#hes a focal point of this chapter

[nanami-kento-archive]

Chapter 25

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #manga panel #chapter 25 #itadori yuuji #note. i know this doesn't really count as a nnm panel since he doesn't appear onscreen #(a rule i made up for myself while running this blog) #but i feel this is such a focal point to his character i'm going to include it anyway

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia VII: Saturate me, I can’t get enough.

Previous chapter // First Chapter

Neuvillette x Fem!reader

Warning: SMUT NSFW 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.7k

Conifer forests quake in fear at the way you two pine. What do you get when you cross a very pent up dragon and the object of his affections? So much fucking love it will rot your teeth.

CW: sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (fem rec) neuvillette has a dragon tongue, claws appear but no wounds are made, Neuvillettes nest™️ nicknames: my dearest, my darling, love, pretty girl, perfect girl, very gendered language, im sorry :( unrealistic first time sex, multiple orgasms, implied multiple rounds.

Authors note: this is so fucking mushy gushy heavy fluff heavy romance. I literally couldn’t write his first time being any other way. He’s obsessed, okay? There is a lot of declarations of love, devotion, very flowery and flattering language. There are not many things hotter than an all powerful being declaring their utter devotion to you and then fucking you until the sun rises. I left it a little open ended, so maybe an epilogue chapter, if y’all are interested? Anyways, remember to reblog and comment your thoughts! It’s my literal favourite thing to read your opinions and compliments, even if you’re shy, just send an anon ask! I love you all, thank you so much for your support on this piece.

————————————

The sound of little pearls scattering onto the floor accompanied the press of your spine against the inside of Neuvillette’s front door as his mouth consumed yours. 

You were panting, hands roaming over each other as your tongues danced. You’d never kissed like this before. The polite pecks you’ve given men after failed dates were nothing compared to the way Neuvillette drank in your lips like they were the finest water in the world. 

His large, lean body pushed you against the fine wood of his door, hands pressing up into your hair as he pulled your face ever closer, scattering more little pearls along his entryway. 

“Do you…” he panted, lips never leaving yours for more than necessary. “Truly want tea?” He asked.

You smiled as he continued to kiss you breathless. “Tea can wait.” 

He picked you up and hoisted you against him once more, your bottom resting on his forearms as he twirled you around, making you giggle and squeal. 

“Your perfection knows no bounds.” He murmured against your lips as he began to move towards the stairs. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you up the stairs and down the hall, but he hesitated before bringing you into what you guessed was his room. 

“Ah…” he said, a deeper blush working its way into his pale skin. “I forgot about my… well you see…” 

You smiled, pulling him closer to press a peck to his lips. ”What? I can hardly imagine your room is messy, Neuvillette.”

He closed his eyes tight, opening the door to set you down inside. You turned, looking around the room. 

A very large four poster bed was the main focal point of the room, lush sheer curtains hanging from the tall frame, making it seem luxurious and inviting. But the piles of silks, pillows and blankets surrounding the mattress making a large circle in the center was what stood out the most to you. Taking a step closer, you could see there were little things scattered throughout the barrier, the gloves you’d gifted him last month, a few shirts and coats, little trinkets and things here and there. 

Your brow furrowed before you turned to look up at him, finding him looking between you and the bed with a hand covering the lower half of his face. 

“It looks like…” you glanced back at the bed. “It looks like a nest?” 

He breathed, nodding, pinching his temples in embarrassment. “When you were last here, we spoke of some subtle changes I’d been experiencing since gaining my full dragonhood, yes?” 

You nodded, walking towards the bed to run your hands along the fabrics making up the walls of the nest. 

“I’ve been experiencing strange urges, instincts I cannot seem to control no matter how hard I try.” He said lowly, somewhere behind you.

The blanket you ran your hands across was soft, fur of some sort, and it felt so luxurious you wanted to bury your face in it and never leave its soothing embrace. 

“Urges?” You said, feeling a heat pool between your thighs at the thought. 

“Yes.” His voice was suddenly right by your ear, his heat pressing up against your spine. “For example, right now, seeing you next to my bed, admiring my nest— it makes me want to pick you up and place you within it so that I may crawl over top of you to do deplorable, feral and unspeakable things to you.” 

A deep, spine tingling shiver raced through you. You knew the general direction of where this was headed when you begged him to take you to his house, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect Neuvillette to admit something so… dirty… so openly. 

You turned, meeting his eyes with a gasp as you came face to face with a version of your leader you’d never seen. 

He was flushed, panting, his eyes glowing in the moonlight streaming into his dark room. His horns were glowing too, their blue hue radiating behind him as he loomed over you. To anyone else it might’ve been intimidating, but you felt so safe in this moment, so satisfied to know that he wanted you. 

“I…” you wondered how you should phrase this, how to make him understand that you were not put off in the slightest by any of these changes in him. To you, he was still Neuvillette. His draconian quirks made him all the more desirable because it was just another part of him. 

“I’d like to help you satisfy those urges, if you’ll let me.” You said, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Very suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at your dress. The act startled you, and you stumbled back, bumping into the walls of fabrics lining his nest.

”I am undeserving,” he whimpers, and your legs nearly give out at how broken he sounds in this moment, looking up at you. “I know not how to pleasure you in the way you are so deserving, I only have these instincts, these feelings pushing me to take.” 

He stumbled forward, almost blindly on his knees as his eyes kept yours locked to him. He pushes his face closer to your core, inhaling deeply against the fabric of your dress, his eyes fluttering back. 

“And you always smell so sweet, it eats at my very soul to not taste you at every moment of every day.” His eyes look like they’re watering, begging and pleading as he keeps talking, keeps sending waves of pleasure to your core with every word spoken. 

“You deserve more than this animal I’ve become, but I cannot help that you undo me. You unravel the very stitching that I have woven over these past five hundred years and the thought terrifies me because—“ he’s panting, chest heaving, hands gripping the crushed velvet of your gown. “Because I want you so completely, so entirely. My want for you consumes my very being.” 

Your heart sings, because how could it not? You didn’t have very much experience with anything like this either— really none at all. And he was worried? He was worried he was too much? Not enough? This man was the sovereign ruler of a nation. The elemental dragon of your land, a primordial being with more power than you could even begin to fathom. 

“Oh, Neuvillette,” you brought a hand to cup his cheek, the very same action you made the last time you were in his home, comforting him. “Will you do something for me?” 

He clutched you closer, pupils nearly consuming his irises. “I would drain the seas if you told me you did not favor the way they glimmer in the sunshine. I would blot out the sun if you told me you did not enjoy the heat on your skin. Anything, my dearest. Anything for you.” 

“Give in to it.” And you swore you could feel the breath catching in his chest. “Take me and give me everything your heart desires, because I am already yours.”

”Truly?” He pleaded, seeming so small below you.

You nodded, speaking softly to him as you ran your fingertips across his cheekbone. “From the moment I entered your office Neuvillette, I’ve been yours.”  

Your world flipped upside down as Neuvillette lunged, tackling you over the wall of his nest and into the bed. 

He kissed you so deeply it stole your breath away, you gasped as he pulled back to mouth across your jaw, nipping at your throat. 

You noticed his teeth had grown sharper during your fervent kissing, but feeling those teeth drag like little daggers against the delicate skin of your throat made you shiver with something like fear— but it was laced with arousal, with anticipation. 

You moaned as he licked and sucked on your neck, and he whimpered above you, clutching your waist as he went. 

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry—“ he said between kisses along your skin. “I can’t control myself, I can't—“ 

You reached up, grabbing his face in your hands, making him look at you. 

“Neuvillette, listen to me.” His eyes fluttered between yours, searching. 

“When I told you I love you, that means I love you without conditions.” You said, leaning up to kiss his lips gently. “Which means I will love you when you are poise and regal, when you are the perfect gentleman, but I will also love you when you are not.”

You could see iridescent blue scales rising into his skin, framing his eyes so beautifully. You could see them form around his throat, and his horns continued to glow. When he told you he was becoming undone, you knew he was serious, but you didn't realize what exactly that would entail. 

He was beautiful. Raw and open and completely yours. 

“I will love you even if you are rough, or crude, or selfish. I will not watch you suffer against your instincts when I so desperately wish to see you dive headfirst into them.” 

The subtlest of tears formed in his eyes, and the rain continued to batter the windows outside, pouring down around you— the perfect symphony to accompany this moment. 

“I love every aspect of you, Neuvillette. Even this. Please,” you whispered, pulling him ever closer to your lips. “Please, just take what you need. Take me.” 

———————————

He does not remember how your dress and petticoat managed to find themselves sprawled across his bedroom floor, or when his gloves and shirt followed, but he does remember the delightful squeak you gave when he tore them from your body. 

You were shy, of course you were— but he was having none of that, gently and selfishly pinning your arms against the bed as his eyes consumed your body, your naked skin. 

You squirmed and whimpered underneath him, and part of Neuvillette worried that you weren’t enjoying yourself— but the closer he came to your lower half the more he realized that the source of that mouthwatering smell was coming from between your legs, and his mouth did indeed water. 

You had told him to let go of his restraint, to give in, but he had the sense to keep part of himself in check, knowing he needed to be somewhat gentle, attentive to your needs. 

What knowledge he did have of this process was from books, and even then, he thinks the last time he read a romance novel was likely over a century ago. 

He knew basic anatomical structures, their functions, but putting it all into practice was another thought entirely. 

Through his lust filled haze of admiring your naked body, he swallowed the drool pooling in his mouth— so barbaric. 

“Tell me,” he panted. “Tell me how to make this pleasurable for you.” 

You were so red, it fluttered down to your chest, and he watched as your breasts heaved with each breath. He wanted to wrap his lips around them, suck on the delicate skin, so he did. 

You whined as he leaned down, and he loved the feeling of your hands mussing up his hair, pulling his golden circlet away and tossing it into the void that had captured the rest of your clothes with a clattering sound. 

“You, ah—” your breaths were heavy. “You have to work me open. So you don’t tear me.” 

He gripped your waist again, licking and sucking gracelessly across your chest, just enjoying the taste of your skin. 

“How?” He asked, tonguing his way down to your navel, slipping his tongue around the skin of your adorable stomach. Your skin tasted like pure relief, calming the aching fever inside of him one motion of his tongue at a time. 

“F-fingers?” You said, looking down at his hands. He looked too, and you both seemed to notice at the same time that his hands weren’t exactly… normal anymore. 

Those pesky scales had wound up coating his hands too, he could feel them aching around his eyes and throat, his nails forming long black claws that dragged the faintest red lines along your perfect skin. 

“Hah— yeah,” you breathed a panicked laugh, making his chest flutter with anxiety. “Maybe no fingers this time.” 

“What about my tongue?” He said, looking between your eyes and the apex of your thighs.  He wanted so desperately to make this good for you, but he couldn't deny that the thought of tasting that delicious smell directly from the source was a more than appetizing idea. 

You groaned, throwing your hands up to cover your flushed face. “You say it so casually, too—“ 

“Would you enjoy it if I used my tongue, darling?” 

He watched your thighs clench the best they could with him between your legs, and your hands started shaking.  

“Yes,” you whimpered, hands still covering your heated face. “Yes please.” 

Your thighs quivered as he shifted down, his nostrils flaring as he came face to face with your covered core. 

There was a small damp spot on the soft cotton covering you, and he brought his nose directly to it, inhaling deep and groaning as you whined. 

He was truly drooling now, and the desire to taste you became too overwhelming for him to wait any longer. 

The cotton was shredded off your body in delicate ribbons in the wake of his claws, but before you could react, his tongue was already swiping over the entire length of you. 

“Oh!” Your back arched sinfully off the bed, your hands gripping into his hair as he swallowed and sucked and licked over you. You tasted like perfection. No water in the world could taste as crisp and pure as you did— like sweet ambrosia, like everything he never knew he needed until now. 

He tongued over your clitoris, and you seemed to like that the most, keening out as he increased the pressure. But you said you needed to be worked open, which meant…

He pressed his tongue lower, circling it around your twitching hole. You jumped, your nails scraping his scalp— making him moan into you. Your fingers flexed around the base of his horns, and his whole body shuddered as he listened to you whine and keen. 

He pressed in then, eyes blowing wide as a warm, tight heat enveloped the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further, pulling himself closer to press more of himself inside you.

”Neuvillette!” You gasped out as he pushed in further. Even so, He couldn't help but feel like it wasn’t enough, like you needed more. 

Just as that thought crossed his mind, his tongue seemed to expand, thickening and rolling out into your twitching walls even further. He’d never felt a change like that before, but he kept going, moving and undulating it within your tight heat and savoring the taste of you so deep.

”Holy—“ you screeched, “Oh my Archons!”

A deep, chest rumbling growl reverberated from where Neuvillette was pressed into your core, and even though he knew it wasn’t truly a problem, something inside him did not enjoy hearing those words slip from your precious lips.

But you told him to let go, so he truly did lean into his instincts. 

He pulled his tongue from within you, letting its new length dangle from his mouth a bit before licking up all the slick that had smeared across his face, delighted at the way your eyes popped and your mouth gaped open. 

“There are no pathetic gods here, little one.” He growled, that primal aching welling up in his chest. “Only me.” 

“N-Neuvillette,” you stuttered, hands grabbing at his hair as you tried to pull him between your legs again. “Please—“ 

“Better.” 

He dove back in, using the new length of his tongue to thrust in and out of your dripping hole. He could feel your soft walls relaxing, and a deep, rumbling purr pulled from his chest as you writhed and moaned beneath him. 

Tasting you like this, feeling you move and cry out beneath his hold… it was slowly soothing the ache inside of him that had been tormenting him for months. He could feel himself twitching in his pants, his cock pressing against the confines as it leaked all over the fine material of his pants and briefs. 

In the back of his mind, he was grateful he had enough of a grip on his form to not be sporting one of his more… alarming draconic features, surely that would frighten you far too much to continue. Well, perhaps another time. 

He continued his thrusting, working you open and relishing in the wetness coating his tongue, in the way you cried out his name, your fingertips brushing against his horns as you pulled at his hair. It only served to make him drool more, soaking you even further. 

“Neuvillette—“ you keened as he arched his tongue upwards, feeling your walls clench and quiver around him. He repeated the motion, making you slap your hands down to the bed beside you, grasping at the sheets as your eyes popped wide. 

He continued to press against the spot that seemed to make you fall deeper into your pleasure, his eyes never leaving your face as he thrust his tongue with vigor, watching as you quivered. 

Yes, something inside him purred, watching you lose yourself. Keep going, take it from her. 

He felt the moment your walls tightened so completely that he thought something might be wrong— only to watch as your face shattered into a broken sob of pure delight, your whole body twitching as you cried out. Your thighs tried to clamp around his head, but he pressed further, working you through it with his writhing tongue. 

After a few moments of him working you through the height of your pleasure, you grasped at his hair again, only now you were pushing him back, gasping as your body violently twitched. 

“Too much—“ you squeaked. “T-too much!” 

He pulled back from you, licking your remaining juices from his lips as he watched you regain your breath. 

You threw an arm over your eyes, your every breath heaving in your chest as parts of your body twitched in the aftershocks. 

He crawled over your body, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he purred and murmured against your skin to comfort you.

”Your taste is divine,” he whispered. “Better than I ever could have dreamed, and my dreams were always drenched in your image.” 

“I—“ you sighed, finally pulling air into your chest unlabored. “I dream of you too.” 

“Oh?” He purred, smiling against your skin as he ran his hands down your arms. “And what exactly do you dream of, dearest?” 

You smiled, staring up at the ceiling and avoiding his gaze with flushed cheeks. 

“Your eyes.” You whispered, glancing down at him. “I dream of the way you look at me.” 

———————

You knew this was going to be a lot. 

Neuvillette is not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but you always figured he would at least be a reasonable size — whatever that may be. 

Clearly your expectations were a little on the small side, because when he unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down and off his body, exposing his naked skin in all its glory, your eyes ached with how wide they were staring openly at the apex of his creamy white thighs. 

Flushed a ruddy purplish red at the tip, it was literally leaking as he knelt between your spread legs. It twitched—he must’ve noticed your staring, and you chewed on your bottom lip, wondering how in all the abyss you were supposed to fit that thing inside of you. 

Neuvillette was panting. He looked irrevocably desperate, like he was ready to burst at the seams at any moment. 

“Neuvillette,” you whimpered, spreading your thighs further for him. 

He hadn’t touched you since he took his pants off, just staring down at you as you drank him in, watching your reactions. 

“Are…” he seemed strained, like the words themselves pained him. “Are you sure?” 

“Please,” you whined. “Please, inside me, I want you inside.”

He seemed to bite back a groan, eyes roaming over your soaked core, your blush traveling down your chest. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

It was delicate, loving, nothing like the unrestrained devouring before, but it still seemed like he was holding himself back. A beautiful bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. 

“Neuvillette,” you murmured against his lips. “Please, I want it. I trust you, I want you, please.” 

Your pleading seemed to stir him, and you could feel the hot press of his length against your aching hole. You didn't know what it would feel like, the anticipation making you tense up and hold your breath. 

“Breathe, my love.” Neuvillette said, though he himself was shaking as his hands held him up above you. “Relax, breathe.” 

You released a breath and the tension from your spine, melting into the pillows as he chose that moment to breach your entrance, the slick pooling out of you allowing him to slide the crown in with no resistance. 

You keened, your back arching as you felt the first push. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!”

Neuvillette was still shaking, his voice quivering and yet he still found it within himself to chuckle, low and deep as his eyes fluttered across your face, drinking in your pleasured reactions. 

“Such vulgar language,” he breathed. “Where’d my polite little assistant go?” 

You swear your eyes were about to bulge out of your skull as he pushed another inch in, slowly, his body vibrating above you in restraint. 

It wasn’t hurting, but the stretch was so intense it was turning your brain into mush. You never swear in front of Neuvillette, gods, you never curse in front of anyone but Wriothesley, but your brain seems to short circuit as Neuvillette enters your body one delicious inch at a time.

You were thankful you told him to stretch you out, thankful for that gods forsaken tongue that just came out of nowhere, long and thick and surprisingly serpentine.  

