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petit-etoile · 5 months

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Astarion is a taco bell worker who has not had a single day off in 2 years because his manager can't be assed to teach anyone else how to close. He longs to one day see the sun again and be free of these twisted and evil taco nights

in motion, in 3D

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 7,156 content warnings: please do not have sex in parking lots !! but anyway, all characters are in university & tacobellstarion works to pay for his law books, i use a lot of pet names from both spawn & ascended astarion, but he's not a vampire in this universe so his morality is mostly in tact, nearly 7k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - college/university, porn what plot/porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, semi-public s.ex, b.lowjobs, riding, c.reampie, shameless smut, taco bell, gender neutral tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness be added to the taglist here

summary: Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform.

College is already hard enough. Add in a job on the side that requires you to stay up long before even the partiest of party kids have gone to sleep, and life might start to seem even bleaker. Astarion may not have gone out of state for his college adventures, but it was still hard. The expense of the university, the expense of staying on campus, and the expense of wanting to afford textbooks unfortunately resulted in this.

He takes a long, exhausted look around the cluttered Taco Bell and considers sobbing on the floor. Despite all the work put in to make the building seem pristine, the shop always seems as though it’s been through some soft of galactic turbulence by the time the night has ended. The last thing Astarion wants to see is a catty text from the day shift saying things were still dirty. He might snap his phone if he sees Enver Gortash (saved in his phone as DO NOT ANSWER!!!) texting him at a bright and early seven in the morning.

Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform. He hates it — He loathes it more than anything else, but it’s the only thing that keeps him from sinking further into nearing-graduation depression. This is the only way he stays sane.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps in his password, a cute little anniversary date, and checks his text messages before anyone can rat him out to the team manager in the back. There’s a Snapchat that he can’t check and a few text messages, and he presses on them so desperately he thinks he might be going a little insane. It’s only been a few hours and yet…

LOML: i'm coming to get u!!

Astarion smiles so wide he thinks his face might crack. It makes him giggle, swing his feet, twirl his hair around his finger. He feels very baby girl, as Karlach liked to put it. He types a quick ‘MY HERO’ before sliding his phone back in his pocket. That one text is all he needed to hold on for the last thirty minutes of work.

‘Alright!’ Wyll calls from the back. He looks up from his new shiny Apple watch. ‘Last customer is out, so you know what that means. Closing time. Let’s get this show on the road!’

Closing time is somehow the best part of Astarion’s day and the worst. The best, because he knows who will be waiting for him outside to pick him up as soon as everything is neat and tidied inside. The worst, because someone has to clean the bathrooms and he refuses to do it. There’s a bleakness, a despair to the Taco Bell bathrooms. It truly takes the world’s strongest to venture forth and clean them, and Astarion’s recently had a manicure. He scours the room critically before his sight lands on his second favorite co-worker ever!

‘Jenevelle,’ he purrs, turning to look at his younger co-worker. ‘It’s your turn to clean the bathrooms.’

‘It isn’t,’ she says snootily, pushing an Airpod into her ear to drown him out. ‘I did it yesterday. The men’s room is a crime against humanity.’

Astarion frowns. ‘I’m older. You do it. I refuse.’

'Just because you're like, seventy-something and still working at Taco Bell doesn't mean that's what the rest of us want to do,' Jenevelle says, blowing an obnoxiously large bubble with her gum. She slides off the counter and rolls her eyes. 'You're cringe.'

'Bold,' Astarion says, scandalized at only a young twenty-four years of age, 'considering that's coming from someone who put down the name Shadowheart on her application form and dresses like Olivia Rodrigo. Now, go clean the ladies' bathrooms before I feel inclined to point out you have nasolabial folds at eighteen.'

Shadowheart gasps in mock horror, putting a hand to her mouth. She rushes to get the cleaning supplies and does as she was told, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Astarion is almost certain he’s going to wake up to a text from Gale laughing about how the story is being shared on a small indie podcast. It’s enough to send shivers down Astarion’s spine, but not enough to offer to swap places with Shadowheart. He goes back to petulantly sorting the hot sauce packets.

He pockets one mocking saying ‘I’m Your Main Squeeze!’ and shoves the containers back from where they came from. It’s easy closing, he tells himself. If closing were any easier, the morning shift wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what he has to tell himself as he wipes down the counter.

It’s hard to hold onto hope during these tough taco hours. Astarion just checked his phone, but if he were to check it again, he’s almost certain not even a minute would have passed. No matter how hard he scrubs the counter, everything smells like refried beans. His hair smells like refried beans. His shirt smells like refried beans. His skin must smell like refried beans. It’s a nightmare.

