. “You think the Gith the untrustworthy ones when you yourself have one of our stolen relics?”

Not this again.

“I stole nothing from you!” Shadowheart shouted, her fists balled a her sides. “You think yourself so superior to us. If you think you’re so right, then, by all means, go yourself. None of us will miss you.”

“We might want to step in,” suggested Karlach, shifting beside her. “Remember what happened last time?”

Embrae awoke to silence. It was much too quiet, she thought— the sort of quiet one hears only when the world holds its breath. She turned over. The cleric held the cruel dagger to the gythyanki’s throat, her eyes shining with steel to match the blade. “I’ll tell the others you were turning,” she seethed… “That you were just a rabid dog.”

Embrae snapped to the present. She had half a mind to just let these two kill one another. Idiots.

Lae’zel took a step forward and Shadowheart’s hand twitched towards her weapon.

“Stop it you two!” Embrae snapped. They ignored her and Shadowheart lunged forward as Lae’zel sank into a fighting stance.

Embrae felt fury surge through her. How dare these idiots endanger one another when they were already in so much peril? She raised her hands and the the cleric and the goth found themselves held fast by two twisting vines, large enough that they lifted them almost five feet.

“Shut up and listen, you fucking children!” She shouted at them. They turned their heads to her in shock, bodies thrashing in vain against the tangle of foliage. She could hear a chuckle from one of the others behind her but she was too angry and focused on Shadowheart and Lae’zel to see who it was.

“I’m going to say this one time and one time only. If anyone kills someone in this camp, I will not just fucking kill you, I will drag you along with us to the Shadowlands and drop you off for a nice little vacation. Then, perhaps when you turn into a mindless shadow monster, I’ll find the compassion I need to kill you… MAYBE. So— if you two want to keep fighting each other— if you really want to tear one another apart then leave. Take your, whatever-this-is out of camp and don’t come back. She swung around to Shadowheart. You are going to tell me about the artifact as it pertains to us and the parasites, understand?” A nod from Shadowheart.

She turned to Lae’zel, and you are going to stop trying to take it from her. The damned thing is the only thing keeping us from becoming mindless thralls or worse. Got it?” Another more sullen nod from the Gith.

“Fantastic,” she growled, turning away from them. “You two stay here. Karlach, let’s go see your blacksmith. Anyone else who wants to join, get ready.” She began to walk away.

“Um, Embrae?” Shadowheart’s voice asked from behind her.

She turned, eyebrows raised.

“Care to let us down?”

“You hang tight for a little while.” Said Embrae coolly. “Spend some quality time with one another.”

***

He was alone when he heard the music.

Karlach had found Dammon, her “infernal mechanic,” and he had to admit, he was quite pleased to see her happy. Still, it seemed they’d have to find more infernal iron if she wanted to shake hands with anyone— or— other things. After the tiefling had finished with the blacksmith, she, Embrae, and Gale had decided to make one last stop to trade and gather supplies. Astarion had decided to go for a walk, citing overwhelming boredom as an excuse to get away. Of course, that wasn’t the truth.

The truth, he thought to himself as he walked down the hill towards the beach, was a gods-damned mystery. There he’d been walking along, flirting and interjecting when necessary with appropriate levels of witty sarcasm when he’d seen him… Cazador.

Of course, it hadn’t really been Cazador, only an elf with straight black hair and who looked mildly like him. It hadn’t mattered he thought bitterly. In that moment his old master had stood with his back to him in the middle of the grove and Astarion had just about fallen to his knees in panic, readying the pathetic and worthless excuses that would never have saved him anyway. He had already been able to feel the lash against his back, as he stood there, paralyzed.

Stupid spawn, he chastised himself. He stopped in the middle of the path and turned ed his face up to the sky, shutting his eyes. How was it that standing in the sunlight, free from Cazador’s influence, and well-fed for the first time in centuries, that he still felt so weak? Gods. The others couldn’t see him like that. They expected a powerful ally, not a pathetic vampire spawn who still saw his master hiding in every corner.