“P-politeness isn’t really…” you tossed your head back in the blankets as he sunk in further. “Isn’t really my main focus… r-right now.” 

“Ah, yes.” Neuvillettes words spoke confidence, but his voice was shaking, his arms vibrating as they held him above you. “We have more pressing things to focus on at the moment, don’t we?”

You groaned, half in embarrassment at his wordplay and half at the way he pulled out a bit just to press back in further. 

He just licked up the column of your throat, that ridiculously long tongue making your whole body shiver in delight as he pressed in further. 

“Holy f—“ you grabbed his forearms, leaning up the best you could to look down at where your bodies were connected. “How much more is there? It’s so… so…”

Your stomach flipped at how much you still had to go, how little your brain could comprehend that this weapon was supposed to fit inside you. 

“Do you need me to stop, my darling? Is it too much for you?” Neuvillette breathed against your neck. His words spoke one thing, but it was like his body was screaming for you to say anything but. 

“No!” You panicked a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him against your lips, kissing him filthy. “Please, don’t stop.” 

It took a couple more minutes of gentle thrusting, the rough texture of this thumb swirling against your throbbing clit and some very messy kisses, but when his hips finally pushed flush against yours, your eyes rolled back in your head, mind finally vacating all thought in favor focusing on how blindingly full you felt. 

“Oh,” Neuvillette breathed. “—My darling. My sweet, sweet girl.” His hips were frozen, probably taking in how you clenched around him, because you could feel it— the way your walls fluttered and squeezed around his length as he remained motionless. 

He twitched, and you keened, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring his face level with yours, panting into his mouth. “Please,” you whined. “Please move.” 

He shuddered before hesitantly bringing his hips back, watching your every breath as he pressed forward again. 

The deep, guttural moan it pulled from your chest must have flipped some kind of switch within him, because all sense of hesitancy seemed to drain from his body as his hips began a desperate rhythm, smacking against yours. 

“Ah!” Your back arched, eyes rolling into your skull as he finally, finally fucked you. “Neuvi— Neuvillette!”

His eyes seemed glazed over with emotions, looking down at you with so much wonder. His expression was strained, breaths coming short as his hands snaked down to your hips, leaning back up and away from your grip.

The change in angle, though minuscule, drastically altered the way his cock pummeled your insides. It was intense before, your mind was nearly floating in the clouds— but now his cock bullied itself along your most sensitive spot and pressed so deep within you, you were sure you could nearly taste it.

”Perfect,” he breathed. “My perfect, perfect girl. So warm and tight— it's like you were made to take me.” 

Your brain had exited the atmosphere, and was now drifting away into the deep nothingness of space. You swore you could feel your orgasm welling in the pit of your core, making your legs shake where they were perched on Neuvillettes hips. 

“It— it feels so good,” your words were starting to slur, your vision hazy with unshed tears of pure ecstasy as you blinked up at him. “I n-never— I never wanna stop. I want this forever.” 

His hips never faltered, not even once as he shuddered and groaned, the sound making you clench down around him even more. His hands gripped your waist tighter, the black claws digging into your skin, sure to leave marks. 

A possessive sort of noise rumbled from his chest, his eyes flaring with need. 

“I’ll give you all of myself until the end of time,” he murmurs, voice full of deep, rasping need. “Tell me you’re mine, I’ll give you everything.” 

Your heart welled, your eyes blinking tears as your legs shook harder. 

“I’m yours,” you cried. “I love you, Neuvillette. I’m yours.” 

He pushed at your legs, hands grabbing your thighs to press them up and forward, nearly folding you in half as you sobbed out in pleasure. Your body ached, your orgasm now on the very precipice as he managed to fuck into you even deeper than before, and you didnt know how it was possible. 

“Again.” He growled. 

“I’m yours!” You keened. 

His hands pressed harder into your thighs, his face leaning closer to yours. Through your haze, you could see how his pupils were blown wide, consuming all of his otherworldly irises. You could see how deeply he looked at you, drinking in your trembling form. 

“Mine.” He whispered. 

And that was all it took for the fraying cord inside you to snap. 

You screamed into the darkness of his room, writhing and shaking as it pulsed through you, all consuming and more intense than anything you’d ever felt in your life. He gasped, muttering something in a language you didn't recognize as his hips stuttered. He pushed you through it, the mind melting pleasure pulsing out into your limbs, making you go limp into the bed. 

His eyes were wild, and his pace slowed, hands holding onto you like you would slip away if he didn’t. 

“My love,” he moaned, desperate as the fluttering aftershocks worked through you, your body twitching in the sensitive overstimulation. “My love, I want to— I need—“

“Inside me,” your voice cracked, hoarse from how loud you’d been in your revelry, but it only seemed to spur him on. “Please, inside me.” 

And within the last three stuttering strokes, he was gone, his forehead pressing into yours as he leaned forward and moaned, long and wrecked and obscene. It made you flutter around him, milking him absolutely dry as he filled and filled and filled you. 

You could feel it, hot and heavy— each jerk of him inside you coating you further, marking you in white, in the deepest places as his. 

He was mumbling, his face moving to press into the curve of your neck and shoulder. Dazed, you couldn’t tell what he was saying— whether he was speaking in another language or if you were just too out of it to register his words. 

You lifted an arm to rest on his back, feeling the heat and the sweat of him. Unfazed, you drag your hand up and down his shoulder blades, relishing in the feeling of his skin, his breath as he murmurs against your neck. 

As your breath finally steadied in your lungs, no longer struggling, you ran your hands through his long, luscious hair, fingertips ghosting his horns. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said aloud, clear and in a language you understood. “I’m sorry.”

”What for?” You smiled, trying to get him to look at you. When you finally pried him from the crook of your shoulder, your heart skipped a beat at how flushed he still was, how guilty he looked. 

It was then that you realized he was still inside you, still hard as before, twitching and throbbing as he held himself above you. 

“You begged me to take you,” he breathed, clawed hands pulling at the sheets. “And I can’t help but crave more.”

————————————

The sun had just begun rising over the dewy cypress trees by the time Neuvillette sat in the warm bath, cradling you in his arms. 

You twitched and groaned in displeasure as he ran the washcloth along your heated skin, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at the marks scattered along your body. 

He’d been too afraid to hurt you, but after the moan you let out when his teeth accidentally scraped across your collarbone during the second round, (or was it the third?) he’d lost all sense of decency. You seemed to like them as well, and you certainly liked when he ran his tongue across the red and purple splotches to soothe them. So, c’est la vie. 

Your head lolled against his shoulder, you were barely conscious at this point, and he wanted to feel guilty, he really did. But you’d begged and begged and begged for him to take what he needed, how could he refuse? 

He pulled the glass bottle he’d brought from the cooler to your lips, stirring you a bit to prompt you to drink. 

“Please, my love. You need to rehydrate.” He smiled at the way you pouted, But opened your lips to take tentative sips anyways, your eyes still closed. 

He watched a trail of water slip past your lax lips and run down your chin and throat, his eyes carefully following the movement. He swallowed deeply, willing away the erection that was still threatening the dark corners of his willpower. 

He could honestly keep going, he couldn't get enough of you, but you were still so fragile, so incredibly mortal. He knew that he had to stop, give you a moment of reprieve. Force himself to behave until your sweet voice would sing to him again, begging him for more. He licked his lips at the thought. 

“Are… are your urges… satisfied?” You mumbled as he pulled the bottle away. You cuddled up to him, so sleepy. 

He thought very carefully on how to reply to you. 

“For now, yes. They are, darling.” He finally said. “But I believe I will always desire you as strongly as I did then— as I do now, still.”

You gave a sleepy smirk, your eyes still closed as you snuggled closer to him, your bare skin pressed so beautifully against his. 

This— this was perfect. He didn't think anything else could compare to the feeling of being inside you, so connected to your body and in tune with your emotions. But this… being with you, holding you and caring for you… it was just as beautiful. His heart felt full, and for the first time in months, he didn’t feel restless.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He said, kissing the top of your head. 

You sighed wistfully. “Which part? Because when you said you were going to ‘spend the rest of your existence finding new ways to make me shatter into millions of delicious little pieces,’ I was rather inclined to believe you.” 

He felt his cheeks heat a little. “Ah, well. I meant all of that too. But I’m referring to something I said earlier on in the evening.”   

Your voice was wavering, and he could see sleep pulling at you, tugging you into its embrace one sleepy blink at a time. “Which part, my love?” 

His chest still fluttered at those words, despite both of your endless proclamations of devotion and love last night, he was still so blissful at the prospect of being yours, of you being his. His love. 

“The bit where I told you that I would give you all of me until the end of time. That I’ll give you everything.” 

“Mm,” you said, eyes closed and words loose. “I know.” 

He ran his hands along your back, his skin finally calmed down closer to the end of the night, his scales and claws retracting and freeing his fingers for nefarious purposes. But now, he was enjoying feeling your smooth skin against his own. 

“I have things I must do, duties to this realm beyond that of my role as Iudex. It will be a long and perilous road, a road uneasy for myself and those I love. But in this, as in every other aspect of my life— I feel as though if you stood beside me, it would lighten the burden. You make every part of my life better, and I would be honored to have you beside me for the rest of time.” 

He wasn’t sure how, but if he could free the people of Fontaine from their curse, surely he could find a way to keep you with him, if you so wished. 

“Your voice is pretty,” you sighed. “I love you,” you were mumbling, and he realized you were already rather deep in the clutches of sleep, likely not even hearing a word he’d said. 

He smiled, breathing out a sigh as he kissed the top of your head once more. 

“Sleep well, my darling.” 

La Fin.

—————————————————————

Authors Note: remember to drop a comment with your thoughts! I love you guys so much 🖤

#genshin impact #genshin impact neuvillette #neuvillette #neuvillette smut #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x reader smut #fem reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin impact smut

[larkspyrr]

ocean away

you are a fontainian noble with dreams of greater things than the cushy, monotonous existence of an aristocrat's wife. he is a criminal-turned-duke whose position is as precarious as it is vital to his goals. you both are pressured to marry — and you both have no interest in doing so.

a pretend attachment could solve all your problems and keep the wolves at bay. what could possibly go wrong?

read it on ao3 — my carrd — playlist

✎ PAIRING: wriothesley x fem!reader

✎ CONTENT: semi-canon compliant, pov alternating, fake dating, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fluff, humor, + more to be added as i go

✎ WARNINGS: spoilers & speculation for 4.1+, mature content/themes, canon-typical violence, language

✎ WORD COUNT: 49k (and counting)

✎ STATUS: ongoing

A/N: this is lightly bridgerton inspired. as soon as i started learning about this guy i knew he was right up my alley (read: the woman was smitten), and then when doing a silly game with @pixelwisp, i got wrio + 'we could form an attachment' like. what was i supposed to do

-> see extended author's notes/tags on ao3

reblogs are appreciated!

INDEX:

chapter i — we could form an attachment

chapter ii — tell yourself it's easy

chapter iii — beat me up so i can fight for what i believe in

chapter iv — i'll use you as a focal point

chapter v — would i run off the world someday?

chapter vi — i have my freedom but i don't have much time

chapter vii — i see oceans in your soul

chapter viii — deeper than the truth

chapter ix — and all i can breathe is your life

chapter x — coming soon!

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

[aphpuffinchild]

since it's out i can finally post my piece for @hws-anthology as well as the timelapse for it. as is arguably all my hetalia work, it's a love letter to my friend @pyrrhocorax 's fic Sendlingur og Sandlóa - i'll ramble a bit about how much it means to me, as well as the symbolism i wormed into this piece below the read more :)

i originally had two pages planned for this piece, potentially more - the fic is a good 74k words long and certainly not light on scenes i could and wanted to pull from, but various things led into other various things and one page was all i could manage, so i tried to cram in what i could, so here's that (in a rough, somewhat arbitrary order of focal points)

the opening chapter! the car is a framing device for the piece as much as it is for the journey the characters will take following that first chapter, so i wanted to use the car window/shapes as a literal framing device in my drawing

joi, shaky at best in his sense of self, sees no reflection in the window, instead there's a silhouetted raven to signify the search he must go on to find it

while not perfectly transcribed by virtue of wonky (plus an extra) line(s), the notes coming from joi's headphones are the opening to the song sendlingur og sandlóa, the fic's namesake, which a loved one kindly transposed by ear for me for the purpose of this piece

in a similar vein, the stickers on joi's suitcase are of a purple sandpiper and a ringed plover, the birds after which the song is named - here they are as transparents and in their original colours

i wanted to create a sliiight impression that joi is the one knocking over the chessboard, representing his repeated rejections of it (both physically, and the things it represents)

the chess pieces were also chosen specifically! originally i was going to use a black rook and a white pawn to match chapter 41, but for the sake of having alternating colours and the rest of my metaphors working (iirc) i swapped those colours around. that, and i wanted to match chapter 13's white king and black pawn - the black pawn stuck, the white king was colour swapped for colour cohesion reasons like the other's. (visual contrast was important to me, but the white queen blending slightly into the sky was okay for symbolism reasons) (there was also black king, white rook from chapter 3, so it all worked out anyway - there's a lot of chess in this story and i only had space for so many pieces and colours, basically)

speaking of which, the black pawn is for joi (chapter 13), the white queen is for halle (someone who, from joi's perspective, can go anywhere, vs joi's pawn, someone to be used -> see chapter 35 and perspective).

the king piece is falling (but hasn't quite fallen) between halle and henrik (chapter 3, 7, 13, though i most clearly thought of 19)

the person in the top right corner is eduard! i desperately wanted to include him because i think he's deserved it, and i considered a lot of ways of working him in, but i think an ambiguous silhouette that isn't Quite part of the main picture works better narratively

note also that he's separated from the other's through a red curtain, to represent the iron curtain (naturally) i wanted it to match ber + tino's part in some way, to sorta emphasise their similar foundations despite being split apart across places

the flowers at eduard's window are placed and chosen purposefully as well! orange/red zinnia's outside (for familial ties, steadfastness, friendship and remembrance) for what eduard puts out in to the world, then lily-of-the-valley for tino and cornflower for him inside to show what he wants to hold close :)

halle and joi are the only characters with their eyes open - halle looks towards the viewer/author/reader/joi, while joi looks away all together. if you've read the fic (which i assume you have because i can't imagine this is interested to read otherwise) you probably don't need me to explain why that reflects their roles in the story

similarly, every character apart from the brothers is turned towards another in some way (eduard does not count when his flowers do, and his role in the story is based around that disconnect partially anyway) tino towards ber and eduard (and hana, i guess), ber towards tino, henrik to halle, halle to henrik (though he looks away - his values are elsewhere even when they are together). joi, at best, looks at his own reflection in the window

the colour scheme, while arbitrarily picked from gradient maps based on what i felt "fit" has been approved by the author as being very "SoS core"

finally, the poem on the note, chapter 46

all that being said, i can and will now talk about my personal relationship with SoS, so unless that interests you i imagine the post is done now! thank you for reading :)

the first comment i posted on SoS is dated 2nd November 2016 - logging into my old account i can see i bookmarked it on the 31st August that same year, so i can safely assume i first read or at least found it then. a month after my first comment, i posted another on a different account, pouring a few bits of my heart out and the author responded! we went back and forth a bit and eventually talked (i think) via tumblr for a little, but the majority of our conversations were via skype for whatever reason (we didn't call, just texted). it was a lot of me looking for writing advice, insight to their work/process/skill, talking about The Brothers and talking about psychology/the brain on a general and personal level. i think if i read our conversations back now i'd cringe, given that i was an awkward, fumbling 16 year old, but i dont think anything else wouldve been fitting given the subject matter. eventually our conversations fizzled out and we stopped talking for years, but i'd go back to SoS routinely and cry.

in may of 2021, i posted another comment during what in hindsight was definitely another relatively minor mental health episode - i think it was half trying to emphasise how important the work was to me on the off chance pyrr saw it, and half a bid for connection since i had no idea if they even remembered us talking. i assumed nothing would come of it, and for about a year that was true - until pyrr responded after all in february of 2022 - i'm happy to say we've been talking consistently on discord since then. i feel a little weird speaking too intimately about our friendship as it is now since it's not just my story to tell (though pyrr, if you're reading this) (i'm sure you are at some point) (you're welcome to talk about it however, i just didn't want to without consulting you) but i can say with some certainty that it's at least a little bit my fault that we have a sequel now - cementing my place as official number #1 fan and validating the me from almost 8 years ago in a way i don't think either of us processes well.

it's here that i feel the need to talk about my other dear friend, @hws-lceland , who i'm grateful to have met through the zine's discord server. i'm sure they're reading this too, and a lot of what our relationship means to me is stuff that's probably a bit too vulnerable for either of us to speak publicly, but i *can* say that i love them very much, and i'm really grateful to have someone else to understand, and that he read SoS for me. i thought he needed it, and i hope i was right

sendlingur is...endlessly important to me. i'm aiming to not write an essay here (a goal i think i've already sorta shot in the foot) but i think it's important for me to talk about some of this a little loudly, all the same. my writing has changed because of the series - remeeting with pyrr and showing them some of my more recent work was interesting since it was apparent even to them the influences i'd taken (to be fair, in one section i explicitly asked and did borrow a format of theirs, but this goes beyond that). when i was 16 i asked my mum to read the fic in a desperate bid to be understood. i've cried reading the fic many, many times. i've signed off letters and poems with my switched around version of i'm sorry / thank you / i love you (i swap the first two around) many, many, many times, including in a close friend's wedding gift. SoS has very sincerely changed my definition of love. the name halle is a part of my abstract mindscape. id already considered changing my name to johannes anyway and this fic certainly didnt help. i've gained a friendship of 7 and a half years through it. i've gained another newer one now, too. i am not well. i wasn't well then, reading it, and it hasn't fixed me (i am worse, now, arguably), but it healed something, or at least made me feel understood. i could go on, and maybe sometime i will (there were so many things i wanted to include in my piece and pay homage to!), but for now i will thank anyone who took the time to read all this (again), and say that i look forward to experiencing the sequel

as always, i'm sorry, thank you, i love you

#hetalia #hetalia nordics #hws iceland #hws norway #hetalia iceland #hetalia norway #hetalia denmark #hetalia sweden #hws sweden #hws estonia #hetalia estonia #hetalia finland #hws finland

[mirokuna-hime]

I honestly think people are jumping the gun with their disappointment over the new story quest in 1.2

The whole purpose of Xianzhou Luofu arc is to set up future events.