‘Dude, I cannot wait to get out of here,’ Wyll complains, coming to lean on the counter. He begins pretending to sort packets too. ‘Do you have any plans, Astarion?’

‘Ravengard,’ Astarion says patiently, ‘it is three in the morning. My plan is to sleep.’

‘Serious about that beauty sleep?’

‘Dead serious.’

Wyll hums. ‘The rest of us were going to go out for a drink. We wanted to know if you wanted to come with us. You know, to let off steam.’

Astarion considers it the same way one considers eating leftovers. He thinks about it then thinks about the sage old rule: There is nothing open after three in the morning besides jail cells and iHop. He decides against it. Doesn’t want to risk the price of bail after a night of drinking.

Besides, there’s someone coming to pick him up anyway. The thought of you crosses his mind and he can’t help but feel somewhat giddy about it. Between all the work from school and the stress of trying to make Burrito Supremes, you make going through the hardship of closing every single night worth it.

He’s supposed to be doing something, but Astarion can’t remember what it was that Wyll told him needed extra attention at the beginning of his shift or what closing a store entails anymore. He takes out his phone one more time and looks at his screen so he can memorize his screensaver which is a cute photo of you asleep in his shirt and drooling.

‘Ugh, you’re so happy it’s gross,’ Wyll says, wrinkling his nose.

‘Oh please,’ Astarion snorts. ‘As if you and Lae’zel aren’t sickening.’

If Astarion is being completely honest, almost all couples are. Somehow, the two of you don’t get to avoid that connotation. He remembers when you first started dating. You celebrated one week of dating, then two, then every month, then every other month just because it delighted you to do so. Astarion’s reputation is that he’s a prickly, unkind asshole which isn’t entirely too far from the truth, but the difference is that you are you, and you deserve all the nice things he can give.

But before anyone can complain about Astarion being sappy again, he slides his phone into his pocket and goes about his closing to-do list. He fusses over Karlach’s dishes. After working at a fast food restaurant, he’s pretty sure he’ll never eat at one again — but what the public doesn’t know what hurt them. They’re clean enough to anyone terribly concerned about it.

Isobel is hastily cleaning the floors. She and Aylin will never beat the grossest couple allegations, but Astarion thinks she’s the cutest thing in the world with her big eyes and fluffy eyelashes and perfectly smudged eyeliner. Once, he found Isobel and Shadowheart in the bathroom comparing shopping bags at Ulta instead of working the drive through. Astarion never told, but they owed him favors for two weeks in a row. Those were the best two weeks of his life.

Astarion does, however, fuss over the cleanliness of the lobby. The store itself feels permanently smudged in grease and smells about as nice as a locker room, but he refuses to be in the kind of establishment that refuses to clean the soda dispenser nozzles. He watches Wyll clean them then cleans them again himself.

And lastly, very lastly, Astarion gathers all the mops and brooms and rags and towels and puts them back from whence they came. Isobel finishes checking the filters to make sure they’re spotless about the same time Shadowheart comes miserably from the bathrooms with a look of utter despair on her features. He should probably feel bad, but he’s just thankful he didn’t have to do it himself. He wonders if he can somehow convince Wyll to do them tomorrow… but that’s a thought for another day, and Astarion only has one thing on his mind now that the store is closed.

You.

Thank the gods, it’s you. You’re a blessing in disguise if you’ll ever admit it. You willingly wake up in the middle of the night to come pick up Astarion, and you’ve never complained about it despite it being well beyond your bedtime. It’s embarrassing to admit that it’s something the both of you look forward to. A little private time away from dorm roommates and their friends who all like to crowd into impossibly tiny rooms because they haven’t spent enough time with each other throughout the day somehow.

The thought of you puts a pep in Astarion’s step. He checks his phone one last time to read your latest text message and feels like his heart is about to soar out of his throat. He bounces from foot to foot impatiently while waiting at the door for Wyll to come see everyone out, but as soon as that door opens, he’s darting across the parking lot to your familiar car. He never gets in a hurry for anything, but it’s different tonight.

You watch the other couples scurry to their own vehicles for their own safety. Shadowheart rides with Karlach and they’ll hang out at Rolan and Lia’s until Viconia DeVir spam texts her enough that she comes home. Wyll races to Lae’zel’s slick sports car, and seeing them make it across the parking lot is all you really care about. You turn your devout attention back to Astarion.