The wind shifted suddenly as he ruminated, bringing with it the threads of a beautiful wordless melody. Astarion’s ears pricked up and honed in on the song. It was… beautiful, he thought, so full of longing and the promise of peace and safety. He found himself stepping towards it almost without thinking, walking towards the beach. The music grew louder as he walked and ever more tantalizing— it seemed to permeate through to his soul, he thought… whatever was left of it.

The path narrowed, hugged on either side by cliffs. Ahead he could see the sun over the gentle waves, which seemed to move in time to the music he could still hear. A small, curly-headed tiefling child stood at the edge of the water as well, clearly listening to the same thing.

“Listen,” he said in a high enchanted voice. “Can you hear it?”

Astarion could. The melody overlapped by lines of harmony now, was curling through his mind. He wondered vaguely if this was the sort of thing Embrae heard all of the time. Come, said the song. Everything will be alright once you get here. Come and be mine, elf.

Mine. MINE. Astarion’s eyes widened. Remember that though art MINE crooned a different voice in his head. The music was no longer pleasant; it was a screeching keening, hungry sound. He looked up. A woman with huge beige wings and a predatory smile gazed down at him. A fucking harpy.

“Get out of the water,” he snapped at the boy. “Go, now!”

“It’s alright,” said the boy. His voice was dreamy, his eyes unfocused. “Everything will be fine once I get there.

Another harpy, a wicked-looking bitch with a crown of thorns, flew down from the cliffs and landed just 10 paces from them. Her yellow eyes peered at him hungrily. He needed to go, he realized as he spotted three more lurking at different points around the beach. There was no way he could defeat them on his own. He made to run and stopped, looking back. The boy had started walking towards the crooning wench, his arms stretched towards her. Gods dammit he thought to himself. Leave him, part of him screamed. They will be distracted by their meal and you can slip away. But his legs wouldn’t move. He growled. Not a hero in sight when you needed one, was there? Well, he supposed he’d have to do. He leaped into the water after the child and swept him onto his shoulder, then he turned to bolt. Too slow, he realized as the harpy screeched her fury. The child wasn’t heavy but he kicked, screamed, and scratched at the vampire, trying to get down and get back to the gods damned things. He had half a mind to let him but alas, half a mind wasn’t enough. He placed the howling tiefling on the ground in front of him and slapped him, hard across the face.

The child’s face froze with shock and his eyes widened in comprehension as the song lost its hold. He screamed again, this time in terror. “Run,” shouted the vampire. He grabbed the boy’s hand and dragged him behind him.

There was a harsh gust of wind as the largest harpy, the one with the crown, leaped over them, beating her wings. She twirled gracefully in midair then landed facing them. Bits of meat showed in her sharp teeth as she grinned at him. Astarion took a step back but the other three stood behind, glaring at him and the child with those same awful grins.

Astarion drew his sword and lunged at one. She dodged, shrieked, and swiped at him with a huge talon, catching him across the face. He ignored the pain and the feeling of his hard-earned blood flowing down his skin and sidestepped her next slash, stabbing at her side with his blade. This time it hit, catching her somewhere in her torso. She screeched at him but did not fall. The child screamed behind him as one of the others lashed out, trying to grab him and Astarion pulled him away, holding him as close to his side as he could. As the harpies closed around him and the boy, they began their wretched singing again. But it was his master’s voice that sounded in his head. “Stupid, worthless boy. You think this one child would have cleansed you of your sins?”

A man's voice rang across the beach. “Tormentum!” Huge balls of purple fire hit the harpy in front of him, causing her to jerk back, and cutting off her dangferous song abruptly. Then her yellow eyes widened in shock as she looked down at the ice spike sticking out of her chest and she fell back, dead.

Embrae, flanked by Gale, shouted at him down from the ledge at him as she hurled another ice spike at one harpy. “Go! Get him out of here!”

