#i don’t like them or enjoy being around them and i don’t want to sacrifice my time money autonomy for a child i don’t even want lmfao

[chaconnehoonie]

Obsession-(follow up) L.HS

✶ Heeseung X Fem! Reader

->This is a follow up to the first part, but you may read it alone if you please, reading the first part is just recommended to get the full story.

Synopsis- Your relationship with Heeseung proves that sometimes you’re forced to make commitments and sacrifices for those you love.

WC: 3.4k

Warnings: toxic relationship, cursing, insecurity, derogatory terms, smut, angst

Smut warnings: dub-con(?), oral(m) somnophilia, kissing, unprotected sex, spanking, rough sex, orgasm denial

A/N: I know I posted the first part to this a while ago but I felt so disappointed with it that I wanted to write something to follow up with. I’m also terrible with my writing schedule so hopefully this will get me back in the game, enjoy!

This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are like this in real life, MDNI!

Heeseung was trying to be a good boyfriend. Sure, there are moments where he frustrates you or makes you question your relationship. But relationships are all about making commitments, right?

You’re committed to Heeseung- of course you’ll do whatever it takes to be with him. You’ll put up with his mood swings or his trust issues, accepting that he may just be a naturally jealous person.

He makes it hard, though, as he’s too jealous sometimes. He always has trouble believing you only have eyes for him, whether it’s when a stranger is checking you out at a party or you’re being too close for his liking with your best friends—who just so happen to be guys.

God, you love your friends, but it’s clear that Heeseung doesn’t. You don’t expect him to, of course, however you expect him to accept your close bonds with all three of them. They were existent in your life before him, after all.

You can’t bring this up around him though, as he gets quiet each time, stuck in his thoughts and fears of you leaving him. Being the understanding girlfriend you are, you decided to show him just how special he is to you.

✶.

Heeseung sits alone on the couch in your living room, mindlessly scrolling through Netflix in search for new movies or series to start. Since the beginning of your relationship, you both decided on having movie nights every Friday; cuddling up on the couch together with a warm blanket and a plethora of snacks.

You haven’t come home yet, sending him a quick message to let him know you’d be stopping by a grocery store for snacks, then you’ll speed home to see him.

He sits there and waits, grabbing a bag of chips to munch on, watches trailers for new horror movies with stupid plots and terrible actors, then waits some more.

What’s taking you so long? It’s not like you would stand him up, it’s not like you can stand him up—he’s in your house, anyways. Maybe the checkout line is taking too long. Maybe you stopped to buy some alcohol too, or what if that’s what you were planning but forgot your ID in the car?

What if he’s actually going the wrong rout and you had gotten into an accident? Or decided you didn’t like him anymore and wanted to sneak off with someone else before seeing him tonight- “Baby?”

Heeseung jumps at the sound of your voice, quickly turning around to see you shutting the front door, hanging your keys and slipping off your shoes. He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t even hear the front door opening.

Your face holds a concerned look, rounding the couch and placing your bags next to Heeseung before dropping to your knees in front of him. “You okay? What happened?” Your hands gently caressed his knees in hopes to comfort him, knowing he’s a sucker for physical touch.

He only shakes his head and pulls you to sit next to him. “Nothing, pretty. I just really missed you.” His voice sounds unsure, but you decided to accept his answer, knowing he hates being pushed to open up.

“I missed you too, cutie. I actually bought something I want to show you.” You peck his nose and his eyes light up in excitement. “I need to go prepare it in my room, but I’ll be back out before you know it.” You smile at him and he nods quickly. “I have to use the bathroom anyways. Perfect timing, I guess.”

You place a soft kiss on his upper lip before grabbing one of your bags and rushing upstairs while Heeseung makes his way to the bathroom. He takes a long look at himself, analyzing his features and taking note of how much better he’s been looking since he’s gotten with you. He’s taken care of himself more, focusing on eating healthier and getting haircuts more often, as well as doing some skincare and shaving his facial hair.

He really feels better with you, smiling to himself in the mirror when he realizes that he’s truly in love with you. He loves you—and he hopes you feel the same way.

After flushing the toilet and leaving the tap running for a minute, Heeseung makes his way out of the bathroom, pausing when he sees you wrapped up in your blanket, waiting for him on the couch.

Walking up hesitantly, he smiles anxiously at you. “What did you wanna-“ he’s cut off when you throw the blanket off of yourself, sat prettily with the most delicate lingerie adorning your body.

Black lace cups your breasts with thin straps hardly covering your shoulders, matching black lace panties sitting high and tight on your hips as the fat of your hips and butt jut out around the material.

Heeseung stands in front of you stiffly, mouth hung open and eyes locked on your figure. Siting up, you reach a hand towards his face and place it under his chin, gently forcing his jaw shut.

“Do you like it?” Your voice is soft and sultry, provoking him to finally touch you. He strokes your head, feeling your soft hair under his fingertips. He’s so in love with you— just that touch sends blood straight to the weight between his legs and he’s suddenly too weak to stand.

Sitting on the couch, he pulls you onto his lap without breaking eye contact. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You giggle and cup his cheek, pulling him into a kiss that only lasts a second as he’s murmuring against your lips. “Yes- fuck, yes.”

You gasp when he pinches one of your nipples through your thin lacy bra. Pushing his tongue into your mouth, he plays with your own in a mess of drool and moans, all while rocking your hips against his.

He pulls away to moan loudly, resting his head on the back of the couch. “I’m glad you like it.” You kiss his neck, licking his jaw slowly before sucking a mark into his skin.

“The boys helped me pick it out.”

His eyes shoot open at this, quickly sitting up and looking you in the eyes. “The boys?” He furrows his brows, confused, but also hurt. You let the boys-Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, not only see you in lingerie but pick it out? For your boyfriend to see later on?

“What do you mean they helped you pick it out? Like you went to the store together and let them chose it? They seen you in it?” He sounds like he’s going to cry, voice cracking but there’s also a hint of anger.

You nod, eyes wide and worried. “Well, yes. I asked for their opinions because they’re also guys, you know? I thought that’d be the best way to figure out what you’d like…” you trail off as you take note of the irritation appearing on his face.

He finds no point in complaining, no reason to explain why he’s so hurt. Instead, he pushes you off of his lap rather harshly and you land on the soft cushions with a quiet ‘oof’. Of course he didn’t mean to be so aggressive, but with the way he stomps to the front door and angrily grabs his keys, slamming the door shut as he leaves, you can’t help but tear up at his angry demeanor.

Was he really that upset? Over your friends helping pick out a gift, for him? Sure, maybe you didn’t have to wear the lingerie while showing them but Heeseung should know by now that your relationship with your friends is nothing more than platonic.

Deciding you’re too heart broken after being left so alone and exposed, you head to bed early. Well, not exactly early if 11pm was anything to go by, definitely too late for Heeseung to randomly leave and expect you not to worry, but early enough for you to sleep off the mental pain and end up in a better mood in the morning.

✶.

You wake up as an odd weight hits your cheek, repeatedly tapping on your face as you feel the warmth radiating onto your skin. Your eyes open slowly, blinking a few times to fully wake yourself up.

It’s still dark, but you can make out the silhouette of someone standing uncomfortably close to you. Taking in a sharp breath, you turn to your alarm clock and note that it’s around 2am, quickly reaching to turn on the bedside lamp.

The light flickers on and Heeseung groans, quickly reaching his own hand to switch it back off. While he does that, you notice the way he’s fully clothed, save for his hard-on that’s currently face-to-face with you, peeking out from above his sweatpants.

“What-“ you’re cut off as he places a finger upon your lips, slipping it between them and into your mouth to tug your jaw open. You can’t tell what he’s doing with the lights off, but you don’t wonder for long as you suddenly feel his tip entering your mouth, sliding against your tongue.

You’re stiff, laying there in shock as he uses your mouth for his own pleasure, biting his lip with a groan. Heeseung has grown to be more comfortable around you, no longer trying to impress you in order to get you to like him, yet instead trying to impress you to get you to keep liking him—always outdoing himself to prove he’s worth your love.

However, he’s still shy at times, especially intimate times, so seeing him fully take control of you, take advantage of your sleeping figure, is new to you. It’s kind of arousing, but after what happened earlier you just can’t get yourself to enjoy it.

Especially with the way he grips the back of your head and shoves himself fully into your throat, holding you there until you gag and drool onto the ground. The position is awkward; he’s standing in front of you while you’re laying on your side, head hovering off the bed just enough to miss the sheets as your spit strings onto the wooden floor.

He lets out a deep moan, mumbling to himself about how wet and warm your mouth is, but not directly speaking to you. How could he speak to you after what you pulled earlier? Why would you deserve praise for going out and prancing around like that with your friends, basically slutting yourself out for them?

What you do deserve is the harsh thrusts of his hips as he fucks your mouth, pulling your hair harshly as he keeps your head in place while his cock suffocates you. You try to breathe through your nose, but you only choke and whine around him as tears blur your vision, not like you can see much in the dark, anyways.

He groans louder, thrusts harder, grips harder, all while you lay there and take it. He lets out a particularly loud moan as he pulls your head towards him, shoving your face far enough to touch your nose to his pubic bone, and then he’s cumming down your throat.

His hips are still as he twirls strands of your hair between his fingers, holding you in place as his release fills your mouth.

Finally pulling out, he breathes heavily before stuffing himself back into his sweats. He makes his way to the bathroom, situating himself before coming back to bed and wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close enough to be his little spoon. It confuses you, but you’d rather have this than have him stay angry at you.

“Thank you, pretty.”

✶.

The next day goes by smoothly, Heeseung acts completely normal when he goes to work for a couple hours, then coming home as you prepare lunch.

You’re glad he has work early enough for him to be done by the afternoon, but sometimes you wish he could stay in bed with you just a little longer than leaving at 5am, but at least he gets to come back at 1pm and spend the rest of the day how he pleases. You quickly learn though, that today he decides to use the day as he pleases by pleasing himself.

As you put ramen to boil and chop vegetables, humming a random song to yourself, you hear the front door shut. It doesn’t slam, so you know Heeseung isn’t angry, at least not enough to show it.

He walks up behind you, grabbing onto your waist and you smile, turning around for a kiss. He grips your chin, turning your face back to the counter and speaks lowly in your ear. “Keep chopping.” His voice is stern and you know he’s serious.

You hesitantly pick up the knife again, slowly cutting the vegetables as he pulls down your pants, panties going along with them, leaving you bare and exposed for him. It was only last night he was using you for himself, maybe he’s repaying the favor?

That idea is quickly shut down as you feel his tip prodding at your not very wet entrance, wincing at the stretch of the head doing its best to make its way between your folds. Of course you’ve both have had sex without foreplay before, but that was after a while of kissing and obvious arousal.

This time, he fills you up dry with only his precum coating your walls. You whine at the pain, stepping closer to the counter in an attempt to get away from him, but he only manhandles you back towards him.

Pulling out to the tip, he gives you a second to breathe before he pushes himself all the way back in, continuing with rough thrusts. He lands a loud slap to your ass, leaning forward and biting onto your shoulder. You cry out in pain, trying to take his cock the best you can while he uses you once again.

He’s fucking you, skin to skin, so that must mean he’s not upset anymore. You try to convince yourself as he thrusts harder, hands bruising your waist and hips as his knuckles turn white from holding you so tight.

He’s more vocal this time, moaning into your ear as you bounce between him and the counter top, knife now laying further away from you and vegetables roll off the counter, landing with a hard thud on the floor.

You moan as he picks up the pace almost inhumanly fast, wet sounds showing signs that you’re finally aroused enough, the slide of his cock against your walls is no longer painful.

He pushes your upper half forward more, fully bending you over the counter as he lands a harsh slap against your ass, echoing through the kitchen along with your high pitched moans.

His thighs slap against the back of your own, wet and covered in slick as you can’t hold back the squelching noises your pussy makes while being stuffed full.

“Oh God, Hee…” You whine but he’s tired of hearing you, placing his palm over your mouth to muffle your moans. “I don’t wanna hear it.” This confuses you, mainly because he’s always loved hearing your noises—proof that he’s pleasing you right. But now, he suddenly doesn’t want to hear them? Going as far as covering your mouth to shut you up?

Even with this hurt side of you, the pleasure is undeniable and before you can process it, you’re close to orgasm as Heeseung lands another harsh slap against your ass.

“Hee-baby, I’m gonna cum!” You pant heavily, inhaling a deep breath in preparation for your orgasm, only for it to be taken away from you. “No you’re not.” Heeseung slides his wet cock out of you, instead spreading your ass and pushing himself between your cheeks.

You scoff, now frustrated and in pain, wondering if this is what blue balls must feel like. You try to reach back and slide him back in, but he grips your wrist, pulling both of your arms back so your cheek lands harshly onto the counter top. Wincing, tears start pricking your eyes and you try to squirm away from him.

“Not letting you…d-don’t deserve to cum.” He grits through his teeth, pushing your butt cheeks together tightly as he thrusts, still keeping his fast pace.

Leaning forward, he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades, finally releasing as ropes of cum spurt out of his tip, landing across your back and staining your shirt, some reaching your hair to find in a sticky mess later.

You’re both panting, catching your breaths after whatever kind of rough, angry sex session that was. Still confused, you try to turn around, calling out to your quiet boyfriend. “Heeseung…” your voice is soft and comforting, and as much as he wants to accept it, he just keeps you turned around.

“Just- don’t.” That’s all he says before tucking himself back into his jeans and walking upstairs. The bathroom door shuts, still not slamming, but you can now tell that he is definitely still angry at you.

✶.

“So, what? He’s upset that we helped you and now you guys are having hot steamy hate sex?” Jake laughs to himself, taking a bowl of ramen from Sunghoon. A bowl of ramen you cooked for Heeseung.

You sigh, playing with your own ramen as you push it around the bowl with your chopsticks. “Yeah…I was cooking this when he came home and he just…did that.” You trail off at the end, not wanting to go into detail because no matter how good it felt, you were still hurt.

“Waitwaitwait.” Jay mutters with his mouth full, swallowing harshly before speaking again. “This ramen doesn’t have a special ingredient, right? His cum shot didn’t fly into here and now I’m consuming his babies?”

“Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“Come on- I’m trying to eat here!”

“You’re actually disgusting.”

Sunghoon gags as he imagines the scene playing out, downing his glass of water to calm himself. You pat him on the back as he keeps gagging, mainly to piss off Jay who now regrets what he said.

“Okay, Hoon. You can stop now, I get it.” Jay rolls his eyes, picking up his beer bottle and taking a sip while sending glares towards his friend.

Your face drops to your palms, sighing again as you think about these past two days. “He left like an hour before I invited you guys over.” You speak up, eyes teary as you bite your lip. “He didn’t eat…didn’t say goodbye…he just left.” You break down, a sob escaping your lips at the thought of your boyfriend leaving you so alone and embarrassed.

“Do you know what this means?” Sunghoon places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly to ease your tension. You shake your head no, confused as to what he’s implying.

He sighs, looking between Jake and Jay, then back at you. “This means you’re going to have to choose.” Your eyes widen, shaking your head more aggressively now.

“What do you mean choose?” You can’t believe they’d recommend something like this. “You know, choose if you want to stay with him. Let him treat you like that, let him get away with those things.”

He grabs your hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Or you can choose to stay with us. Keep being our friend, let us save you from this disaster.” His words hurt, but you know they must be true. “He just…” you inhale a shaky breath, “He just needs time. We’ll figure something out.”

Yeah, that’ll fix it. You’ll figure out a way to keep Heeseung happy and stay close to your best friends. Hopefully, without cutting any ties or creating an awkward atmosphere. But you’ll do whatever it takes to keep each of your boys happy.

#enhypen smut #enhypen x female reader #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen angst

[johndonneswife]

are you and Ayesha planning on having kids? 🥺

nope never ever!

#my opinions on children are too much for tumblr to handle but yeah. don’t want them #have never wanted them #will never want them #the thought of being a mother makes me feel so panicked and sick and depressed #idk i’m the type of person who can’t be held too tightly without freaking out. i need space and i need to be able to do what i want #whenever i want to #ayesha grew up in poverty in pakistan like. eating paper when you’re hungry type of poverty. and i grew up poor / working class in america #and like. idk. i have strong opinions on that too but i won’t get into it here. we’ve just seen too much shit to ever want kids of our own #anyway the thought of having that kind of connection with another human being is terrifying and i don’t want it. my relationship with ayesha #is a choice that we both make #i can leave for work trips at any time without having to worry about her. i can go out. i can go camping. i can make last minute plans. etc #also i just don’t like them enough to have them!! i like playing with my friend’s babies for a few hours #and then giving them back like that’s truly enough for me #being a parent sounds awful. i wish more people would accept that they’re just having kids for the wrong reasons #just bc it’s something to do/you’re expected to have them #i’m also a millennial who can’t afford a house in any of the big cities i want to live in #i’d want to send my kids to private school. sorry but like. i’d want to give them everything i didn’t have and give them whatever edge i can #also school shootings and climate change and child predators. fucking TIKTOK. i can’t #ANYWAY sorry i don’t know when to shut up but like no. i don’t want children 😭 #i don’t like them or enjoy being around them and i don’t want to sacrifice my time money autonomy for a child i don’t even want lmfao #i wonder if this is my grandma sending me this ask from beyond the grave #*** I DONT HATE CHILDREN *** i’m excited to have our future nieces and nephews visit and do fun stuff with them and teach them anarchy \m/ #aish obviously feels the same about all of this and we’ve felt this way since we met #which is also why i knew i’d be w her forever 🥰

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan babysitter

(Fourth official post)

(This one is a bit shorter than my other posts)

“Don’t worry I’ll take good care of them!” He placates your parents as they leave, waving them off and slamming the door shut when your parents have gone far enough.

He turns to you, with a rather fierce glare and shoos you off to your room. 

Yan babysitter that wants nothing to do with you, that only took the job because he needs the money. 

Yan babysitter who thinks you’re too old for a babysitter, but he doesn’t care, your parents are rich and that’s all he needs to know.

Yan babysitter who did not anticipate you to be such an irresponsible nuisance. (What’s with the weird cultists that keep knocking on the door and where’s that strange whispering coming from??)

Yan babysitter who quickly discovers that maybe this job was more than he bargained for, maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive of his job.

Yan babysitter who, somehow, ended up trapped in another dimension and is trying to escape. (Turns out cultists don’t take too kindly to the door being slammed in their face)

Yan babysitter who is sure he’s going to die here in this strange dimension.

Yan Babysitter who regrets ever taking this job and swears that if he ever gets out he’s never coming to this house again.

Yan babysitter who faces the horrors of this other dimension, each monster warping his mind and easing him into insanity.

Yan babysitter who’s so close to escaping, but then he gets trapped by some weird otherworldly creature.

Yan babysitter whose life flashes before his eyes as the creature nears.

He closes his eyes and can only hope that this won’t be dragged out, he can feel the creature approach, and he can do nothing but curl up into a ball and beg for mercy.

However, death doesn’t come, no, just when the creature unhinged its jaw and prepares to (quite literally) devour Yan babysitter, he’s saved.

Yan babysitter who’s stunned whenever you rescue him and when he tries to express his gratitude you dismiss his gratitude. (This happened a lot, you tell him, you even suggest that it was your parents intention to sacrifice him.)

Yan babysitter, who from then on, is absolutely obsessed with you (he treats you like a deity, swearing that he’ll serve you forever.)

You brush him off, as you are used to saving irresponsible babysitters from the jaws of doom, then your try to ignore his constant rambling about you being a deity. (Because you aren’t, you’re just a normal person with magic powers) Yet, no matter how much you ignore him his ramblings don’t (Maybe you should’ve left him in that other dimension)

He takes your indifference as a sign of shyness, his mind warped by the brief time he spent in that other dimension. (Seriously, he’s going to need major therapy when he leaves this house) He decides to dedicate his life to protecting you or at the very least repay you for saving his life.

Which then leads to him following you around, intervening in everything you do and then isolating you from those he deems a threat. (Mostly your friends)

Somehow, in less than two weeks, he has threatened half of your neighborhood and caused almost all your friends to go missing. 

At this point, it occurs to you that maybe Yan babysitter is a danger to your lifestyle and you should probably get rid of him. Which marks the beginning of your attempts to erase him from existence, however this doesn’t sway him, and he somehow believes that the person targeting him is actually aiming for you.

So, now, you’ve got an overprotective babysitter watching your every move and probably hiding in your walls. (Maybe you should have let him rot in the other dimension, less trouble and you wouldn’t have had to explain to your parents why the demon in your basement is still hungry)

Yan babysitter who promises to always protect you and to be by your side forever. (He’s such a nuisance)

(Sorry for the short post, I was somewhat distracted by the tv when I was writing this.)