One might be wondering what you’ve been up to tonight, but it’s an easy answer. You were studying for your many quizzes and tests which infuriate you to no end, because college is hard and Astarion can’t help you study. Not that he would be that helpful. Luckily, Gale and Halsin are astute professors who actually don’t mind helping students — and they both have a you shaped soft spot that makes it impeccably easy for you to convince them to tutor you. They helped you go over your coursework and somehow managed to play footsie with one another under the table at the same time, although Gale kept bumping into you by accident and Halsin kept laughing. Either way, you made it through two hours of intense studying in just enough time to pick up Astarion from work.

You almost wish he had helped you study instead, but… He’s smart, coy, a future lawmaker in the making, but Astarion is gorgeous. His talents are wasted on learning laws and balancing books. To say that you wouldn’t get anything done if Astarion helped you study is an understatement. One might think you innocent enough with a cute picture of you and Astarion as your lock screen, but opening up your phone shows one of your most recent endeavors. A risque photograph of Astarion’s cum on your stomach in black-and–white to make it less scandalous, of course.

He should be a model styled in the latest Gucci and coveted by all, but you’re also increasingly biased. You’re wearing a baggy band sweater and sweatpants when he comes around the corner of the restaurant, and he’s so incredibly cute in his stupid Taco Bell uniform that you can’t help but wiggle in your seat. You unlock the door as he comes bolting to the passenger side, and he climbs in and meets you halfway for a kiss.

‘You smell like tomatoes,’ you laugh.

‘Oh, I suppose I’ll walk home then,’ he snorts.

Astarion always comes home smelling of Crunchwrap Supremes and Baja Blasts. Underneath the smell of grated cheese and refried beans and offensive-to-the-nose lemon, he smells like his personalized cologne too. You sniff him unapologetically and try to not feel giddy as he giggle-snorts his way back into the passenger seat.

You watch as he flings his hat into your backseat and begins ruffling his hair back into the usual coiled, curly hairstyle he’s usually sporting. You watch, with a quiet smile, and fight the yawn that’s been plaguing you since you set out to study anatomy around midnight.

It would be downright cringe to admit you want to study his anatomy since he smells like Taco Bell, but the uniform looks so damn good on him. It’s dorky in a way that makes your heart race. When he stretches, his shirt untucks a little and a peek of his belly shines through. That makes what you’re feeling ten times worse.

Maybe it says more about you than it does Astarion, but he would be attractive even if he was wearing a paper bag. You’ve heard the way the other students gossip about him. They like his long legs or his lean neck, or his loud personality. He’s a self-proclaimed short king with a wicked smile and a dangerous sense of humor. That’s why, no matter what he’s wearing or what he’s been doing, the sight of him makes your heart seize into your throat. You want him. You want him bad enough that you glance around the parking lot to make sure everyone is gone.

‘Was work difficult tonight?’ you ask.

‘The customers,’ Astarion groans, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Why do thirty seven high schoolers come into Taco Bell before close to order everything off the menu? It takes forever! And they’re so weird, shoving paper from their straws into their Baja Blasts and filling it with salt and pepper and hot sauce then daring their friends to drink it. Weird! Weirdos!’

‘What if I said I was hungry?’ you ask slyly.

‘Don’t even play,’ he growls. ‘I’m tired and — Oh my gods, you’ll never guess the drama from today.’

Astarion sets off on a long tangent about work related drama. His boss got into an argument with their boss and now everyone else is in trouble because someone who works the morning shift lost a set of keys. It’s nothing you’re particularly interested in, but it’s nice to hear Astarion talk to you. You adjust the radio to be quieter and turn the air up to be warmer. You’re so terrifyingly cozy you’re bound to fall asleep, but that’s okay. You lean back against your seat and close your eyes too.

‘That sounds like a mess.’

‘Aren’t you glad you don’t work?’

‘Beyond glad,’ you say.

Astarion hums. ‘How did studying go? Did you memorize anything interesting today?’

‘No,’ you say. ‘But, well, there was something I wanted your help with…’

You look across the console to watch him. He doesn’t seem as sleepy as you are. He offers you his hand and you take it just to hold it, fighting a shy smile as you do so. You give him a few more minutes to unwind after his shift before reaching for your keys in the ignition.

Astarion reaches for your hand. His fingertips slide across your upper arm to your fingers, wrapping around you to prevent you from starting the car. You swallow thickly. It’s almost like he read your —

‘You look absolutely wrecked, my dear,’ Astarion says. ‘Switch sides with me. I’ll drive us home while you doze.’

It’s a tempting offer. Being driven home. It’s the sleep deprivation that’s driving you somewhat crazy, you think, because Astarion has never looked more handsome than he does now in the passenger seat, hair tousled and uniform lopsided, and a smile on his face. Your cheeks heat up.