Astarion seized the boy around the middle and threw him unceremoniously over his shoulder again as he darted up the path. Those harpies are quite vicious he thought. Could she and Gale take them?

Karlach came roaring down the path next to him, howling with barbaric rage and bursting with flames as she entered the fray of feathers, magic, and screeching.

“Oh, they’ll be alright.”

#astarion fanfic #original female character #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 tav #slow burn #harpies #baldurs gate tav

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

Beholder [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Beholder [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: “I can think of a few reasons” you say, finally, voice barely above a murmur. “For one, you kidnapped me and are holding me against my will.”

For request: Chrollo with a darling who is insecure about their body? Any type of insecurity is fine

Word Count: 2352

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, body image discussion, emotional manipulation

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

You don’t look up from your book. You don’t so much as acknowledge him with a noise, because any reaction is as good as an invitation to Chrollo. And right now, you’re tired, frustrated, dealing with a indescribable itch for something that you can’t possibly scratch. Freedom, normalcy, a concrete future--all the things that are very far from your grasp.

So suffice to say, you’re not really in the mood for a discussion, debate, mind game or dissection--which is usually what he’s aiming for when he tries to draw you into a conversation. You’d rather read your book and lose yourself in its words, if only for a little while.

And it truly is only a little while, because your silence doesn’t deter him.

“You know that I desire a stronger relationship with you.”

The main character in your book has agreed to meet with a mysterious detective, at midnight, on the docks. A very stupid move.

“And so far you have been… resistant to the idea.”

She even lies to her husband and tells him she’ll be at her sisters that night. What a moron.

“I believe that there is a reason behind this. Something that, thus far, you’ve been unwilling to discuss with me.”

The words make your muscles freeze for a moment, the fate-tempting midnight-meeting blonde in your book dissolving away at the meaning of his words. It takes significant mental strength to restrain the expression that wants to burst forth from your core. You want to gape, mouth open, and ask him if he’s fucking serious. You want to shake your head in disbelief and push yourself off the couch and stomp off to the bedroom, anywhere but the room where he’s sitting, perched, voice collected. As if what he said was reasonable, as if any of this was reasonable.

But those options would be giving him ammunition, giving him too much of yourself--and so you strain with effort to keep yourself closed off.

“I can think of a few reasons,” you say, finally, voice barely above a murmur. “For one, you kidnapped me and are holding me against my will.” Although there’s clear venom behind your words, you try to keep your voice even and disinterested. You turn a page in your book even though you’re not finished reading it, to give the impression that the conversation is simply that mundane, that uninteresting. He might as well move on, right?

Your eyes close for a second longer than necessary when the sofa sinks, when you see and feel him taking the spot next to you. Your body presses against the other end of the sofa as far as it allows, but if he keeps this up, you’ll have to figure out a way to retreat fully. Bathroom break? Getting a snack? Taking a shower? Something boring, but necessary. Anything that will pivot the conversation away from him and you and your so-called relationship.

“And the other reasons?”

Fuck, you think. I left an opening.

He’s close, too close, and you hate the low, rumbling tone his voice takes on when he’s trying to lull you into answering him. Like well-chosen bait on a hook. Smooth, charismatic, deceptively enticing. You suppose it works readily for others, you suppose he has no problem convincing people into telling him what he wants to know; into letting him hold them, touch them, spill all their secrets and do whatever he wants, if that’s what he needs out of them. You try not to think about whether these people lived to tell their tales.

You turn another page, words again unread. “Ah, I misspoke. Sorry. Only one reason.” Maybe if you keep your words clipped, maybe if you pretend that he’s not getting to you, he’ll give up and go away.

No such luck.

You hear the sound of fabric sliding against the sofa before registering that he’s scooted right up against your thighs, and in a moment he takes the book you’re holding and sets it down on the other side of his lap; page down, at least, so your place is still marked. How kind.