The writers tell us this by having Kafka admit to the MC that the whole point of this operation for the stellaron hunters is to have the Xianzhou indepted to the Astral Express crew so that they will aid them in their fight against Nanook the destruction.

Herta Space Station and Jarilo-IV were used to introduce us to the game mechanics and to establish the trio of Dan Heng, March 7th and the Trailblazer with the Space Station also serving as a prologue.

Jarilo-IV however did nothing to develop the overarching main plot of the game. Belobog was it's own self contained arc to ease the player into the game and they are now using the Xianzhou Luofu arc to plant the seeds for future chapters.

People are already calling Blade a wasted character, because his confrontation with Imbibitor Lunae didn't play out like people hoped it would, because they didn't drop his entire backstory in this quest even though it's pretty clear that Blade, Kafka and Silverwolf will be reoccuring antagonists over the course of the story.

The prologue already introduced us to Kafka and Silverwolf, heck Silverwolf even got her own event.

Introducing Blade and his connection to Dan Heng to the player is what I would argue the other focal point of this arc. Every theme this story introduced to us can be connected to Blade (immortality being a sin, what it means to be mara struck, manipulation, the weight of our past actions and how we deal with them etc.), it's so that we can understand his story and motive.

Not to mention that it opens the door for character development and development of Dan Hengs and his relationship. Right now Dan Heng doesn't make the connection that Blade is his previous incarnations "friend" (in quotation marks because hoyoverse is being sussy with them) and he's still running away from the past. Meanwhile Blade is consumed by his vengence, his desire to die and he is also getting manipulated by Kafka (admittedly she kinda has to because of the Mara but that barely changes anything other than making us see her in a bit more positive light).

All points that will need to be adressed in following installments and I have faith in the Honkai writers to do these plot points justice, but it won't be right now.

We are in 1.2 my friends, let the story take it's time.

#Honkai Star Rail #HSR #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #tell me if this needs a spoiler tag I'm not sure because a lot of the information was already in the game as of 1.0 #I feel like people are so used to the questionable choices genshins writers make that they instantly got worried for HSR #however the Honkai writing team is usually better than what Genshins does and hey even Genshin stepped up its writing during sumeru #... #till they kinda butchered it with the caribert plot...

[thehufflepuffavenger1]

The Grid Angel (2/?) M.V. x reader

Crash My Date 🌹

Max goes on a date with you but it gets crashed by some flirtatious drivers.

--------------------------------------------------

In the aftermath of the intense race weekend, the paddock settled into a brief respite before the next Grand Prix. The atmosphere was a mix of relief and anticipation, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the paddock, Max Verstappen found himself contemplating the next move in this off-track drama.

A quiet evening descended upon the team hospitality area. The clinking of glasses and subdued conversations provided the backdrop for Max's internal debate. He had successfully conquered the race, but a different kind of challenge loomed in his mind—one that involved the person who had become an unexpected focal point of his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Max approached you, who was engrossed in conversation with a few members of the pit crew. The air was charged with a mixture of tension and excitement as he cleared his throat to get your attention.

"Hey, Y/N," Max began, his usual confidence briefly replaced by a hint of nervousness. "I was wondering if you'd want to grab dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us."The pit crew, catching wind of the moment, discreetly observed from a distance, their eyes darting between Max and you. Your gaze met Max's, and a playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Sure, Max. I could use a break from the technical chatter," you replied, a twinkle in your eyes. The pit crew exchanged triumphant glances, silently acknowledging the progress in this off-track saga.As the evening unfolded, Max and you found yourselves in a cozy restaurant away from the bustling paddock. The atmosphere was relaxed, and the conversation flowed effortlessly between discussions of racing strategies, memorable moments from the season, and snippets of personal anecdotes.

Max, usually a man of few words off the track, opened up in ways that surprised even himself. The barriers between driver and engineer dissolved, revealing the shared passion for the sport and the camaraderie that had developed over the course of the season.

Amidst the laughter and exchanged stories, Max mustered the courage to broach a more personal topic. "Hey Y/N- "

Before he could finish, the restaurant door swung open, and in walked a group of drivers, including Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, and Charles Leclerc. They spotted you and Max, and with mischievous grins, they decided to join the party.

"Hey, Y/N! Max! Mind if we crash your dinner?" Lando called out, his playful demeanor evident.The pit crew, who had already been planning to go to dinner at the same restaurant, sensing the shift in dynamics, exchanged amused glances, realizing that the evening was about to take an unexpected turn.

As Lando, Carlos, and Charles pulled up chairs, they seamlessly transitioned from friendly banter to playful flirting, each vying for your attention with exaggerated tales of their own racing exploits. Max, caught off guard, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his attempt at a serious confession now veering into the territory of an unexpected comedy.

Despite the unexpected intrusion, the atmosphere remained light-hearted. Laughter echoed through the restaurant, and the lines between competition and camaraderie blurred. As the night progressed, Max found himself not only navigating the complexities of relationships but also the unpredictability of a group of drivers determined to turn a quiet dinner into a lively spectacle.

The Grand Prix season continued its relentless pace, and as the night wound down, the pit crew watched with amusement and satisfaction. The dynamics within the team had taken yet another unexpected turn, leaving them eagerly anticipating the next chapter in this off-track drama.

Tag list:

@itsjustkhaos

#f1 #thehufflepuffavenger1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #lando norris #ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz #itsjustkhaos

[flashyfools]

months ago, while mindlessly scrolling through twitter, i came across an analysis of this particular panel from chapter 434 (i can’t remember who wrote the thread, i’m so sorry </3), and i really want to talk about it too.

(EDIT: original author of the thread is @goingbuggy!!! go check out their metas, they're amazing)

the thread was focusing on the way the speech bubble covers shanks's scar completely, and how it can be seen as a sign of vulnerability. oda is using shanks’s own words to hide his suffering, letting his physical scars be representative of his emotional ones, even though the event he’s talking about is completely unrelated to the way he got his scar.

in fact, we know shanks is not ashamed of the scar, since just a couple of pages after this one he mentions it directly as a way to start the conversation about blackbeard:

he doesn’t have a problem with the marking itself, it’s just used as a narrative device, a tool to highlight (in an extradiegetic way) his emotional wounds and the pain he always tries so hard to hide, in an effort to keep his usual composure.

the original author of the thread compared the panel from chapter 434 to another, way older one, from the very first chapter:

this takes place right after shanks loses his left arm to save luffy’s life. it’s obviously a very emotionally charged moment, which means the best thing to do would be showing a close-up of shanks’s reaction to everything that’s unfolding in front of him at that moment (luffy’s cries, or even his own reaction to his sacrifice). oda, however, chooses not to do that; instead, he hides half of shanks’s face, just like he did in chapter 434. the way the moment is portrayed tells the reader shanks is willing to hide his pain in an even deeper way than what he’s showing by smiling at luffy right after getting his arm chopped off.

it’s a great way to explain an important characteristic without stating it right away. it's a focal point of shanks's character: it's his way of showing luffy he cares about him and would much rather hide his suffering than pass it onto him, but it's also oda's way of conveying that shanks is much more vulnerable than what he allows himself to show.

having said that, the reason oda chose to bring back this framing in chapter 434 appears obvious: shanks misses buggy.

it’s plain to see, especially if we look at the whole page.

shanks tries so hard to act collected when talking about buggy, but it’s obvious that he’s hurting. his wording makes it clear he’s trying to detach from him (“that’s the end of it” + “rumors have it”); he acts like buggy doesn’t exist in his thoughts anymore, when it’s obvious he still does. he feels remorse, he regrets letting buggy go. he’s scared he might have been in the wrong. he knows he hurt buggy, but he desperately wishes he didn’t.

all of this weighs on him in a way he isn’t used to, so he locks these feelings up, thinking of them only in relation to something that happened in the past, and as so, stays in the past. he smiles while talking about him and buggy, but it’s a remorseful smile. he cuts the conversation short even though he vividly remembers what happened between them, and as he does so, his words hide the scar. he desperately tries to patch things up in his mind by exclusively clinging onto the good memories they share, but the remorse always creeps up on him. he always smiles when talking about buggy, even when he’s talking directly to him. but his smile always ends up looking sour.

this is exactly why i hate it when people say shanks doesn’t care about buggy. oda wouldn’t have given these panels so much depth if he didn’t want to show just how much shanks actually cares. even just the fact the panel we are focusing on directly mirrors a panel from the first chapter, one so important and impactful, should tell you everything you need to know.

buggy will always be shanks’s weakness. caring so much about someone when you’re a pirate of that caliber is difficult in itself, even more so when that someone is so far away from you now.

#one piece #shuggy #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #shanks #buggy #one piece meta #? i guess? #if you're the author of the original thread please PLEASE tell me so i can credit you properly!!! #fun fact: whitebeard mentions shanks's missing arm right after he's done talking about buggy. that's funny right #the fact oda chose to bring back That framing for shuggy is so positively insane to me #star yaps #i. still don't know how tumblr works

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: I actually quite enjoyed writing this chapter, so much to the point that I’m prioritizing this over my uni work. Oopsie!! Oh well, enjoy everyone! You may need some tissues :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — interlude (i)

-•-

Chapter 3

Time was no longer relevant to Y/N anymore.

Why bother counting down the days? She’d been stuck in this cell – this dreary, hopeless, and unbelievably hot cell – for what seemed like an eternity. Though it couldn’t have been that long, for Nanami’s blood still coated her skin like a bridal veil, providing a false sense of security as if he still watched over her even in death. Y/N knew his protection would run dry when she walked down the end of the aisle that was her life’s story – where there could be no happy ending waiting for her. Still, she coveted his blood, the lingering remnants of her golden guardian, as if memories of him were the last pages of holy text ablaze in this condemned world.

In the depths of Hell, Y/N wasted away like a rotting corpse not quite dead yet.

She knew she was in Hell because there could be nowhere else so oppressive: searing heat that dared her to cause even a slight offense, just so it had an excuse to burn her deeply and settle into the very marrow of her bones like a parasite. Still, she fought against it, curled like a pathetic fetus in a pitch-black womb, locked in a silent battle of sheer will. The same Curse who stole her golden guardian had somehow stopped the fatal wound on her stomach from ending her life, yet it had neglected to heal her other injuries – as if it wanted her to die a slow death.

“You don’t know, do you?” it had whispered in the deep dark depths, fascination falling from it like a waterfall. Y/N hadn’t answered, but still, the Curse continued on like a child that just wanted to be heard by someone, anyone. “Just how special you are.”

It called itself Mahito, decidedly masculine and manipulative, and he spoke with a whimsical tone unbefitting of the atrocities and sins he had surely committed; his words coated in sickly sweet sugar in attempt to lull her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, he had saved her for reasons Y/N could never begin to guess; the scar on her midriff was testament to that fact. The wound had been sealed well enough; the scar was still fleshy and smooth to the touch, but she dared not look at it – it was all she had left of him and Gojo. Her body forever stained by her first, and perhaps only, encounter with him. She thought of him often, a focal point of imaginary light in the darkness, and dreamt of him whenever she slept; walking together among the cosmos of another universe, withstanding the test of time and fire. It was her only remaining comfort because Y/N couldn’t tell if her green eyed Curse was dead. She didn’t know how the soulmate bond worked really, or if it was strong enough to feel his essence if he wasn’t nearby, but she still clung to a fools hope that he wasn’t dead; that he had somehow grappled lightning and storms with his bare hands and won.

If he was alive, he would come for her; that much Y/N knew was true. She had felt his desperation when she and Nanami fought against Mahito, as if Gojo were an obstacle he couldn’t overcome quickly enough to get to her in time. And so, she could only lie there and wait for someone who may never arrive – a prisoner awaiting her sentence that bled black blood and slaughtered Angels.

The rough stone floor scraped her cheek as Y/N shifted into a tighter ball, her wing bones twisted unnaturally underneath her. Her feathers had suddenly fallen some time ago, like dead leaves from a shriveled bush, and she knew in her heart that they would never grow back again. The bones hung like useless appendages, unable to move no matter how much she willed them to, and started to reek of rotten flesh. It was only a matter of time before infection and fever set in, and Y/N wished she had the strength to reach over and pull them from their sockets, but her aching body had no such strength anymore; if she dared to move too much, she would surely die. She couldn’t die, not yet; she was still holding on to him, and to Nanami’s ghost telling her that she could persevere.

She heard a familiar clink and creaking of metal; the silver Curse had come to visit again.

Mahito sat in front of her; she could feel his breath wafting onto her face, a sliver of his teeth visible through the darkness, and mismatched grey and blue eyes glowing brightly. These visits from him were routine, like they were old childhood friends come to play a tea party with each other every day.

“Well, don’t you look positively wretched?” He remarked, as if he was praising her instead of insulting her. Y/N maintained her vow of silence; she would not speak a single word to her guardians bane.

Mahito didn’t seem offended by her silence at all, as he chirped away about bodies and souls and nonsense. Y/N nearly groaned at the absurdity of it all – here she was at deaths door, listening to a child preaching philosophy it mistook for age-old wisdom.

“…but they don’t know I have you here, and they might never. Is it so selfish of me wanting to keep you with me, just for a little while?”

She focused her gaze on him, and he gasped with delight, “Oh, so you are still in there! I was beginning to doubt you were listening to me at all.”

Her eyes flashed, begging him to continue, to explain what he meant.

“I suppose I haven’t really told you anything since I brought you here. You see… I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. I’m just a newborn to all of them; they don’t respect me at all because I still need to grow my strength. But they don’t see just how special I already am.”

Mahito started to rock back and forth; Y/N could hear him.

“And so I went up to Earth to help me grow stronger, to speed up the process of my evolution. I know I couldn’t possibly defeat your most special Angel, the one with the white hair… Satoru Gojo. By the way, you know he really actually loved you? His soul told me so; I could see it, but he just didn’t know how to love a soul like yours. I just thought you should know that.”

… what? Surely not.

“Anyways… I had really hoped that he wasn’t alone so that I could maybe grow from the fight. And oh my, your Nanami was a strong one. It was a glorious fight, he helped me so much more than you can imagine. But finding you? That was almost too perfect. I’ve never found out what effects my cursed energy has on a soul that has found its mate, but I’m so very interested in seeing what happens.”

Mahito sighed, a long deep sigh, like someone who was already tired of living. “I really hope they don’t find you. I don’t think anyone knows it was me who stole you away, and I want to keep you here with me. You’ll surely help me grow even more.”

Stole?

Y/N’s energy rapidly drew back like the sea from the shore in preparation for a tsunami; such was the state of her, random bouts of wakefulness with the constant threat of falling back into an unconsciousness state. She felt herself slipping back into the abyss, Mahito’s words miles away from her now, breaking away like dried mud.

-•-

The fever manifested soon after, but it was the ensuing delirium that was going to be the end of her. Her once pristine wings were burdened by disease, sickly pus droplets clinging to them; infecting and instigating a malevolent transformation within her mind.

Prancing around gardens, you silly wicked thing.

Y/N’s cell was no longer black, but a bright red hue, akin to the color she saw when she closed her eyelids and looked directly at the sun. She saw the faces of everyone she had ever known and lost, and each time she glanced over her shoulder, Nanami lingered behind her; silent and stoic, never saying a word as he stared at her with a single eye – looking just as he did the day he died. Overwhelmed with emotion, Y/N couldn’t restrain her tears from falling. If this was to be her ascension into Paradise, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to go traverse this path of misery and delusions.

Don’t you know that’s how you get scratched into pieces?

She saw Gojo suspended high above them, a distant expression clouding his blue eyes. Y/N didn’t think he was upset; instead, he seemed as if he was finally understanding the very meaning of their existence in the world. It was as if he was being cradled in the invisible hands of God, completely ecstatic in his trance. His face was covered in blood, hair and armor unkept and dirtied, and a fatal wound to the neck oozed fresh blood. It was a stark contrast to the well put together and suave Satoru she had known before. It unnerved Y/N as she decided she didn’t like this transformation, and looked away.

But then maybe you deserve to be cut by all these thorns?

The visions shifted to Y/N in her bedroom, reclined on her bed, bathed in that familiar red hue streaming in through the windows. Everything was as she remembered leaving it; ripe figs on her nightstand, perfect bluebell flowers from Gojo in a crystal vase filled with clear water beside it. Oh how she would give anything to be there now, instead of whatever illusion she was stuck in now; a tantalizing, teasing vision of comfort and familiarity. Y/N doubted she would ever get it back again, and tried her hardest to savor it.

Wicked things deserve to be punished you know?

Nanami laid beside her, his hand covering the empty eye socket, and Y/N looked at him, willing him to say anything, just anything. Was the presence of his soul a symbol of something vital within her mind, silently communicating to her through the fever? Perhaps it was his ghost haunting her, unable to move on, expressing his anger at how he gave his life so violently for hers; maybe he was the real fever.

And you’re the worst of them all, the very worst I’ve ever seen…

Nanami turned to look at her, and her heart jumped. He looked pained, as if his words yearned to escape, but were bound by a vow of silence. She reached out to him, gently brushing a stray lock of golden hair from his forehead, and breathed in his calming scent. No, he would never punish her like this or subject her to delusions and pain; he was too kind and good, the very best of the Angels.

A flicker of sanity.

The red hue pulled back ever so slightly, and Y/N knew she was still in her cell. But there was someone coming; she heard distant footsteps approaching – perhaps Mahito? Would he put her out of her misery? No, the footsteps were too soft, familiar. She’d heard them before, knew to whom they belonged to without having to see anything at all.

You cut me in two, and now you think you’re free?