(Regardless, enjoy this post and feel free to comment)

#Fourth official post #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere baby-sitter x reader #my writing #reader insert #enjoy this short fanfic! #Babysitter is named Andrew #Andrew my oc

[apollos-calliope]

touch tank: luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!child of poseidon!reader

warnings: suggestiveness, swearing, skinny dipping, nudity, PDA, oral (f receiving), multiple reader orgasms, mentions of future relationships, slightly dark!luke, pjo spoilers, kind of brother’s best friend! trope

NSFW CONTENT. MDNI.

obviously i don’t own any of percy jackson or any of the characters - also luke is an adult in the books and has always been an adult in the books! i do NOT write anything suggestive about the underage characters in the show, even if their actors are of age. I also do not write about underage actors whatsoever. i worked really really hard on this, i hope you enjoy!

one of the first things you noticed when you arrived at camp half-blood was that greek mythology had a reputation of being quite unhinged in the eyes of others. this was due to the gods’ reckless tendencies, sexual escapades, and overall sense of superiority and self importance. considering the amount of demigods at camp half-blood, it was safe to say that the beings that resided on mt. olympus were promiscuous. that led to their children following suit. many of the campers who were of age tended to fool around with as many people as they could before leaving for college or careers. they were never given the chance to experiment before, after all. even aphrodite refused to let her children embrace their sexuality. it was an unspoken agreement with chiron and the gods to keep the campers focused and out of trouble. keeping the campers focused meant keeping the gods from hearing about them: and the less the gods hear about their children, the better. so henceforth came another very simple camp rule.

no maiming, no murder, no mating.

unfortunately for the gods and chiron alike, young adults love nothing more than to explore. and that’s exactly what they did. when all of this happened, you were freshly an adult and were very sex positive. most of the others seemed to share the same sentiment. of course, the younger campers like your little brother percy didn’t see the appeal yet. they were too busy pursuing their kleos.

that was the interesting thing about camp half blood. you had shown up shortly after percy’s arrival and were met with hatred from him. he was beyond angry that poseidon had claimed you the moment you stepped onto the grounds. percy said it took so long that he almost convinced himself it was all just a mistake, until he found a friend who helped him figure it out.

that’s how you met luke castellan. he explained to you that the gods were on the verge of war, and you told him you hated the gods because of what poseidon did to your brother. he liked that. you already felt protective over percy. he needed a bigger sister, someone to guide him - even though you were just as new to this. luke would need someone to take over, after all. so you vowed to be percy’s guide, and luke took up being yours. you never spent a single night in the hermes cabin - at least as an unclaimed child. and percy would never admit it, but you and luke had saved him from a fate he didn't want to think about.

when percy finally warmed up to you, he was already leaving for his quest. you hugged him as tightly as you could, reassuring him that you'd have luke while he was gone and that you knew he would return safely with his mom. you made it clear that regardless of the gods, the family that cares is most important. the squeeze he gave your hand broke your heart in two. you had a sick feeling in your stomach when you watched the three children head towards thalia's tree. in that moment, you swore you would do everything you could to keep percy safe and happy. you would make any sacrifice for him, like the sister he deserved.

in the meantime, there were at least two positives to percy leaving for his quest. the first was extra bathroom time in the morning. percy made it very clear that his hair was the most important task in the cabin, so you were normally rushed to the wire to make it to activities on time. he was too sassy to argue with.

the second was the freedom you had during the night. you wanted to keep messing around like the other older campers. no one seemed to recognize your urgent need for comfort, or at the very least, a distraction. coming to camp had been traumatizing. you could use the heat of a body, or several. fortunately, a certain hermes boy had taken a liking to you during your tours and lessons. making up six years' worth of training was a task to behold, but you were determined. so you spent most of your time with him. days easily turned into nights with luke's gentle smirk and valiant effort to keep you safe. as far as he knew, you were readily available to any of these losers he wasted his time around. you weren’t ashamed of your sexuality and he was well aware of that. however, you were already beyond smitten at that point. you just pretended to be interested in romance with nearly anyone. for the fun, and the freedom of being a normal teen for once. but mostly because of the way luke’s smirk would turn into a glare at the mention of another camper.

the night percy left was also the first night that you grabbed luke's wrist and dragged him to the sand undetected. you were nervous to put so much trust into one person, but luke was the only person you felt was completely honest with you. the sound of laughing filled the space until the quieter hum of lightning bugs signalled your opportunity to make it to the water. he grabbed you by the waist and tossed you over his shoulder, chuckling at the squeal you let out. this time around, you pressed a hand against your mouth to muffle your shouts of glee as luke haphazardly sprinted towards the water with you on his shoulder. he threw you down onto the sand gently, right where the small waves hit. they lapped over your fingertips gently, settling you into a state of relaxation.

you looked at him in confusion when he removed his pajama shirt. the blue fabric landing next to you, halfway dunked into the water.

"figured the best way to celebrate your relief from big sibling duty was to do something stupid. naked, of course." your first instinct was to laugh as he finished stripping down. he didn’t seem bothered by his ruined shirt or the presumption of nudity. you noticed ink scattered across his gold-toned skin as he began to run. curious to find out more, you followed after him.

once you splashed into the water, you immediately felt the tension draw out of your shoulders. the water had always made you feel alive. you knew now that it was due to your lineage. you would eventually have to thank your dad for that, much to your chagrin. you could only hope that percy received your dad’s help on his quest.

when you opened your eyes, it was to luke absolutely beaming at you. despite seeing your bare skin, he was entranced by the soft glow of your eyes in the moonlight. to him, you were ethereal. it was foolish to put so much faith into the gods when it was so much easier from him to whisper prayers into your most intimate areas, exposed to him without a second thought.

"i think i'm falling for you." glazed over eyes, covered slightly by messy curls, met yours. the air was static with vulnerability and desire. luke was just waiting for your signal. you nodded.

"i trust you."

"good. i'll be gentle."

he grabbed you and pulled you back into the water. you felt a sort of bubble around you as his lips met yours. you were well aware of your ability to breathe underwater. you had never told luke, but he must have noticed from the endless nights you spent in the water. you trailed your hands along his arms to meet his eager actions.

a line of spit connected the two of you as you broke apart, letting the water float you to the surface. your destination, although not shared out loud, was clear to both of you.

he told you about his tattoos as you got out of the water. he had two, a feathered wing spread across his thigh - which matched perfectly with the μαῖα inscribed on his bicep. his history, embedded into his skin. such a beautiful concept. you mentioned that you thought it was cool that he chose to have his own history, unlike his scar. you had never seen him tear up like that. he brushed it off with a joke about his dad hating him, a natural defense.

it was near torture to know how close you were to him in so little time, physically and emotionally. he threw his shorts and undershirt on quickly while you dried your hair. as soon as your towel was wrapped around your torso, his hands gripped the back of it firmly to lift you by your ass. the heat in your stomach threatened to burn through the layers of fabric that separated your bodies.

the walk back to the cabin was a flurry of lips on lips and lips on skin, bruises and soft bites. you felt dazed and enthralled as he used your body to push the cabin door open. he practically threw you on your bed and kicked the door closed dramatically. you two were beyond the point of being concerned about noise. once again, if the gods were allowed to be so reckless, what was stopping their kids? lead by example, or whatever.

you were too beautiful to resist, anyway. he pressed light kisses to your lips. the heavy breathing and quiet giggles created a soft rhythm that reminded him of waves crashing against the shore. it was so easy to see your parentage. now that you were claimed, your body seemed to glow around the water. he wished to glow with that much pride, but his dad would never give him the time of day. luke pushed at the towel wrapped around your body, letting it unravel underneath you.

he knew you were beautiful, of course, but seeing you so open to him felt like fireworks erupting from his chest. he couldn’t stop smiling as he brought his lips back to yours.

he didn’t seem to want to take his time, although he wasn’t rough by any means. he pressed gentle kisses to your lips first, and then your cheeks. next it was your forehead, a quick one on the nose (which made you giggle) and one on the chin. then it was open mouthed kisses to your neck, forming subtle bruises in a line down to your collarbones. he traced that line until he reached the skin of your chest. instead of giggling, you were panting. he paused.

“luke!” you gasped as he traced his tongue along the curve of your breast, stopping to follow your nipple and suck lightly. he took this as a sign to continue, using his hands to knead your skin as he continued to leave a trail of marks past your torso and down to your lower stomach. he teased you for a while, loving the way you responded to his touch.

“may i?” he fluttered his eyelashes at you almost sarcastically, his mouth level with your center. he lifted himself to comb a hand through his locks and then leaned even further down to blow a puff of air at your clit.

you could only nod, the anticipation blocking your throat from making any noise.

“words, baby.”

“please, luke.”

he gently pressed the tip of his tongue into your wetness, marveling at the wanton cry you let out. he pushed his way up towards your clit, circling it.

you move with a rhythm that only the you two could understand, the son of the god of travelers navigating your body with a supernatural expertise. he knew the best way to please you, bucking his hips against your mattress as you clenched around his fingers.

he knew the best way to please you, thrusting with more force as your limbs jerked.

he knew the best way to please you, continuing his movements as you came, watching you leak around his finger on to the towel you had just been wearing. he backed away from your core, wiping his mouth and chuckling as you returned to earth.

as soon as you made eye contact with him, he was back on you, his fingers roughly rubbing your clit. you whined, sensitive but so desperate to show him how good you could be for him. you rode it out for as long as you could, hoping to get him as excited as he was making you. the longer you edged yourself, the more intense his actions became.

before long, he was laughing in glee as you squirted directly on to his red, sweating face. you were embarrassed - he had never been harder in his entire life. you were perfect for him, and he was going to prove it to you.

you already trusted him with your life. you felt like you could be yourself around him. luke loved you the way you were, despite your strange situation. you were confused when he suggested weeks later that the two of you run away together. he didn’t explain to you his entire plan, but he told you that he had to hurt some people that you loved in order to make the world better. he told you that you would be safer at camp half-blood, but he would love to wake up next to you every morning. he told you he loved you. that was all it took.

you waited for him deep in the forest that day, pushing aside your worries as he approached and tears fell from his eyes. you didn’t know what happened, but you knew it wasn’t good. you didn’t ask.

luke castellan had found his glory in the feeling of your bare skin pressed against his. he thought he needed this, his revenge, his kleos. as he led you through the forest, memories of your full trust that first night heavy on his heart, he knew he was making a mistake.

#SoundCloud #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy series #luke castellan imagines #cal's writing!

[hihhasotherfixations]

John Price headcanons sfw & nsfw

I don’t usually do headcannons so please bear with me 👉👈

I hope you enjoy them tho :3 Will I use many of these in my writing? Yes, yes I will. These are both in general as well as him with you ;3

Part 2

Sfw:

He has an entire routine for his beard. Keeps it trimmed regularly and takes very good care of it, which causes it to feel very nice and soft to the touch.

Absolutely LOVES when you’re the one doing it though. It’s a small act of love that he can never get enough of. Whether you’re the one trimming it or just putting some products in. It’s a moment where he can sit on the bath rim and have you stand between his legs - or the other way around where he props you up on the sink and stands in between your legs. He just places his hands on your hips and closes his eyes, trusting you with something so important to him. It’s a very intimate thing that he treasures.

He has reading glasses. I won’t budge on this. Square(rectangle) ones with a very thin frame. Tends to forget whenever he puts them on his head and proceeds to go searching for them for five minutes.

He is very warm blooded. Always runs hot like a furnace. A blessing in the winter, a curse in the summer. Especially because he loves to cuddle.

Has a little trinket on his desk representing each of the 141 (+ Nik, Laswell and Farah). Be it a gift they gave to him or something that reminds him of them. There’s something for everyone. It clutters the edge of his desk a bit but it’s worth it because whenever the paperwork gets too much, he can just look at the little shrine he built and smile.

His love language is physical touch and quality time. While he loves giving you gifts and being romantic too, nothing beats holding you in his arms while you cuddle on the couch or in bed.

Speaking of- this man absolutely adores you. He doesn’t think he deserves the love you give him because of the things he’s done in his life. But every day he sees you, you prove that you do love him and he wants to return that love twice over.

His biggest fear is coming home after deployment to an empty house. Finding a letter on the table stating you can’t wait for him any longer. He’d understand, of course. But it would crush him.

While we’re on the sad train already- he suffers frequent nightmares due to PTSD. Feels really guilty for waking you up but also can’t stop himself from seeking your comfort after one of them - craving it. If you allow him to (he wouldn’t bring it up unless you suggested it), he’ll call you if he’s out on deployment or at base. Give him that privilege to phone you awake just to comfort him? There is nothing that man won’t do for you anymore.

He is terrified of being the one to leave you too though. He knows that if he’s ever faced with the option to sacrifice himself for one of the 141, he would. But it also breaks his heart because it would mean he’d leave you for them. He tries not to think about it like that, but it’s a constant conflict in his mind.

While he’s probably more likely to be a dog person, I can also really see him with cats just curled up on his chest. Once again, this man is always warm. The little felines will search him out like a bloodhound, preferring him over laying by the radiator.

THIS 👏 MAN 👏 CAN 👏 COOK 👏

And he loves to do it too. His idea of a hobby is either reading, building models or cooking. You can often find him in the kitchen with a cook book, making a five star meal. Loves to see your reaction to the taste of it, makes him proud of himself.

Also, yeah, he likes building models :3. Miniatures. In his spare time you can find him on the couch, bent over the coffee table with his reading glasses perched on his nose while he’s building a ww2 bomber plane out of matchsticks from some random pattern he found online. He has very steady hands and it causes the models to always look fantastic. His best and biggest work is a ship in a bottle from a kit you gave him for an anniversary between you two. He only works on that in short increments to make sure he doesn’t screw it up - it’s about 2/3 done. You’ve repeatedly tried to get him to share his work online but he always gets bashful and refuses.

If he ever got the chance to do it together with the team though?? He’s gonna be beaming about that single evening for a week straight.

His favourite colour is dark green, like the forests :)

This is less of a headcannon and more just snippets of canon proof that I found. But he can speak English, Russian, Arabic and Spanish. Maybe even more.

He’s a tea person. Can’t stand coffee. It’s not about the taste, simply that every time he tried it, it gave him a headache.

When he first introduced you to the team, he was very nervous. Really wanted them to like you. So when Soap immediately took you into a hug and thanked you for ‘taking care of the old man’, followed by Gaz introducing himself with a warm smile and a praising regalia of the things he’d heard from Price, he couldn’t be happier. And when he at one point saw you at the kitchen table with Ghost, talking calmly and laughing with the hulking man who’s tension had dropped from his shoulders? He knew you were the one.

Loves going on double dates with Laswell and her wife too. You’re all good friends and it’s a chance to truly unwind and just catch up with Kate outside of work.

Please for the love of all that is holy, take a bath or shower with him. He ADORES them. Really wants so bad to take care of you. Will do your whole cleaning routine for you if you let him. If it’s something he’s not used to? Teach him, he’s very eager to learn.

All in all, this man just loves you so much. He finds himself so so lucky that you chose him of all people as your partner. Whether you’re civilian or military, he’ll protect you with life and limb. Literally.

So, those were the sfw thoughts bouncing in my head. I hope you liked them. Now we’re moving onto the spicy stuff. Please respect the banner, thank you and more stuff for this man is coming! ^^

Nsfw:

He is an ass man. All the way. Don’t get me wrong, he LOVES your thighs, seeing the way his fingers indent the flesh when he squeezes, being buried between them - it’s heavenly. But there is just something about your ass that he can’t get enough of. If his eyes aren’t on it, then his hands are.

He won’t randomly smack your ass - doesn’t really sit right with him, doesn’t find it proper (except for certain situations ;3). But dear god does he always have a hand on your ass to squeeze if he gets the chance. Walking somewhere together? If he can, he’ll slide his hand from your back/waist down to your ass and hold there. Sitting on his lap? You already know it, his hand is on your ass, keeping you in place. Brushing past you? One hand on your waist, one hand on your ass while he apologises and squeezes past.

A gentle over a rough lover. While he can go both ways, he prefers to go slow and deep. Watching your face contort in pleasure as he fucks you, hearing every noise you make.

This man is an absolute pleasure dom. He gets off on seeing you get off. There’s plenty of nights where he solely focuses on you and doesn’t cum himself.

Doesn’t like the word daddy but for the love of god PLEASE use honorifics. Call him captain and sir and you’ll have an entirely different man on your hands.

Prefers giving over receiving oral. There’s just something about working his tongue and mouth on you that never fails to make him groan against you - even if his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Will always properly prepare you. He doesn’t like hurting you. He’s big and he knows it so he doesn’t want to take any chances.

While he doesn’t mind quickies (in his office is a favourite), he prefers the actual thing. Like stated before, he wants to focus on you and give you all the pleasure he can and a quicky just doesn’t allow for that.

For those instances where you rile him up enough to forego his gentler side however? He knows how to work you. He can push every button you have and have you seeing stars while he fucks the life out of you. Don’t expect to be standing on strong legs the day after.

Man has stamina for DAYS. Prefers to make you cum multiple times before he cums himself. Need a moment in between orgasms to recover before you can go again? That’s okay, you can cockwarm him while he waits.

Speaking of cum. It’s thick, potent and by god he cums a lot. Properly stuffs you if you let him.

Big on marking you. Loves leaving bites, hickeys and handprints. Give him the same too. Scratch marks, bite marks, hickeys. He loves checking his body over in he morning to see what you left.

He has quite the libido on him. He can’t help it, you’re the most inviting and enticing thing in his eyes. Bend over to pick something up and his cock can already be hardening in his pants.

He’s very considerate of your wants and needs though. If you don’t want to have sex, he’ll cuddle you and hold you instead. If you’re not into a certain thing, he’ll refrain on doing it next time. Very much wants to make it a time of pure pleasure and love for you, because that’s what it is for him too.

Very into kisses. Sloppy, long kisses where you moan and whine into his mouth. Better yet if you muffle your moans in his mouth while he fucks you.

Favourite positions are missionary, mating press, doggy style, lotus and spooning sex. He loves them for different reasons.

Missionary because of how close he can be, feeling your legs wrap around his waist while all of him touches all of you.

Mating press because of how deep he can hit and keep such control. He can see your face contort in pleasure while folding your legs up and holding you down.

Doggy style is obvious as to why. But he also really loves watching the way your back arches with this one. He can hold onto your hips and just let his eyes rove your body.

Lotus he loves a lot when cuddles on the couch evolve into more, or when he’s in his office and the need arrises for you both. Just having you seated on his lap, your legs around him, body pressed so closely into his while he gently fucks up into you? Heaven.

Spooning sex? You mean cuddles + sex? Hit. Him. Up. He absolutely loves fucking you like this in the morning. Lazy, tired, properly waking each other up with pleasure.

If you’re into it and allow him to, he’d even actually wake you up like that. Big on somnophelia like that for the thought of pulling you out of your dreams and your sleep with pleasure. If he gets to the stage where he’s opened you up and his cock is filling you without you waking up until then, he’s oh so proud of himself. Would only do it if you’re comfortable though.

Very big on cockwarming. Watch a movie together on the couch and let him rest his cock in you from behind. Can evolve into spooning sex on the couch while making you try to keep your attention on the movie. His hand on your chin, keeping your face pointed to the screen while he whispers against your ear.

I said it before, he’s big. Long and thick and knows how to use it well. He’s a very hairy man all over but he keeps it neatly trimmed down there.

The h a p p y t r a i l of this man. Run your nails over it and it instantly sends blood rushing into his cock.

Overall, John will fuck you whenever he gets the chance. And by the gods he will show you what it’s like to be truly worshipped.

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to interact or send me any asks, I’d love to chat ^^

Part 2

#john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #price headcanons #call of duty mw2 #cod mw #price mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #nsft headcanon

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Safe - John Wick x Fem!Reader

Summary: John comes home from work and he is wounded, and as his worried wife, you help him.

Warnings: swearing, oral m!receiving, blood/gore, talk of violence, mainly fluff.

Enjoy!

You sit alone in your large kitchen, biting your nails and shaking your leg as you anxiously wait for your husband to come home.

His profession was extremely dangerous. Every time he went out you didn’t know if he was alive. Whenever you heard a car pass by your house, you wondered if it were the police coming to inform you that your husband had passed.

You knew that you had to make certain sacrifices that came with being married to The John Wick, the Boogie Man, as they call him.

You hear the door unlock, and your breath hitched. Running to the door, you are met with John. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding back tears as you nuzzle your face into the crook of us neck. “Oh, John…”

His hands weakily wrap around your waist. “Y/N…” he sighs, resting his chin atop your head.

Your hand trails down the chest of his suit. You find the red substance of blood on his white shirt. “You were shot?”

“Stabbed,” he says. “Not too bad. I’ve been though worse,”

You sigh. “Yeah, just stabbed.” You say sarcastically. “What if next time you get stabbed even worse, or shot, and you don’t make it through?” You question.

John gives you a saddened look. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You have a right to be mad, and worried.”

You give him an angered gaze, but it slowly fades as you hear the sincerity in his voice. You lean up to kiss him. “You’re right,” you say.

You take him to the kitchen where you strip him of his suit jacket and button up shirt. “This is going to sting,” you say. “I know,” he replies.

The wound was shallow, but it was still gushing a fair amount of blood. Once you were able to slow down the bleeding, you begin to clean it. John lightly hisses as you disinfect his wound.

You quickly bandage it neatly, then reward him with a warm kiss on his lips. “You have to stop this, John,”

“I know,” he says again. “I- I can retire, if you want.”

“Will you really do that for me?”

“Of course, baby. You are more important than work.”

You smile softly. “If you think it’s the best, then you can. I will support whatever you do,” you say. “Will you be safe?” You ask.

“We are safe. We will always be safe.”

“No, will you be safe?”

John pauses for a concerning amount of time. “I will be safe.” He says. “And if anybody comes after you, or me, I will kill them.”

“John,” you say like a disappointed mother. But, you couldn’t help but smile. You loved your mass murderer husband.

“That’s the spirit, love,” he smiles and gives you a kiss.

“You should go wash up,” you tell him. His face was cut, as well as his hair slicked back with sweat.

“Join me?”

“Very funny,” you laugh before sending him up to the bathroom to clean off the sins of the night. “Be mindful of your bandages,”

“Yes, ma’am,” John chuckled.

John finds his way to the master bathroom. He strips the rest of his clothes and got into the shower. His bandage inevitably got wet.

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling as the heterogeneous mixture of sweat, styling gel and water ran down his back. It felt so releiving to wash himself of the stress and torment of his job.

He used a musky scented soap to wash off the sweat and grime he had accumulated through the night. He exited the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist before redressing his wound.

John left the bathroom, towel still lazily around his waist. You were in bed, reading a book as you awaited for your husband to join you.

You couldn’t help but look at his chiseled abs and cutting hip bones. Of course, you also couldn’t ignore his broad shoulders and tattoo covered back.

“Y/N. You’re starring,”

“Oh,” you say. “Sorry,” you laugh, and he smirks. “Is it such a crime to appreciate my husbands body?”

“No. Just funny to call you out on it,” he says. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and slipped them on.

“Come lay down, babe,” you pull back the comforter in the empty space for him to fill. He slowly lays down, and he groans as his aching back hits the bed.

“Are you really going to retire?” You ask as your hand gently rests on his chest. You slowly draw circles on his skin, avoiding any bruised areas.

“Anything for you,”

You smile, and he slowly leans in to connect your lips in a gently kiss. “I will love you forever…” he murmurs agaisnt your lips. “I will love you when I’m below the ground, and I will love you after the earth ceases to exist…”

You rest your forehead against his, shakily sighing. “I love you, too. Always and forever…”

John kisses you again, hungerly needing your touch and presence against his skin. He gently grips your hair as he hums against your soft, pillowy lips.

His hand reaches for your waist, pulling your laying body closer to his. He squeezes your flesh though your sleep shirt. You whine at the tight squeeze.

Johns lips trail off yours, adventuring down your jaw to suck hot sores on your neck. His hand on your waist moves up, dangerously close to your chest. He cups your breast with his sore and bruised hands through your shirt, gently massaging it in his palm. He knew just how to make you fold.

“John-“ you whisper.

“What, love?”

“Not tonight. You need to heal.” You tell him.

He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing softly. “You’re right,” he whispers. “It’s just so hard to keep my hands off you.” He glances down at his lap, seeing the tent growing in his sweatpants.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” You reply.