“I’d like my book--” you start, before his hand takes your chin, before you jerk and press your back hard against the arm of the sofa, wishing you’d used your precious few moments beforehand to make a swift exit.

“That’s the only reason, is it?”

His grip makes you want to squirm, and you can’t fight your body’s impulse, as much as it makes your stomach twist, as much as you hate revealing weakness. Squirming, shifting, trying to get away from Chrollo and his touch and his closeness. Your heart beats faster and you wonder if he can feel it with his fingers, beating wildly in discomfort.

“So, if I had courted you beforehand, you’d let me become closer to you?” He tucks a wisp of hair behind your ear and you flinch, but there’s nowhere to go, pressed against the side of the sofa, trapped by his strength and mere presence. “You’d let me kiss you?”

Stop. You want him to stop. He’s tried this before, tried flirting, tried grasping your chin in one hand and approaching you with his lips all the while. You’d jerked your head to the side and covered your face in your hands until he’d backed away, uncharacteristically quiet.

That hadn’t been the last time, and it wasn’t always an attempt to kiss you. It was a hand on your back while you looked in cupboards. A squeeze to your thigh before you fell asleep. His face close, his breath on your cheek, making comments that walked the borderline between suggestive and mundane. Just close enough that you couldn’t call him out, only huff in frustration at the look in his eyes, teasing and knowing.

Did he know how conflicted and uncomfortable you felt when he touched you? When he complimented you? When took it upon himself to hold you, unwilling thing you were, murmuring words that mimicked that of a lover?

It wasn’t just that he was your captor that held you back. It wasn’t just that he was the person who took your freedom from you. If only it was that--it might be easier to manage.

Over the months you’ve spent forcibly with him, you’ve gone from feeling terrified to--you don’t know what to call it. Not complacent, never that, but accepting. And you have to be, really, because you’re many things--but you’re not stupid. You know enough of him now that escape is unrealistic, if not impossible. You know enough of him now that behaving cordially, behaving quietly, not kicking up a fuss is a ticket to a somewhat relaxed lifestyle. All the books you could read, fine food, comfortable lodgings, and no need to work day after day at a grinding, mediocre job.

It all might be enjoyable, even, if you weren’t well aware of the fact that you were a prisoner.

No, it was something else that made your captive life such an exhaustive ordeal, something that made you want to tear up whenever he looked at you, whenever he touched you, whenever he asked you if you were interested in behaving nicely so that he could take you out to a fancy restaurant. When he looked at you from behind a wine glass, when he placed his hand on yours as you waited for your desserts, when he looked at you as if he was dissecting you and devouring you all at the same time; most of all, when he complimented you. All of it, every touch every word every glance, made you want to rip something out of yourself.

That something was a question, deep-rooted and inescapable: why would someone like Chrollo ever, ever want to be with someone like you?

It’s an undeniable fact that he’s attractive. Not just physically. There’s something about him, even in the moments when you can practically feel the blankness inside seeping out, that pulls you to him. That make you want to give in, that make you want to lean in his touch and accept his kisses. Do others feel it, too?

He’s intelligent. Magnetic. Special. His place in this world is clearly not ordinary, even if he’s never revealed the full details of it to you.

And you’re… you’re just you.

Plain. You could list all of your physical faults, but what would be the point? The fact is that you were never the type to draw in flocks of admirers, never the type to inspire cute guys to slide their numbers as they walked out of the library.

Intelligent? Maybe, but not anymore than other people you know. Or knew. Sometimes you pick up massive tomes that Chrollo reads in his leisure time and set them down almost as quickly. (Not all of them--he’s got a penchant for romance novels, though the thought has occurred to you that he’s only started picking them up since he took you. More bait?)

The thought of giving into him brings back painful memories. Taunts and tricks. Why people thought it was funny to dare their friends to ask you out as a joke, you’ll never know. It certainly wasn’t funny to you, hiding in the nearest bathroom afterwards, tears hot and face splotchy. Just another deep cut in your self-esteem, another notch in the tally that was your growing understanding of just how unremarkable you truly were.