She was enveloped in red once again, Nanami’s presence returned, but he gripped her hand with a sense of urgency and fear. Y/N couldn’t bear to see him in such a state, and she promptly squeezed his hand back in a silent pledge of unified strength. Amidst the crimson haze and orchestrated delusions, it all became clear to her now – the visions he’d been showing her. He’d been patiently waiting for her all this time so they could move on together; the stunning saga of their lives now entwined for a final chapter.

“We can both go now…” she mumbled, neither here nor there.

You will never be free, not from me.

And suddenly, they both materialized in the meadows of the training grounds of Heaven, sullied by a red sky, hands tightly clasped together. Geto stood before them, a vision of benevolence and mercy, his katanas gleaming in the light of Heaven’s morning. Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and weep with joy as her inner turmoil melted away – her brother’s presence providing a welcome solace she didn’t know she needed so desperately. She would be at peace, as Geto would lead them both to Paradise, to bask in God’s light, and heal them from all they had endured.

“Oh, dear sister, where are you now?” he asked, featherlight fingers tenderly stroking her jaw, long black hair flowing like a dark river over his shoulders.

Y/N was confused by his words. Where? Why she was everywhere all at once, and Nanami was here too. Couldn’t he see her golden guardian?

“Hmm… this won’t do at all. Come with me; you’ll be alright now, that’s it,” Geto declared in that same soft tone she knew so well. The overwhelming surged relief through her, both astounding and crippling, as if the weight of the world had been lifted in that moment.

Her axis shifted as Geto carried her battered body in his arms, traversing through the meadow; through the deep dark prison.

It’s after dark, you know? But this garden still grows.

Through the cool green grass, amidst dim corridors and oppressive shadows, Y/N watched her world go by her from the familiar embrace of Geto’s arms. His dark robes swished purposefully with each step, as Nanami walked alongside him – a steadfast presence as always. She absorbed every moment, feeling the inevitable conclusion of her life approaching, and reveled in the crescendo of it all. She hadn’t sinned; God was pleased with her, and being granted a slice of Heaven was the greatest honor of her life.

Soothing warm water enveloped her, yet Y/N shivered, as she found herself in the bathing pool in Gojo’s tower; her body bare and naked as God intended. She felt divine, holy, the epitome of blessings. Geto’s hands washed her gently, almost hesitating, as if he feared her skin would melt from her bones. Y/N felt like it was, and by God, all she wanted to do was merge seamlessly with the water. Nanami stood silently behind Geto, regal and proud, observing her being cleaned.

“We’re going soon, you’ll see…” Y/N said to Nanami, trying to reassure him as her eyes rolled back into her head.

Geto rubbed her thighs, scrubbing away the world’s impurities from her, and said softly, “No, you’re not.”

“But, aren’t you here to guide us both?”

“No sister, I’m here to make you better.”

Y/N grew silent, awareness creeping back into her bones like an old friend. Nanami’s form became translucent, a haunting ghost barely visible. They were not in the bathing pool; instead, she was in a large bronze bathtub Geto washing her, and Nanami’s ghost still lingering. Her guardian looked down at her with regret as realization dawned on his fair features, yet Y/N still didn’t understand a thing.

“Geto… I’m supposed to be going with Nanami. Look, he’s waiting for me; he’s standing behind you.”

Geto stopped his ministrations, his head tilting curiously to the side as if he was earnestly trying to sense what she could see. His warm brown eyes swept over her body, pity casting a somber shadow over him, and rested on her wings, a disapproving tut escaping his lips.

“Forgive me sister, but you need to let them go. They’re killing you now.”

Nanami looked away sharply, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore, and Y/N frowned.

And then, Geto reached over and gripped both her wings at the base of their sockets in her shoulder blades. Before she could utter another word, he pulled sharply, a sickening slicking and popping noise resonating as her wings brutally detached from her body. Y/N gasped in shock and pain, convulsing violently in the bath, murky water sloshing over the sides. Geto hushed her gently, holding her arms as firmly as he could in an attempt to calm her.

The hours are passing, don’t you feel lonely?

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” Geto whispered, his tender touch returning to the task of washing her.

Y/N whimpered, her gaze shifting between him and Nanami, finally comprehending the meaning behind her delusions as his blood was washed from her skin. The veil was lifting, but it wasn’t to be the end for her, and they both knew it. Geto smiled kindly at her, warmth radiating from his eyes.

“It’s ok,” she said to Nanami. “You’re right, I can take it from here… I know I can do this now.”

Geto hummed, or perhaps it was Nanami, and cupped his hands together, pouring water over her head. “And what is it you can do?”

Y/N didn’t answer, her head rolling backwards weakly. Geto quickly held the back of her head, preventing it from dipping back into the water. Nanami took steps backwards from them, hesitating, looking up at the sky with a profound sense of longing. Her golden guardian wasn’t meant for her anymore; he was destined to soar through the skies and stars high up above. Nanami Kento was born from light, and to light he would return – not condemned to remain in this blazing prison of sinners.

“You’re not meant to be here. Go on,” Y/N urged, trying to be encouraging, as gentle as Geto’s hands on her bare chest; the last traces of Nanami’s blood washed away from her.

Of course you’re lonely, you always have been. You think I didn’t know?

Her guardian turned to face her one more time, a smile curving his lips – the same one just before his body turned into a rainfall of blood. This time, she smiled back at him, an understanding exchanged in the face of their final farewell.

“Be at peace,” Geto murmured, but whether he was addressing Nanami or her, Y/N didn’t know.

And then, Nanami stretched his arms over his head in pure bliss, his body engulfed in an ethereal light, ascending towards the red hued sky, disappearing in a blaze of hope and gold. It was cathartic and pure; she couldn’t help but start to weep with joy. Geto stroked her hair, whispering gently in an attempt to soothe her, as he started to lift her from the water; wrapping her in soft satin robes, and carrying her once more.

Y/N slipped back into the darkness.

-•-

She awoke to the feel of fresh linen sheets covering her body, and contentedly moved her legs, however a dull pain in her back immediately stopped her movements. Y/N winced, her memory gradually returning as she became more awake. Her wings were gone; she knew it to be true, yet she still felt their phantom presence. She tentatively reached behind her, almost hopefully, as if they might miraculously still be there – but all she felt were rough bumps of stitches woven into her skin. The overwhelming heat she felt when she first descended into Hell was now gone, and Y/N found that she was pleasantly warm. The room she was in was dimly lit by torches of blue flames, with lavish dark purple curtains drawn partly closed, revealing a dark and lifeless sky. The furniture, crafted from bronze and dark wood, was rich and deep, meticulously arranged in beautiful display.

The door behind her creaked open, and she turned around.

Geto.

Her heart leaped with adoration as he graced her with that familiar smile she cherished so much. Her brother was here, in the deep, dark depths, and it felt as if nothing had changed between them, and he stood before her just as he once had.

“How are you feeling, dear sister?” he asked, sitting down in front of her against the edge of the bed, hands clasped together politely.

Y/N whispered, “Like I’ve been dragged through Hell.”

Geto laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile along with him. He seemed guiniely happy, joyous even; what had even changed to begin with?

“You have been, that much is true,” he agreed, shaking his head and chuckling lowly.

“Thank you… for helping me.”

“Of course, although I do apologize for your scars, because those I cannot fix.”

He rose from the bed, pulling aside the curtains, and silently gazed out the window, “You’ve been asleep for seven days and nights, you know? Did you dream at all?”

Y/N attempted to recall anything at all, but there was nothing – only darkness and that red color behind her eyelids. “No… no I didn’t. Suguru, tell me what happened.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted, and in that moment, as she gazed at Geto’s side profile, the stark transformation in her brother became glaringly apparent. There was a harsh, foreign look in his brown eyes, as cruel and unforgiving as steel, and his jaw clenched with ominous resolve.

“I’m sure you know that Curse who took you, Mahito,” he began, tearing his eyes away from the window to fixate on her with that angry look. “That stupid fucking thing has no idea what he’s been playing at.”

Y/N was taken aback as the curse word fell from Geto’s lips as naturally as breathing, but she said nothing as he continued, “Of course, it wasn’t until he started babbling about how he had seen Gojo with two other Angels the day of the attack; one of them a fair haired one and the other a female. It was obviously Nanami when he described the way he fought, and then I knew that it must have been you there too. I deduced he must have been the one to take you, hiding you almost perfectly if he hadn’t decided to talk too much.”

Geto sighed heavily, a regretful look passing over him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there, it wasn’t apart of the plan. I knew that we might have crossed paths once again as enemies on the battlefield, but I honestly hoped that we never would see each other again…”

He looked at her once more with suspicion in his eyes. “But that does beg the question, Y/N,what exactly were you doing there?”

“Nanami said he had said he had noticed traces of a strange Curse, and he wanted me to go with him and track it. Gojo found out and came along with us.”

“And why exactly? Satoru wouldn’t waste his time on something so menial, it’s beneath him.”

“He… he proposed to me the day after you fell. I’ve never descended to Earth without him since.”

Geto looked at her sharply, quizzically. Y/N looked down, almost in shame, as if she were to be punished for telling him the truth.

“Were you married then?”

“No, the wedding was still being planned.”

“Good, so then you aren’t a widow. That makes this a bit easier.”

A widow?

Satoru Gojo is dead?

Geto stared at her, as if trying to decipher exactly what was going through her head; like he was trying to see if she was going to break down and shatter with grief and sorrow. Of course, Y/N was shocked – the greatest seraph that ever was and would be was dead. Someone she had known her whole life, gone and faded to ash. In that moment, she saw all the lives Geto had taken; the Sky Sentries and Gojo’s followers. Here was a cold blooded Curse that stood before her, calculating and aware.

“You’re not struggling as much as I thought you would,” Geto remarked, his head tilted curiously at her. “You mustn’t have loved him.”

“I-, I did,” Y/N started, sitting up as she struggled to find the right words to say. “But not in the way I wanted to love my future husband.”

“Of course not, and he must have known that. What a selfish prick, he knew you couldn’t say no to him. He must have proposed in front of the masses, oh what a great declaration of his love and strength to protect you. Some job he did.”

Geto was seething, snapping like a dog protecting a bone, crazed and cold-hearted at the memory of his once closest friend. It was silent for a long time before he came and sat at the edge of the bed, grasping her hand in his.

“He picked you because of me, and for that, I am even more sorry,” he said, head bowed low, anger gone in a flash as his long hair brushed against her hand.

“I did care about him, Suguru. I think, given time, I would have eventually learned to love him. He… he was changing, after you left. With me, Gojo was different, but maybe he was like that with you anyways, so I’m not sure.”

“Well then, I am sorry you lost him too as well as Nanami. It must have been the blackest of days for you.”

They were silent again, and Y/N breathed heavily as the weight of their conversation and the ache in her back bore down on her like a whip.

“May I?” Geto politely inquired, his fingers at the top button of her nightdress. Y/N nodded, and he deftly unbuttoned the dress, parting it to look at her wounds.

He produced an amber tub from his robes, opening it quickly and smeared a thick, herb-scented ointment over her stitches. She shivered at its coolness.

“Does it hurt?” Geto asked worriedly, his hands lifting from her skin.

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes closing, allowing her brother to soothe her aches and pains.

But there were still truths Y/N had to uncover shrouded in the shadows. She was owed knowledge, and Geto had to give her the courtesy of an honest answer. She hoped it would be honest, at least; he was a Curse now, and honesty was no longer in his nature.

“Why did you choose to fall?”

A dark look passed over Geto’s face, a haunted memory of oppressive demons surfacing, and she almost regretted asking in the first place.

“Because I want things in the world to change.”

Just like Gojo said not so long ago, only he had wanted to change himself and not the ways of the world.

“You see, there reached a certain point for me, and it was when Haibara died. I thought, what is the point of continuing to fight a war that has already been fought for a thousand years? More of us continue to die, and it will never ever end if it continues as it does now. I asked myself, what can I do myself to change things?”

He rubbed the last of the ointment into her back, and buttoned her dress up again.

“The way things stand, there are two outcomes – either the Angels win or Curses. But if Angels won, vanquishing Sukuna and all the Curses that dwell now, it wouldn’t really matter. The Heavenly Principles are still in place, and free will is still a blessing upon us all, therefore sin is inevitable. More curses would be born again, Angels will still fall, cast out from a home that they have fought for and defended. And why should it be so? Because Heaven deems them sinners, regardless of their good deeds?”

He sighed heavily, continuing, “And if Curses win and Heaven is burnt to ash, there would be never be another Angel born into the world again. Sure, there may be war and discontent within the Hells, that is a given, but it would never be as eternal or as wasteful as the war we fight now.”

“And so you’ve decided to decimate Heaven and every soul that resides there.”

“Yes.”

It was the way he said that, so simply, like it was as natural as a rain falling to the ground. Suguru Geto had a plan, he had the spark to his fire, and all he had to do was get to the place he needed to reach. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat; as she put together the pieces of everything he had told her. How Geto must have suffered in silence, his closest friend and sister never noticing a thing as he questioned everything he believed in. And still, he had chosen to embrace the fire and condemn them both to his ideals.

“If we had met earlier, I would have tried to convince you to turn too, to fight alongside me and reshape the world according to our vision. I attempted to persuade Gojo the last time we spoke together, but he refused to listen, as he chooses to ignore that his strength could achieve all our goals if he so wished.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, almost reluctant to acknowledge his confession. How could she be certain he wouldn’t have tried to kill her? However, there was something else more pressing on her mind than Geto’s ambitions.

“Suguru… why did you say Mahito took me away?”

Geto froze momentarily, and fear flashed across his face as swiftly as a lightning strike. Y/N’s heart raced even faster, the fear bubbling up within her; the scar on her stomach suddenly burning wildly.

“Like I said,” Geto began uneasily, clearing his throat. “Mahito has no idea what he’s been playing at. He can see souls within the body like a living, breathing thing inside us all. He knew the consequences if he was found out, and yet he did it anyway.”

“Suguru, what did he do? What does it have to do with me or you?”

“I hope you do not think less of me when I tell you this… I’m the King of the Third Layer of Hell, and Mahito is one of my strongest, albeit one of the youngest, denizens to reside in my court. He has stolen and knowingly hidden you, despite the bounty for your location within the Hells, and by doing so, he has put my Layer at risk for war.”

Her mind reeled at this information; at the power her brother now held in the palm of his hands.

A bounty on me?

“Who’s after me Suguru?”

“I think you know, sweet sister.”

Her green eyed Curse, the champion of storms; he had lived after all.

“His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he is the King of the Second Layer of Hell.”

Geto looked painfully guilty, his head turned from her shamefully.

“He has been looking for you ever since he killed Satoru, and… I have already dispatched a messenger to say that you are resting and healing in my home.”

He’s coming for me.

“Yes,” Geto replied, and Y/N realized she had said it aloud.

“Am I doomed?”

“I don’t know.”

Another stop in time, as she considered another revelation; something that may have already meant she was condemned to her soul burning in Hell. It would explain why the searing heat she fought so hard against didn’t bother her anymore, why her blood ran warm and true, and why she could no longer smell the sulphur in the air anymore.

“If it’s not what you want, then I can help you to escape him.”

“How?”

“I can help you ascend back to Earth, but only there. After that, you would be on your own to find your way back to your people, but I cannot stop him from finding you before you get there. I will also assume that you have chosen never to side with me, and if I came across you again, then we may very well kill the other.”

None of that might matter if she was already condemned; there would be no way back to Heaven.

“Suguru, please get me a knife.”

He frowned, “Y/N, don’t cause yourself more harm. I won’t let you die on my watch, and neither will he.”

“Suguru please, I need to see something.”

Geto relented, handing her a clean dagger hidden beneath his obsidian robes. She took it from him, and pricked her thumb with the blade and squeezed hard. A trickle of red blood escaped from the pierced flesh, and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief as the nausea dissipated from her stomach.

Until red turned black as ink; flowing down her hands like a river of sin and despair.

-•-

#jujutsu kaisen #soulmate au #toji x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #ryomen sukuna #toji fushiguro #gojo satoru x reader #jjk au #female reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #sukuna smut #toji x you #sukuna x you #gojo x you #jjk angst #nanami kento #megumi fushiguro #mahito #choso kamo #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #geto suguru #jjk smut #jogo jjk #jjk toji #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk sukuna

[hanakoofthejungle]

HuskerDust watercolor fanart based on the fanfiction, Casino of Love by @artwaterfall. The fanfiction, in turn, was inspired by the Overlord Husk AU created by @celestialalpacaron.

Drawing timelapse 

This scene comes from Chapter 15 where Husk and Angel went on their first date at Fizzmodeus' restaurant. They had lobsters. Angel did not know how to eat a lobster so Husk came to the rescue. Basically, they just abused the hell out of that poor dead creature. (It occurred to me: Where does the lobster's soul go? Does it end up in hell, watching its body being consumed?)

---

Angel tried again to pry the shell off still looking over to the side. “Am I doing it?”

Husk barked a laugh so loud the pianist looked up frowning.

“Ya gotta look at what ya doing.”

“Ugh,” Angel deflated and let the lobster rest on the plate, “ maybe I shouldn't have lobster.”

“Here,” Husk got up and walked behind his chair. He laid his hand over Angel's and resumed trying to pry the poor crustacean body.

Angel blushed at the proximity, Husk was practically whispering into his ear about the damn lobster but Angel had trouble focusing with the overlord's hand on his own.

Still Angel butchered the first half of his lobster and screamed in joy a little too loud at having half of it done. People downstairs looked up at them again, frowning.

Husk was still helping him with the second half, juices and lobster bits flying everywhere at Angel clumsiness but every time they joined stares at each other, he would find the cat laughing along with him.