“I- um. I know you said I have to heal. But, what am I supposed to do about that?” He asks, moving away from the crook of your neck to show the erection in his pants.

You think for a moment, keeping your eyes fixated on his bulge. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t use my hands or my mouth on you,” you tell him, and he grins.

You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them off his thighs. Johns cock springs out from his pants. He was hard and throbbing just by touching your breasts.

You grasp his length. His breath hitched at the sight of your hand around his dick. You slowly begin stroking him. You hover above him, letting a string of spit slowly dripping down onto his tip.

“Oh-“ he mumbled as the warm liquid touches his pulsating crown.

You gently kiss the tip, your hand still stroking his shaft slowly.

“Y/N…”

You whimper against his cock at the sound of his voice. You knew you had to resist him. You couldn’t risk opening his wound and causing him any pain. Hopefully an orgasm would help his aching body in some way.

You slowly take in his length. You suck the tip, humming at the salty taste of his pre-cum. You knew he wasn’t going to last too long. He never lasted long when you sucked him off.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, “don’t stop- fuck. Don’t stop-“

You didn’t stop, and you weren’t going to stop until you pleasured him to your full ability.

You take in more of his cock. John shivered at the sight of his erection engulfed in your mouth.

“I’m close- shit. I’m gonna cum. Fuck.” He moans.

You began sucking him faster. You felt as your lips glided over the thriving veins on his cock, but always focusing on the tip. He loved it when you toyed with his tip.

His hips shudder, causing you to gag. “Sorry, baby,” he quickly says. You don’t reply, gagging again. You didn’t care if you gagged on his cock. You loved it, because you knew that you were doing good.

His hips jerk up again. He grips your hair, moaning your name as you quickly and steadily suck his cock. He began chasing his release.

“Fuck!” He moans. His eyes roll back, head hitting the pillow as his cum shoots into your mouth. You always loved the taste of his cum.

You finish him off with your hand, swallowing all his arousal as you did. Cum continued to shoot out, going all over your hand as he bucked his hips into your palm.

You happily licked it off, humming at the salty, yet at the same time, sweet taste.

“Fuck. Thank you, baby…” he whispers. The pleasure helped ease some of his pain.

“Anything for you,” you smile. You kiss him, and he tastes his own cum off your lips.

“Can I return the favour?” He asks, toying with the elastic band of your sleep shorts.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. You can in the morning once you have some rest,” you tell him. He frowns, but obeys.

“Okay,” John says. He fixes his sweatpants, and you grab a tissue off the night stand to wipe the spit and cum off your hand, and a bit of the white fluid that got on his stomach. John reachs over to turn off the bedside lamp, groaning as his body was strained to make the reach.

“Goodnight, baby…” you lay your head on his chest, yet again mindful of the bruises and cuts.

“Goodnight. I love you…” John whispers

“I love you too…”

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x y/n #john wick franchise #john wick smut #john wick 4 #john wick x reader #keanu reeves john wick #keanu reeves

[bitchlessdino]

demon's play 2 : devil's intervention (m) TEASER

coming May 31st 7pm cst Original - Demon's play Pairing: devil!wonwoo x demon!seungcheol x demon!chan x afab human!reader Genre: smut tags: plot heavy, some fluffish moments, perpetual fear, ikea employee!reader, dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, verse!chan, verse!seungcheol, cum drunk!demons, violent graphic imagery (death, lashing, sacrifices), mentions of blood, voyeurism, biting to the point of blood, MLM themes that is not based off of any implications of reality, hair pulling, choking, spitting, double fem head, biting, [+so many more] Summary: it's some time since Chan and Seungcheol abandoned the underworld for you, a simple human. The ruler of the underworld does not too kindly to distractions, even ones so prettily packaged such as yourself. It was time he took matters into his own hands. If you want to be tagged please let me know by interacting

“You’re starving aren't you,” Seungcheol growled. “I could smell your arousal for me before you even entered the apartment.”

“Tell me about it,” Chan joined, immersed in the air around you wafting in his nose. “There’s lust in these veins of yours,” his tongue swiped over the blood on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about this all day…We fuck you every waking day of your life, and that’s still not enough. Isn’t that right?”

A “No,” barely made it past your lips before they were crushed under the weight of Seungcheol’s, and then you were the one starting to taste iron. Its aroma was as strong as they claimed, and Wonwoo fell under the same impression.

Chan tucked your hair behind your head, tugging you in his direction as his teeth skins into the base of your neck, his cock exposed in an instant and hugged between the plush felt of your ass. Your eyes retreated to your skull, trembling as Seungcheol’s cock pressed against your stomach. A shatter sigh broke out from your throat and you let them take over control of your feeble body.

“What is our…arrangement?”

You exhaled, sipping your drinking and hearing the obnoxious slurp of your now empty cup, and somehow your throat was still dry. “I think its pretty obvious.”

“Obvious? You give me too much credit.”

“Well, you’re here for furniture but have yet bought any.”

“Does that culminate a dispute between you and I?”

“Not exactly, but–”

“And aren’t you paid regardless if you spend time with me?”

“Yes, but–”

His laughter was light, a hint of mischief lingering. “Then I don’t see the issue. You enjoy my company, you get paid to do your job. Win-win.”

He reunited with your lips, exploring you deeper as his hand wrapped around the stands of your hair and gripped, and you swallowed his grunts. “How many times have you released in their presence? A hundred? A thousand? A million? It’s never enough for you either, is it?”

You shook your head weakly, eyes begging for more as you were already addicted, feeling him awaken something in you that can’t be sated.

“I’m an all immortal being, so I know. Just like I know you wonder what I look like beneath my clothes…what I taste like…how I’d fuck you.”

OUT NOW!

#svthub #wonwoo smut #dino smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #scoups smut #lee chan smut #choi seungcheol smut #lee chan #dino #scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen dino #seventeen scoups #chan #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x reader #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen lee chan #seventeen chan #seventeen fanfics #seventeen fanfic #svt smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #dino x you

[bitchy-craft]

What Skill Can Make You Famous | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out what skill you possess that can make you famous. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people: therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Masterlist > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

Your creativity and teamwork can make you famous. You have amazing ideas, amazing thoughts, and these can have a great impact on the world if you want to share them. You’ll make people enjoy your art, your creations.

The way you look at things is exquisite, the way you explain things is understandable, and you have much passion once something, like an idea, excites you. Of course, these skills are not easy to become famous with, to become known for, it will take work and it won’t be done in a week, but you have the ability and opportunity to succeed, nothing is impossible, and the talent to achieve you have.

Pile 2:

Bargaining. You are amazing at making compromises with people, influencing people by the way you speak and how you explain things, you’ll do amazing in politics. If you want to achieve something you can, and I believe you know this deep down to a certain degree, if not fully. To achieve this goal of being successful and famous you will need to make sacrifices, but you’ll also gain a lot back from it.

You can be graceful while demanding, kind yet powerful. You can make people do whatever you want when you simply speak and change the way they think, so use this ability, use it for your success and gain any position you want.

Pile 3:

Using your words can make you famous, speaking out on your opinions and talking about the reasons and  consequences of things around the world. You can become famous by making a blog and talking about big issues around the world, possibly issues in your town or country. You’re great with words, you’re great with debating, and you have the intelligence to continue growing and making a living out of this.

Of course, something things may be difficult and not everything you can do is something you want to do, so don’t feel pressured by this answer at all, just know you have the opportunity and talent to achieve this goal. Your opinions are timeless, and as you learn how to explain things better, the more confident you’ll get with it.

#pap #pac #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a photo #pick an image #pick a number #pick a picture #spirituality #spiritual #divination #tarot #tarot reading #tarot readings #tarot deck #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarotoftheday #daily tarot #dailytarot #tarot daily #channeling #channeled message #channeled reading #channeled messages #what can make you famous #witchblr #law of assumption #loa #shufflemancy

[five-and-dimes]

Run Away (But We're Running in Circles)

After a million years I finally finished this one!

Dream doesn't believe he is truly loved- Hob and Death simply love everyone, it has nothing to do with him. Cue those closest to him doing whatever they can to prove that he is, in fact, very very loved

AO3

The past two months have been a whirlwind for Hob Gadling in the best way possible.

So many things he once thought impossible (or at the very least highly unlikely) had come to fruition. His stranger had returned to him, his stranger apologized, his stranger called him his friend. Those three things alone had made Hob's heart feel like a star, burning and bright and alive. 

And then the ethereal man had sat across from him, a gentle smile on his face, weary but sincere, before he smoothed his expression into something unreadable.

"I believe introductions are in order," Hob almost squealed like a fan girl as the man hesitantly held out his hand, "Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. I have other names as well should you find this one unsatisfactory."

It's so ridiculous Hob would laugh if not for the dead serious note in his stranger- his friend's- voice. The idea that Hob would find anything about this being 'unsatisfactory', that he would declare his name not good enough and ask for another. Absolutely ludicrous. 

Also a little sad, but he pushes past that.

He clasps his hand, face about to split from smiling so wide, "Dream," it feels so good to say, "a name that suits you perfectly," he adds because it's true. Then he smirks, "I'm Hob Gadling. I'd offer you another name but you've never complained about this one."

A breath escapes the other man, as much of a laugh as Hob has ever heard from him and this is the best day in Hob's very long life.

"Tell me of your life, Hob Gadling, for it has been too long since last we met."

Yes, it has, and for a moment Hob's joy dims. Then why did you leave me? Where have you been? Why now? What changed? Why now? The questions bubble uncomfortably in his throat. 

He swallows them back.

Eventually he will allow himself to ask for answers- demand them even, perhaps, he thinks he deserves it- but not today. Today he wants to bask in the warmth of reunion. In the gentle glow of his friend’s shy smile. 

So all he says is an earnest, “Yes. I have missed you dearly, my friend.”

When their meeting comes to an end, the sky outside dark and the employees of the inn not so subtly putting chairs up around them, Dream asks if Hob would be amenable to meeting more frequently, wringing his hands in front of him and not meeting Hob’s eyes, as though expecting to be denied.

Ridiculous creature. 

And so they continue meeting, and Hob… has mixed feelings. He is glad to know more of his friend, to finally be given the answers he has been gnashing his teeth for. But sometimes when Dream speaks it feels more like bloodletting than sharing- like he is offering himself on an altar, inviting Hob to drive a dagger through his heart, like he needs to make a sacrifice to this thing called friendship. 

He feels it most when he learns why Dream missed their meeting.

Hob feels the blood leave his face as Dream speaks of being torn from his realm, bound by magic, stripped and degraded and imprisoned and hurt-

“Dream,” Hob interrupts, his voice choked, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Across the table, Dream doesn’t look at him, “You are my friend.”

“Yes,” Hob agrees immediately, “And I will still be your friend if you don’t want to talk about this.” He tries to catch Dream’s eye, “Being your friend doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“Being a bad friend means I owe you everything,” Dream counters, and Hob wants to cry.

Hob does cry, “Fuck, Dream…” He almost missed the prideful and aloof king of centuries past. As much as he enjoys the easy smiles and the taste of a name on his lips, he would give it all away if it meant saving Dream from this pain.

Dream flinches but does not pull away when Hob reaches out to take his hands, “I’m not keeping a scoreboard with our friendship. You don’t have to pay me back if you make a mistake. And you especially don’t have to hurt yourself for me. We’re friends. So I don’t want you to hurt.”

When Dream looks up at him, he looks so confused. Head tilted and brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of the idea that someone does not want him to pay for his sins in blood. 

“I do. Want to tell you these things,” Dream explains haltingly, head ducking again as he continues softer, “But perhaps. No more today.”

“Of course, love.”

Dream observes him again, eyes searching his face as though looking at a pile of puzzle pieces. Hob doesn’t know what he finds, or what picture he makes with the pieces, but for now he nods, shoulders slumping as the subject changes.

It gets easier. Or, it seems to at least. Dream tells him about Jessamy’s death quickly and her life extensively. He talks about his realm, his function, his subjects. And, eventually, he talks about his family. Some he only gives the names of, and nothing else. Some he gives brief histories of, or descriptions. And one in particular Hob learns much about.

He learns the most on the day he is given the joy of experiencing Dream having just come from an afternoon spent with his elder sister.

“I do not know why she is so insistent on spending time with me these days,” Dream grumbles, and Hob has to hide a smile behind his drink, because despite being the entities of Dream and Death (which had been quite the shock to learn), right now he is sitting across from a little brother exasperated with his big sister. “We are so different. I find it hard to believe she enjoys my gloom compared to her exuberance. Perhaps she merely delights in tormenting me,” he laments.

Hob laughs, "I think it's cute," he grins, "she clearly loves you."

Dream hums, not unhappily, and moves in a way that is too elegant to be called a shrug, "In a sense."

The tone doesn't match the words, and Hob scrunches his face in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Tilting his head slightly, Dream answers casually, "Simply that she loves me in a way similar to how you do."

And that has Hob's eyebrows shooting up to his forehead because he really, really hopes Death doesn't love her brother the way Hob does. "I'm not following."

Dream hums again, a quiet moment as he chooses his words, "Death has a love for all of humanity," he states, "and all that existence has to offer. Put simply, she loves everyone. It is in her nature. You, too, have a wealth of affection for all that you meet and all that you experience. So it is not a matter of loving me , but rather, simply loving in such a way that happens to include me by default."

There is a stretch of silence as Hob turns those words over in his mind. He struggles to fully grasp them at first, the sentiment conflicting with the way Dream presented it as irrefutable fact, something obvious and common knowledge, something Hob couldn't possibly deny.

But, shaking his head frantically to clear his thoughts, Hob was absolutely going to deny it.

"No!" Dream started at the vehemence in Hob's voice, "That's not true at all!" His voice was firm, and almost angry, which in hindsight didn't help the situation.

"...Oh," Dream's voice was soft, and carefully neutral, "I understand," he conceded. His body was like marble, and Hob could see the way he was consciously trying to mask his sorrow and Hob wanted to punch himself in the face.

"Wait, no, not like that! I didn't mean it like that!" 

He hated this. Hated all of it. Hated that his friend believed he wasn't loved on purpose. Hated how quickly he accepted the idea of not being loved at all.

Reaching across the table, Hob clasped his hands around Dream's, sure but gentle. Dream blinked in surprise, staring down at the point of contact, and Hob waited patiently until their eyes met again to start speaking.

"I love you," and this was the true irrefutable fact, the true obvious and common knowledge, the truth that Dream could not deny. "You, specifically. You on purpose. I love you because you're you, and I love you apart from everyone else. And your sister does too, I know it. You are very loved, my friend, and it is not an accident."

Their eyes search each other's. Dream finds conviction, finds honesty, finds something he is afraid to identify as love. Hob finds old aches, finds disbelief, finds something close to fear. Dream looks lost.

“You really did miss me. When I was gone.” Dream whispers with awe, and it hits Hob like a punch to the gut that Dream hadn’t believed him before, had obviously assumed that Hob was just being polite or reciting a social script without really meaning it. 

“Yes,” he says, soft and firm, “I really did.”

A soft sound of sand shifts at their feet beneath the table and Hob knows that Dream desperately wants to run away. Instead, he closes his eyes and grips Hob's hands tighter. Hob is so very proud of him.

"I fear I have dominated the conversation this evening," his voice is raspy, forced out between clenched teeth, "tell me of your week, Hob Gadling."

It is a plea desperately masquerading as a demand. There is only so much Dream can take at once, and Hob understands, and Hob loves him, and so he smiles and returns Dream's grip.

"You will not believe what one of my students submitted as their thesis for the end of the semester-"

~~~~

Hob doesn’t actually know if summoning Death is a thing he can do. Dream had, finally, after 600 years, explained the parameters of Hob’s immortality. It was actually pretty much what Hob had assumed given the question posed to him at each of their meetings; He would live as long as he wanted to, and when he no longer wanted to, Death would guide him to the Sunless Lands. 

Well, Hob very much did not want to go to the Sunless Lands, but he did want to speak to Death. 

“I refuse to look up any sort of magic bullshit for this,” Hob starts, feeling supremely silly for talking to himself in his empty flat. But he didn’t exactly have any other ideas. “So I’m going to assume in your weird Endless-ness that you can somehow hear me. I’m not looking to die today, or ever really, but I’d appreciate it if I could talk to you, Death of the Endless.” He pauses, and then adds on, “It’s about your brother.”

Apparently those are the magic words, as a voice almost immediately speaks up from behind him.

“Oh lord, what has he done now?”

Hob nearly jumps out of his skin, twisting around in his seat on the couch to see a beautiful woman leaning against his kitchen counter. While her style of all black matches her brother’s, that is where the resemblance ends. Bright eyes and glowing dark skin, a warm smile on her face. He hadn’t fully grasped how unhealthy his friend tended to look until this moment.

Shaking off the initial shock, Hob smiles back, “So you’re the famous Death, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only bad things I’m sure,” she teases.

“From humans, perhaps, but not from your brother.”

She smiles fondly, and Hob can tell immediately that she cares for Dream. He wonders what Dream sees when he looks at her.

“You said you wanted to talk about him?” Death asks, “Not that it’s not nice to finally meet you, but I can’t be pulled away from work for too long.”

Hob shudders instinctually at the mention of her ‘work’, but he shakes it off as he begins to explain, “Right. So, normally I wouldn’t tell you this behind Dream’s back, but I don’t think he’ll ever tell you himself and I think you should know so that you can… help, I guess.” Death frowns, and her face darkens as Hob quickly recounts the conversation he had with Dream, and his assumptions on the nature of her and Hob’s love for him. 

By the end, she looks heartbroken, but when she speaks her voice is dripping with annoyance.

“My little brother truly is an idiot-”

“Don’t,” Hob cuts in. It’s probably not his brightest idea to interrupt death herself, but he knows in his gut that he can’t let her gain momentum on this, “I didn’t tell you so you could scold him, I told you so you could love him.”

“I already love him!” she snaps.

“Love him louder then!” Hob snaps back fearlessly, throwing his arms up. “Don’t be mad at him for hurting! For whatever reason, he doesn’t recognize that we love him, but the reason doesn’t matter , not right now at least. We need to stop the bleeding before we worry about what made the wound.”

There is a long pause, the two simply staring at each other. Death looks a bit shocked, eyes wide and jaw tense. Hob stares back determinedly. He may not have known Dream as long as his sister, but he is positive down to his bones that Dream won’t see the “love” part in “tough love”. He’ll probably just see the admonishment. 

He wonders if that miscommunication hasn’t been a wedge between the two siblings for a long time.

Finally, Death seems to deflate, her shoulders slumping even as she quirks a smile, “My brother would appreciate the metaphor.”

Hob chuckled, “Heh, I’ve noticed. It’s helped, honestly, figuring out whatever metaphor works best for him at any given moment, y’know?”

“Yeah. I do.” Death sighs, and for a moment she looks so old . So ancient. And when she meets Hob’s gaze he thinks she looks uncertain. “I do love him. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Hob answers softly. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

~~~~

Hob speaks every love language, but if he’s honest, cooking will always be one of his favorites. 

He thinks of being a young peasant and his parents pushing food from their own plates onto his and his siblings’ so that they would never feel the sharp pang of hunger, and of the few kind souls during the 1600s who offered food to him, the fellow homeless who nonetheless would split their meager findings with him. Sharing food has simply always evoked the warmth of love for him. 

It was part of why the rejection had stung so badly in 1589. A table full of food meant to be shared, and he had been left sitting there alone. A table full of love with nowhere to go.

Now, though, he is more determined than ever. Now he knows Dream, in a way he hadn’t for so long, and he is desperate in his desire to make sure Dream feels the love he is offering. 

And so he offers him food.

“Come on, just a bite!” Hob nudges the plate closer to Dream. They are sitting across from each other at the kitchen island in Hob’s flat. He had spent the better part of the day preparing the most decadent mac and cheese he could- creamy and buttery, layers of cheese and pasta folded together with autumn vegetables and a coating of perfectly toasted breadcrumbs on top. Each ingredient was added with Dream in mind, with the desire to warm him from the inside out, to give him something indulgent that might put some meat on his bones.

He’s so thin. Not fragile, exactly, Hob is certain that this mystical being is stronger than he looks, and yet… There is something to be said about how one envisions themselves in dreams. Regardless of his physical capabilities, Hob can’t help but ponder over Dream’s manifestation, and how frail and hurt it looks.

“It’s a pretty standard ritual of friendship to share a meal together,” he says pointedly, smiling when Dream huffs at him. It feels maybe a little underhanded, as he knows Dream is trying very hard to be a good friend, but he doesn’t feel too badly when he sees the soft smile on Dream’s face. For all that he had vehemently rejected their friendship at first (or perhaps because of that initial rejection) he seemed just as moved to be called friend by Hob as Hob was to be called friend by him. 

“I suppose I am bound by ritual then.” There is a strange note in his voice that Hob can’t quite place, but he is still smiling, so he wonders if that is just what Dream sounds like when he tries to make a joke.

Either way, he finally reaches forward to pick up his fork, taking a delicate bite of the gooey mess Hob had served him.

“Well?” Hob asks, barely hidden eagerness in his voice.

Dream swallows, his posture becoming impossibly straighter as he looks at Hob fondly, “You are a fine cook, my friend.”

Hob can’t suppress a grin, leaning back casually in contrast to his friend’s sharp and stiff bearing, “I’m glad. It’s a useful skill when you have companions in need of spoiling.” To his delight, a soft, almost imperceptible blush blooms across Dream’s cheeks. If Hob wasn’t so practiced in observing him he might have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t. 