Oh, it’s definitely the sleep deprivation. Part of you wants to simply wait until you’ve made it home to do anything wild. But Astarion keeps looking at you, appraising you with gentle curiosity. He is unbelievably proud of you and how hard you’re working, and that appreciation is doing wonders to the thoughts inside your head. Your palms start to sweat.

You do a quick look around the parking lot one more time. It’s entirely empty now, not a single car in sight. No Lae’zel or Karlach or Wyll or anyone who would interrupt. The lone overhead light keeps blinking on and off. If you were truly concerned about your situation, you would think that it’s something out of a horror movie. Those aren’t the thoughts going on in your head. What you’re really thinking is so gross it should be humiliating. Astarion’s hand is warm on your hand, and his belly is still showing underneath his shirt that’s ridden up, and he’s tilting his chin because he’s noticed you’ve gone unusually still.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ you say in a small voice. ‘And — I’m not hungry either, not really.’

‘Oh?’ he hums. ‘What do you want to do instead?’

Ah. There it is. Your chance.

You pull your hand from his and place it on his knee, thumb pressing against the side of his thigh. Astarion’s eyes glimmer dangerously. He’s caught onto your mood. He knows exactly what you want without you even saying it.

He reclines your seat and stretches even more in your chair, his legs splayed out in front of him lazily. He’s lithe and taut, hands gripping the headrest for no other reason than he knows it makes him look gorgeous. He raises his chin like a challenge. You slide your hand up his leg and squeeze his muscle. Your mouth has gone dry, but that’ll be changed soon. You nibble the inside of your lip and pray to the gods to give you bravery.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion accuses.

‘It was the textbook,’ you say defensively. ‘I studied for so long, and now my mind has wandered.’

He tsks at you in disappointment. ‘The Taco Bell parking lot of all places.’

‘Shut up.’

He laughs, nice and low and dangerous, and presses his hand flush against his belly. He pulls his shirt up a little higher and you fight desperately to keep your eyes on his face.

‘Shut up?’ he mocks. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I’ll show you,’ you say brazenly, ‘what I can do.’

It’s abysmal, the lust that overtakes you. You lean over the console and watch as he raises his shirt so that you can see the smooth plane of his abdomen. He’s lithe, sleek, refined. Even in his silly little uniform, you can’t help but think about how amazing Astarion looks — and he knows that’s what is racing through your mind, because he indulges in the attention that you’re granting him. You lean forward, one hand bracing yourself against the console while the other falls against his thigh for support, and kiss gently across his belly. From one side of his waist to the other, one hip bone to the other, until you fuss enough that Astarion helps slide his work pants down his hips to his thighs.

The ridiculousness of the setting is forgotten. You lavish Astarion’s cock with attention, the tip of your tongue tracing over the svelte shape, until he’s gently lacing his fingers in your hair to help guide you along. But you know his body almost as well as you know your own. You take the tip of Astarion’s cock into your mouth and kiss it. You graze your teeth carefully over the skin and feel his leg tense in anticipation, and slowly, you swallow it inch by inch.

His cock jerks in your mouth, growing and hardening beneath your careful ministrations. After being together for so long, you know what he likes. He likes slow and languid strokes. He likes when you hum and sometimes when you try to suck him as far down as you can, but you also know that he likes the occasional graze of your teeth, and you’ve barely touched him when he moans softly under his breath as if it’s humiliating to him how needy he is for you as well.

It isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. The gear shift is rigging uncomfortably into your ribs, and the sound of your leather seats sliding against your skin is an unwanted addition, but you’re mesmerized by the way Astarion tastes on your tongue.

Even after a long shift, he still smells immaculate. Your laundry soap overpowers almost everything else, and his satiny tip is salty with precum, but you’ve always enjoyed that taste more than anything else. You mouth gently against the length of him, kissing and sucking and tracing patterns against his cock with your tongue. The touch causes his hand to tighten in your hair, not enough that it hurts, but enough that you’re reminded of him.

It’s comforting, the feeling of his hand in your hair as he guides you up and down his length. It reminds you of less busy days when there’s no studying and no work shifts to be had. In the summer, you often spend your days stretched out across Astarion’s bed while he reads or writes, and you have more than enough sex to pass the times.

It’s far less organized here, but you take your time swallowing around his cock, sliding him as far down as you can into the back of your throat until Astarion is making little, wild noises. He’s trying to keep quiet, and you do your best to peek at him from the angle you’re at. He might as well be a work of art with how he looks. His eyebrows are taut, and he’s biting his bottom lip so ferociously you think you ought to be concerned. Astarion’s eyes soften when he notices you’re watching, and that’s more than what you need to sit up and slide your sweatshirt off over your head. It’s peak romanticism to fuck nasty in the empty Taco Bell parking lot.