---

Now why did I choose this scene to draw? Because it is fun, simple, wholesome couple interaction and very relatable. It reminds me of the time when I had lobster for the first time in Brussels, spending more time to crack open the lobster than actually enjoying the dish. Turns out lobster did not taste that great, but at the least the group of elderly American at the next table got a good laugh out of watching me and my friend absolutely butcher that lobster :)))

Having never watched Helluva Boss, I had to look up what the inside of that place looks like, but mistakes ensure due to that very wrong heart shape and lack of patterns on the wallpaper. I was lazy but hey at least I got that lamp thingy on the table right :))) As usual, the clothes are the focal point of my fanarts, "a beautiful deep blue, floor length dress, there was only one shoulder strap and a lace veil came from it all the way to the floor behind his shoulder" and "freshly pressed black suit with a deep blue tie that matched Angel's dress". Husk's suit in this drawing is not actually black but a mix of ultramarine and sepia. I usually don't use colors straight out of the pan, but mixing them. I made an exception in this with the lake red color of Husk's wing. I forgot to draw the wings before I did the line art, so I need the color at its strongest to cover the line art which was not supposed to be there.  

My tools still include pencil and Leningrad watercolor. I have been using that watercolor set for over 10 years and it is still the best watercolor set I have ever had. This time I use the Blue Uni-ball pen by Mitsubishi Pencil instead of black M&G gel pen. The line art looks much smoother and the waterproof blue ink added a nice touch to the drawing. I expect nothing less from one of the best pen manufacturers out there. 

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husker x angel dust #overlord husk #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x husk #hazbin hotel husker #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #angel dust hazbin hotel

[princessleechan]

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 29 WRITTEN CHAPTER

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, written chapter (1.6k w.c), conflicting situations, the final wrap, villian era!reader, haters

Thank you @wonwussy for helping me out a bit!

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @huening-kawaii @writingbarnes @strawberryya

You stand several feet away from the breathtaking couple, unable to resist fixing your gaze upon them. Junhui and Haru are wrapped in each other's arms, creating an intimate scene as if the room exists only for them, their smiles emanating warmth and pure bliss.

If not for your emotions, you might marvel at the sight, but instead, a sense of despondency washes over you. Your gaze wanders, intensely fixed on their intertwined figures until the surroundings blur, like watercolors melding on a damp canvas. Once again, you feel like a mere backdrop, perpetually an observer, never the focal point. Meanwhile, they revel in their joy, achieving a happiness you long to grasp independently.

Before you know it, your feet carry you in their direction, a sense of disbelief settling in despite the joyous tweets on your timeline that you have been avoiding. The realization dawns that there was never a chance, rendering the many efforts you made utterly in vain.

That is until you feel an arm firmly wrap around your bicep, pulling you in their direction. Frantically, your eyes meet with a sympathetic Seokmin, who looks down at you with concern.

"Don't look," he softly instructs. "Just don't."

With his hand on your back, he gently guides you away from the situation, softly hushing you to soothe the unfathomable range of emotions coursing through your body. His voice, though soft and sweet, fades into the background as you choose to focus on the gentle stroke of his hand on your back, quelling the sobs that threaten to escape.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. I promise." You turn to look at him and see the doubt in his expression.

"Are you sure?"

You could melt beneath the gaze of his honey-coated eyes, the warmth helping you transition into a mood more serene than moments ago. However, you nod your head softly, gently pulling away from his tender touch.

"I need to find Seungcheol."

Momentary disappointment briefly grazes his face, swiftly before a resolved nod is met in your direction. "You got this."

You mouth a "thank you" before moving with determination to find the man of honor, deliberately steering clear of what had caused you distress earlier. As you scan the room for what feels like the first time, you recognize many faces you have only heard of but never seen in person. Seokmin has retreated to his friend group, while Mingyu is not too far away with his own circle, evidently not having resolved whatever ordeal they had faced.

Chan, however, appears to be nowhere in sight, possibly taking a breather after the sight you both witnessed. On the other hand, there's Boo Seungkwan, who winks in your direction with a drink in his hand, looking as smarmy as you always imagined. Your eyes glaze over him in subtle disdain, before they find the man bouncing in childlike joy.

His smile widens, reaching from ear to ear, as he sprints in your direction to envelop you in his arms, twirling you joyfully in the air. "You're here!"

You chuckle, feeling a hint of discomfort, gently pushing him away as you regain your footing. "Of course, it's your special night. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His smile grows wider. “OK well you know Jeonghan and Josh up there on stage, Changhyuk and Hyungwon helping serve drinks, Yeonjun and Soobin are somewhere entertaining other people, I’m sure. Now that just leaves me and you.”

If you didn't know better, you might believe he was sincere. It seems as if he genuinely relishes sharing you with the world—his world—and perhaps he does. You are aware that this would make the plan even more effective. More humiliating. There is more reason for him to never inflict pain on another person again. That's why you have to keep going.

You accept his hand and interlock yours with his as he leads you up to center stage. A conveniently placed microphone comes to life as Seungcheol taps against its metallic head. Smiling, he announces, "Test one, test two. Can everyone hear me?"

The audience below erupts in a resounding "Yes!" as he proceeds to take the mic.

"Are you all having an amazing night?"

Their affirmation comes again, even louder this time.

"Well, tonight we are celebrating another one of our beautiful university’s achievements—the victory of our basketball team in the final games!"

They cheer, brimming with spirit.

"We take immense pride in having such invaluable members on our team. Even though I was announced MVP not too long ago, I can sincerely attest that every individual on this team is extraordinary and deserves this award just as much as I do."

He turns to you in a hushed manner, reciprocating the smile you wear for appearances, drawing closer to take your hand. “However, if I may be so selfish, I’d like to do something I’ve had my mind on for as long as it started.”

He endeavors to close the gap between you, ensuring you receive as much attention as he is garnering. "Throughout this year, I encountered someone incredibly special to me. Someone who undeniably alters my perspective on how I perceive the world. While there's still much to discover about her, there's nothing I'd like more than to demonstrate how much I value her, just as much as I value anyone on my team."

As the melody envelops the surroundings, gradually intensifying as it draws nearer, you discern the enchanting tunes of the college orchestra, featuring woodwinds and delicate string instruments. They gaze back at you with expectant eyes, weaving a musical tapestry of grace and elegance. Seungcheol, with sincerity emanating from his eyes, clasps his hands together and extends one before you as an earnest offering. "Will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

You take a deep breath, pressing both palms against your chest. A weight lifts, and it seems like you step into a scene from a film. Initially unsure how to react, you stumble, forgetting your purpose, until you catch a glimpse of them–the couple that stirs a twinge of jealousy--staring back at you like a spectacle.

As you finally cast a glance back at Seungcheol, regaining a foothold in reality, you make your way towards him. You clasp your hands together, exhaling through your nose the heat festering inside you. “Wow, I don’t know what to say…except maybe: why would I ever want to be with someone as pathetic and intolerable as you?”

As if a taut string has suddenly snapped, the entire performance comes to an abrupt halt. The one who has just confessed now wears a bewildered expression in response to your unexpected reaction. "…What?"

You scoff. “Did you actually think that you had even the slightest chance that we’d be together? Do you think I would subject myself to that? To someone like you?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he stammers, “Wait, I did this all—“

As you gaze at him, your attention is momentarily diverted by Junhui, who stares back at you, his expression mirroring the puzzlement and confusion evident in the room. "I can't stand you. Not a single damn part of you."

Descending the stairs of the stage, your movements convey a mix of determination and finality. "Wait, Yn, please. Tell me what I—"

With a decisive turn, you face him once more to deliver your parting words. “Never try contacting me again. We’ll waste both of each other's time and you’ve already wasted so much of mine.”

You gracefully exit the stage, and the crowd involuntarily parts to make way for your bold departure. However, amid the polite shuffling, you can't ignore the subtle undercurrent of disdain in the soft mutters that accompany your exit. Dark-eyed glances, filled with a mixture of surprise and disapproval, follow you as you make your way through the dispersing audience.

As you walk away, the murmurs linger like a haunting melody, a symphony of disapproval and whispered judgments. It's evident that the spectators exchange more than just casual remarks; there's an air of collective distaste that seems to swirl around your name.

Out of their immediate view, a wave of relief washes over you, and you feel as though you can finally breathe. Unbeknownst to you, your buzzing phone in your purse signals the concern of your other conspirators, each message a thread of support woven into the complex fabric of the night. With a nervous swallow, you tightly shut your eyes, momentarily escaping the weight of the situation and entering the cool breeze of the outdoors.

"Hey." Your eyes scan the surroundings until they home in on the source of the voice, eventually meeting a pair of red eyes framed by tear-stained cheeks. The weight of unspoken emotions lingers in the air, creating a palpable atmosphere that envelops you both.

You release a shallow breath, a disbelieving smile playing on your face. "That's where you were hiding, huh?"

Chan shrugs his shoulders while resting against a pillar, unfolding his arms, and a soft laugh of surrender escapes his lips. "I didn't want to hear about it, let alone see it in front of me."

"We're both going through it, I guess." A solitary warm streak leaks out of the corner of your eye, and you let it fall, embracing the wall behind you.

He observes in a momentary silence, as though seeing his reflection in a mirror for the first time—realizing the shared sadness and pitiful state of both himself and you. "Do you…" he starts to ask, sniffing timidly, self-conscious of his emotional state, "wanna get out of here?"

"…Yeah."

Your hand slips into his with a sense of urgency, a desperate clutch seeking solace. Feet hurriedly fall in step as you follow him, driven by an eagerness to escape the tumultuous emotions lingering in the air. Regardless of how this night unfolds, the only certainty is the shared desire to flee. You know it couldn't get worse than this.

#svthub #seventeen smau #kim mingyu #choi seungcheol #lee chan #lee seokmin #lee dokyeom #mingyu smau #seungcheol smau #dino smau #dokyeom smau #seokmin smau #nana writes #seventeeen fluff #seventeen humor #seventeen fake texts #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen scoups #seventeen dino #seventeen mingyu #seventeen dokyeom #seventeen fluff #​plc.smaus💕

[nayziiz]

No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse; SA; fluff

Masterlist

CHAPTER 5 (long chapter)

As Lando places his helmet on the table in front of Natalie and Max, the atmosphere around the breakfast table takes a shift. The intricate design and details of the helmet become the focal point, drawing the attention of both Natalie and Max.

They lean in, studying the helmet with a shared appreciation for the craftsmanship and personal touches that adorn it. The design, a reflection of Lando's personality and style, serves as a visual representation of his journey in the racing world.

Natalie, with her background in the racing industry, and Max, as a fellow driver, find a common ground in dissecting the nuances of the helmet's design. The breakfast table, once a casual meeting place, becomes a forum for their shared passion and understanding of the racing world.

“It’s the year of the rabbit, and it was also the year of the rabbit when I was born, so it just kind of made sense to do the lucky rabbit type design.” Lando explains. “What’d you think?”

“It’s sick.” Max agrees as he turns the helmet to get a better look.

“Nattie?” Lando asks when he sees her stay quiet.

“It’s cool, I like it.” She finally answers when she gets a turn to hold the helmet.

Natalie's internal struggle weighs heavily on her as she navigates her interactions with Lando. Since Suzuka, her demeanour has shifted, evident in the blunt text responses and the subtle avoidance when they arrived in Shanghai. This breakfast moment marks the first time Lando has seen her for an extended period without her disappearing.

Max's words linger in her mind, casting a shadow over her interactions with Lando. The reminder of their cuddles on the night of his first victory adds a layer of complexity to the dynamic. Natalie, consciously trying not to attach real feelings to their "fake romance," recognizes the potential for complications if she were to develop genuine emotions for Lando.

With Max excusing himself from the room due to a phone call, Lando and Natalie find themselves alone for the first time in two weeks. The lingering tension and unspoken emotions from Suzuka now simmer beneath the surface, and the air becomes charged with the weight of their unexplored dynamic.

The absence of Max, the temporary break from external influences, creates a space for a more genuine interaction between Lando and Natalie. Lando, sensing the shift in dynamics, looks at Natalie, his gaze holding a mix of curiosity and a desire for connection beyond the confines of their professional roles. Natalie, grappling with her internal conflict, meets his eyes, acknowledging the unspoken complexities that have been building between them.

“You don’t seem to be very impressed.” Lando comments as he takes the helmet from her and places it back in its bag.

“I said I like it, didn’t I?” Natalie abruptly responds, surprising both herself and Lando with her brash retort. The unexpected edge in her tone hangs in the air, leaving a moment of awkward silence between them. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

The fatigue, both physical and emotional, seeping through her words suggests that there might be more to her abrupt response than meets the eye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out tonight.” Lando suggests, expressing concern about the girls' night Natalie had planned with some of the drivers' girlfriends.

“I promised Lily I’d go otherwise she’ll never get used to the other girls.” Natalie responds, citing her commitment to attend the gathering. The sense of responsibility and loyalty to Lily adds a layer of complexity to Natalie's decision.

As Natalie reaffirms her commitment to attend the girls' night for Lily's sake, Lando studies her movements with a growing frown. The weariness in Natalie's demeanour, a departure from her usual preppy self, does not go unnoticed by Lando. The concern in his expression deepens, and he realises that her tiredness and the recent change in her behaviour might be taking a toll.

“We won’t stay out late, though.” Natalie assures Lando, recognizing his concern as she sees him watching her.

“I can always come pick you girls up.” Lando suggests, offering a solution to ensure their safety and well-being.

“Don’t be silly.” Natalie brushes off his suggestion, perhaps trying to maintain a sense of independence or not wanting to inconvenience him.

The exchange reflects the nuances of their dynamic—the genuine care and concern that Lando has for Natalie versus her desire to handle things on her own terms.

- LATER THAT NIGHT -

Natalie's surroundings in the loud and pulsating club become overwhelming, the music pounding in her head, and the flashing lights causing her discomfort. Feeling disoriented, she stumbles into a bathroom stall and locks the door behind her, seeking solace and escape from the overwhelming atmosphere.

The sensory overload triggers unsettling memories, and she recalls the sensation of someone dancing against her, hands roaming. The thought makes her nauseous, and she kneels over the toilet, vomiting at the memory. The cold, sticky bathroom floor adds to the unpleasant experience.

After wiping her mouth with a piece of toilet paper, she groans and tries to gather herself. In an attempt to find a semblance of comfort, she digs around in her purse and retrieves her phone. She dials Lando's number, pressing the phone to her ear, seeking a lifeline in the midst of the chaotic environment.

The ringing on the other end echoes in the bathroom stall, and as Natalie waits for Lando to answer, the gravity of the moment hangs in the air—an urgent plea for connection and support in a situation that has left her feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable.

“Nattie?” Lando almost instantly answers, offering a welcome relief to her distress.

“Lando, I need your help.” She mumbles, her voice breaking as the tears from vomiting run down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, the urgency evident in his tone, leaping off his bed and pulling on his sneakers.

“I don’t know where Lily is. I’ve looked everywhere.” She tells him, the worry apparent in her voice.tells him.

“Where are you now?” He asks, trying to assess the situation.

“I’m in a bathroom stall. I don’t feel very well, Lando.” She admits, her voice choked as she refrains from vomiting again.

“I’m on my way. Just stay in the bathroom, okay?” He assures her, his concern translating into a sense of urgency. The gravity of the situation becomes palpable as Lando rushes to her aid, promising the support she desperately needs in that vulnerable moment.

As Natalie sits on the closed toilet seat, her head resting against the wall, fifteen minutes later, she hears someone enter the bathroom. The ambient noise of the club and the muffled conversations from outside the stall make it difficult to identify the person.

In her vulnerable state, uncertainty lingers. The anticipation of who might be entering the bathroom adds a layer of tension to the already overwhelming situation. Natalie, still reeling from the effects of the club environment, awaits a moment of clarity, hoping for the arrival of the person she's been desperately waiting for – Lando.

“Nattie?” Lando’s voice echoes.

“Lando.” She answers, her voice a mix of relief and vulnerability, as she stands up and unlocks the stall door. The door swings open, revealing Lando on the other side. Without hesitation, she instantly falls into his arms.

In the comforting embrace of Lando, Natalie finds a refuge from the chaotic atmosphere of the club. The overwhelming environment fades away as she leans into his support, finding solace in the presence of someone she trusts. The moment becomes a sanctuary, a haven within the confines of the bathroom, as Lando provides the reassurance and care she desperately needs and seeks.

“It’s OK, you’re fine. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” Lando assures her, his words a soothing balm in the midst of her distress.

“Lily.” Natalie breathes, a momentary worry for her friend surfacing.

“She’s fine. Oscar’s with her.” Lando explains, offering reassurance about Lily's well-being. The information helps alleviate a layer of concern from Natalie's shoulders. “Were you drinking anything?”

“I literally had a soda.” She responds, clarifying that her condition isn't a result of alcohol consumption.

“Come, let’s get out of here.” Lando tells her, offering his assistance.

Lando helps her out of the bathroom, guiding her through the club towards the exit. The chaotic environment of the club begins to fade as they step outside, the cool night air providing a stark contrast to the disorienting atmosphere they leave behind.

Lando lays Natalie down on his bed, the dim light of the room casting a subdued glow. Her skirt rides up her thighs, a subtle detail that goes unnoticed in the urgency of the moment. The priority is her well-being, and he positions her comfortably on the bed.

“Someone was touching me.” Natalie mumbles, her voice carrying the weight of the distressing memory, the unwanted contact leaving an unsettling mark on the night.

“Do you remember who?” Lando asks, his concern evident in his voice, as he pours her a glass of water. Natalie shakes her head in response, the memory too blurred or perhaps too traumatic to recall with clarity.

Lando takes the glass from Natalie, placing it gently on the bedside table. The soft glow of the room accentuates the concern etched on his face as he turns his attention back to her. With a gentle touch, he starts undoing her shoes, his movements deliberate and careful. Natalie watches him closely, her eyes hardly blinking, the vulnerability of the situation reflected in her gaze.

As he finishes with her shoes, Lando places them on the floor, a silent acknowledgment of the need for comfort in that moment. Natalie, feeling a mix of emotions, sits up on the bed. The room holds a quiet intimacy, a space where unspoken connections unfold beyond the scripted dynamics of their "fake dating" arrangement.

In a gesture of trust, she reaches for Lando's hands, her fingers intertwining with his. Without uttering a word, she guides his hands to her thighs, a silent plea for reassurance and understanding. Lando, sensing the unspoken vulnerability, meets her gaze, his touch becoming a source of comfort and support.