The evening is a quiet one, sharing stories between bites, and Hob is happy. He wills the food to fill his friend. He sends a prayer that Dream’s body might become soft with his love.

~~~~

“Come on, I want to show you something!”

Dream is becoming more accustomed to his elder sister’s spontaneous visits. After her chastisement, the day she pushed him to reunite with Hob, he had expected to not see her again until it was obligated of her. For all her joy and bright smiles, he could not imagine she would actually enjoy his company. Perhaps because of her joy and smiles.

He did not expect her to willingly subject herself to him.

And yet, she had come to him. She had called to him through their galleries, inviting him into the humble space she called her home when she was not ushering souls to her realm, and inquired about his meeting with Hob Gadling. She had smiled, and squeezed his hand, and told him she was glad he had someone to call friend. He assumed she must be glad that there was someone else to deal with him, and this meeting was merely to ensure that there was someone else out there holding his leash. 

Then she called him again. 

And again.

It kept happening, and while a part of him felt guilty and selfish, he could not deny that he enjoyed his sister’s company. And so he allowed himself to set aside his quest to understand why she was doing it. His elder siblings have ever been a mystery to him, and whatever her reasoning, even if it was simply to keep him in line, he decided to allow himself this small joy in his sister’s presence.

Today, linking their arms together, Death practically skips as she pulls Dream from his realm. Despite himself, he can’t help but smile fondly at her enthusiasm, allowing her to guide him to the waking and into a large building. He can feel the shroud of Endlessness around them, and knows that they are walking unseen. It piques his curiosity. Death normally insisted on walking among mortals specifically to interact with them, even if only a little. The fact that she now hides them is unusual.

Glancing around, Dream finds that they are in a natural history museum, surrounded by various educational exhibits. There are murals of ancient, long gone animals and cases with their bones, plaques with information and names, interactive screens and displays. Eventually, they enter a room dedicated to plants and flora of the distant past. Death walks purposefully towards the back, glancing at Dream with an excited smile as she points to one of the displays.

“Look.”

On the pedestal in front of them is a small, square piece of amber, and within the amber there is a flower. It is small, five petals floating in the resin that Dream remembers holding in the palm of his hand so very long ago. Not as old as Dream, but older than humans, old enough that no creature on this plane dreams of it. 

Dream used to keep them on the windowsill of his bedchambers.

“They were your favorite.” 

Death’s voice breaks him from his revelry, and he realizes that he has been standing as still and frozen as the flower for several minutes.

Her words were not a question, but Dream nods anyway, “Yes.” The word cracks just slightly, and it takes effort, but he turns his gaze away from the flower to look at his sister, his brow furrowing in confusion, “You… remembered?”

“Of course,” Death speaks softly, as though to not break the fragile air around them, but still smiles warmly, “You gave me some, once, and I understood why you loved them. They were lovely.”

Nodding again, Dream swallows thickly, turning back to the fossil before continuing, “They faded from the Dreaming when the last creature to remember them passed to the Sunless Lands. They exist now only in the deepest pages of the Library.”

“And here,” Death corrects, tilting her head towards the exhibit, “They exist here, now, too. Humans found them. They’ll remember them,” she puts a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and grinning a little wider, “Maybe someone will dream of them again!”

But not as they were , Dream thinks to himself. Any dreams of this small, fragile flower will not be the same as the ones Dream kept growing in his window, the ones he tucked behind his elder sister’s ear, the ones he held close to his chest when he was overwhelmed. They will never be the same again.

Reaching out, he lets his fingers brush against the fossil, the golden color hiding the true hues of the precious petals within, and it feels cool and cold like glass and suddenly Dream thinks he sees a hint of his reflection in the amber. Unneeded breath catches in his chest, and he wonders if this is how he would have been remembered if he had not escaped from Fawney Rig. Lost and forgotten and buried only to be dug up like this . Frozen and painted over with someone else’s color. 

Assuming he was remembered at all. 

His vision blurs, and his fingers tremble as he traces over the shape of the trapped flora, nothing but cold cold cold where once there had been soft and fragrant petals. 

“Dream?” 

Death moves to stand in front of him, pulling him away from the fossil and blocking his view. He blinks, and realizes that he is crying, but the tears are thick, and slow, and his vision has taken on a yellow hue. Raising a hand to his face, he catches a tear on his fingertips and stares down at it.

He is crying amber.

“Hey, it’s alright, little brother, you’re okay-” Death looks caught between panic and heartbreak, eyes wide and bracing her hands on Dream’s shoulders. It only makes him cry harder. Amber runs down his cheeks, dripping sluggishly from his chin into his cupped hands, sticking to his eyelashes, and he feels half-fossilized already. 

Gentle hands run through his hair, guide him to kneel on the floor, and he feels the shift from Waking to Dreaming, his sister taking him home. He thinks it might not be so bad, to be petrified and buried here in the Dreaming. He thinks he might be worth more as an excavated relic than he ever was as a living being.

But. There is still a hand stroking his hair, another wiping the thick tears from his face, heedless of the mess. There is a voice beside his ear shushing him, “Oh, little brother, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He inhales, choking on the resin in his throat, closing his eyes as he lets the cool air of the Dreaming reach his lungs and slow his tears.

The resin is drying on his cheeks, and it is a struggle to open his eyes again, shards of amber encasing his eyelashes. He glances down at the pool cupped in his hands, and then sees the resin smeared over his sister’s fingers and nearly starts crying again.

“I. I apologize-”

Shushing him, Death reaches out to take his hands, tipping his palms until the amber pours out, dripping onto the stone floor of the throne room until she can curl their fingers together. Dream’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away. He envisions the resin on their hands hardening, encasing their fingers together in amber, and how cruel it would be to subject his beloved sister to being stuck with him .

Death holds on tighter.

“It’s alright,” she leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, “take a second, Dream. Everything is alright.”

It’s really not. But reluctantly, Dream takes her advice. He breathes deeply, tries to loosen the hold his anguish has on him, dilutes it with the comfort his sister so readily offers until the resin begins to thin. Slowly, with each breath the amber turns to salt water. He still feels stiff. He still feels trapped. He thinks he simply moved the amber into his blood. Death is still holding him.

He inhales shakily, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Death responds, soft and casual. They are still kneeling on the floor, and she leans back just a bit, still holding his hands but giving him a little more space, “I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“It was no fault of yours,” Dream interrupts, “I. Appreciate the gesture.” Looking up, he adds on, “I did not expect you to remember such an insignificant detail about me.”

“It’s not insignificant. It’s you. And you’re not insignificant.”

Those words are what finally make him pull away. His movements remind her of a mannequin, stiff and jerky, popping joints back into place after falling apart until he is once more solid and immovable. He folds his hands in his lap, and he does not look at her.

“I am aware of the importance of my function. I have not forgotten your words to me.” 

Death consciously holds back a sigh of frustration. Settling back onto her heels, she takes a moment to look at her brother. She thinks of all the harm that happened in his absence, all the dreamers whose hands she took while her brother sat silent in a cage. She thinks of her words to him when they met again in the Waking after his escape. She thinks of Hob telling her that her brother didn’t feel loved, and how she had immediately put the blame on Dream. After all, how could he possibly think she does not love him for him ?

She thinks she’s starting to understand.

“I worry about you, Dream,” she whispers, reaching out to smooth back his wild hair, “I worry that one day…”

One day, Death will have to take the hands of all of her siblings. She knows that.

But she hopes that day is far away.

Dream looks up at her, head tilted like one of his ravens, “But I would still. Be there. Like the flower in the amber.”

“But not the same.” Death closes her eyes, the words soft with heartbroken realization, “Not you .”

Reaching up, Dream gently removes her hand from his hair, “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, opening her eyes to look at him fiercely and gripping his hand. Dream sighed, but did not try to pull away. He still looks stiff and tense, and he swallows thickly, like there is still resin in his throat.

Death cannot help but laugh wetly. This day had not gone the way she had hoped.  “Next time I want to make a point I’ll just get you something in your favorite color.”

“You do not know-”

“Green.” 

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide in shock, and when Death smiles back, it is smug, but also fond, and sad, and- he thinks, maybe- loving, “I’ve walked through your gardens, Dream. I’ve sat in Fiddler’s Green. I’ve seen the landscapes you’ve created. And I noticed. Because I love you.”

When Dream looks at her, she can’t help but think that he does not believe her, not fully. But there is something in his eyes, a desperate longing. Like he wants to believe her. Like he wants it to be true.

Don’t go , Death doesn’t say, Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can prove it to you. Stay long enough for me to convince you. Just give me some more time.

Desire used to love me, Dream doesn’t say, and then time passed.

“I love you as well, my sister.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, and only barely fights back tears, “I know.”

~~~

Something is not right with Hob’s plan.

It has become a regular occurrence for Dream and Hob to spend an afternoon or evening together several times a week, making it easy for Hob to guide them to a meal. Lunch at the university cafe between Hob’s lectures, dinner at a new restaurant, pots of stew that Hob had let simmer throughout the day, waiting for his friend to share a bowl with him. Each time Dream smiled and accepted his offers, diligently clearing his plates and complimenting Hob on his choices.

And Dream was getting thinner.

He didn’t notice the thinness at first. No, he noticed the layers first. Dream tended to bundle up, to keep himself covered regardless of the weather, and Hob understood. He himself sometimes caught himself pulling his coat around himself a little tighter when he remembered the details of Dream’s imprisonment. So Dream adding extra layers to his ensemble- sweaters and scarves and hoods on his coats- Hob assumed it was just a result of Dream still working through his trauma.

But as time passed, he noticed the way his friend’s already impossibly sharp cheekbones became impossibly sharper. The way the bones in his hands stood out in stark relief each time he reached for his fork. 

Hob didn’t understand it. 

Sitting in his flat now, not expecting company since he saw Dream in all his fragile, delicate beauty the night before, he wracks his brain to try to piece together what might be going on with his friend. He is deep in thought, hands steepled as he leans back on his couch, so he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of loud, frantic tapping on his window.

Glancing at the window, he blinks in surprise at the sight of a large crow or raven that he swears is glaring at him. For a long moment, he simply stares, contemplating whether this warrants a call to animal control or if he should just wait for the bird to leave. He is debating trying to shoo it away himself when it taps on the glass again, somehow even angrier.

“Hey!” An unmistakable American voice projects from the Raven’s beak, “Open up, asshat, I wanna talk to you!”

In the grand scheme of things, this is not the strangest thing to happen to Hob, and yet he still nearly falls off the couch as he flails in surprise.

“Excuse me?” He stands and cautiously approaches the window, “Who, or what, exactly are you?” He demands. Hob may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knows better than to let strange, angry, talking ravens into his home without taking precautions.

The raven huffs, “The name’s Matthew, Hob Gadling ,” he spits his name out pointedly, “And I’m here on behalf of Lord Morpheus, so let me in so I can shake you down properly!” He flutters a bit, letting his talons scratch at the window threateningly.

Perhaps Hob should be even more wary, given that the Raven both knows who he is and is clearly already upset with him for some reason, but the mention of one of Dream’s titles has him throwing the window open.

“Wait, Dream sent you?”

The raven- Matthew, Hob reminds himself, shaking his head in bafflement- glides through the open window to land on Hob’s coffee table, turning back to glare at him again.

“He didn’t send me, I’m here on his behalf ,” he clarifies haughtily. 

Tilting his head, Hob riffles through his memories, trying to recall every name Dream has mentioned in his stories of the goings on of his realm between their meeting. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he remembers Dream mentioning a Matthew a few times, usually with fond exasperation.

“I think Dream’s mentioned you to me… you’re one of his subjects in the Dreaming, right?”

“I’m not just a subject ,” Matthew replies with great offense, “I’m his raven .” He puffs his chest out proudly, in a way that Hob thinks more than proves that he is someone who spends a lot of time with the Dream King.

“Right, he definitely failed to mention that detail,” Hob teases good-naturedly. There doesn’t seem to be any urgency here, so he allows himself to grin widely, “It’s nice to meet you! I haven’t gotten to meet any of Dream’s other friends.”

“Yeah, I noticed, and I find that highly suspicious,” Matthew declares, “What exactly do you have to hide, huh?”

“Uh, it’s not really hiding, I just… don’t know how to contact you?”

“A likely story.”

“I mean if you tell me how to call you I’d love to hang out more-”

“What’s your deal, huh?” Matthew interrupts, “What exactly are your intentions with Lord Morpheus?”

Hob is suddenly struck by the uncomfortable feeling that he is being given the shovel talk. By a bird. About a man he is, unfortunately, not even dating.

“No intentions, really,” he tugs his ear nervously, “I just. Enjoy spending time with him, is all.”

Matthew’s feathers ruffle in agitation, “Humans are conniving pieces of shit who can’t be trusted within a ten mile radius of any sort of power,” he declares, with the authority of someone familiar with being a ‘conniving piece of shit’ himself, “so excuse me if I’m suspicious that Average Joe over here is just ‘hanging out’ with one of the forces of the universe.”

“I don’t think I’m that average-”

“And another thing! Stop guilt tripping him into eating, you ass!”

Hob’s jaw drops at the accusation, “I- wha- he’s skin and bones!”

“Yeah, and you making him sick all the time isn’t exactly helping the situation, pal!”

“Wait, what?”

“Jeez, you’re slow on the uptake,” Matthew huffs in annoyance, “He’s not human, dude. So human food doesn’t work with him. It’s like… you know that scene in Twilight- the books, not the movies- where Edward eats a slice of pizza? And then in an interview Meyer said-”

“Okay, stop, stop stop stop,” Hob cuts off Matthew’s rambling, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But he takes a human form when he’s here though, right?”

“He looks like a human,” Matthew clarifies pointedly, “That doesn’t mean he functions the same as one. Just because you can fit bologna in a CD player doesn’t mean it’s going to work out for ya.”

A slow dawning sense of horror fills Hob, and it must show on his face because Matthew tilts his head to the side curiously, his tone gentling for the first time since his arrival, “You really didn’t know, huh.”

Hob shakes his head miserably, moving to sit heavily onto the couch, “No. Dream has tried to explain the whole ‘Endless’ thing to me, but it’s so complicated. And he never mentioned that he can’t eat, and he just looks so thin and I just wanted to help-”

“Okay, alright, it’s okay!” Matthew flaps his wings a few times desperately, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m gonna cry, and I’m not ready to find out if dream-ravens can cry or not.”

“I can’t believe this whole time I’ve been making it worse.” He thinks again of 1589, of Dream barely glancing at the spread Hob had offered him. He’s always known Dream wasn’t human. He feels like an idiot.

“I feel like an idiot,” he admits out loud.

“I mean, you are,” Matthew replies, ignoring the halfhearted glare Hob gives him, “but you’re not a malicious idiot, which was really what I was more concerned about. In my head you were like, trying to weaken him before making your move or something.”

The very idea makes Hob sick, and he shakes his head vehemently, “Never. He’s my friend . I get that humans hurt him recently, but I don’t care about his power, I just care about him .” 

“Hm. You definitely seem sincere. I suppose maybe I should have just tailed you for a bit before coming in guns blazing. But my job is to protect the boss and he’s been looking a little rough recently, so. Y’know.”

Sniffling, Hob glances up at the raven, watching as he shifts on his feet anxiously. Hob blinks in realization as he speaks, “You really care about him, huh?”

“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Matthew shrugs as much as he is able, his tone becoming more casual, “Honestly it’s kind of hard not to. I mean have you seen the guy? Like, he’s supposed to be this all-powerful force of the universe, but he feels more like a kitten you find hiding from the rain under your car, y’know?”

Hob barks out a laugh, “I don’t think he’d appreciate that comparison, but you’re absolutely not wrong.”

“It’s not like he didn’t care about me first!” Matthew states, almost defensively. He flutters over, settling on the couch cushion next to Hob and he gets the impression that they should be sharing a couple beers right now, gossiping about their mutual friend, “He tries soooo hard to be all cold and aloof, but he knew me for five seconds and tried to keep me from doing my literal job ‘cause he was worried I’d get hurt.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Hob smirks, shaking his head fondly.

“I can’t believe I had to die to finally get a good boss,” Matthew huffs, “Honestly that’s the craziest part of my afterlife. Turned into a raven? I can shrug that off. I enjoy my job and love my boss? THAT’S the part I have trouble believing.” 

Snapping his head over, Hob blinks for a long moment. Matthew’s feathers fluff up at his staring, “What? What did I do?”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Hob’s face, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Want to help me with something?”

~~~

When Dream arrives for a visit two days later, Hob doesn’t even bother saying hello.

“Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks in surprise, tilting his head curiously as Hob stands patiently in front of him. When he finally nods, looking confused but not uncomfortable, Hob wastes no time wrapping his arms around his friend and pressing him close. He can feel the shape of his manifested skeleton through the layers of his coat.

“Dream,” he sighs sadly, one hand guiding Dream’s head against his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Dream moves as if to pull away, but does not struggle when Hob tightens his grip, “You have done nothing to warrant an apology.”

“I’m sorry for pressuring you to eat.” 

Now, Dream jerks back, and Hob lets him go, though he keeps his hands on Dream’s shoulders. He looks surprised now, and somewhat guilty, “What do you-”

“Matthew told me,” Hob explains, “Oh, yeah, I met Matthew by the way. Good guy. Or, raven, or whatever,” Dream scowls, and he quickly continues, “He was worried about you.”

“He need not have interfered,” Dream looks away, body stiff under Hob’s hands, “There was no need for his concern.”

Hob sighs, “Dream. You could have told me you can’t eat food in the Waking.”

There is a pause as Dream considers his words, gaze still steadfastly avoiding Hob’s. “You… enjoy food,” he states, “and cooking. And you. Said it was a ritual among friends.”

“I know,” Hob winces, “I understand how it might have sounded when I said that, but… Dream, we won’t stop being friends just because there are certain things we can’t do together.” Dream doesn’t answer, his body as stiff and cold as a statue.

“Dream,” he ducks his head to try to catch Dream’s eye, “I won’t love you less if you tell me no.”

And that has Dream’s head snapping up, eyes wide with surprise in a way that makes Hob’s heart crack. 

“I mean it,” he insists, “I won’t be mad, or- or offended or anything if there’s certain things you can’t do. I’m sure there’s plenty I can’t do because of my humanity that you wouldn’t hold against me, yeah?”

Dream frowns, confusion on his face, “I would not ask you to take part in anything that went against your nature.”

Hob tilts his head back and sighs, his mouth curling in a fond smile, “You’re so close. You’re right there.”

There is a long pause as Dream seems to turn his words over in his head. “You. Also would not ask me to take part in something that went against my nature? Even if it is something you enjoy?”

“Exactly,” Hob grins, “I don’t enjoy it if it hurts you.”

“Despite how I have treated you in the past?”

Hob’s grin falls so fast it hits like whiplash, “Of course not!” He feels his chest tighten in horror, “Is that what you thought? That I would be okay with hurting you because we got in a fight once?”

Glancing away, Dream’s brow furrows in consideration, “It is not… I did not believe you were doing it on purpose,” he admits, which does lift a little of the weight from Hob’s heart, “I merely…” he looks up at Hob through his eyelashes, “I did not want you to think that I do not take our friendship seriously. I wanted. To prove myself. To prove that I am capable of being worthy of your companionship. I have declined your offer of friendship once already. To deny a ritual of friendship offered to me now would be unforgivable.”

“Only because there would be nothing to forgive,” Hob replies softly. Before Dream can say anything else, Hob pulls him back into his arms. 

“I. Did not mean to upset you,” Dream says tensely.

“You didn’t.” Hob gives him one last firm squeeze before reluctantly releasing him, “Now, my friend,” he says it again in hopes of reassuring Dream, who still looks anxious and lost, “Matthew didn’t say anything about you having ill-effects from our movie nights, yeah?”

Dream hums, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his shoulders, “Indeed. I have been. Enjoying experiencing this new media with you,” his lips twitch towards a smile, “And you promised me an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet tonight.”

Hob groans dramatically, placing a hand on Dream’s back to guide him towards the couch, “The only reason I’m allowing it is because the setting is different enough for me to almost forget it was inspired by that twat Shaxberd.”

“Technically it was inspired by me.”

“Well then sit down and enjoy the fruits of your labor,” Hob laughs, getting West Side Story set up for them to enjoy. The curtains are drawn to cover the glass panes of the windows, there are blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, and there are no snacks or food on the coffee table in front of them. When he looks at him, Hob thinks Dream looks a little… softer. A little more comfortable.

A little more loved.

~~~~~~~

“What’s on the docket today, boss?” 

Matthew lands carefully on the Dream King’s shoulder. He had spent what felt like several hours accompanying Mervyn throughout the castle grounds, pestering him with questions and prodding him for stories as he made minor adjustments to the landscape, and now he felt energetic and ready for a task. Sometimes Matthew felt like he was a better raven than a person. If nothing else he was happier as one. 

Dream hums as he walks down a quiet path outside the castle, “I must check in on the dreams of light to see how my newest creations among them are settling. And ensure they do not require more added to their numbers.”

The ‘dreams of light’ were how Dream had explained a particular sect of dreams to Matthew. They were created for dreamers who felt as though they were in the deepest darkness, those who saw no hope for themselves. They were dreams meant to inspire and revitalize. 

“So they’re like, the light at the end of the tunnel, yeah?” Matthew had responded when Dream had explained.

“Yes,” he had replied with a small smile, “That is not an inaccurate comparison.” Matthew had beamed with pride at understanding a little more of this new realm he called home. 

Meeting the dreams of light had been enlightening- pun absolutely intended- in a lot of ways. Mostly, Matthew learned that Lord Morpheus was deeply uncomfortable with them.

He didn’t think it was a matter of him not liking them or anything. But there was something in the way he had walked and held himself when in their presence. It reminded Matthew of how he had felt the first time he had held one of his friends' new baby; utterly adoring, and absolutely certain he was about to break it.

“I can deal with ‘em, boss.”

Dream turns to glance at the raven shuffling on his shoulder, brow furrowed, “I have already stated that I would do so.”

“Yeah, but I know you don’t want to,” Matthew shrugs his wings nonchalantly, “Unless you have some other important raven errand for me, just let me handle them. I don’t mind.”

With a deepening frown- born of confusion rather than displeasure, Matthew notes- Dream raises his arm, and Matthew instinctually hops from his shoulder to his forearm, allowing them to look each other in the eye. “Wants have no authority within my duty. If a task must be done then I shall do it.”

“Uh huh, yeah, I get that,” Matthew nodded, “but does this particular task have to be done by you ?”

“...I. Suppose not.”

“Great! Then delegate! I mean, I’m offering. Those guys don’t bother me the way they do you, so it’s not an issue, really.”

“I have not expressed that they bother me.”

Matthew sighs, shifting from foot to foot a little nervously, “Listen, don’t file an HR complaint for me saying this, but I love you, and so you are not as subtle as you think you are when it comes to being uncomfortable. To me at least.”

There is a long moment of silence as they stare at each other, Dream blinking in surprise, and Matthew tilting his head back and forth out of some strange raven instinct to view his boss from different angles. 

“...We do not have an HR department in the Dreaming.”

“I can’t tell if that’s you telling me you are upset or aren’t upset.”

To his shock and awe, Dream smiles. A small huff escapes his lips, the closest to a laugh Matthew has ever heard in his time as his raven. “I am not upset,” he states regally. “Since you are so insistent, I will allow you to run this errand on my behalf.” He makes it sound like he is the one doing Matthew a favor, which doesn’t actually surprise Matthew all that much. Honestly, he finds it kind of endearing. 