So why? Why would Chrollo want you?

The sound of your name, an increased grip on your chin, pulls you out of your thoughts.

“You went somewhere. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” You lie, even though you know he’ll see right through it. Maybe you want him to see through it, maybe you want him to--

His hand leaves your chin, trailing down your neck and onto your shoulder. It makes you want to melt into the sofa and onto the floor--hot shame roiling from your guts. His fingers rest against a blemish scar, red and purple and undeniably ugly, leftover from your teenage years. You rarely wore sleeveless shirts for this very reason, but for the summer Chrollo had rotated away your less revealing clothing and you had no other option.

The realization that Chrollo is touching a part of you that you hate brings a flood of disgust and self-pity, and you turn your head away, unable to keep the tears from coming to your eyes. You jerk your shoulder, hoping to dislodge his hand; away from your faults, away from you.

Your reaction garners a look of surprise, of mild concern--and then curiosity. Contemplation.

Suddenly, you feel both of his hands somewhere that you’ve made sure he’s never touched--your stomach. He presses, squeezing the flesh gently, making you all too aware of what you feel is yet another inadequacy. In shame, you bring your arms down fast, hard, and he lets you push his own away.

“Don’t,” you say, humiliated, helpless, hating him and yourself all the same. “Stop. Please.” Your begging is earnest. He’s too close, this is too much, the touch and the thoughts--all of it.

When you look back up at him, you wish you hadn’t. His gaze is appraising in a way that almost scares you. Like he’s a cat who caught a mouse, or rather, figured out why the mouse rejects the cheese the cat so generously leaves out every night.

“I understand now.”

You shake your head, afraid of talking--afraid of revealing anything.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner, to be honest.” He smiles, a little sardonically. “It would have saved me time if I understood your feelings earlier.”

“You don’t,” you answer, voice tight.

His answering smile is patient.

“I do. Others might find… faults in you.”

His hand drifts, stroking a blemish on your face, eyeing it--and you--not with disgust, but the lidded look of admiration you’ve seen him give you before. You’re dimly aware of his other hand on your stomach, stroking where he’d squeezed earlier. A stomach that you’ve pinched hard in the mirror, frowning and spiteful, hoping it bruises.

His voice is controlled, smooth as he continues. How he can talk about this so calmly is beyond your understanding, especially as you find yourself feeling more humiliated, more upset, like he’s holding you open on an examination table.

“Others might ignore you because of these imperfections. Dismiss you. Or demand you fix them before they deign to look at you.”

As he speaks, his hands, his eyes, seem to graze over everything you’ve scrutinized in the mirror for as long as you can remember. He leans down, leans in, and kisses the scar on your shoulder--kisses the marks next to it, kisses a mole on your neck that you once contemplated cutting off yourself. Every press of his soft lips makes your breath hitch, makes you want to sob along with the touch.

Your skin feels clammy, and there’s nowhere to go and nothing you can do as he finally brings a hand to your cheek, leaning in closer to your face. To your mouth.

You’re more aware than ever of his features, of his attractiveness, of the dynamic difference between the two of you.

“But I don’t mind them at all. Every flaw…” His other hand gently cups your stomach, rests on your thighs. “I can look past them. Others may not want you…”

The words sting, hard and truthful, and you know he’s right, you know nobody else wants you, nobody ever has, nobody’s ever looked at you like this and touched you like this and nobody ever will. But he did and he does and what does it mean, exactly?

You find yourself unable to move as he shifts closer, face tilted, eyes half-closed but watching you keenly.

“But, my dear, unlike those others...”

His lips are brushing up against yours, and you feel a soft cry make its way out of your trembling lips, ghosting against his.

“I find you perfectly enchanting.”

Your first kiss is salty with your own tears.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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