“He kept touching me here.” She explains, guiding Lando's hands to the area on her thighs where the unwanted contact occurred. “And, when I asked him to stop, he just kept his hands there.”

Lando's expression shifts from concern to shock, the weight of the revelation hitting him. The room becomes charged with a mix of emotions, and he feels a surge of protective anger for Natalie. Yet, he remains composed, recognizing the importance of being a source of support for her in this vulnerable moment.

Natalie, her eyes peering up at Lando, holds his hands firmly on her thighs as if seeking solace and reassurance. Her hands then travel up his arms, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort she finds in his touch. Natalie wraps her arms tightly around Lando, seeking solace and strength in the warmth of the embrace.

“You came for me.” She breathes, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

“I’ll always come when you call.” Lando assures her, his commitment evident in his words. He quickly removes his hands from her thighs, respecting her boundaries, and wraps them around her in a comforting embrace. “I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

Natalie pulls away from Lando, her hands cupping his face as she frowns deeply, her gaze fixed on his eyes. The room seems to hold its breath, the intensity of the moment palpable as unspoken emotions pass between them.

“I want to kiss you.” Natalie whispers, her admission hanging in the air.

“Then kiss me.” Lando whispers back, his response laced with a quiet intensity.

“I vomited, Lando, I don’t think that’s very hot.” She states, suddenly sober enough to be more aware of herself and her body.

“You’re hot no matter what.” He continues to whisper, his words carrying a genuine warmth and reassurance.

As Natalie feels her heart pounding, a mixture of uncertainty and desire, she grapples with the need to kiss Lando. Seeking reassurance or perhaps a shield against the unexpected sparks, she contemplates the excuse of being drugged. With a flutter of anticipation, her eyes shift between his ocean blue eyes, searching for answers.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, she presses her lips to his in a moment that transcends the boundaries of their scripted relationship. Pulling him closer by his shirt, he lays on top of her. However, the sparks she hoped to avoid are unmistakably present, and the flutters in both of their stomachs reveal a connection that defies the logic of their staged dynamic.

Lando, feeling a mixture of flustered emotions and shyness, breaks the kiss and gets up. The charged atmosphere between them lingers in the room, their connection palpable even in the aftermath of the intimate moment. The unspoken tension and the sudden shift in dynamics leave a subtle air of vulnerability in the space they once shared. Lando, still flustered and recognizing the complex nature of the moment, gently communicates his reservations.

“I can't do this when you're not fully sound of mind.” Lando explains gently, a note of concern in his voice, as he covers her with a blanket.

“I'm sorry.”Natalie apologises, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, her deepest desires laid bare in that moment.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Lando quickly assures her. “It's not that I don't want to, I just respect you too much to do anything you might regret or not even remember in the morning.”

Lando scoots in beside her under the blanket, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“I need to change.” Natalie grunts, attempting to change the subject. “I can still smell the club on me.”

“I've got some spare clothes for you.” Lando informs her, a considerate gesture that reflects his caring nature.

He hastily gets up and retrieves a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from his suitcase, laying them down on the bed next to her as she sits up to meet his gaze.

“You can shower in the morning.” He adds, offering practical advice in the midst of the unfolding situation.

He looks around the room trying to figure out where to turn so she can change out of her clothes. He moves towards the window, but her reflection still persists. As Natalie struggles with the knots on her top, she calls for his help.

“Lando.” She calls out. “I need help getting out of this top. Heaven knows why I wore something with so many knots. Please, Lan.”

Lando's knees buckle slightly at her pleas. He whips around and moves to sit behind her on the bed, gently undoing the many knots that keep her shirt on her body. In a fleeting moment, Lando presses a tender kiss on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that tonight.” He whispers as the shirt cascades down her upper body.

Her hand reaches back, pulling Lando against her leaving his face nestled in her neck. It's not long before he presses more tender kisses against the skin of her neck, each touch eliciting a response from her as her body relaxes under his tender caresses.

“You're making it difficult to stop kissing you.” He tells her as his lips leave her skin, his saliva leaving a string connected to his lips and her neck.

“We don't have to do anything. Just kiss me, Lan.” She pleads, her desire for intimacy and connection evident in her words.

Once again, Lando's body responds to her pleas. He grabs his shirt, covering her exposed chest, and deftly pulls her into his lap, his movements both gentle and purposeful. As he unzips her skirt, she lifts herself slightly, allowing him to pull it down. His attention is momentarily diverted to the lacy black panties covering her, a detail that doesn't escape his notice. His breathing quickens as he redirects his focus to pulling the sweatpants onto her hips. His warm and reassuring touch grazes over her skin, creating a connection that transcends the physicality of the moment.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions and desires, Natalie finds herself grappling with the paradox of desperately needing Lando's touch after the distressing events at the club. Once she's fully clothed again, Lando's hands rest on her hips, and his lips quickly find their way back to her neck. She grabs his hands, intertwining her fingers with his in a silent gesture of connection.

“You make me feel safe.” She admits, her vulnerability laid bare as she rests her back against his chest. “I don't think I've ever felt this safe before.”

The confession sends a rush through Lando's heart, his feelings for her becoming more evident.

“I'll make sure no one ever touches you like that again.” Lando promises with a determination in his voice that reflects a newfound sense of protectiveness.

“You can't promise that.” She warns him, a note of realism in her words.

“I know, but I can't let that happen ever again. Not to you. Not while I'm alive.” He asserts, his commitment to her safety unwavering. Again, Natalie reaches back, gently grasping his curly hair.

“I don't deserve you. Or your protection. Never mind your affection.” She quickly tells him, guilt settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Nattie, you need to get some sleep.” Lando gently changes the subject, his concern for her well-being taking precedence. The room, filled with unspoken emotions and shared vulnerability, becomes a haven for their evolving connection, navigating the intricate balance between protection, affection, and the complexities of genuine intimacy.

- THE NEXT MORNING -

Natalie wakes to the disconcerting emptiness of the bed, the lingering warmth replaced by a noticeable chill. The room, once a cocoon of shared emotions and intimacy, now feels oddly vacant. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, realizing that Lando is no longer beside her. The echoes of the previous night's events resurface, and a sense of solitude settles in.

With a sigh, Natalie rises from the bed and glances around the room, as if hoping to find some sign of Lando's presence. However, the reality of the empty and cold bed becomes undeniable. Determined to move forward, she gathers her belongings and makes her way back to her own hotel room.

The familiar routine of showering and changing into her uniform serves as a grounding process, a way to wash away the remnants of the night and prepare for the day ahead. Despite the emotional undercurrents, Natalie remains focused on her responsibilities and professional duties.

“She was drugged and assaulted, Dad, I have to find out who did that.” Lando explains earnestly to his father over the phone. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily in his voice, a determined resolve to seek justice evident in his words. “Even if she can’t remember anything, I won’t forget hearing the panic in her voice or seeing it in her eyes when I found her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that scared.”

“I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s not going to be cheap, son.” His dad offers a pragmatic response, acknowledging the challenging path ahead.

“I’ll pay whatever I need to. I just want to make sure this never happens to her again.” Lando asserts, his commitment to Natalie's well-being unwavering. The sincerity in his voice echoes his determination to protect her and bring those responsible to justice.

As he concludes the conversation with his father, the elevator doors open to reveal Natalie walking out, dressed in her McLaren uniform. The juxtaposition of her professional attire against the backdrop of the distressing events from the night before adds a layer of complexity to the moment. Lando, his gaze fixed on her, stands as a silent sentinel, ready to support her through the challenges that lie ahead.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Lando greets her with genuine warmth as he pulls her into a hug, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten. The embrace, a testament to their connection, carries a sense of reassurance that transcends the public setting of the hotel lobby.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” She asks as she peers up at him.

“You looked like you needed all the rest you could get.” He tells her. “How are you feeling?”

“Still not very good.” She informs him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she peers up at him. “I’m sorry I overstepped some boundaries last night.”

“Stop apologising. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lando quickly assures her, pulling her closer to him. “Come, let’s go before we’re late.”

Lando takes the lead, guiding Natalie out of the hotel lobby and towards the waiting car. Gallantly, he opens the car door for her, a small gesture that speaks volumes about his consideration and attentiveness. With a helping hand, he ensures she's comfortably settled into the car before jogging around to the driver's side.

As he slips into the driver's seat, the subtle tension in the air doesn't escape him. Natalie shifts in her seat, unintentionally exposing more of her skin beneath the black skirt. The effect is not lost on Lando, and he can't help but feel a surge of desire tempered by the reminder that their connection, despite its genuine nature, is confined to the boundaries of a "fake relationship."

He glances at her, the internal conflict reflected in his eyes. The developing feelings he harbours for Natalie are undeniable, yet the constraints of their fabricated dynamic weigh heavily on him. The paradox of their situation—where emotions feel authentically real despite the artificial framework—creates a complex interplay between desire and restraint.

Lando clenches the steering wheel, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. Despite the unspoken connection and shared sentiments, he acknowledges the need for caution. The reminder that they're still navigating the intricacies of their "fake relationship" underscores the complexity of their evolving feelings and the delicate balance they must maintain, even as the car pulls away from the hotel, carrying them towards the day's responsibilities.

In the quiet confines of the car, Natalie wrestles with a heavy burden of guilt and shame, the weight of her actions from the night before pressing down on her conscience. The self-awareness of having overstepped boundaries looms over her, casting a shadow on the carefully crafted arrangement she shares with Lando. This internal struggle exacerbates the emotional turmoil that had unfolded in the wake of the distressing events.

She grapples with the realisation that her intentional actions, fueled by a surge of emotions and desire, stand in stark contrast to the carefully delineated boundaries of their "fake relationship." The self-imposed rules that were meant to prevent precisely this kind of emotional entanglement now feel flimsy and inadequate. Natalie understands that her actions were not influenced by the trauma of being drugged and assaulted; instead, they were deliberate choices made in the heat of the moment, even when they felt extreme.

As the car moves through the city, Natalie's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery, but her mind is entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. She grapples with the fear of jeopardising what they have, knowing that her intentional breach of boundaries threatens the fragile balance they've maintained.

Lando glances over at Natalie, who appears lost in her thoughts, a visible tension etched on her face. Sensing her inner turmoil, he offers a soft reassurance, the hum of his voice a comforting melody in the quiet confines of the car.

“You can relax, Nattie.” Lando suggests gently, his words carrying an undertone of understanding and empathy.

“It feels so silly being this embarrassed by everything I said. And, everything I did.” Natalie whispers as she turns to look at him.

“It's not silly at all.” He says, his voice carrying a warmth that seeks to alleviate her embarrassment. “We all have moments where emotions take over, especially in situations like last night. You don't need to feel ashamed. And, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t uncomfortable with anything you said or did. I was a willing participant.”

Sensing Natalie's blush and the lingering unease, Lando responds with a comforting touch. He places a hand on her exposed knee, the soft squeeze conveying a sense of reassurance and understanding. The tactile gesture seeks to bridge any emotional distance that might still exist, offering a silent affirmation of his earlier words.

The air in the car takes on a charged energy as Natalie feels Lando's hand gradually travelling further up her thigh, coming to rest just in front of her skirt's hem. Her gaze drops to his hand, studying the subtle movements, and a sense of tension intertwines with the palpable smugness emanating from him.

She bites the inside of her cheek, a conscious effort to stifle the conflicting emotions stirring within her. The rational part of her mind insists that this is all part of the show, a performance for the public eye. Yet, beneath the surface, a more visceral desire simmers, whispering a longing that transcends their scripted roles.

Deep down, Natalie finds herself yearning for a connection that surpasses the confines of their "fake relationship." The forbidden fantasy of straddling him in the McLaren and feeling his hands exploring every contour of her body ignites a subtle heat within her.

It's almost as if Lando senses the undercurrents of her thoughts, his hand daringly creeping slightly higher, fingers slipping just beneath the edge of her skirt. The atmosphere in the car becomes charged with a subtle electricity as Natalie and Lando tiptoe on the edge of desire and restraint.

“Don’t crash the car, Norris.” Natalie whispers, a teasing edge in her voice, as Lando's pinky grazes a sweet spot on her inner thigh.

“Tell me to stop.” Matching her tone, Lando responds in a low whisper.

“Lando.” She moans softly as if the whole world could hear her at that moment. “You have to stop.”

As they navigate through the track's parking lot, Lando withdraws his hand, subtly acknowledging Natalie's unspoken request for a pause in their earlier interaction. The transition is seamless as he assists her out of the car, their movements synchronised in the midst of the flashing cameras capturing their every step.

Entering the building together, Lando takes her hand once more, a silent reassurance that transcends the performative nature of their public appearances. The connection between them persists as they move through the passages, reaching an elevator where they wait side by side.

A mischievous smirk graces Natalie's face as she presses her crotch against Lando's knuckles in the crowded elevator. The subtle exchange of desire unfolds amid the bustling surroundings. Lando, glancing down at her, licks his lips, fully aware of the charged atmosphere between them.

- LATER THAT DAY -

The atmosphere in Lando's driver's room is filled with the echoes of the commentary from the garage as Natalie diligently works on her tablet. The room exudes a sense of focused anticipation, resonating with the energy of the Formula 1 world. Lando, returning after a session that showcased his skill on the track, enters the room, his body radiating heat and sweat from the demanding laps.

Spotting Natalie sitting on the massage table, engrossed in her work, he can't help but appreciate the contrast between her focused professionalism and the intensity of the racing environment. Closing the door behind him, Lando begins to strip off his race suit, the sound of the zipper punctuating the room.

The juxtaposition between Lando's physical exertion on the track and Natalie's composed demeanour creates a dynamic scene, embodying the different facets of the Formula 1 world—from the adrenaline-fueled races to the behind-the-scenes moments of preparation. As Lando sheds the remnants of the intense session, the room becomes a canvas where the lines between performance and reality blur, setting the stage for the intricate dance they navigate within the fast-paced world of Grand Prix racing.

“Excuse me, you could ask me to leave while you change.” Natalie mumbles as she avoids making eye contact, or any contact with his tanned body,  as he takes off his race suit and puts on a new, fresher one.

“But, you’re my girlfriend.” He complains and makes his way between her legs. He removes the tablet from her hands and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Seriously, are you OK?”

“I’m feeling better.” She assures him, hesitantly looking into his eyes. “And, before I dare forget. Thank you again for coming to my aid last night.”

---------------------------

Taglist: @noneofyourfbusinessworld @scopeiguess @tbsloneely

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc

[licncourt]

Is there a specific way to read the vampire chronicles or some books you should skip (I’ve just heard that some aren’t that good but like I’m up for anything)? And what books are focused on Louis and Lestat?

Okay I hope you weren't looking for a short answer to this because there isn't one 😭 Rather than just give my uncontextualized opinion, I'm going to try to explain what makes some (most) of VC so unbelievably terrible in so many people's eyes. There are going to be spoilers for pretty much all the books, but most of it is either incredibly stupid or information that you might want relating to content warnings. I'll list what applies to each book as I go.

I'm assuming you're here from my VC primer post, but if not, I'll link it right here! It gives a bit more detail on my short answer to your main question which is: if you value your sanity, only read the first three. Also a note to read the post I linked at the bottom of it about Anne Rice for context. It will help with understanding the tone this post takes re: the author.

To quickly answer your second question, I am sad to report that Interview with the Vampire is the only book focused on Loustat because after that Anne Rice decided that she hated Louis. Their relationship is on and off in the (very, VERY distant) background until they finally get together permanently towards the end of the series, but it's never the focal point again. She just kept us all on the hook by having one absolutely brain chemistry altering ship moment in a majority of the books (my compilation of those moments here).

Okay, on to specifics:

Interview with the Vampire: a literary classic with incredible character building. I'm assuming we can all agree that IWTV is fantastic and anyone who is reading this because of the show is probably already sold on it. If that's where you're coming from, you might be a bit disappointed by how unsympathetic Lestat can be, but that'll be remedied(ish) later. Lestat is the main character in the series going forward. Enjoy this Louis content because this is pretty much the end of it.

CW: keep in mind that the beginning of the book takes place on a plantation with all that entails; there are some occasional pedophilic and incestuous undertones, but nothing out of place with Gothic horror (it gets so much worse); domestic violence

The Vampire Lestat: this is widely considered to be excellent popular fiction rather than something as elevated as IWTV, but it's a 5-star read according to most fans. Lestat is such a vibrant, exciting character and so much more than the charismatic villain he was in IWTV (the AMC show incorporates a lot of his characterization from this book, as IWTV was originally a stand-alone novel without any real idea of what Lestat would become).

Aside from a (delightful) cameo at the end of the book, Louis is now in Anne Rice Jail and will not be allowed to do anything for the next nine books except be tortured once like a bug for no reason.

CW: a non-consensual turning that is directly analogous to sexual assault; descriptions of child abuse; Lestat, unfortunately, tongue kisses his mom

Queen of the Damned: this is the last book that most fans like. I personally consider it a step down from the first two, but I strongly prefer intimate, character driven stories and QotD is very plotty. It's a fun book, but some cracks start to show in AR's writing that will become a big problem later. Still, it's enjoyable and the ending is very satisfying for the story arc and for the characters. It also contains a fan favorite chapter that follows Daniel, the interviewer, and his insane romance with the vampire Armand.

If you want to be a happy person, turn back now.

CW: non-con blood drinking/vampiric SA; casual racism and pro-imperialism

***CATEGORY 5 EVENT: ANNE RICE FIRES HER EDITOR PERMANENTLY***

The Tale of the Body Thief: this is considered by most fans (obligatory not ALL) to be the worst book in the series simply for how the subject matter is handled. This is the beginning of AR transforming Lestat into something very existentially disturbing without even meaning to. The sympathetic, charming, evil-but-not-really theater kid Lestat is gone without a trace in a way that could be a very insightful look at the aftermath of trauma but is instead deeply insensitive and really upsetting.