“Will do, Lord Morpheus!” 

He is still smiling as Matthew flies away. It’s not much.

But it’s a start.

~~~~

Matthew is in the middle of debating whether it would be in poor taste to ask to see Jessamy’s book when Lucienne steps into the library, sighing heavily.

“What’s up, boss lady?” Matthew flies over, landing to perch on the back of the chair next to the one Lucienne had fallen into heavily, “Everything alright?” 

“Everything is fine, Matthew,” Lucienne smiles, and he can see she looks more “fondly exasperated” than “distraught”. “I simply just came from seeing Lord Morpheus. He is still on the shores of creation.”

It has been almost two weeks since Matthew had checked in on the dreams of light, and had made some rounds among some other groups of dreams and nightmares as well. His report for the Dream King had been similar for all of them: they were doing fine, there was no true trouble, but could still benefit from higher numbers due to the massive increase in dreamers over the past hundred years.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Dream had taken that as a great personal failure and had immediately set to work creating rapidly and desperately. Last Matthew had checked on him, his fingers had been bleeding. He hadn’t even known that was a thing that could happen to him.

“Any luck?” Matthew asks.

Lucienne hums, and it’s so similar to how Dream does. It amuses Matthew how alike the two were, and he wonders who influenced the other more. “He is taking a brief break,” she very nearly rolls her eyes, “only to ensure that the quality of his work does not suffer from the quantity.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Sighing, Lucienne shakes her head fondly, “I love Lord Morpheus but he can be quite stubborn sometimes.”

Her words have Matthew perking up. To be honest he’s a little surprised he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “Actually, funny that you say that. Want to join a group project to help the boss out?”

~~~~

Lucienne is still pondering Matthew’s words (and there had been a lot of them) when she stumbles upon her lord in the Library. He is seated quietly at a small table tucked in the back, hands folded in front of him. There are no books on the table, and he seems lost in thought. Part of her wonders if she should leave him alone, but…

“Apparently he doesn’t think anyone like, actually loves him. Which honestly kind of explains why he always looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Shit, I’ve felt on the verge of tears since that Hob guy told me about it. Like, I just assumed he knew, y’know? How can he not know?”

“Good evening, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne greeted with a smile, pulling him from his thoughts as he glanced up at her. Despite whatever he had been mulling over, he still smiles as he looks at her.

“Lucienne,” he dips his head in greeting, “I hope I am not intruding.” 

It is his realm. It is him . And yet he still considers this space hers. 

“Not in the slightest,” she assures him, “Was there anything I could assist you with? Or were you merely visiting?”

“Visiting,” he confirmed with a nod, “I just returned from the Waking,” he explained, “and I felt the need to. Collect myself, I suppose.”

Humming in consideration, a thought occurs to her, “I cannot help but notice you have been spending quite some time with a particular human in the Waking, my lord,” she teases, “Will we be welcoming a new consort soon?”

Lucienne’s voice is light and fond, a teasing smile on her face, and yet Morpheus’ face still drops. It reminds her of a flower wilting, and his eyes are just a little glassy before he turns his gaze to the floor.

“I apologize,” his words are tense, some mixture of frustration and sorrow.

“Whatever for?” 

His eyes dart to glance at her skeptically, “I am aware, as I am sure you are as well, how troublesome my. Amorous pursuits are,” He straightens his back, steeling himself, “I shall restrain myself. You have my word.”

For a moment, Lucienne simply looks at him. He has changed so much, and yet is still so very much the same. In the past, he might not have apologized as he did now. But she recognizes the guilt and shame all the same.

Finally, she steps forward, sitting in the seat across from him, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, “Surely you resent the burden that comes with my being in love. You have every right to be cross with me for succumbing to such feelings once again.”

“And yet I am not.” 

Morpheus lifts his head, looking at her more directly, brow furrowed in confusion, and so she continues, “I have never been upset with you. You love deeply, and that is not a bad thing. I have only ever been saddened to see your heart broken.”

“My heartbreak has always been well deserved,” he insists. “ My pain is just. The injustice is the burden I throw on those around me.” He looks down again, fists clenching, “I bring storms with my sorrow, I lose focus on my duty, I become overwhelmed with both the love and the loss.”

Lucienne hummed, “Those things may be true. But they do not make me love you less.”

His head snaps up so fast she thinks she hears a crack. He is wide-eyed in his disbelief, and it makes her want to cry. Morpheus has been prideful, and stern, and reticent with his words. But it was impossible not to know when Morpheus loved you, whether he said it or not. Even when he lashed out and struggled to grant her more responsibility, Lucienne never doubted Dream’s love for her. It pains her to think that he has not felt the same surety with her love for him.

“You are my lord, and you are my friend,” she states, voice even as she recites simple facts, “and I love you. Not because you do not have flaws, but because there is so much about you to love, and your flaws simply cannot deter me.”

Dream continued to stare, blinking slowly, like trying to solve a puzzle in his head. Eventually, he swallowed thickly, turning his gaze down to his own hands as he admitted softly, “You know me so well. Better than most. I was certain that this knowing could only end in your disdain.”

“Perhaps I know you better than you do,” Lucienne responded, a hint of mischief in her voice that Dream could not help but quirk a smile at. 

Tilting his head, he recalled fondly, “Do you remember, so long ago, when the stories of the world were scattered through the Dreaming? Every time a page drifted past us, even if we were giving a tour to an important guest, you would fly after it.”

Lucienne laughed at the memory. She remembers how her feathers fluffed with agitation each time, offended at the chaos of it. Every story, written and unwritten, left to float freely through the dreaming, unbound pages swirling in the wind and catching on branches and pillars. Lucienne could never resist the urge to collect them. “My beak would be so full of pages I could barely see where I was flying.”

“How far you have come,” Dream smiled proudly, glancing at the towering shelves of stories around them, “From your little hoard of collected stories in the corner of the palace. To this.”

“Because you allowed it,” Lucienne pointed out. She had been nervous, when Lord Morpheus first discovered the piles of pages she had brought inside and pushed into the neatest stacks a raven was capable of. It only occurred to her decades later that he must have known from the beginning what she was doing. It was only when she began struggling with the size of her hoard, when she was brought near tears at knocking over one of her precious stacks with a stray wing, that the Dream King ‘found’ it. 

And he gave her shelves, and bindings, and hands. 

He shook his head, “I believe you would have made it happen regardless. A beakful of pages at a time. I merely made it easier.”

“And do you think that makes it count less?” Dream looked at her, head tilted in confusion, and she could not help but shake her head fondly, “Oh, Lord Morpheus, you can try to downplay your love all you like, but those of us who love you back will always see it regardless.”

There is another pause, his brow furrowed as he seems to consider this. Consider the idea that there are those who see him. They see him because they love him, and the seeing only makes them love him more. She wonders how he will take it. She hopes he doesn’t run away.

He doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head and smiles, “I. Am glad. It would pain me. If you did not know my care for you.”

“I know, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne reached out, laying a hand over his, “I know.”

Squeezing his fingers just once, she leans back, smirking deviously, “Now,” she adjusts her glasses, keeping her tone light and professional, “tell me more about this human who has caught your attention. I must make sure he is good enough for you, of course.”

When Morpheus laughs, he sounds young, and happy, and loved.

~~~

“My friend,” Hob begins cautiously, “is everything alright?”

Dream has always been quiet, but tonight he is distracted . He seems far away and lost in thought, a furrow in his brow that Hob wants to smooth over with his fingers. There is music playing softly in the background, one of their quiet evenings of sharing stories and Hob gently showing Dream little bits of what humanity had created in his absence. He does not seem upset, exactly, but Hob still worries.

“I. Am fine,” Dream responds stiffly, and Hob can’t help but snort.

“For someone who claims the title ‘Prince of Stories’ you are a terrible liar.”

Dream glares at him, but there is no heat behind it. In fact, Hob is almost certain he sees his mouth twitch as though holding back a smile. Softening, he allows himself to scoot a little closer on the couch, until their legs are just barely brushing. “I’m serious, though,” he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Sighing, Dream glances down at his hands in his lap, “I am fine,” he insists, “I simply…” he takes a long moment to consider his words. When he speaks again, it is in a rush, as though he must push the words out before he loses them, “Matthew and Lucienne claim that they love me.”

Hob blinks, “Oh.” He is both pleased to know that Dream is being told, and confused by Dream’s reaction. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Looking up at him, Dream looks… ashamed, “They are my subjects,” he explains, “I have power over them. In such a situation, is it not immoral to ask them to love me?”

“ Did you ask?” Hob presses, already knowing the answer, “Or did they choose to love you on their own?”

Dream does not answer, and he does not look comforted either. “And Death,” he ignores Hob’s question, “she has said… but is it not obligation to love your family?”

“It can feel like it sometimes, sure,” Hob answers carefully, “but in reality, no. Family can be complicated, but at the end of the day, love is never an obligation. It is in fact very possible to not love your family. If she loves you it’s because she loves you.”

At first, he doesn’t understand it. Why Dream seems to grow more anxious and fearful with each word Hob speaks in comfort. Hob is trying to reassure him that he is loved and yet his eyes are wide, jaw tense and hands clenched into tight fists. He looks cornered.

He looks, Hob realizes, like Hob himself had as a starving man in the 1600s. Like a man who had been given the barest scraps to keep him alive and was now bracing to have it stolen away.

“And you?” Dream whispers, “You have claimed to love me…” he searches Hob’s face desperately, his voice choked when he finally brings himself to ask, “... Why ?”

“Because it’s true.” Hob reaches out recklessly, because it’s too important not to. He laces their fingers together and leans forward to keep their eyes locked even when Dream tries to look away, “Because I do love you. You, Dream of the Endless. I love your dedication to your work, I love the way you speak, I love explaining humanisms to you. I love how hard you try, how you don’t give up even when you’re convinced you've failed. I love how much you care.” 

He could go on forever. Reckless, daring, desperate, Hob lifts his other hand to cradle Dream’s cheek, feeling the way he sucks in a breath at the contact, “I love the look in your eyes when you experience kindness,” he strokes a thumb gently against the skin under Dream’s eye, “and I love you so much that I also hate that look in your eye… as if you’ve never experienced kindness. As if you’re not used to it. As if you don’t know what to do with it. I love you so much, and I want you to be loved more . I want everyone to love you.”

Dream does not need to breathe, and yet his chest is nearly heaving with shaking breaths, each of Hob’s words hitting him like a blow. He has to swallow a few times before he can manage to speak again. “I do not want everyone to love me,” he confesses, “I just…” Hob has never heard him sound so uncertain. So small. Dream has to look away before he is able to continue, “I want the love I have to be true . I know I am too much,” his voice drips with shame, “I know I love too hard. But it is because I want so badly to be loved in return the way I love. I do not require quantity. I just… I want… I want the people I love to love me back.”

Timidly, he looks up at Hob once more, and his voice cracks as he asks, “Is that selfish?”

“No,” Hob answered immediately, “That is very, very human.”

“I am not-”

“You are humanity’s dreams,” Hob interrupts, “And I promise you, humanity dreams of being loved in return.” Leaning forward, he pulls Dream gently closer, until their noses are nearly touching and they are sharing breath, “And you are, you know,” he whispers between them like a secret, “You are loved in return.”

“You cannot know how others feel for me,” Dream argues weakly.

“Perhaps,” Hob cannot help but smirk, “I mean, I do, but I know you won’t accept that. So accept this: I know how I feel for you. And I love you. I’ll say it however many times you need. I love you-”

“Stop.” 

Dream’s eyes are clenched shut, and Hob can see the moisture caught on his eyelashes. But he’s not pulling away, and when Hob pulls back, he drifts after him. “I’ll stop talking if you want me to,” Hob offers, “I’ll stop touching you, if it’s too much,” He starts to pull his hands away and the tears finally spill down Dream’s cheeks, “But I won’t stop loving you.”

The words are barely out his mouth when Dream crashes into him. He nearly falls backwards, only just managing to keep them both from toppling over, his hands bracing against Dream to steady them. There is salt on Dream’s lips, and they tremble against Hob’s, and he can taste the words on them as clearly as if Dream had spoken them out loud.

Stay, his kiss begs, Stay, stay, stay.

“I love you, too,” Dream whispers against his lips, his hands curled in Hob’s shirt as though expecting him to pull away.

But Hob only pushes closer, wrapping his arms around Dream’s fragile figure. “I know,” he replies, pressing kisses to his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, “I know. I know you love me. And I love you back. I promise.”

Holding Dream tight in his arms, Hob knows that he will probably have to convince Dream again tomorrow. He will probably have to convince him again and again and again, and he doesn’t care. He loves him enough to remind him.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing

[ariseur]

'Ello luv, it's been a while since I saw someone writing for DMC ugh, miss when dmc(5) was trending... What a good time!

I don't know if your requests are open or not, but catch up with me!! Our pretty girls and boys with a vampire!reader! Or or— A WITCH! BOTH

Like, you choose if it's a bunch of headcanons, blurbs, a full one shot with a character or not, I just really want to see it!

Well, obviously if you can do it honey, if you can't it's fine <3

dmc crew dating a vampire 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

devil may cry x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

this was actually my first request on this blog!! i don’t know why i put it off for so long bc it’s literally so cool?? i ended up just doing a vampire instead of witch/vampire witch so i hope you guys enjoy considering my phone crashed trying to copy n paste this from my notes to tumblr 💋

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

blood (but in the vampire way ykyk), fangs and mentions of sharp teeth, intended lowercase, kinda spoilers for dmc5 in v’s,

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓓ANTE — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ you are literally so hot in DANTE’s eyes, you could honestly do no wrong.

❥ i think you guys already know what i’m gonna say..

❥ if you feed on blood or need it for some sort of sustenance, dante will gladly volunteer. he thinks it’s the hottest thing ever.

❥ although, i’m not sure if vampires much like demon blood..

❥ eh, oh well. dante will still think it’s attractive, especially if you have fangs or some sort of sharper canines.

❥ only downside to being a vampire and dating dante is that you’ll occasionally hear a super bad transylvanian accent. like.. really bad.

❥ but!! if you’re also a demon hunter like him— and you have some cool freaky powers like draining blood or energy from empusas or really just any ability that’s useful, it’s heart eyes all around from him.

❥ you could be covered in blood or feasting on something and then you’ll spot dante in the corner wielding devil sword dante after defeating like seventy fuckin other demons and he’s just.. mesmerized.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥ERGIL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ VERGIL’s much more curious about your species. do you have any weaknesses? are the fictionalized versions of your kind portrayed accurately? what are you exactly?

❥ luckily he’s a lot more quiet about his curiosity compared to, maybe— nico. his staring is intimidating, though. when he sits with you or near you, he’ll usually just study you. maybe it looks like he’s judging but he’s really just analyzing your appearance. especially if you have any distinctive features.

❥ if you have that dark ruddy aesthetic, he’ll likely admire from afar even if red isn’t exactly his favorite color.

❥ if you really needed it, he’d let you feed off of him although it’s definitely not his first choice. he’s not really a fan of being bitten, especially if you need to bite his neck or something like that.

❥ probably finds some esoteric artistic poem or painting with an underlying meaning of having to do with vampires and thinks of you every time he looks at it.

❥ his gothic poetic side is showing

❥ ugh i just wanna kiss his scowl so bad but i also wanna punch him.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓝ERO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ nero literally thinks it’s so cool.

❥ he might be a little wary once he first meets you? like are you gonna tackle him rn and sacrifice him with your own lil blood ritual?

❥ but once he finds out you’re docile or that you pick and choose on whom you feed on, he’s like, “oh okay that’s cool”

❥ probably like dante where the only version he knows of vampires are the hollywood adaptations of them. so like.. he’s confused if you can go into sunlight? or you can eat certain foods? or if you can go near churches??

❥ he, too, thinks you’re super hot. however!! very iffy about you drinking blood or feeding in front of him. not like it grosses him out but it’s kinda.. weird to watch for him?? idk.

❥ another thing is that he doesn’t want you biting him at all. he’s like vergil where he’ll be baffled if you even ask, except he’s super hesitant to offer himself unless you’re super injured and in dire need of it.

❥ just step on him to shut him up atp

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥 — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ V’s goth ass won’t shut up about how divine your species is and how fascinating he finds you.

❥ curious on your feeding habits and what you essentially need to survive, tries to find any and every book that he can about vampires so he can learn about you even more.

❥ he’s like those people who romanticize the 1800s or the salem witch trials or greece or ethel cain or lana del rey while kicking their feet and posting about it. he will find a way to make the situation poetic, trust me.

❥ finds it amusing if you’re annoyed by griffon’s teasing and threaten to eat him first if you were to ever go rogue, you might even be able to get a close mouthed chuckle out of v.

❥ utterly fascinated by just your very being, even if it’s just mundane traits. especially loves to see your fangs, dunno why but they’re just aesthetically pleasing to him.

❥ considering he’s kinda like a deteriorating human that’s basically turning into a husk, i wouldn’t recommend feeding on him unless you plan to kill him—which who would wanna murder our emo bae right here? (capcom)

❥ the type of person to roll his eyes at false folklore and representation because he’s literally in love with an actual vampire?? how dare they portray you like this??

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓛ADY — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ LADY also finds you super hot!!

❥ also interested because she’s probably never seen a vampire outside of media— so it’s a nice change of pace rather than being face to face with demons all day.

❥ despite all this, after the initial introduction, i’m not sure she’d care too hard? like— sure, you’re considered a supernatural being and all that.

❥ and although she thinks it’s super dope, i feel like it wouldn’t matter as much to her. she’s seen and done a lot of things at such a young age, i feel as though she’s almost desensitized?

❥ she’s so badass she can’t even care. she’s literally respected by dante, whom is titled ‘the legendary devil hunter’. (dmc5 did her dirty with her lack of part in the storyline 💔)

❥ she’ll respect any of your needs, and ngl also thinks you biting into her neck is hot.

❥ kinda surprised that you’re able to go out into sunlight even if she’ll never tell you that 😭

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓣RISH — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ another one who doesn’t care that much. it’s not like TRISH is dismissive of your species and where you come from, but she’s literally a full on demon who’s probably seen everything.

❥ you guys r so hot though, like the ultimate power couple.

❥ oh, and if you’re a devil hunter, too? you guys r gonna kick sm ass together. she’ll invite you to roll around with her for a while rather than with dante, although if you’re associated with devil may cry then that’s fine too. she’ll put up with dante’s ass just to visit you more often.

❥ i don’t recommend feeding off of trish?

❥ idk how vampires take to drinking demon blood

❥ but shit, if you have that red aesthetic and are just a total femme fatale (or other gender equivalent to that), trish is in charge of your outfits now.

❥ don’t even fight it, you will end up in the outfit regardless.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓝ICO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ oh boy

❥ if you’re lucky enough to survive the first meeting with NICO and you end up actually being in a relationship? you are def a trooper.

❥ when you’re first introduced, she bombards you with questions.

❥ where did you come from? do you have powers? are you like a demon and are there more of you? if so, can she harvest parts for a new bio-weapon? do vampires reproduce the same as humans? are you gonna suck her blood??

❥ she’s just a curious lady cut my girl some slack

❥ she thinks you’re so cool though!! wants you to tell her everything you know about vampires so she can log it. even if you’ve been in a long term relationship, she still can’t help but ask more questions.

❥ but!! as cool and hot as she thinks you are— like nero, she does not wanna see you feed and does not wanna be fed on!! (except.. maybe just one time to see how it feels.)

❥ ugh she just loves you sm please indulge her

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc5 #dmc4 #dmc3 #dmc dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #dmc vergil x reader #vergil sparda x reader #dmc nero x reader #nero sparda x reader #dmc v x reader #v dmc x reader #vitale x reader #dmc lady x reader #dmc trish x reader #dmc nico x reader #nicoletta goldstein x reader #ODOTTIE *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.* #kiss kiss

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— through the storm, there’s always you + katsuki bakugou.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — the one in which katsuki bakugou hates the winter, until you bring him a gift that changes his mind for the better.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, fluff, strangers to lovers, mentions of injury, mentions of hospitals, pregnancy & birth ( non - descriptive ), winter babies, wholesome family content, not beta read ! - fem!reader, pro-hero!bakugou.

⭑ words — 1.8K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! merry christmas if you celebrate and happy holidays to those who don’t !! i hope you’re all keeping well and safe. here’s a little drabble for your troubles since i’m working on something longer that’ll hopefully be out in the new year !! so this isn’t beta read and i hope you enjoy !! mwah - m.list ✩

katsuki had always hated the weather around christmas time. 

as a kid it meant being stuffed into itchy, scratchy sweaters that matched with stupid deku’s and being forced into what seemed like hours of pointless christmas card photo shoots tucked in next to the green haired, green eyed wimp. it meant mitsuki dragging him out of the comfort of his all night sheets early on December 25th to swap presents— her loud, irritating voice booming out Christmas carols with the words sung wrong as his pops set up a hearty breakfast and plucked wrapping paper from between the spikes of a young bakugou’s blonde hair.

back then, mitsuki would pull the cruel joke of putting coal in the younger’s stocking for a laugh and in response katsuki would hide all of her hurts to make it look like she had none. 

in middle school, katsuki spent most of his winter break running over school choices— learning the curriculum inside and out so that he could get into U.A. friends, family gatherings, festive…none of them mattered to him as much as his aspirations did, but he still helped masaru decorate the house and put up the tree— lit the fire because he didn’t run as hot as other people during the colder season. he hardly saw his friends, his posse, his entourage, whatever they were. they didn’t understand what it was like to work for something, to want to succeed…to make sacrifices. these were people katsuki didn’t need.

when christmas roll around at UA, katsuki felt like he was really part of something for the first time. his friends, kirishima and kaminari especially, begged him to cook the dinner— getting permission from aizawa after school to buy the ingredients, clinging onto his arms to keep him warm while asking him what went in what, affectionately pissing him off. 

there’d been a gift exchange too, and he’d tried to brush it off when his group of little misfits had presented him with a few exclusive allmight merchandise that hadn’t been collectible since he was a kid. ‘thanks,’ he’d mumbled, brushing an arm over his eyes in away that covered up the tears brewing in them. ‘idiots.’ aside from the celebrations and the small twinkle of happiness being surrounded by his classmates brought him— winter still sucked for bakugou. he’d discovered his quirk didn’t quite work the same, that he’d need to train a hundred times harder to be just as efficient as his peers during the flu season if he were to succeed and become a top hero like he’d promised himself as a kid. his hero costume required form fitting sleeves and a collar up to his neck that made him think back to that time where that villain had almost ended his life and he wasn’t quite strong enough to escape its reach. 

bakugou fucking hated the winter because of it.

the Christmas season starts to become even more intolerable once katsuki breaks onto the scene as rookie pro hero dynamight. he gets stuck with all the bullshit patrols like the Black Friday sales and Christmas eve last minute rushes for gifts because he’s not quite high enough on the ranks for the ‘real’ work yet. it’s fine, the blonde tells himself, anythin’ to get higher up  in the ranks. spreading the holiday spirit isn’t exactly his forte but the singles without families to go home to for the festives seemingly love spotting the desirable and explosive hero stalking the city streets, and it does wonders for his reputation too.

after bakugou’s first year as a rookie, do things pick up. he gets his first villain attack on december 24th, a simple robbery that he gets to handle all on his own— the prick’s quirk is fast moving, strong and nearly wipes the blonde out in one clear shot, sending him flying into the nearest building while other rookies evacuate the scene. 

“m-mister…uh, dynamight? a-are you okay?” 

your voice had been soft, your face the first thing he had scene when his vision realigned. blood trickled down the roundness if your cheeks, features aglow from the fires his quirk had set to your building— your humble little tailoring shop that he’d noticed was usually buzzing with customers  on patrol. “i uh— you hit your head pretty hard sir a-and there’s a villain outside— i don’t think you can fight it like this—“ you’d tried to explain in a hurry, the situation now obvious as bakugou’s head lay in your lap. 

groaning, he’d wanted to pull away from you get back up and take the damn villain down but before he could even move it’s quirk had sent another blast in the direction of your precious shop. one minute, bakugou’s life is flashing before his eyes and the next an invisible shield flies up in front of you both, protecting you from whatever impact had been coming. “‘m goin’ back out there,” bakugou told you sternly, gathering himself back up. there was no way a civilian should be doing his job, he should be protecting you, not the other way around. “stay fuckin’ put, till i get back. then we’re goin’ to a hospital.” 

turns out, you were great at following orders, by the time bakugou had taken out the perpetrator— you were more than willing to go with him to the hospital to get your injuries checked out. he stayed with you the entire time, he owed it to you at least. you’d saved his life, and sacrificed your shop but uttered not a word of complaint in response. and in the winter days that followed the incident, he visited and brought flowers and sat with you— learning about you, learning to love you right into the new year. 

bakugou’s spirits towards winter and Christmas had certainly changed since then. well into his thirties with achy joints, silvering hair and a stomach that’s a little less toned than it used to be— dynamight sits perched on the highest of buildings, a com mic pressed into his slightly muted ear. “ai’ght fuckers, let’s get this over with. the wife’s given me only a couple hours b’fore she can’t hold on any longer.” he grunts to his fellow heroes, ready to take down their annual Christmas robbery. 

it couldn’t have come at a worse time, katsuki promising you that he wouldn’t be working on the holiday for the sake of your kids— who needed their father just one day out of the year. you’d wrapped him up extra tight, a homemade scarf you’d worked on in the last few months slipped softly around his neck as you scolded him for taking up over time when he should have been with you, with his family.

“you got it kacchan,” izuku chuckles from his end of the line— positioned some ways away, his eyes also on the target. “operation kacchan’s home for Christmas is a go.” 

“agreed. i do not like it when mrs.bakugou is angry.” todoroki chimes in plainly, also accompanying the childhood duo on their mission.

“then keep yer eyes on the fuckin’ target— the sooner we can get my ass home t’what really matters this Christmas!” the blonde scolds his long time friends, rolling eyes eyes fondly as he sets his eyes on the target who‘d ripped him away from his family.

“daddy! you’re late!” 

katsuki’s oldest just barely looks up from her phone— a gift from last year— as he rushes into the hospital waiting room still decked out in his ashy hero gear. kayako bakugou still accepts the kiss to her forehead from her father and the ruffle to her blonde curls once he’s close enough. she has his hair, the colour of his eyes but the shape of her features are undoubtedly yours— the perfect blend of two people completely and utterly in love. 

his vermilion gaze shoots to his son, kuzki— a quiet little boy who’s not quite like the rest of the bakugou bunch but equally as loving and as precious to dynamight himself. “sorry ya guys have to be here on Christmas Day, s’late too,” the man pinches his kid’s cheek, kazuki squirming happily, albeit a bit sleepy. “we can open presents later, after i see momma.” 

“s’okay papa! nana mitsuki got us candy!” he squeals, the eldest bakugou hiding her nose in her magazine at her mention. 

“ma!” 

“what?” she huffs back, nodding her head towards the door. “you don’t have time to have a go at me, katsuki. your wife is waiting for you.” 

both of the bakugou kids get a smooch on their foreheads, and mitsuki the middle finger ( discreetly and in his head because he won’t risk getting his ass kicked by his own mother in front of his offspring ). he stalks his way into your private hospital room, keeping his clunky steps unusually quiet as he spots you resting in your bed. 

“you’re lucky, she just fed and was about to go down for a nap, but it seems like she was waiting for a certain someone.” you coo but you’re not looking at your husband, instead at the tiny bundle of joy wriggling about in her swaddle, laying in your arms. 

the elder blonde approaches the two of you, curling an arm immediately— soothed by your warmth which sends the chill of winter straight out of him. “she?” bakugou questions, too tentatively for a man with such a misshapen and rough exterior. you pass the little baby girl off to him, letting him take in the scent of baby powder and fresh linen. “god, she’s pretty. just like her momma, huh?” 

“think that’s all you, kats, you know these bakugou genes wait for no one,” you breathe your words out in exhaustion, but a smile stays strong in your face like the blistering winds outside. “thirteen hours of labour and she still couldn’t wait for daddy.”

“‘m sorry i couldn’t be there, stupid fuckin’—“ the baby stirs in his hold, growing fussy as if she already knows the signature forbidden word of the bakugou household. “stupid freakin’ deku held us up at the mission ‘n i tried my best t’get here..” bakugou loses his words, staring at his his newborn princess with so much love in the world— she’s tiny in his arms, gargling sleepily as he bounces her, standing to walk the room with his new little girl and showing her the snowfall. 

the three of you are entranced by the first glimmer of the crystalline weather— the room swimming with a contrasting warmth that katsuki can bear to stand because it’s not a frosted winter. it’s a perfect love. his own oasis away from the cold. “s’okay kats, she just wanted to be the best christmas gift you could have asked for,” you murmur. “our perfect little christmas gift.” 

katsuki bakugou hums in agreement, watching eyes the colour of your own but the shape of his flutter with tiredness for the first time being out in the new world. and now with his little treasure, his darling daughter and absolute labour of love— katsuki bakugou is able to state his reason for finally finding appreciation for winter after all this time.

“merry christmas, princess.” he says to her wistfully. “and to you too, m’love.” 

“merry christmas, kats.” you whisper back, your voice to him like a call through the storm.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagines #bakugou fanfic #bakugou fic #bakugou drabbles #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #katsuki bakugou imagine #bakugo fluff #bakugo imagines #mha x reader #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #mha fluff

[cupidjyu]

don't think so

sunwoo x reader

when you hate the man who sits in front of you at the office, but end up getting stuck in a closet with him

genre: office au, enemies to lovers (pretty one-sided), setup like jim and dwight from the office, bickering, close proximity in a closet, teasing, flusteredness notes: hey so.... i don't have any other excuse besides school is trying to murder me. so busy i haven't even been able to keep up with tbz so it's a little hard to write for them at the moment 😭 i hope you enjoy and not sure of the coming months :( word count: 3.1k

Avoiding him was the main goal. 

And when you set a goal, you meant it. You would sacrifice anything to achieve it: your sustainment like the lunch breaks that you’ve purposely missed to avoid seeing him, your enjoyment like when you sat in the very back of the meeting rooms where you couldn’t see to avoid sitting next to him, and… your sleep.

It was an ungodly hour in the morning. Your eyes were threatening to glue shut but at least you would be early enough to work that you wouldn’t have to see him.

But then again, there was the disappointing fact that he still sat at the desk in front of yours. Waking up early only stalled your time away from him. When your shift actually started, you would still be forced to look at his obnoxious face.

With a yawn, you walked over to your desk and put your stuff down. When you looked up, you quietly gasped at the sight. 

Sunwoo.

Sunwoo was sitting at his desk, you know, the one right in front of yours, dozing off. He was dressed in his usual work attire–a suit and a tie–but the only thing that was different was that his hair was messy. Like he had just woken up recently.

The whole plan was to avoid him yet you still failed. Suppressing a groan, you walked over to him, leaned down, and slapped him right on his cheek. He startled and his eyes shot open. 

“What was–” He looked up at you before narrowing his eyes. With a grumble, he thumped his head down onto the desk. “What do you want?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “You were sleeping. So I woke you up.”

“It’s cause I came early,” He mumbled, ruffling his own hair as he sat back up, leaning back in his office chair.

“And why’d you do that?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching over and purposely knocking over one of his figurines. A raccoon to be exact. It looked like him. 

“Because you usually come early,” He bluntly replied, picking up the figurine and threatening to throw it in your face. He smirked when he noticed you flinch, annoyingly enough.

You scoffed. “Yeah, for a reason.”

“The reason is me, I presume?” He looked at you unimpressed.

“Precisely.”

Turning on your heel, you walked back to your desk, narrowly avoiding the fact that he actually ended up throwing the figurine. And apparently, bickering with your office enemy causes time to fly because you already had to start your work. You turned on your computer and began to type, ignoring the man in front of you who was kicking your desk.

Then, you heard footsteps behind you and a cup being placed down on your desk. You widened your eyes, noticing that it was your favorite drink–warm and inviting, perfect for the weather. You looked up, coming face-to-face with Sangyeon leaning against your desk.

“For me?” Your eyes brightened.

He nodded, smiling kindly. “It was on the way.”

“Thank you so much!” You beamed, waving as he walked away. You stared at the drink lovingly. Already, you could feel that it made your day. 

After you took a sip, you were about to turn back to your screen when you realized that there was a certain someone glaring daggers at you. His eyebrows were furrowed and he obviously looked annoyed.

You eyed him, your smile souring. “What?”

“Nothing,” He curtly replied. “You’re just irritating when you’re happy.”

You frowned, reaching over and moving his monitor until it completely blocked his face. “Then don’t look at me,” You gritted out.

He peeked around the monitor anyway. “I can’t help it.”

You huffed, choosing to ignore him.

Whenever you were getting focused, you liked to put your hair up. It didn’t matter what style, as long as it didn’t bother you. And so, bringing your hair up, you were about to put it up when you could feel a presence staring at you. 

You looked at him, unimpressed.

“You know you’re really creepy right?”

And it seemed that you actually caught him off guard because he quickly sat up and cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I wasn’t staring.”

After working with Sunwoo for–unfortunately–a while, you found that he hated it when you showed no interest in him. If you acted unbothered or bored with him, he would quickly become annoyed. That was your favorite way of pestering him.

And so, you simply shrugged, turning away.

“Okay.”

And just like you had expected, he huffed in disbelief. You could tell from your peripheral vision that he was getting irritated.

“Actually,” He decided to speak up. “I was staring at you.”

So, that wasn’t what you expected him to say. You expected a mere insult but for him to admit that he was actually looking at you tying your hair up was something else.

“Sunwoo,” You whispered, getting up from your chair to lean over his desk. “Wanna know something?”

He leaned in to hear you. “What?”

“Shut up.”

He leaned back with a roll of his eyes. “No. Also, there’s a piece of hair sticking out.” He motioned to the side of your head.

You groaned, got up from your desk, and rushed to the bathroom. Except, when you looked in the mirror, you realized that he was in fact, lying. Your hair was perfectly fine. 

“That asshole.”

-

“I don’t think it’s all too bad,” Sangyeon said, sipping on the new flavor of coffee that your boss insisted on replacing the old one with. The old one was perfectly fine.

“It’s not,” You groaned. “The coffee’s the only reason why I come to the break room.”

Sangyeon shrugged, taking the cup from you. You’ve counted that he’s already drank four cups of coffee. This is his fifth. A little worrying in your opinion.

Then, you stood up and twirled for him. Sangyeon lifted an eyebrow at your sudden action. You huffed.