Lestat from here on out becomes a hypermasculine caricature that can do no wrong according to the narrative and this has some pretty awful results. There are a few funny moments (like Lestat describing the sensation of peeing for two full pages) and a very cute arc where he adopts a dog, but he also commits two explicit rapes and emotionally abuses/threatens Louis on several occasions with the authorial justification that "men can't help themselves", abuse victims have it coming for setting boundaries, and people who have suffered abuse become abusers. This will be a recurring theme going forward.

Not related to Lestat, but also an Indian man is killed and has his body stolen and inhabited by a white British man in what would be a great metaphor for colonialism if the author thought that was a bad thing.

I am on the last chapter of a 140,000 word fic that I wrote just because I hate TotBT so much and wanted to create a world where it doesn't have to exist. It's one of the most popular VC fics on ao3, and that's not a testament to my writing ability, but rather to how much people hate this book.

CW: graphic SA; domestic violence; insensitivity to the point of racism; the author thinking these things are okay

Memnoch the Devil: not much to say about this. It's AR's ripoff of Dante's Inferno. Lestat meets the devil, goes to hell, drinks the blood of Jesus Christ, loses an eye, vacuum sucks period blood out of a woman's uterus and pad, and then falls into a five year semi-coma on a church floor. Somehow it's still boring. Best I can say is that the Lestat characterization is a bit less heinous than it is in the previous book.

CW: not much here unless you have an issue with period blood guzzling

The Vampire Armand: truly a notorious book in the series, beloved by some, hated by many. There's some good backstory for the character Armand (he first appears in IWTV, likely in season two of the show) and some fun historical fiction, however. Armand begins his story as a twelve year old human child who is rescued from sex slavery by an ancient vampire, Marius (he was namedropped in AMC ep 2).

Over the course of the book, he's physically, mentally, sexually abused by Marius, his teacher and father figure who is, like David, presented as a wise and moral authorit figure. In addition, Armand carries on a sexual relationship with an adult man as a minor. The sex is graphic (it's erotica) and it's really the peak of the pedophilia in VC. Keep in mind that this is coming from an author who publicly defended a child predator and thought that 14 year old kids could consent and should be allowed to have sex with adults.

Of all the later books, this one is the most widely enjoyed because Marius/Armand is a fairly popular ship.

CW: CSA/grooming; statutory rape; explicit adult/minor content; child abuse; cult abuse

Merrick: evil, evil book. AR's giant fuck you to Louis and anyone who likes his character. Lestat is in his devil coma for most of this book, so it's narrated by his newest fledgling and rape victim, David (who I and most others despise. This is the white guy who has an Indian body now). By this point, AR had openly admitted that she didn't like Louis, and she kind of spends this book tormenting and mocking him for no reason.

The titular Merrick (a mixed-race witch drowned in awful racial connotations) mind controls Louis with magic, then forces him to turn her (again, AR has confirmed that this is vampire rape) and be in a relationship. After this, she conjures a "ghost" that may or may not be Louis and Lestat’s dead daughter who tells Louis she always hated him and blamed him for her death. Completely overcome by grief, without Lestat (coma), and having been raped, Louis attempts suicide.

This event and all his mental health issues up to this point are framed by David as being stupid and weak, the sign of a lesser person who should just go and die because they deserve it. It is worth mentioning yet again that David is framed as being in the right and AR had expressed these opinions herself in the past (ie that mental illness is just weakness and you should be able to get over it).

Another fun thing is that Merrick was groomed by David as a child and he spends most of the book wanting her back and also admitting to other acts of pedophilia. So that's fun and great for a character who's supposed to be a voice of reason and moral center.

0/10, despise this book.

CW: sexual assault; grooming; attempted suicide

Blood & Gold: this is Marius' backstory. It is a completely pointless book because we've already heard it twice by this point in the series (and if you read the companion book Pandora, you'll hear it again). The whole thing reads like a Wikipedia page about ancient Rome. Read it if you want I guess.

CW: Marius

Blackwood Farm: this book had...potential? None of that was ever achieved, but I'll at least say that the concept could be worse. Lestat acquires his FIFTH brunette sadboi love interest of the series in this book, so that's kind of funny. Overall though, any positive qualities are overshadowed by weird prose, a really transphobic caricature, and the fact that the main character has shower sex with the ghost of his dead twin brother

CW: transphobia; sibling incest

Blood Canticle: Miss Rice decided to. Get creative with this book. It is a fandom joke. It is the worst prose in existence. It is a literary manic episode. It is truly indescribable. I'm just going to leave this excerpt from ch 1 here and let you imagine an entire book of this

Yes, chapter one is Anne Rice using Lestat as a proxy to berate her readers for not liking Memnoch the Devil. It's also important to me that you know Lestat calls himself "omnisensual" in this book, tries to become a saint, and tells a woman to put some clothes on because men can't control themselves. The word "chuckle" is also written out in the prose in italics like this is ff.net in 2010. The best thing that came of this book is the famous AR Amazon reviews rant (now a beloved VC fandom copypasta). Please read it. It's transcendent.

CW: psychologically devastating prose

Prince Lestat: this is AR's comeback book, published 12 years after Blood Canticle. It's an improvement, but it's still terrible and very, VERY dumb. Lestat has completed his transformation into a macho man male power fantasy for AR and we end with the establishment of a vampire monarchy with Lestat in charge because he slurped and then puked up the brains of the vampire who had the Special Vampire Essence.

Mostly this was an excuse for AR to kill off a bunch of her weird NPCs that she didn't know what to do with. The good news is we get a very cute, official Loustat love confession and for the first time since the first book in the entire series, we get a chapter that's Louis' POV!! It's like 7 pages long but it's the best we're ever going to get.

Other fun thing that happens: Lestat is hooked up to a hormone IV that allows him to fuck (book vampires can't) and the resident scientist vampire steals his cum and creates a petri dish clone of Lestat that is raised in secret for 18 years before being given to Lestat as his son. No, I'm not joking.

CW: uh, brain eating? Insanely unethical human experimentation?

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis: batshit crazy book. Truly bonkers. There are aliens, Atlantis is real, Lestat has a sentient brain parasite that controls all vampires and talks to him in his mind like the PS5, vampire brain surgery occurs, a choir of child vampires is there, an alien named Derek breastfeeds a disembodied hand until it grows into his clone named Derek Two, and so much more.

The one positive is that after decades of harassment, AR finally lets Louis be a main character again. By this point he has been completely stripped of his personality (I call it the Louis Lobotomy) and exists solely as Lestat's sexy lamp, but whatever. He's there and they're cute together. How they managed to become a healthy, functional couple overnight after two hundred years of drama is never explained.

Lestat makes out with his rapist and talks about how he was asking for it in a particularly nauseating scene, but otherwise it's pretty tame trigger-wise

CW: rape apologia/victim blaming

Blood Communion: we are finally being put out of our misery. The end of the series. This is such a boring book and Lestat’s characterization is completely nonsensical by now. Several main characters are presumed dead for a while and by this point you don't even care. Not even the other characters in the book seem to care. Its only use is to get that sweet sweet Loustat happy ending.

CW: temporary character death

-

Alright, that was a lot of shit-talking a book series I literally run a fandom blog and write hundreds of thousands of words of fic for, but the truth is, fans are here for the characters as they were originally created. The first three books are wonderful, the first two completely masterful and case studies in how character building should be done. There's a reason they've been read and analyzed and fawned over for forty years. What happened to the series is heartbreaking, but it doesn't negate the impact of how it started.

AR may have started spelling her own characters' names wrong and writing a baffling combination of disgusting hot takes and total absurdity, but she created something special in the beginning and I'll always love it and be grateful for what it once was.

I hope that was helpful!

#i'm sorry i didn't proofread this it's 4am #answered #vc #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #loustat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #interview with the vampire

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 12

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

“You really need to let me teach you how to swim,” Dr. Miller said upon guiding me back and forth several times across the pool until we waded side by side in the shallow end. “You never know when you might be in a situation when you'll need to.”

I nodded and teased, “How much for lessons?”

“I don't accept cash, or credit or debit.” A smile took over his face and he slicked his wet hair back with his hands.

“Well, there's got to be something.” I tried my best to be flirty, though it wasn't something that came natural to me in the way it did for my older, male counterpart.

Dr. Miller glanced over his shoulder toward the sauna. “Actually, there is.”

I followed his gaze and let him pull me by the hand toward the staircase that led out of the pool. Goosebumps decorated my shoulders and then traveled the length of my back as the air welcomed us back onto the tiled floor.

Dr. Miller strutted like a Greek God, and I engrained every little detail of his wet, naked body in my mind. With that thought, I knew I was putting him far too high on a pedestal, but I couldn’t help it. I knew I was becoming obsessed and I couldn’t reel it in.

He glanced over when he sensed me looking at him and I tried to look away. The smirk on his face gave away that I hadn’t done so swiftly enough. Dr. Miller continued to pull me by the hand until we reached the sauna. He reached for the handle and gently opened the pale, wooden door before extending an arm in to allow me inside a step ahead of him.

The heat, like the few times I’d been in a sauna at the gym, hit me like a wave; though after a swim it was a perfect contrast to my cool, damp skin. Not to mention, it felt extra good in the middle of winter. There was a bench straight ahead with a second row perched above it. The lighting was so dim I had to squint to make it out.

Dr. Miller edged past me and sat down on the bottom bench and stretched his arms across the upper part. Even in the darkness I could tell he was staring intently at me. My eyes seemed to adjust to the darkness faster than average, as if to access the object of my growing affection. Just looking at him sitting there was masturbation material - not that I did that that often. Dr. Miller’s bare feet were parted wide on the floor, and the way his legs were spread made his hard dick the focal point of his cut, saturated body.

He didn’t have to ask me to ‘come here’. I was like a moth to a flame, greeting him with a passionate kiss as my knee pressed into the bench between his legs. My hands caught his face and the force of my embrace forced him to lean back just slightly.

Dr. Miller adjusted my legs, putting my knees on the outsides of his hips on the bench. He moved me with such ease, like a clay mold that was his to play with. I felt him pressing at my entrance and his hips pushed upward. I met him halfway and lowered my body down, taking him all in. He let out a groan and his head dropped back with his arms still outstretched to either side.

I held onto his shoulders the same way I had in the pool, feeling the dampness leftover from the water as my hands slid against him each time I threw my hips forward. Breathing wasn’t easy. It was dry and hot, turning the leftover pool droplets into sweat that coated our bodies.

“My God..” He whispered the words and I hugged my body against his, grasping the back of his head and grabbing a fistful of wet hair as his face aligned with my breasts.

Dr. Miller took a nipple between his teeth before sucking the area to soothe the sensitive skin. Watching him latched on and in the moment with his eyes closed sent an electric current down my body. I moaned aloud and felt his hands finally blanket around me, holding me tight as I rocked on top of him.

“Let it out,” he whispered in my ear as his teeth gripped my earlobe now, before trailing the length of my neck and back up.

“Fuck,” I mewled his name like a kitten in heat on a tiger, “Joel.”

He grunted and my eyes practically rolled back in my head when he thrusted hard up into me. “Call me Dr. Miller,” he begged, grabbing my face roughly before kissing me even rougher. He moaned and grunted, holding my sweaty body tighter against his.

That did something to me. His demand to call him Dr. Miller. Fuck, that felt right. It made every facet of my body feel hot.

Our lips parted with a loud smacking sound. “Dr. Miller,” I choked out, feeling one of his hands squeeze my hip, leaving a sting beneath his fingertips.

“Mmm..” Our lips grazed against one another’s, colliding each time I rose and fell as I rode him. Dr. Miller gripped me hard around the back of my neck and pressed his forehead against mine. He breathed heavily, moving his other hand to my left side of my ass.

The heat from the sauna added to my arousal. I was wet head to toe. Dr. Miller was wet head to toe. It was getting hard to breathe, I felt like I was spinning and high.

“Dr. Miller..” I moaned his name again, allowing him to clutch me tighter, harder. He pushed up into me, moaning my name right back until he sounded as desperate as I did. “Fuuuck.”

“Cum,” he urged, groaning as I moved faster on top of him. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

Oh.. my.. God..

“Fuck..” I clawed at his back and gripped his hair, feeling an eruption of pleasure in my lower half as my thighs shook and tightened against him. I cursed again and my body trembled as my orgasm paralyzed every single part of me.

I felt him finish at the same time. It was primal, erratic and rough. Dr. Miller held me so hard I thought I might break. But it added to the waves of pleasure that left my womanhood in a sea of contractions that pulsed against him as he continued to thrust up into me from below.

He didn’t let go as he panted for a deep breath that never came. His hands slid down my sweaty back. I closed my eyes as Dr. Miller’s limp lips attempted to kiss against my collar bone. My head fell back as I glanced up weerily at the ceiling.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” Dr. Miller whispered. He bit my neck and pulled me back to him, guiding my lips to his for another sloppy, drawn out kiss. I felt drunk. Love drunk.

“I never want to leave here,” I whispered back, aching for another kiss.

“Mmm..” He slid a hand up and down my back and continued to pepper everywhere he could reach with kisses and little nips of his teeth. “We should get out of here.” Dr. Miller pecked my lips again and I felt my hair stick to my forehead as he tried to brush it back, “You need water.”

“You need water,” I said with an attempt at a chuckle.

“I need water,” he agreed. Without warning he pulled me back in for another kiss. It was heated and needy and left us both even more breathless.

“Do I have to get off you?” I managed a little smile, studying his sweaty features as I began to slick back his already slicked hair.

Dr. MIller smiled wickedly, but his voice was still desperate. “Let me get you hydrated.. and then you can ride my dick in every room of this house if you want to.”

I breathed heavily and could see my chest heaving up and down. My eyes closed when Dr. Miller tended to the center of my breasts again. Despite just having an orgasm that I hadn’t quite recovered from, I still wanted him.

My little moan must've snapped him back to reality because he stopped and lazily looked up at me from where he sat. Dr. Miller pecked my lips now and rose to his feet, picking me up as he stood. At the same time I felt his dick leave my body and I swallowed hard.

“How many rooms are there in this house?” I half-joked, longing to be reconnected to him. The obsession was real, and I was beginning to see how two-sided it was.

“Enough to tackle over the course of a weekend.” Dr. Miller shoved the door open and pulled me with him. I could breathe again. The fresh air felt cold in comparison to the thick, dry air of the sauna. I sucked in a deep breath and turned to him.

“Holy shit.”

“I know,” he said, “It’s intense in there.” Dr. Miller eyed the pool as we began to walk together, “You really need to let me teach you to swim over the next few weeks,” he demanded, “Or months.” Our eyes locked and I nodded.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it.” He could tell I was being casual and there was a part of him, even if it was a small part, that was annoyed by how nonchalant my response was. I just didn’t see as much importance to it like Dr. Miller did.

“I want to,” I told him honestly. The thought of being in the pool, face-to-face with him again sounded amazing, to say the least.

“Okay.” Dr. Miller touched my face and I kissed him on the lips. “Now, can I get you some water?”

I laughed lightly, “Yes.”

“Stairs or elevator?”

I thought about the moment in the pool. How my life was in his hands. How he took care of me. I engrained every single millisecond of our intimate encounter in the sauna. There was no way I wasn’t trusting this man - not to mention I knew that meant that I would have the ride up to the main floor with my body pressed up against his for a few extra seconds.

I smiled wide. “Elevator.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x reader

[munsonsreputation]

I THINK THERE'S BEEN A GLITCH

(THE SERIES MASTERLIST)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!baker + artist synopsis: As a small town artist and self taught baker from Roane County, you don’t always find yourself stumbling into Hawkins, but in some twist of fate you form unexpected friendships with a group of individuals in the neighboring town. Life seems to take another unexpected turn when Steve Harrington becomes the focal point of someone more than a friend. So while you think you might be more than a little self-effacing he’s already coining you as the most down-to-earth girl he’ll ever meet. It seems like the belief system you both had built in your minds is now slowly breaking down, as if you were made for each other...or was it just a glitch?

🎧 THE SOUNDTRACK 🎧

chapter one: we were supposed to be just friends

chapter two: my part of town on a weekend | mood board

chapter three: situation-ship | mood board

chapter four: what’s in our system | mood board

chapter five: fastening myself to you with a stitch | sneak-peak

chapter six: [tba]

! more chaps / blurbs to come !

Glitch reader + Steve instagram pages!!!! (created by the lovely and talented @translatemunson)

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated 💌

a/n: i've been dying to put this out and this concept has been in my wips since foreverrrrrrr!! a big big big thank you to my love, the light, my literal savior @translatemunson for helping me proof-read and guiding me through what i thought was going to be ultimate writers block. i love you effie and this one is for you baby!!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss

#munsonsreputation #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x fem!artist #steve harrington x fem!baker #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x taylor swift #taylor swift x stranger things #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine

[justporo]

Revelations

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Chapter 10

As the joy and their love still echo through each other, Astarion sweeps up Tav for another dance - that makes them reminisce about all the things that might have been and be thankful for all the things that are.

Author's Note: Three months... It took me three months to get back to this - I am deeply sorry but life - you know. I have however this and four more chapters already drafted ready for you - and there's still more to come so I hope you're ready to jump back into this adventurous night with Astarion and Tav, start the night anew or maybe get lost in it for the first time? Anyways, I hope really hope you enjoy a chapter of a lot of emotions and banter - there's quite some more stuff to come!