“It’s a new outfit. What do you think?’

“Oh,” Sangyeon laughed. “I was confused for a second. It looks good and suits you well,” He answers, smiling. You were about to thank him but you noticed that he was balancing his coffee in one hand and his computer in the other. He groaned. “Sorry, I have to go now. Eric’s been bothering me on how to send a stupid email.”

You shake your head and say goodbye. Going back to work is the least ideal thing that you wanted to do so you attempted to stay back and look busy. In the break room.

“Someone’s awfully happy to be talking to Sangyeon,” A deep voice sounds from behind you.

You yelp in surprise and quickly turn around only to accidentally elbow Sunwoo in the stomach. At first, you tried to say sorry but when you realized that it was him and that you both mutually hate each other, you kept your mouth shut.

He winced, holding onto the spot that you had just elbowed.

“Why?” He managed to say.

“You scared me.”

He simply hummed as a response. You peered at him curiously, noticing that something was a bit off with him. He looked more grumpy than usual, his eyebrows furrowed with what you could assume to be frustration. 

You decided not to beat around the bush. “Why do you look more pissed than usual?”

“Because I am,” He snapped.

Though it was common for Sunwoo to be a bit snarky, you couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback.

“How come?” You tilted your head.

He froze and you could have sworn that his eyes wandered away from your face, down to your outfit. “Just that…” He trailed off, fidgeting nervously. You could tell he was stalling. You could tell that he wanted to run. But instead, you stepped closer, staring straight into his eyes.

“That?”

“That you’re wearing that outfit.”

The small light of hope in your heart quickly dimmed into nothing. You took a step back, a frown taking over your curious smile. “You’re mad because I’m wearing this outfit?”

His eyes widened. “No, I–” But he sighed. Though it almost looked like he wanted to say more.

You stayed quiet, taking even more steps backward. “I mean,” You started, your voice laced with hurt. “If you’re that bothered by my existence, you might as well just stop talking to me at all.” Without giving him a chance to reply, you turned around and walked away.

-

You laughed, watching as Sangyeon desperately tried to get the printer to work. Then he approached you with a tired look on his face.

“Can you go to the supply closet and get more paper?” He asked, his tired look turning into a pleading one.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

As you got up, you let out a small sigh of relief. Sunwoo’s nowhere to be seen. Good, because you were still angry at him. Of course, you were always annoyed, but this time it was different. Walking past his desk, you headed towards the closet.

It was incredibly small–not the best for people who might be claustrophobic. Still, you just needed to get the paper and get out. But, just as you were leaving and opening the door, you almost ran straight into someone’s chest.

Startled, you were about to apologize, only to realize that of course, it was him.

“What’re you doing here?” You clenched your jaw.

“I have to get a mop,” He calmly replied. “Eric spilled coffee all over the floor.”

But of course, he didn’t let you exit. Instead, he cornered you into the closet. When he noticed you stumbling and backing up against the wall, he smiled in amusement which you grumbled at.

You could hear the door closing behind him, engulfing you two in only the dim light that the closet provided. It was harder to see and so you gulped when he reached around you for the mop, touching your waist briefly before backing away. 

Then, he paused, setting it to the side for a second.

“About earlier…” 

You frowned, not really in the mood to talk about it right now. “Can we at least argue outside of this small closet?” You didn’t even allow him an answer as you’re already pushing past him. But, as you try to turned the handle, it doesn’t budge. You shook it, pushed down on it, everything, and still, the door refused to open.

That’s when you realized that you’re doomed. You stood there, shoulders stiff and brooding over the handle as you prayed that maybe this was all just a prank. 

And what made it worse is that you’re stuck in a closet with the man who you pronounced a long time ago to be your sole enemy. He stood behind you, peering over your shoulder.

“Too weak to open a door?”

You sighed, turning to face him, only for your breath to hitch because you completely forgot just how close he was to you. “It’s locked.”

“It’s what?” He widened his eyes, searching your gaze to make sure you were not messing with him. He reached around you and tried to turn the handle as well. You truly hoped that maybe he had magic and would open the door. But again, it wouldn’t budge.

You hung your head back and leaned against the wall, trying your best not to curse. Meanwhile, Sunwoo turned to you and set a hand on the wall, right next to your ear to keep his balance. That’s when you realized that he was practically pinning you to the wall.

“This is uncomfortable,” You bluntly stated.

He stayed quiet as he tried to move around to create more distance. Instead, he only ended up stepping even closer with most of his body against yours.

“I can’t move,” He sheepishly said.

“Don’t try,” You mumbled, shutting your eyes with embarrassment. And as if it would help at all, you placed your hands on his chest. He stared quietly before looking away. But even under the dim light, you could tell that he was suppressing a shy smile.

“I’m sure someone will start looking for us soon,” He spoke quietly. “Just wait.”

“Fine.” You let your hands fall to your sides. For such an annoying man, he smelled awfully good. And for such an obnoxious man, he was… handsome up close. But before he would tease you for staring, you spoke up again. “So what were you going to say about yesterday?” You looked up into his eyes.

He cleared his throat and quickly broke eye contact. It was almost like he was too… shy to look you in the eye.

“I wanted to apologize.”

You were shocked, to say the least. “Apologize? You?”

“What, is that so shocking?” He grinned. “But seriously, it was all a misunderstanding.”

You tilted your head. “Then what’d you mean to say?”

“I was mad because you… you didn’t ask me what I thought about your outfit.” His voice was quiet before but now it’s barely audible. 

You stared at him in surprise. And then your lips began to widen into an amused smile, your eyes twinkling.

“Hold on,” You giggled. “You were jealous of Sangyeon?”

He stuttered profusely, “I wouldn’t put it like that but–” He paused, accepting defeat as his shoulders sunk. “Maybe, I guess.”

You laughed even more at his reply. “Why would I ask you? Don’t we argue all the time?”

“Because,” He sighed. “I was going to say that you look pretty. You would like that wouldn’t you?”

You froze at that and you felt your cheeks warming. You could see and sense the way his eyes wandered over you. Was it always this warm in here?

“I guess I would,” You mumbled, looking down to try to hide your reddening cheeks.

He chuckled. And yet again, he surprised you as you felt a gentle hand come up to your ear, tucking a stray piece of hair. You swallowed thickly, choosing not to look into his eyes. You wondered if he was regarding you with a teasing look or a glare.

But when you gathered the courage to look up, it was neither. Instead, his eyes were soft, full of an emotion that you couldn’t quite name.

Sunwoo, who you pronounced to be your sole enemy, wasn’t all that bad. He liked to bicker with you sure, but he never went too far. He even looked out for you sometimes like the time you tripped and fell. He had put a bandage on your knee.

You stared at him in wonder, seeing him in a new light.

“Sunwoo,” You whispered.

He smiled softly. “Hm?”

“Why do you hate me?”

He paused. You could tell he was getting nervous as he shifted awkwardly.

“Because you’re annoying.”

Except, when you looked closely, you noticed that he was blushing. His eyes were avoidant of yours, his cheeks and ears were flushed… he was shy.

The corner of your lips lifted up with mischievousness. And so, you let your hands crawl back up to rest on your chest and this time, it was you who leaned in closer as you held the eye contact. He inhaled sharply.

“I don’t think that’s why,” You teased.

And you expected him to try to refute. But instead, his eyes only softened further as he gave you a fond look.

“You’re right,” He whispered back. “It’s not.”

Slightly taken aback, you quickly recovered. “Then why do you hate me? And tell the truth this time.”

But then, your composure came crashing down when he leaned closer. It was like a game: who would accidentally initiate a kiss first? He stared down at you with a teasing look, a small smirk on his lips.

“I don’t hate you.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “Wh–”

Suddenly, the closet was flooded with light. The door was open and the two of you turned to the source. There was Eric, out of breath and full of stress. He also seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that he interrupted a tense moment.

“I found you!” He exclaimed. “I thought you two died!”

Sunwoo looked at him in disbelief. “Why would we?”

You didn’t allow any further conversation. With a new pounding in your heart, you shoved past Sunwoo and made your escape.

-

The next day, you couldn’t even look Sunwoo in the eye anymore. Every time you tried, you would be reminded of the scent of his cologne, of his teasing smirk when he said that he didn’t hate you, and of the new feelings that had bloomed in your heart.

As you were packing up your things, you realized that Sunwoo already left. But that was when you noticed a cup on your desk. It was your favorite drink.

“So he remembered,” You mumbled to yourself, turning it and picking up a note attached to it.

Meet me outside

When you exited the building, just like he said, he was waiting for you. He was of course still in work attire, leaning against the wall. His hair was slightly tousled and his features shone in the setting sun. He really was handsome when you didn’t hate his guts.

You approached him cautiously.

“Hey,” He greeted.

“Hi.” You offered a small smile. Small steps would do. Step by step.

You saw him hesitate for a moment before pulling out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. He held it out to you.

Okay, so that was a pretty large step. 

You stared at it in surprise, the colors pretty and vibrant. “What’s this for?” You gasped.

He smiled charmingly, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Because you’re annoying.”

You huffed in amusement, rolling your eyes. Still, you took it and smiled at him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Right,” He whispered, leaning closer just like before. 

This time, you laughed and took his hand in yours. No more small steps–might as well be bold. You enjoyed the sight of a flustered Sunwoo staring down at your connected hands. Swinging his hand, you started walking home together.

–

A thump on your desk.

Sangyeon’s hand as he leaned against it.

“Y/n,” He warned. “I have something to ask.”

“Hm?” You turned away from your computer.

“I went to the convenience store yesterday.”

You stared at him, bored. “Is that the question?”

“No,” He laughed. “But that’s on your way to your apartment, right?”

You paused and looked at him in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

And then he smiled teasingly. “So why did I see you pressing a kiss to Sunwoo’s cheek?”

It was like an arrow straight through your chest. Standing up, you slammed on the desk, causing everyone in the office to look at you. 

“We were–”

Sangyeon smiled wider. “Your collar’s messed up by the way.”

You looked down at it before flushing and turning away. But just as you did, you caught a glimpse of a smug Sunwoo, sitting at his desk, watching the whole ordeal. You mouthed to him a silent, “I hate you.”

“Admit it, I’m a great kisser,” He mouthed back.

You couldn’t respond to that.

#the boyz imagines #the boyz reactions #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #tbz imagines #the boyz x reader #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo fluff #tbz x reader #the boyz scenarios #drabbles 💞 #requests 💞

[welcometomyoasis]

Seventeen as life's impactful moments

Synopsis: what impactful moments do the seventeen members remind me of. Pairing: none | headcanon, fluff, hurt/ comfort, angst | approx. 1150 words | warnings: mentions of anxiety and stress in life | not proof read A/n: a more sentimental headcanon since svt won a daesang and i am so proud of them <3

Seungcheol is that moment when you are surrounded by people you love and care about. It’s when you sincerely treasure the time you can spend together, within that feeling of warmth and home, but when you are also worried and wonder about how long that moment and the time with them will last. He is that moment when a bittersweet feeling overwhelms you, he’s the moment when that realisation of all the possibilities of the “what ifs” of the future starts to sets in.  

Jeonghan reflects those moments when you are able to find joys in even the littlest of things in life. There are often times when genuine happiness washes over you because of something/ someone. But it’s more about the little moments when your mood just gets uplifted when you see something cute, or when you find one of your old toys from your childhood. It’s about those little moments and pockets of joy/ contentment you find in life. Jeonghan is when you can finally see the joy in literally everything around you. 

Joshua is that moment when you learn to love. He encompasses everything beautiful about the process of learning to love and love in general. In love there might be loss, pain, maybe betrayal, but there’s so many more positive aspects about love. There’s platonic love, familial love, romantic love, self love. It’s about the happiness, peace, contentment etc. that comes with the different types of love. He is when you reach that point of embracing all that is beautiful about loving yourself and others. 

Junhui is that moment when you find friends who truly get you. In life, there are always times when you lose friends, whether it’s just life causing you to drift apart, or if you have a falling out. It doesn’t matter because there will come a time when you find a close-knit group of friends who respect your boundaries and you get along with. He is that moment when you find a group of friends who have your back no matter what, a group that you can find comfort and strength in. 

Soonyoung is the moment when you try something new and manage to find something that you really like. You could have tried a new skill, a new class, a new food. Regardless, the point is you need to try new things in life. If you never try, you never will know just how much you might really enjoy something. He is when you gain the courage to put yourself out there and when you just dare to try. 

Wonwoo is being content with being by yourself. Being with friends and family is fun, there is no doubt in that.I think it’s about that balance between having fun with others and finding happiness from being alone. You can do what you want, when you want with no one else around you that you need to structure your life around. You can be unabashedly yourself, it’s liberating. Wonwoo is when you can finally find solace by being by yourself, and more importantly, being yourself.

Jihoon reflects the moments when you have to make sacrifices for the sake of others. He does so much for seventeen that I don’t even want to think about what he had to give up (because I will sob). It’s definitely not about sacrificing yourself/ your time/ what you believe in for something that you don’t care about. Rather, he is when you willingly give up something/ some part of you knowing that it will benefit your loved ones/ something you believe in in the end regardless of how much stress/ pain you might feel. 

Dokyeom reflects the moments when you smile again after pain. There is no shortage of painful and stressful moments in life. It doesn’t matter whether you are able to power through it, or whether you broke down, or were more vulnerable. What matters is that you know it will get better at some point. What matters is when you can pick yourself up again to take another step forward. Dokyeom is that moment when you can rise again after the storm knowing that you are strong despite everything life throws at you. 

Minghao is the process of learning to see the beauty in being alive. Life sucks sometimes. But there’s also so much that is beautiful about it. There’s good food, good company, good music, beautiful sights (seventeen), peaceful scenery and nature, fun things you can enjoy, etc. Minghao is that moment when you realise that there are things and people worth living for because that’s when you actually start to live and feel alive. 

Mingyu is when you feel comfortable being yourself (similar to Wonwoo I know). There are a lot of times when society tells us what we can and cannot be because of who we are/ what we look like. Yea, society sucks and it’s just a construct. It’s a process (more like a rollercoaster) to come to terms with that, but when you do, it’s liberating. Mingyu is that moment you feel liberated from the pressures that you and society had previously placed on you to act/ be a certain way. He is when you can finally feel comfortable in your own skin. 

Seungkwan is the moment when you learn that you don’t always have to smile or put on a straight face. Through the past few months of him going to take the time to heal, he looks so much happier and healthier now. I think that’s really important in life. When you have a tough time, you don’t always need to tough it out. It’s okay to take a break. He is when you acknowledge that you are going through a tough time and that what you need isn’t to push forward, but to take a step back to heal. 

Vernon is the moment when you can find a routine that works for you. Yea, i know this trope is overwritten about Vernon being a weird, lovable alien. It’s still important though because what matters is that you find a routine in life that you are comfortable with. You don’t need to adhere to the routines that works for others. Even if it’s a little out of the ordinary like say watching an hour of seventeen, or just blurting out random sounds like Jeonghan, it’s what works for you. Vernon is that moment when you find a routine that you know you can thrive with, no matter how weird it might seem to others.

Dino is the moment when you can finally do what you love for work. When I watch Dino, I can see he genuinely enjoys his job and he takes so much pride in his ability to do his job well. Sadly, I don’t think many people can 100% say that. Fortunately for us, I do think that there is a greater emphasis being placed on doing what you enjoy for work. So, Dino seems to be that moment when you choose to do what you love for work, and that moment when you can say that you are proud of your craft. 

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff

#seventeen #caratsland #k-labels #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen headcanons #seungcheol angst #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol fluff #jeonghan fluff #joshua hong fluff #scoups fluff #junhui fluff #jun fluff #soonyoung fluff #hoshi fluff #woozi fluff #jihoon fluff #dokyeom fluff #minghao fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #seungkwan fluff #vernon fluff #lee chan fluff #shu's archive ✎ᝰ.

[tubatwo]

heavenly night - huening kai

summary: cuddling with kai while he plays pokemon scarlet/violet

pairing: gn reader x huening kai

genre: fluff; 0.5k words

a slight movement is what wakes you from your sleep. the last thing you remember is lying down in bed waiting for your boyfriend to come home. the sun had already set by now, and the only thing you could hear was a familiar tune and the cries of pokemon.

“oh, i’m sorry.” kai quickly pauses his game to glance over at you. “did i wake you? i’ll try to be more quiet. do you want me to turn the volume down?”

at this point, sleep is no longer on your mind. you had missed being next to him. you wanted to spend time with him, and it didn’t matter what he was doing. even if you had only gotten a few hours of sleep that same morning, you were willing to sacrifice everything just to see him smile and enjoy his favorite things after weeks of being in auto-pilot mode.

you try not to giggle at the panicked look in his eyes. “no, you’re okay love. i’m actually glad you woke me up since i’ve been wanting to spend time with you.”

kai frowns at this and sets his switch down, his hand quickly finding your cheeks to caress them. “i’m sorry baby. it’s been a busy week, but i missed you more than you know.” he leans down to softly kiss your forehead and you feel your heart melting at every action. you sit up and wrap your arms around him.

“i know, i know.” the last thing you wanted was for him to feel any kind of guilt. “don’t apologize, okay? it’s no one’s fault.”

“let’s not worry about anything for a while. can i watch you play?” kai immediately lights up at your words and nods while pulling you two deeper under the covers. he tells you all about his new-found love for the puppy pokemon named fidough. your arms are still wrapped around him, and you notice his cheeks redden every time your hands run across his tummy (which only motivates you to do it more often).

after a while he finishes and packs up his game. your sleep has caught up to you once again while listening to him explain his quests. not because he was boring you, but because his existence comforted you. it was easier for you to sleep knowing that he was safe, in your arms, and most importantly– happy. you notice that he starts to fidget slightly while hesitating to speak. “hey babe?” he finally asks. you hum in response while your eyes struggle to stay open. “would you consider playing with me some time?”

your eyes shoot open and you gape at him. “are you kidding? of course.” he chuckles at this. “i’d do anything with you, you know?” he quiets down and you can already tell that he’s getting shy. to be honest, you’ve been torturing him all night long. the warmth of your arms around his waist along with his favorite smell that just so happens to be you. it’s a quiet night and he’s spending it with his favorite game and his favorite person. he feels like he’s in heaven, and he doesn’t want the moment to end. the only thing that could make the night better is the feeling of your lips and the taste of your tongue. so he leans in.

yeah, this is definitely heaven.

#txt imagine #txt imagines #txt x you #txt x oc #txt x reader #huening kai imagines #huening kai x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun x reader #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu x reader #soobin imagines #soobin x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun x reader #txt fluff #txt drabbles #txt series #huening kai fluff #txt scenarios #txt fanfic #huening kai fic #txt reactions

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 9

Astarion x gn!Reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: As you and Astarion settle into life in Baldur's Gate, more complications arise.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death, description of a vampire bite, and some brief suggestive thoughts.

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: I bring you more whiny prince Astarion! A pinch of jealousy, a smidge of potato peeling, a dash of terrible news. What else is new? Hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

When Cal first caught you and Astarion in the woods, he told you that you’d changed. You hadn’t believed him, of course. If anything, it’d been him that changed. Working for Calthir, pressuring you into a position you didn’t want, never seeming to hear what you said. None of that seemed anything like the Cal you knew, but there he stood, and he’d done it all.

Maybe he’d been that way all along, and hidden it well. Or, maybe, you just hadn’t noticed who he really was.

There’s one thing you’re sure of: he’d been wrong about you. That day, you were who you’d always been, despite everything. Despite Erelin, despite the freedom taken from you, despite the position forced into your life. You were yourself, and that knowledge was a comfort. The last piece remaining when everything else was gone.

But you can’t say the same of yourself now. 

No matter how much you’d like to.

These days, instead of lingering comfort, there’s nothing but a twinge of emptiness: something lost, never to be returned. It’s been so long since you’ve felt like an actual person that being treated like one feels… wrong. You feel wrong.

A warm bath. A bit of privacy. A glass of wine with friends. All of these things used to be normal and even expected in your life, but they feel like luxuries - like shining jewels you don’t dare touch, lest they turn out to be an illusion.

You’ve already caught sight of Calthirian soldiers searching the streets, and although it’s unlikely they’ll find you or Astarion here, knowing that Aris is already in the city is disconcerting. You’d hoped that you’d have a little more time to shake her. 

And Cal… gods. You don’t even want to think about what they might have done to him. The mere image of his face in your mind has your stomach churning. But he’d made that sacrifice so you could get away. So you could be here, safe and free. It’d be a waste not to partake in some basic luxuries while you can. 

And yet, here you are. Not partaking. 

Pacing the floor. 

When you’d been at the table with the others, a glass of Elverquisst in hand, something had gone very wrong. Mid-conversation, your breaths suddenly wouldn’t come out right. They were erratic, too shallow, air rattling around your lungs. You felt… strange. Out of place, even though you’ve shared a drink with Karlach and the others more times than you can count. 

When you weren’t able to stand the feeling any longer, you’d left them all downstairs to enjoy their wine, muttering an excuse about needing to unpack. None followed after you. You were grateful. You’d needed a moment away - a moment to compose yourself, to sort out this strange sensation.

But considering that your hands are still shaking, you’re doing a shoddy job of pulling yourself together. And you’re still not quite sure what happened, or why you felt that way. All you know is that it’s the same feeling that plagued you when you watched Astarion talking with the guards. An unease that you can’t quite shake.

Maybe it’s the quiet. 

This house is not silent - Karlach’s presence alone guarantees that - but it’s quiet, at least in comparison to the last few weeks of Calthir. No roaming soldiers, no barked orders, no clinking armor that keeps you up in the night. No forced meetings, or agony over your position, or terror that Astarion won't be there when you wake.

It’s peaceful, this chaos of Karlach’s home. It’s safe.

But that peace and safety you’ve so often longed for feels… unsettling now that it’s finally yours. You don’t trust it not to shatter at any moment. And, hells, when you finally glance into the mirror on the wall, you almost don’t recognize the person you see.

Your appearance is wild. Feral, even. 

The look in your eyes is desperate and haunted. Your skin is spattered with dirt, littered with a number of ill-healed scrapes from the trees, and there’s even still a leaf or two caught in your hair. Hells, you’re a complete and utter mess. Why hadn’t anyone said anything?

It’s not as if you could have known what you look like - Calthir hadn’t been carrying mirrors around the woods. Astarion’s been looking impeccable all this time. Maybe it’d been foolish of you, but you’d assumed the same of yourself. Or, at least, somewhere in that realm. Decent, or presentable.

It was too much to hope for, apparently.

How does he do it, anyhow? There’s scarcely a moment where Astarion doesn’t look flawless. A natural state of gracefulness? A side effect of vampirism? A perk of royal blood you unfortunately never received? 

Whatever it is, you’re envious, and you very much need a bath. 

At your request, Gale is kind enough to summon up some hot water for you. It’s not long before you’re sitting in a steaming tub, scrubbing the mess off your skin with a strong, herbal soap. It’s nice. Soothing. A moment completely alone, which has been a rare occurrence in recent months.

And yet, it still feels wrong.

You’d always assumed that once you were back in the city, you’d return to life as usual. A laugh or two about what had almost been as the years went by. A moment spent reminiscing about your brief turn as royalty. Your sham of a loveless marriage. 

But this isn’t that, and it’s not even the fact that Astarion is here, rather than with his mother. It’s that you don’t seem to be you anymore. 

Something in you is fundamentally altered. Shifted. Knocked off balance. You’ve spent the last few months dreaming of being here, and now that you are, you can’t even appreciate it. What’s wrong with you?

Or - gods - more accurately, what’s left of you?

All that remains of your old self lies in pieces - the ghost of you, spread out among your past, haunting you in the present. It lurks in the dirty bath water that floats around your shoulders. It’s sprawled alongside a broken carriage; pacing around Erelin’s palace; standing frozen in a tavern. 

Watching as Cal tells you to run, helpless and afraid.

The memory hits you like a blow to the stomach. Cal’s eyes, crinkling as he smiles. The panic, the fear, the anguish. Flickering torchlight, and the glow of the moon through the trees.

You don’t want to remember. Your hand stills from its scrubbing, clinging onto your soap as if it might save you, but the images flood into your skull nonetheless. Stinging tears press their way into your eyes, coursing down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyelids shut.

Don’t think that way, you tell yourself. He might be alive, held prisoner in the camp, valuable because of his connection to you. Then again, perhaps not. Aris likely wouldn’t have cared about that. She’d have made an example of him instead. 

Still, he might have gotten away. Why couldn’t he have? Cal is quick and strong, and he has his spells. The Calthirian soldiers hadn't shown up in the city until late this morning - if they’d found him earlier, wouldn’t they have immediately followed? Yes, he could have run, just as you had. He could have made it to the city. 

He could be alive.

The tavern. If there’s anywhere he’ll have stopped by, anywhere he’d have left a note telling you he’s alright, it’ll be there. You’d love to return more than anything, but with Calthir on the streets, you can’t go. Not yet, at least. 

The tavern had been your home, and if Erelin had known that, Aris will, too. You can’t exactly waltz up to the place they’re most likely to look. You don't even dare to look for a tailor, despite desperately needing one. None of your clothing fits.

Every outfit you have is stained and torn, covered in dirt or blood or both. Some outfits pinch, and others lay much too large on your frame. They’re not quality, and most of them are your remaining pickings from the Zhentarim. Only a few provisions from Calthir remain. You’d left most of your good clothing behind.

Wyll had offered to loan some of his clothing to Astarion earlier, and now that you think of it… they’re probably sorting that out now. 

You should go see them. You’ve hid away long enough.

Once you’re dried off and dressed in your cleanest outfit, you head downstairs and find that your prediction had been right: Astarion is trying on Wyll’s clothes, and he’s not exactly looking thrilled.

The outfit he’s in fits well, and it looks stunning on him - as most things do - but you’ve seen his clothing throughout your wedding and honeymoon, and you know that this is not his style. His glum expression agrees.

“Astarion, you look amazing!” Karlach tells him, nudging his soldier. “Want to take a look in the mirror?”

“I’d rather not,” Astarion replies quickly, turning to face Wyll. “Really. You’re the Blade of Frontiers. The son of a duke. You don’t own clothing with any degree of comfort?”

To Wyll’s credit, he only smiles. “I’m afraid that even the sons of dukes don’t have the luxury of a royal tailor. These clothes will have to do.”

Astarion glances at you in annoyance, and you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “You look nice. Really - you pull the look off.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “And that outfit doesn’t fit you at all, dearest.”

He’s right, of course, but you feign offense all the same. “Isn’t my husband supposed to flatter me?” you ask, laying a dramatic hand on your chest.

He tilts his head. “Tut-tut. I thought honesty came first, darling. But if you’d prefer that I lie…”

 “Aw, soldier,” Karlach says, squeezing your shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. You look great. We’ll figure something out for you, yeah?”

“Gods below. I can’t take this any longer,” Astarion grumbles. "I’m getting us some decent clothing.” With a spin of his heel, he marches out of the room, shoulders squared in determination.

You follow after him, and when you realize where he’s going, well. It isn’t the worst of ideas. 

Gale’s tent sits in the corner of Karlach’s living room, a glimmering display of gold and purple, bigger on the inside than it appears. The moment you follow Astarion through, you’re greeted with the fragrance of rosewater and honey: light and sweet. Books cluster around all corners, surrounding a large, very plush bed, and candlelight fills the space with a warm glow.

Gale sits on a nearby chair, reading a book. It briefly crosses your mind that if he were ever to be transformed into a tent, it would most certainly look like this.

“Wizard,” Astarion says without an ounce of decorum. “For the love of the gods, tell me you know some spells to make us new outfits. We’ll need good ones, naturally: quality fabrics, long-lasting craftsmanship, embroidery that ideally doesn’t look like it’s been made by a child. I’ve been dressed in the equivalent of parchment for weeks now. I can’t take it.”

Gale, without lifting his eyes, simply turns the page of his book. “The name is Gale, if you don't mind, Astarion,” he replies coolly. “And I’m afraid that if you’d like extravagant clothing, as you’re asking for, you’ll need to see a tailor. Should you need anything simpler, or enchanted, however, I’m happy to assist. I could always cast an illusion on any clothing items you possess-”

Astarion lets out a noise of exasperation. “Really, Gale. How difficult is it to conjure up a decent shirt?” he exclaims. “It’s not as if the two of us can stroll around town. Calthirian soldiers are searching for us as we speak! Would you prefer we be killed on the streets?”

“Ah,” Gale says, finally looking up. “Well, if that’s the problem, then a disguise spell should suffice. I’ll ensure that your measurements stay the same, of course. A few modifications, perhaps an additional measure of protection…”

“We’d appreciate anything you can do,” you chime in. “Thank you, Gale.”

You shoot Astarion a pointed look, and he sighs. “Yes,” he says, sounding like it’s physically painful for him to force the words out. “Thank you so very much.”

Gale ignores him, marking his place in his book before he rises to his feet. “Let’s see,” he muses, tilting his head as he examines the two of you. “Yes, this should work wonders. You may feel a slight warmth as it takes hold, but don’t be alarmed. It will pass.”

He murmurs a string of words that you don’t understand, then twists his hands in a quick series of movements. Just as he’d said, a layer of warmth folds over you like a hot bath, sinking into your skin until the sensation disappears. When it’s over, Astarion is staring at you in shock, eyes wide as he takes you in. 

“Any complaints, Astarion?” Gale asks him.

Wordless for once, Astarion shakes his head, swallowing hard before he looks away. 

“Very well,” Gale says. “Your turn, then.”

He repeats the verbal component of the spell, then the somatic, and a faint glow rises from his hands before settling over Astarion - golden light that envelops him like a glittering cocoon before it finally fades, leaving a dark-haired human where he’d been standing. You’re looking for any familiarity in his features, but Gale has done his job well. Only the shape of his now-grey eyes remains. 

His face is round and softened, his hair thick and straight. Healthy, glowing skin, flushed cheeks, freckles spread along the bridge of his nose. Same height, same frame, same expressions. Different… everything else. 

Handsome, but not Astarion. 

No wonder he’d been staring; the change is jarring. Every movement he makes feels like him, but looks anything but. You give him a coy smile, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in response. Yes. Still very much Astarion. 

“Well?” you eventually ask. “How do I look?”

He tilts his head. “Different,” he answers. “But - like I said, not awful. Just… strange.”

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, kind sir.” 

“My pleasure, dear. Honesty, remember?”

Gale, meanwhile, seems to be admiring his work, looking you both up and down with a smile. “Even I wouldn't recognize you,” he remarks. “I’ve added some underlying protection, just in case. Anyone who sees you won't recall your face. And,” he adds, handing you each a small stone, “if you get into any trouble, use this to communicate. I’ll be on the other end. I’m hoping the two of you can stay out of danger, of course, but we’re better off safe than sorry.”

You tuck the stone away into one of your pockets, then give him a smile. “Thank you again, Gale,” you tell him, reaching out to lightly squeeze his arm. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m always happy to help,” he replies. “If there's anything else you need, I’m here to assist.”

“Anything but a decent outfit, apparently,” Astarion says. His voice is steely, and when you turn to look at him, his gaze is fixed on your hand - still placed on Gale’s arm. You immediately let go, but he’s already turned away.

“Well?” he asks, making his way to the tent’s exit. “Are we ready?”

“Astarion-” you start, but he’s already gone.

Gale smiles, shaking his head. “I’d suggest you follow him,” he says, his voice filled with mirth. “Another moment with me, and I’ll be shocked if I make it through the night.”

You hesitate, trying to find the words for an apology, but he gives you a light nudge forward. “Go on,” he says. “I quite enjoy living, if it’s all the same to you.”

Biting back the urge to laugh, you finally push out of the tent and find Astarion waiting near the front door. He’s holding your cloak, and when you approach, he swings it around your shoulders. Your breath hitches as cold fingers brush against your neck, fiddling with the clasp, eyes determinedly not meeting yours. Then he swings the door open, offering you his arm.

You take it. 

Outside, Wyll and Karlach are leaning against the front of the house, chatting about something or other. 

Karlach stiffens when she sees you leaving her home, straightening up and narrowing her eyes. “Hey! What in the hells are you - hang on. Is that you, soldier? Astarion?”

 “Gods above,” Wyll says, grinning. “I didn't recognize you, either! Let me guess: the two of you are off to see a tailor?”

“Gale helped us out,” you reply. “What do you think? Did he do a decent job?”

Karlach squints, her tail flicking as she observes you. “Yeah. Out on the street? Never would have known it was you,” she says. “Be careful, yeah? Wyll and I are off to pick up some ingredients for dinner tonight. Shouldn't take very long.”

“I’m always careful,” you tell her, and she laughs.

“Of course you are,” she replies. “How could I forget?”

Astarion shifts, clearly impatient. “We’d better head out,” you tell them, giving a wave. “See you later!”

“Stay safe!” Karlach calls back.

As soon as the two of you are off, the wind hits, and hells - it’s colder outside than it has been in ages. The longer you’re in the chill, the worse it gets. Even just a minute or two has you fighting not to shiver, and movement isn’t doing much to warm you up. Moisture hangs in the briny air, dampening your skin like sweat. The wind that howls past is bitter and harsh, and although you’re grateful for the warmth of your cloak, Astarion’s touch is still icy on your arm. 

Gods, it’s strange to look at him, expecting to see a silvery set of curls and instead finding straight black hair tucked behind his ears. Grey eyes, rather than red. What color were his eyes before he’d been turned? Dark, like his mother’s? Green? Blue? Grey, like they are now?

You picture them all against the memory of his real face, but none of them seem to fit.

You’re mostly letting him lead you along, weaving through the crowds, but Astarion seems to know where he’s going. You’d nearly forgotten that he knows this city as much as you do. Maybe better than you do, now that you think of it.

That look he’d worn when you touched Gale… you’ve never seen it. Not on him, at least. It’s incredibly selfish of you, but there’s a small, smug piece of you that hopes he’s jealous. 

You and Gale have never been anything more than friends, but Astarion doesn’t know that. All he knows is how happy you’ve been to see your friends. Then again, perhaps he simply doesn’t like Gale. It’s not unbelievable.

Still… who knows what he’s thinking. Maybe you’d read the situation entirely wrong.

Your thoughts fade into dust as Astarion stalls, shoving a door open with his free hand before tugging you in with him, and the warmth of a tailor’s shop floods over your chilled body like a pint of warm mead. 

The room is fresh and inviting, filled with the scent of mandarin, green tea, and a hint of salt. The fabrics around you are lush and bright, dyed in every color you could possibly think of, and the outfits displayed are extravagant enough that they could easily pass at a royal ball.

This is certainly not the type of shop you’ve ever set foot in. Back when you worked at the tavern, you’d have been afraid to even glance at one of the window displays, should your gaze somehow damage a product you could never pay for. Needless to say, the sparse coin you’d picked from the Zhentarim is not anywhere near enough to cover clothing like this.

“Astarion,” you hiss, pulling him closer so as not to attract the attention of the other shoppers. “We can’t afford this!”

“You can’t afford this,” he says, dangling a heavy coin pouch from his fingers. “I most certainly can.”

You balk at the sight, quickly shoving the bag under his cloak. “Put that away before someone sees and robs you blind! Where in the hells did you get that kind of coin?”

He grins. “My mother. Where else?”

“You’ve been carrying that around with you this whole time?” you ask. “Since the carriage? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

He gives a light shrug. “I couldn’t exactly spend it while we were marching through the forest, darling. Don’t worry - I’ll pay for yours, too.”

You’re about to argue with him further, but a booming voice cuts you off. 

“Welcome, welcome!” it calls. The two of you turn to see a dwarf, dressed in a beautifully-embroidered suit, standing in front of you. “Figaro Pennygood at your service,” he continues. “How may I help you today?”

“My partner and I were just looking at getting a new wardrobe,” Astarion answers immediately. “You wouldn’t be able to assist us, would you?”

Figaro’s smile freezes in place as he takes in the sight of your clothing. The rips, the dirt, the quality. “Well - that is… er, you see…”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Astarion adds, once more letting the coin pouch dangle from his fingers. 

“Oh, of course! Very good, sir. If you’ll just follow me…” 

He leads you into a back room, and Astarion flashes you a grin. It pays to be rich, you suppose. 

A few hours later, the two of you return to Karlach’s home with several new sets of clothing, and thankfully, yours aren’t anywhere as lavish as you worried they’d be. Instead, they’re perfectly fitted and extremely comfortable, neither of which you can complain about. 

Astarion’s wardrobe is somewhat akin to what he would have worn in the palace. Functional clothing, but still expensive. Velvets and silks, wools and linens, all fitted with dyes or detailed embroidery. Royalty isn’t flashy, or gaudy. The quality speaks for itself. 

At least, that’s what Astarion told you. Multiple times.

Once the two of you have put everything away, you both head down to get your disguise spells removed. You won’t need them any longer, after all. It’s still too risky to make the journey to the tavern.

The moment you set foot inside Gale’s tent, Astarion’s hand moves to rest on your waist. There it remains, the weight of his hand seeming to scorch every inch of skin it touches, until you finally leave. 

Then it shifts to your lower back.

Later that afternoon, Karlach pops her head into the doorway of your bedroom, asking the two of you to join the group downstairs and help with dinner.

“Help?” Astarion asks once she’s left. “What in the hells does she mean, help?”

“It’s simple,” you assure him. “Peeling potatoes, cooking meat, that sort of thing. Since we’ll all be eating, it only makes sense for everyone to pitch in.” 

You know he’s not thrilled, but it really shouldn't be all that difficult. Even for a prince.

Astarion raises a brow, staring at you for a long moment before his gaze finally sinks down to your neck. You have to wonder if he can see your pulse hammering under your skin. “Darling-”

“Yes, I know, Astarion,” you quickly interrupt. “You won't be eating. But they don't know that, and you’ll look much less suspicious if you help. And,” you add, “you can drink from me afterward, alright?”

“Oh, is that how it is?” he practically purrs, leaning closer. “I help you with your chores, and you’re my treat afterward for being so… good?”

“No,” you reply firmly, despite the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “You can drink from me whether you help or not. All I’m saying is, if you don't want them to suspect…”

“Fine,” Astarion sighs, as if he’s Faerûn’s greatest hero for taking on this clearly and utterly terrible burden. “I’ll help your little friends, since they can't do it themselves.”

As it turns out, Astarion is a skilled potato peeler. 

Should it be a surprise, given his dagger expertise? The rhythmic slide of his fingers pressing against the hilt is entrancing. Your cheeks warm with every neat slice of skin, every clean, controlled motion. Soon, you’re frozen in place, distracted by the deft movements of his hands, the nimble scrape of the sharp knife. 

You know all too well how those hands feel, trailing down your-

No, you think firmly, cutting off your train of thought and forcing yourself back to your task. This is not the time nor the place. 

Still, you can't say you don’t know why this is happening. His jealousy seems to have sparked something inside of you, to have lit a flame that won’t go out. 

It’d been difficult to think of such things when you were held prisoner by Calthir, when nights were filled with anxiety and nausea and days were full of pounding sun and aching feet. In the midst of it all, sex and attraction had fallen to the sidelines. A kiss here or there. A flirtatious comment that faded into nothing but wind. 

Now, partially safe and mostly unburdened, it’s all too easy for the memories of that night to pull to the front of your mind. The feeling of his mouth pressed against yours. The way his lips had fluttered down your neck. The icy sensation of his teeth in your skin as your pleasure had pulled closer and closer, as your blood poured into his mouth and his hips had rolled against you…

Gods, pull it together! 

You shake the thoughts away and viciously go back to chopping the onion in front of you. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that Astarion isn't staring at you, but the presence of his gaze is like an itch under the skin. Can he tell? Even now, several feet away, can he hear the flutter of your heartbeat quickening? The rush of your blood? 

A minute or two later, you finally gather the courage to look up, and find him staring at you dead-on. And, judging by the look he’s giving you, he knows exactly what you’re thinking about.

“Careful, darling,” he says softly. “We wouldn’t want you holding a knife while you’re distracted, would we?”

You clench your jaw and ignore him, even though your hands are shaking.

When the meal is finally prepared, only four of you take a seat at the table. Astarion spoons some food onto a plate and mutters something about eating in his room. All of you watch him go - Karlach with some disappointment, Gale and Wyll with some suspicion.

“I take it he’s not a fan of potatoes?” Gale asks.

“That’s it. I’m officially wounded,” Karlach says, frowning down at her food. “I know my cooking isn’t exactly up to royal standard, but are all princes this hard to please?”

After a moment, you realize the question is directed at you. Your voice chokes - you have to clear your throat to respond. “I - I’ve only met the one.”

“Right,” Karlach replies, grinning. “Almost forgot. What kind of food do they have in those fancy palaces anyway?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “Honestly? It isn’t much different than this.”

“Is that so?” Wyll asks, raising a brow. “He’s quite the picky eater, then. I haven’t seen him have a bite to eat since he’s arrived. Not counting the wine.”

Gale hums in agreement. “He’s certainly missing out on a delightful meal.”

“I’m surprised he helped us prepare it,” Wyll adds. “I half-expected him to throw a tantrum at the very thought.”

The conversation is lighthearted and teasing, but the comments still sting - even if they’re not directed at you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, swallowing the food you’re chewing like it’s made of parchment. 

“He’s really not all that bad,” you tell them. “Everything is just… new for him. He’s not used to any of this.”

“Of course,” Gale says. “And, it seems, he’s very worried we’ll infringe on your marriage. Or, at least, that I will.”

Your cheeks go hot. “Gale-”

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Karlach asks. “Astarion is jealous?”

Gale smiles a little, pouring himself more wine. “Oh, yes. I’m still partially convinced he’ll attempt to kill me as I sleep. He has a chilling gaze, truly. Daggers for eyes.”

“Very funny,” you say, stabbing your fork into your potatoes. “At this rate, I’m inclined to let him kill you. In fact, I’ll personally ask him to do so.”

Karlach snickers into her hand, badly covering it with an unconvincing cough. Wyll doesn’t even attempt to hide his laughter. You ignore them and reach for your wine. 

“I don’t think he needs to worry, really,” Karlach, leaning back in her seat. “He’s a catch, soldier. I see the way you look at him.”

Your cheeks have gone so warm, you’re frankly surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of your ears. It’s all you can do to set the wine down and bury your face in your hands. “You’re all very helpful.”

“Indeed we are,” Wyll says, a gleam in his good eye. 

You shove the rest of your food into your mouth as fast as you can and clear your plate, retreating up the stairs with as much dignity as you can. Laughter follows you all the way up to your room, where you step in and shut the door behind you, drowning it out.

 Astarion is sprawled out on your shared bed, sprawled out and waiting for you, a book in hand. When he sees you, he sets the book down and sits up. 

“Changed your mind, darling?” he asks. “Or are you here to share that lovely neck of yours?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds stronger than your composure. You take a seat in front of him, and this time, you barely flinch when he touches you. Every trace of his skin against yours seems to linger, marking your skin with invisible ink. His lips meet your neck, and then the sharp sensation of teeth hits. 

Your body shudders in response, and he grips you tighter - holding onto your shoulder. Gods. Every time, it’s like he has to force himself to tear himself away. As if he’d like to keep going, and never, ever stop. 

Maybe Karlach was right about him having nothing to worry about. He could be in a room with a hundred other handsome men, and you’d still only see him. He could be rooms away, and still plague your thoughts. Even though you know where it leads, you’re almost tempted to let him drain you dry. 

When he finally pulls away, a shaky breath escapes you. Relief, maybe. Disappointment. Blood trickles from the fresh puncture marks on the junction between neck and collarbone, and he’s quick to swipe it up along his finger and lick it up.

Which is what he’s doing when the door swings open and Gale steps in. Licking your blood off his fingers as you sit there like a complete idiot, frozen in place, blood still dripping down your shoulder. 

Gale’s eyes widen. “I knew it,” he hisses, pointing a finger at Astarion. “A vampire spawn. You, my friend, are the very epitome of one.”

Astarion quickly wipes his mouth and leans back, pasting on an air of relaxation even though you can see the tension knotted in his shoulders. “If you’re planning to stake me, wizard, please do so sooner than later. I’m a very busy man.”

Gale blinks in surprise. “Stake?” he exclaims. “I’m quite the open-minded individual, thank you! And I certainly don’t plan on - on staking you, or anyone else in this house!”

Wyll must hear the commotion, because he appears just behind Gale. “Hold on, what’s this about staking?” he asks. His gaze lands on your neck, and he takes a step back. “Ah,” he says. “I suppose… I should have known.”

When you speak, your voice is frantic. “Please, if everyone will just relax-”

“What?” comes Karlach’s voice, back behind the others. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She pushes forward, and it takes her a moment longer than it had for Gale or Wyll. Her eyes sweep over your neck, then Astarion’s face, then back to your neck, then finally to Wyll. After a moment, she lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s why you weren’t eating?” she exclaims. “I thought you just hated my cooking!”

“But what about the sunlight?” Gale cuts in. “I’ve seen you in direct daylight. You should’ve been burnt to a crisp!”

“Gods,” Astarion says, clearly overwhelmed. “I don’t know. My mother had some… magical device implanted in my brain while I was asleep. I know next to nothing about it.”

Gale’s eyes light up. “A magical device capable of protecting you from the sun?” he asks. “Would you mind if I inspected it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Astarion replies, tone suddenly stiff. “I’ve had quite enough of people rummaging around my skull.”

“Of course,” Gale answers instantly, stepping back. “My apologies.”

In the meantime, Karlach’s expression has darkened. You see her hands stray toward the engine in her chest for just a moment - an engine that’s been stable for years, but will never replace the heart that was taken from her.

“Did they… ask to do that? To put that thing in you?” she asks softly.

“No,” Astarion answers. His voice is tight. “They didn’t.”

There’s a long beat as she processes what he’s said.

“Well, fangs,” she starts, her voice a little shaky, “you’re alright with me. No issues here.”

“So long as I don’t wake up with sharp teeth at my neck, there’ll be no complaints from me, either,” Gale adds.

“Nor I,” Wyll agrees. “Your secret is safe with us.”

“How sweet,” Astarion says. “Now, was there anything else?”

“Er - yes, actually,” Gale replies, his expression going solemn. “My apologies for the interruption, but we’ve received some bad news. I think you both should hear it. Would you mind joining us downstairs?”

Astarion rises first, offering you his hand, and you take it. He pulls you up and guides you down the stairs, following after the others. You’re more than happy to let him do so, given the bout of lightheadedness from the blood loss. 

The two of you take a seat, and the grim expressions all of them wear do nothing to ease the rising dread in your gut. Your mind instantly starts spinning up the worst scenarios, weaving them into a million little horrors. Your hands go clammy, and even the feeling of Astarion at your side does nothing to calm you.

“We’d have liked for the two of you to have more than a few hours of rest before discussing the war,” Gale begins, his brow creasing in concern, “but certain events have made prolongation unwise.”

You straighten up. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Wyll clears his throat. “My father has been named a traitor to the Sword Coast,” he says. “Not an hour ago, the queen issued a notice for his arrest on the grounds of treason. Working with the enemy.”

The blood drains out of your face. “Oh gods, Wyll-”

“It’s not as dire as it seems,” Wyll gently cuts in. “We’ve received word from someone internally, and from the sound of things, the guards haven't been able to find him. In fact, no one has seen him in weeks. Wherever he is, he’s well hidden.”

A sigh of relief escapes you. “I know you told me you didn't think he would work with Calthir. Do you still believe that?”

“Not willingly, at least,” Wyll confirms. “It’s possible he’s been taken hostage and forced to cooperate.”

Gale nods. “Which brings us to our next point of subject.”

“Karlach and I mean to infiltrate Calthir’s inner forces,” Wyll explains. “We’ll be disguised, of course - with my father named a traitor, it’s not safe for me, either. But as long as he’s out there, as long as the queen means to force him to stand trial, I cannot stay put. I must find out where he’s hidden. If it’s as I suspect, and he’s not acting of his own accord, then we’ll free him.”

The room seems to spin underneath you. “What?” you exclaim, planting a hand on the table. Gods, there it is again. That feeling. The strain of your lungs. The blur of your vision. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You aren't the only one involved in this, you know,” Karlach says. “Trust me, soldier, I understand how you feel. But this is our city, too. Wyll’s family.”

“But you’d be putting yourselves at risk,” you point out. “There's no guarantee anyone will trust you in the first place, and even if they do - what if you get caught? They’ll make an example out of you! Torture you, try you for treason, kill you!”

“I know,” Wyll says. “But I cannot sit back and let this happen. Too much lies on my father and his whereabouts. Whether he’s with Calthir or not, I need to know. I need to find him.”

Your voice is starting to grow frantic. “And what about me? What about Astarion? Are we supposed to sit here twiddling our thumbs as you’re all out there risking your lives?” 

“I suppose that’s up to you,” Gale says. “Another shapeshifting spell wouldn't go amiss. Whatever the case, I’ll be trying to communicate with some elder wizards. In times like these, their support will be more than helpful.”

Astarion leans forward. “I, for one, would like to know where my mother is and what she plans to do,” he announces. “If I can eavesdrop on her guards, find out their plans, I can locate her. For now, it’s entirely possible that she thinks Calthir is holding us hostage. I do know this: she wants to avoid war as much as any of us do, but she won’t hesitate to attack if she thinks I’m in danger.”

Your hands are shaking under the table like a leaf in the wind. “We just got to safety, and you want to run back out there again?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “If you think we’re safe anywhere in this city, then you’re not paying attention,” he snaps. “It’ll be a miracle if he hasn’t already seen us.”

You shake your head, casting a hand over your eyes. A headache is beginning to form, coursing a sharp pain through the crown of your skull. You force yourself to take a deep breath despite everything. “When is this happening, Wyll?” you ask. “Tomorrow?”

“At first light,” Wyll responds. “We can’t afford to wait. There are already alliances being made. The longer we wait, the more will rise. I’ll say it plainly, Astarion: I have no love for your mother. But from everything I’ve heard, I don’t trust Calthir, and they’re gaining support. People already think my father is involved. Cazador Szarr has pledged his assistance to their cause.”

At the mention of Cazador’s name, you and Astarion both flinch.

Gale’s brow creases at your reactions, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “Well? Anything you’d like to share?” he urges.

The three of them really should know, but you’re not sure how much you’re allowed to say. 

“Astarion?” you ask softly.

Astarion takes in a sharp breath, swallowing hard before answering. “Lord Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord and an enemy of my mother,” he explains. “Now that there's an opportunity, he’s making his opposition known. If he’s pledged his forces to Calthir, there’ll be more that follow. And, of course, there’s the small matter of him being my old master. Now that I’m out of my mother’s hands, now that I’m back in the city, he’ll be hunting for me with everything he has.”

“Calthir struck a deal with Cazador,” you add. “We found proof. They would hand over Astarion in exchange for help in the war. It’s why we left the way we did. But now that he’s gone, I have no idea what they’ve offered him.”

“Great hells,” Wyll curses. “The more I hear, the worse it gets.”

Karlach shakes her head. “No offense, soldier, but your people sound like pricks.”

You manage a small smile. “I’m with you on that, unfortunately.”

Gale taps his fingers on the table, ruminating over something. “I’ve heard stories of this Cazador,” he says. “None of them pleasant. Are you sure you’d rather be out in the streets?”

Astarion nods. “Better to find my mother than to sit here waiting for him to find me,” he replies. He glances over at you, and you find a fierce determination in his eyes. “I’m going, darling, with or without you.”

For a moment, you picture yourself - pacing around your room, terrified that you’ll be met with the news of their deaths. Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Karlach. You can’t afford to lose any of them, but you can’t stop them. And you refuse to stay here alone, helpless to save them.

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll come with you.”

Astarion gives you a half-hearted smile, and the tension finally leaves his shoulders. “Just so you know,” he says, “I have absolutely no intention of dying again.”

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #mywriting

[save-the-villainous-cat]

could i request for a hero x villain dating but neither of them know theyre hero/villain until like villain unmasks hero and oops! thats their partner of like a year. or maybe the hero makes a huge sacrifice by unmasking themselves..either way, i leave it up to you!! thanks!

The hero leaned their head back, smiling, and god, the early morning light hit their face just right. More at peace than anything else, they enjoyed the moment and despite the blood on their neck or their bruises on their fingers, they seemed happy. The villain could only watch in awe, astonished that this was the person they were dating. At least that took their mind off the fact that they were sitting on the edge of a rooftop.

“This is really unfortunate,” they said. “I didn’t see this coming at all.”

It wasn’t sarcasm and the villain knew that feeling. Shock at first, denial right after and somewhere along the way, anger and frustration mixed together. But what was there to say? What could one make of this?

One thing was quite clear; everything had changed.

“I think I should apologise, then. I’m the bad guy here.” The hero turned towards them, their face still calm, still beautiful.

“Darling, we’ve been in this for long enough to know that it’s not black and white,” the hero said. They gazed into the distance, thinking. “Isn’t it funny? We found each other in both our lives.”

They looked down, probably drowning in their own thoughts. The hero had a talent for that. Being patient.

“This makes everything a lot more difficult, though. We agreed that work is work and home is home. But now work isn’t just work anymore and home isn’t just home. Home is work and work is home and I don’t want to, no, I cannot—”

“Love,” the hero interrupted them, “I am not mad at you. God, I cannot blame you for keeping it a secret. I did too. And I know why. This isn’t a violation of trust, this is a question of protection. Who on earth would tell anyone that they’re a superhero? Who would tell them they’re a villain? I cannot be mad at you, we both made a choice.”

“This is jeopardising our relationship,” the villain reminded them. “We’ll fight here because we have to and we’ll fight at home because there is nothing else to do. Just thinking about the pain I caused…I can’t believe that it was me all along who scarred you.”

“I love you, you know? We can figure this out,” the hero said quietly.

The villain could only sigh.

What if they could not? There was no way the villain would give up on their job, they loved the hero, truly, deeply loved them but if they quit, others would take advantage of it and either expose their identity or make sure they would wake up in a coffin the next day.

Giving up their power meant giving up their protection and their own vulnerability would harm the hero as well.

“Christ, I can’t do this…” they mumbled. They looked at their feet, feeling the world spin around them. This was it, this was the end of their relationship and the hero still tried to solve it.

It was true, the world wasn’t black and white but this wasn’t really grey either.

“We can figure this out, I promise,” the hero said. “Calm down, my love.”

“I can’t,” the villain whispered and they came to the tedious conclusion that they were crumbling inside. Hadn’t they deserved this one person? Hadn’t they deserved this one home that didn’t scare them? Hadn’t they deserved to sleep next to someone without having nightmares? It fell to ashes right before their eyes, running like sand through their fingers.

Tears burnt in their eyes. Having someone in their house, in their bed who worked against them, who could use them…the villain couldn’t stand the thought. Conflicts at home were hard for them and they often caught themselves being manipulated by people they loved. The hero wasn’t like that but now the hero had the potential to become that. The first tears were rolling down their face by the time they had realised it.

“Love…” The hero’s voice was careful now, trying not to cross any lines.

“I think we should take a break,” the villain whispered and in the hero’s eyes, they could see theirs and their very own soul breaking.

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