Songs: Serenade for Strings in E Major - Antonín Dvořák (and also that's their second waltz)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: none

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER |NEXT CHAPTER

~~~

You could have just stayed like this for the rest of your days: Astarion’s arms firmly holding you while the world blurred around you completely with your head thrown back and you dancing together until the world would fall down.

Your vampire being your single focal point, the one thing to always return to, the only thing you really ever needed – while the rush of the dance and the prickling sensation of having drunk just a tad too much gave you a feeling of pleasant light-headedness. Life could be so easy, so beautiful.

The waltz went on forever with you and Astarion beaming broadly, drunk on love, champagne and each other. And yet the dance ended all too quickly.

When an enormous crescendo began announcing the end of the waltz you lifted your head up again and grinned broadly at Astarion who was still rushing with you over the dancefloor as if he’d never done anything else in his life.

His red eyes were so open, the smile on his face as genuine as you had ever seen. A look that could almost make you believe that it had truly always been like that: no two hundred years of torture, just this perfect, gilded vision of a happy life.

You both knew it wasn’t true – but for this moment it was more than enough.

Horns in the orchestra rose up for a grand finale. Astarion turned you even more eagerly for these last couple of rounds, an almost feral grin splitting his face. Just the pure joy of the speed with which you were almost tossed around, made you throw your head back once more. A joyous, wild, almost feral laughter escaped from your lips – caused by the simple but deep delight of feeling so, so alive. You saw it on your vampire’s face too: a power so strong his undead self might’ve been more alive in this moment than others were in their whole existence.

Astarion’s hand let go of yours and joined his other at your waist and you leaned back even more to enjoy the dizzying rush, your hands quickly moving to cover your lover’s while you were sure you had never felt this free in your life. Flying couldn’t have felt any better than this.

And the vampire couldn’t rip his eyes from his beloved, the corners of his mouth curled up so far it made his face ache as he beheld his soulmate experiencing some of the rawest, purest joy, he’d ever seen in anyone. It seemed one of the divine entities he’d prayed to had eventually answered his pleas by putting you in his way after all. Finally blessing him with a piece of paradise.

But not a single god could have even competed with you in this very moment as Astarion could barely believe the beauty of the love of his life. His feeling of wonder and glee not second to yours in this moment that felt almost detached from anything – your surroundings, your past, your future.

Truly a night and a moment to never forget.

With a beat of the drum the orchestra ended on a high note. Couples all around you broke into cheering and clapping while the other guests joined in. The volume quickly rising levels over what the musicians had just ended with.

But Astarion and you didn’t join in. His hands were still on your hips and his eyes on your flushed face full of happiness. Your chest was heaving heavily. Who could have predicted that dancing could be just as exhausting as going into battle (or indulging in other physical activities). Your earlier assessment had been quite right you felt like. Although of course the aftermath felt much more delightful and much less dreadful.

It did nothing to bother you though because wild, unbound happiness was still flooding through you. And you saw it mirrored on Astarion’s face as well in the way his eyes sparkled like garnets and you felt his hands restlessly squeeze and tap on your hips, his vigour barely contained.

He opened his mouth wanting to say something while around you people were still in a frenzy. But before he could get a word out you stepped forward, dragged him down by his face and crushed his lips to yours in a way you had never kissed him before. The urge to show him how your heart was flowing over with love for him in this very moment was just too strong to resist. You needed an outlet for the overflowing in your chest – your whole body!

The vampire let it happen, arms raising almost helplessly before he wrapped them around you and pulled you in closer, kissing you back with just as much force and emotion. And when you released him, detangling from his arms, his crimson eyes were wide with surprise. He almost stumbled back being released from your passionate embrace.

Astarion was flustered and obviously speechless.

It must’ve been an illusion of the low lights, but it almost looked like a slither of pink blush crossed over his face up to the tips of his pointy ears. He blinked several times while his mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes were still on you: as if he had perceived a miracle right in front of his own eyes. And maybe that was exactly what you were to him.

Well, that surely was a first.

Your giggle felt almost a little hysterical as you rode off the last waves of this incredible emotional high and wrapped your arms around Astarion as your vampire was still staring off into space in surprised but delighted bliss. Meanwhile around you the dancefloor emptied slightly while the thundering applause had drizzled out already.

“We need to do this again some time, love, if that’s your reaction”, Astarion murmured as he regained his wits slowly and reciprocated the hug slowly. You buried your face at his chest, still grinning almost maniacally, not ready to let the moment pass.

Some of the guests passing around you, leaving the dancefloor threw the two of you glances. Everyone had seen your display of heartfelt affection and that seemingly had warmed up the crowd to you. One or two people went as far as touching your or Astarion’s shoulder as you kept standing there: the very illustration of a happy, young fairytale couple.

As that thought crossed your mind you almost started to giggle again – your little ironic roleplay had maybe become just a little tad too convincing.

You lifted your face off Astarion’s chest who had let his thumbs wander softly over your arms. “Now, my prince, are you ready to get your white stallion and steal me away for our first night of passion before we get married, and I have no other task in life than bear your children and raise them while you go off to some war from which you’ll never return?” you asked him, rambling on and on with the newly found energy and placed the back of your hand on your forehead in a dramatic gesture.

The vampire’s eyebrow in the meantime had arched higher and higher the more you added to the cliché imagery of your fairytale. He grinned at you, eyebrow still raised, giving him the expression of seriously questioning your sanity in this moment. “Darling, I honestly think you’re getting just a tad too much into this,” he whispered while the party, the drinking, the chatter rose up around you again.

“Also you do know my stance on horses, sweetheart.”

You laughed and pinched one of his cheeks. You were definitely still feeling high of everything and were in a silly mood. Thankfully Astarion didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he could barely contain his own laughter as he answered you.

“But at least you put the night of passion before the marriage, at least it’s not a prude tale,” he continued, his voice taking on a sultry note while he inclined his head to you.

“But scrap the terrible, stereotypical ending, my love, I’ll happily stay right here with you for as long as we both want to,” Astarion closed, his tone now a lot more genuine again. You could only answer with a big happy smile, placing your head against his chest again.

The orchestra in the meantime had taken a short break, some of the musicians allowing themselves to indulge in a singular glass of offered champagne before they continued playing for what would surely be a very long night still.

You pulled back from Astarion a little with a sigh: “You’re right, I guess this is all going straight to my head more even than the alcohol. I guess once we’re back home I will have to spend a week in the Lower City and get shit-faced every night at Maeve’s until they let me sleep under the big bench on the floor. You know to ground myself again.”

“Ah see, there’s my little feral street cat that I love so much again”, the Astarion replied in a haughty tone – with a tinge of disapproval and teasing disgust.

You kicked him – but only slightly as you stood too close to him to get him properly. “Be nice, you prick!”

The vampire only laughed and while holding onto your slim shoulders pressed a quick kiss to your lips. The orchestra was now getting ready to start playing again. The conductor tapping his baton against his stand again to gain everyone’s attention. Another waltz was announced while you tried to kick Astarion again for being a meanie.

“You could give me just one deeply romantic moment once in a while, you know that, Astarion? Without ruining it with your sass!”

“I didn’t bring up getting drunk at this piss poor establishment someone even dared to call a tavern,” Astarion replied. You simply tried to swat his arm but the rogue took a half step back, dodging just out of your reach

“Did you really get so drunk at this forlorn tavern that they let you sleep it off on the floor?” he asked with mock worry on his face

“I won’t answer this question right now, Astarion,” you replied and let go of him to take a step back yourself while pursing your lips.

“Well then, darling,” he said and grabbed hold of your wrist before you could step away from him further. “Allow me another question then: will you join me for another dance?” The low, golden light of the chandeliers sparkled in Astarion’s eyes as he said that with his head slightly bowed to you. He was all of a sudden on his best behaviour again as you heard the musicians in the orchestra readying themselves for another piece.

In this in between moment you took a second to take your partner in again. You had been with him all night. You had seen him get dressed even but with how he looked at you right now you were just wholly smitten by him again. He looked like sin in a suit – and you were so ready to indulge again. Forgotten was the short insolent quarrel. But how could you stay mad at him for long when the look on his face and wide red puppy eyes spoke of nothing but adoration and deep affection for you.

So, when his smile and his offered hand promised you another round of exhilarating joy should you accept his offer, you didn’t even think before agreeing and grabbing his hand.

His fingers wrapped around yours as Astarion smiled happily at you and swung you around once more while the strings softly began playing a new piece.

Your vampire made you take one – or two – extra turns before he pulled you back in, arm wrapping firmly around you once more and then starting to twirl around the room again. It was a slower waltz now that fit well with how the mood seemed to have shifted from electrifying frenzy to something a bit calmer now. The dancefloor had emptied quite a bit. Many of the guests, as you noticed while turning your head around while Astarion made you glide over the polished wooden floors, were back to drinking, chatting, showing off and gossiping. And another thing you noticed: if everything had been highly polished at first, just like the gold buttons on most everyone’s doublets or the silver of amulets around necks, there was a slight general disarray noticeable. Some cravats and scarfs had been loosened, buttons opened up, lipstick smeared, and headpieces started to slide dangerously off people’s heads. All which was going hand in hand with a general air of tipsiness and derailment. At this point in the night, it might’ve been impossible to find just about one person not slightly stumbling from maybe having had one or two glasses of champagne too many.

And you were pretty sure you even spotted at least one hysterically laughing tiefling lady sipping directly from a huge, heavy-looking bottle – having to use her other hand to even get it lifted. When another turn took you around again, you spotted her once more – and realised that it was the woman who’d been involved in the group from earlier. Apparently, she had dodged her cheating husband for a good bottle in hopes of something less treacherous – good for her.

Your gaze snapped back to Astarion, trying to find out if he had spotted her as well. And you knew he had when you saw his wicked, almost vicious smirk as he pulled you in a little closer with his hand on the small of your back. He sighed abruptly and dramatically while his face formed to a mocking expression mimicking disappointment and compassion: “Seems not everyone can be as lucky, loving and harmonious as the two of us, my love.”

Apparently just for the timing of the punchline did your feet choose this moment to make you stumble and almost fall onto Astarion. He hissed at you.

Only his roguish quick reflexes grabbing you by the shoulders and counterbalancing you stopped you both from toppling over. He lost not a moment before picking up the pace of the waltz again while you were still recovering from the shock.

Astarion clicked his tongue in disapproval, lips pursed: “I stand corrected.”

You snarled at him and were just about to show him how ‘harmonious’ you could be when you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. Someone else that was familiar.

You craned your neck in hopes of catching another glimpse while Astarion kept scolding you for not paying attention and how you would cause the two of you to lose the image of the imposing, perfect couple if you tumbled over each other while dancing. But you were indeed barely paying attention and therefore ignored what your partner was blabbering about.

Another turn and then you saw them again: another couple enjoying the dance together. Maybe a tad slower than the two of you and a bit less fluently. And in one half of the couple, you recognised your lovely elderly lady neighbour. She was dancing with a man much taller than her small frame, elegantly clothed with long black hair, tied together at his back in a low ponytail. While they slowly and a bit sluggishly turned, you saw how young and devilishly handsome her partner was. She was beaming up at him. And just the huge, genuine smile took years off her aged face.

You couldn’t help yourself, your mouth fell open. Your gaze snapped back to Astarion once more, hoping again that he had observed what you had just seen. And surely, he had, because there was at least slight surprise and even a bit of admiration on his face – his downturned corners of his mouth and lifted eyebrows giving him away.

“Old lady still got it within her, it seems”, Astarion commented and hummed approvingly. You had to agree.

“I hope it’s not for her money or estate,” you replied. You felt how the vampire just shrugged under your hand on his shoulder. You craned your neck again to look at them. But when you saw how he as well looked at her as if she was the most precious thing, he’d ever come across you knew it wasn’t.

“I do wonder though. When they go to bed how well she’s taking it with the age differ-“, Astarion began with a wicked glint and a grin that made him look almost fiendish.

This time you stumbled fully on purpose. Causing Astarion to hiss at you angrily again.

“You’re one to talk about age difference, grandpa!” you hissed back and stuck out your tongue when he began twirling you around with more force as if he was trying to work the insolent attitude right out of you by force.

Had he called the two of you harmonious just moments ago? Apparently only if the harmony was accounted for by the way you both violently bickered with each other like an old married couple.

“Why am I even taking this from someone barely older than a child,” Astarion snapped angrily while his grip on you got a little firmer, trying to show you there would be no more slip-ups, not under his watch.

“Be happy, I’ve decided to take care of an elderly citizen, love,” you spat back but barely hiding a grin.

Astarion huffed. “You’re not simply after my money, are you?”

You snorted. “There’s barely any notable amount to speak of, is there?”

The pale elf sighed in mocking disappointment: “So you’re only in it for the love – how sentimental and very unbusinesslike of you, my dear.”

“Guess, we’ll have to do with the feelings we have for each other,” you sighed back. Astarion too gave you another dramatic sigh as well while you shared a deep look into each other’s eyes. Then you both started to laugh softly before the strings of the waltz became slower still and more melancholic, the bittersweet music making a feeling of yearning rise up in your chest.

You were focused wholly on each other again with only the music lulling you. The room, the party, the other guests swirled by in colourful but easily ignorable billows. With steady moves again now you let yourself be taken away by the feelings rising up within your chest and your vampire’s tender expression while you moved over the dancefloor once more with the elegance of water in motion.

“Have you,” Astarion began in a much more sombre and genuine tone now after a while of just gazing at each other, “have you ever wondered how it would have been? If we’d met under different circumstances? Happier ones, I mean.”

“You mean, if you hadn’t become-“ you awkwardly gesticulated around with your hand wrapped with his. He simply nodded. And you immediately understood what he was trying to say: would there have been a version of events where you had found each other without all the pain and the turmoil in between?

The way he looked at you in such a vulnerable manner now made your heart ache. You saw the cracks within him he usually did his best to cover up and hide – and that he only trusted you with to only ever see. If only there was a way to relieve him of this weight he felt.

A pained smile swept over your face: “I have.” You sighed. You had to look away for a single second.

“Although in every version I’ve come up with so far we would have crossed ways and probably would have only spared each other a spiteful glance – with me having grown up homeless on the streets and you being a magistrate with noble upbringing and everything”, you continued. And then you remembered something you had spoken about earlier that evening, your gaze snapped back to his. “And I would have probably left with your purse and laughed about how stupid you were.” A weak smile played on your lips with the weak attempt of lightening the mood again.

You saw some of the pain you felt mirrored on the vampire’s face. His gaze shortly slipped from yours as well as he seemed taken by his own imagination of an alternate meeting, another ending to your story. Then he offered you a small, slightly sad smile when he looked into your eyes again: “If only you were an actual princess, things might have turned out differently, my heart.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, isn’t it?”

Astarion shrugged and was prepared to move on from the topic, but now that he said it, there was something about it.

“Although,” you began, catching the vampire’s fleeting attention once more. He cocked his head slightly. “This might have not even the biggest ‘if’.”

Astarion’s interest was caught, his full lips forming a questioning “oh” while his eyebrows jumped up. Frankly, he seemed thankful for an opportunity to leave the territory of hurtful memories and regrets behind.

You cleared your throat, getting yourself ready to reveal something about your past you didn’t like to dwell on – at all.

“Well, I might have told you that my father was a pretty high-up elven noble, right?” Astarion bowed his head to you, waiting for the new piece of information in this, narrowing his eyes.

“Turns out, he’s actually the king of a small, mostly secluded living elven enclave in some Faerun forest – all this being part of the reason why my mother dropped me on the steps of some cloister after birth. A bastard child is one thing, but the bastard child of a king – unimaginable, not tolerable”, you burst out all at once like ripping the knife out of a wound. And just like a blade viciously pulled from flesh made blood gush from the cut, making it hurt more, you felt how a whole lot of emotions of long hidden away memories were about to wash over you.

You couldn’t hold the vampire’s gaze for a few long moments while you fought to not get swept away by hurtful, long stowed away memories. Astarion’s gaze at you softened, his thumb wandering over your entwined fingers. He didn’t fully understand what all this meant for you. But he surely knew and realised when someone was not willing to share further details about pain of the past.

If you wanted there would come a time and a place to talk more about this and what I meant for you. But the middle of a dancefloor during a big ball was neither for that.

You remained in silence for long heartbeats while you asked yourself why you had so randomly offered up this piece of information about yourself – something that you had neither thought about in a long time nor wanted to pay any mind to in the future. Where you came from meant nothing to you, only the present and the man that held you was important for you now.

After a while you had caught yourself again and you lifted your head to meet his gaze again.

“I guess that’s just what we are right now, Astarion, a vampire only having broken free from his master after two centuries and a former street kid that also barely made it as a thief”, you said with a small bitter laugh.

Astarion let his thumb wander over your entwined hands again while he pulled you in closer once more, both his hands on your back now as he still made you both turn around lazily, another waltz nearing his end.

“For what it’s worth, darling,” he murmured and offered you a genuine smile with wide, open eyes, “I’m sure you agree we would have both been happy if we hadn’t gone through everything we did to get here. But I am still very happy that I’m here now and that I get to share it with you, my heart. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His crimson eyes conveyed his love for you as he cupped your cheek and the strings drew out a single last mournful note. Slowly your lips curled into a smile and saw it spread over Astarion’s face too – two partners in crime.

What was it even worth to mourn something that could have never been?

And you had to agree with him. You were incredibly happy for the time since you had met him, if not for the circumstances. But luckily, from there on out, things had been looking up tremendously.

Your future, you thought, looked quite golden, and with a fair share of garnets strewn across.

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#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of fake smiles and hidden lies #tav #bg3

[thatnerdydino]

based on prometheus and the livewire by @potionofinstantdamage

transcript and more below

Transcript:

"There was nothing else to be done but wait for the man who would rise forth to destroy him. For deep inside his soul, there was no doubt that what he did was Evil."

~~~~~~~~

hi I physically couldn't stop thinking about this scene, it's only a few sentences long and not even the focal point of the chapter, but something about this scene and the quote from OFF had me brainstorming since like. april. my god

some personal thoughts:

- I had to finish this now before I lock myself in my room and do nothing but study for my last exams for the semester or else I wouldn't be able to focus on anything, so it isn't 100% how I imagined it in my head. ya can't always wait for all your eggs to hatch to cross the street. or however that saying went.

- accidentally made the scythe too fancy (it was described as being a simple farmer's scythe) and doc's holding it in the wrong hand.. i only noticed this when I was about 90% done with the whole piece.

- on the topic of design and inconsistencies, not sure if these designs match the ones described by the author. some sections were drawn weeks apart, and it's been a hot minute since I read the entire fic and not just the chapter this is based on

- first time trying out this comic-y layout. pretty happy with the composition and placement of things

- tl;dr will be doing a redraw in the future

anyways go read the fic NOW!!!!!!

#@/potionofinstantdamage i hope i did your writing justice :] #rendog #docm77 #hermitcraft #thatnerdydino art