You lean forward and take Astarion’s cock into your mouth again with intent. It’s not the most comfortable angle to suck him off at, but you’re determined to keep his eyes on you even if it means you’ll have the world's sorest neck in the morning. Because you’re watching, Astarion makes an effort to watch you as well. He fights against the fluttering of his eyelashes, determined to see you until the very end.

His skin is soft and hot against your tongue, and you focus on breathing through your nose and fight against your own budding arousal. You want to feast on him, to give him something to enjoy since it was your idea to do something like this in your car. You pay close attention to the soft tip of his cock as you suckle it, pressing little licks against the underside of his head, moaning softly even though your elbows are beginning to ache from the angle. You would bring him to completion like this if he would let you, but you can tell by the way his eyes seem to burn that he has other plans.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion repeats, laughing low in the back of his throat.

He lifts you by the chin and kisses you, unfazed by the spit and the drool and the slightly salty taste that sits on the tip of your tongue. If Astarion wasn’t into it, he would let you know. But if you’re insatiable, then he’s equally as deranged. He guides you over the console and into his lap, pulling and tugging at your sweatpants and underwear until they’re around your ankles.

You do try to keep some sense of decency. You push your sweatshirt in a bundle against the front window like that’ll do anything to hide the scene, and he leans his seat as far back as he possibly can without straining too much. Now is not the time for romance, you decide. You’re used to begging Astarion to fuck you, to batting your eyelashes and playing up how shy you are about your wants and needs, but there’s no time for that now at three in the morning. You rut against him, holding his hands against your hips.

It goes without saying that the lewdness of the situation does cause your cheeks to flush. You hide your face into Astarion’s neck and try to pray away the shame. But you aren’t ashamed of your lust, you aren’t ashamed of your desire — Your only concern is the embarrassment of how close to Astarion you want to be, never mind the faint perfume of the Fiesta Veggie Burrito that clings to his skin.

You worm your way into his lap fully, feeling how hard his cock is between your legs, and grind against the thickness of it. He guides your movement ever so carefully, murmuring sweet things into your hair that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying to anyone else. You’re amazing, don’t hide yourself from me, let us enjoy this together, and all other lyrics that Astarion is proud of. Finally, you reach between your thighs and take his cock into your hands, guiding it inside of you. You don’t have time to tease him, to take your time lowering yourself against his hips until he’s gripping your hips so hard you might bruise. You sink down onto him as quickly as you can, and gasp once you’re fully seated.

Gods, you’ll never get used to the feeling of him inside. He’s so thick and long that you feel impossibly full, that any movement you make will make you cum right then and there. Your hands always shake when you’ve taken him all the way to the hilt, and you bite your bottom lip to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t just about you and how easy it is to make your core burst with pleasure. This is about Astarion too. You want to thank him for all his hard work, to praise him even though he hates it, and you smile. Astarion smiles too. His eyes always get so soft when he looks at you… He’s never looked happier than he has when he looks at you.

Astarion’s hands rub soothingly up and down your spine. The touch is encouraging, is relaxing, and distracting. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't distract you from the way he looks up at you adoringly, almost as if he’s ever seen anything like it before. You relish in the heavy weight of his gaze, tilting your chin so that he can admire everything, and he does. Astarion watches you like someone would admire art at a gallery. He follows every line of your body that he can see, the curve of your neck, the fragility of your cheekbones, and runs his hands against your skin as though it’s the first time he’s ever felt it. It makes you feel special.

And of course, you are special. You were Astarion’s first after a string of countless conquests.

Astarion rubs his hands up against your sides, clasping his fingers taut around your waist so that he can guide you along the length of his cock. It’s all so simple. Astarion likes touching you in whatever way he can manage, especially after hours apart. You spend most of your time familiarizing yourself with the warmth of his hands as he traces his fingers against your spine, or pets through your hair, or massages any tense muscles that might be frustrating you.

He’s even more handsy during sex. You haven’t even moved yet, and he’s tugging at you, biting his lip as if that’ll keep him from trembling. Astarion has always been sensitive, but the recklessness of the situation seems to have riled him up. He paws at your hips. He’s desperate, intent, for some sort of sensation and you’re equally as needy, an overwhelming fullness causing you to shift your weight one more time so that you can balance on either side of his thighs without too much discomfort in a cramped space. You swallow, and slowly, pull yourself off his cock until you’re painfully empty again.

Astarion pushes his hands up beneath your undershirt. You stole it from his side of the bed before you came, somewhat desperate to be wrapped up in his scent. He presses his cheek against yours, and you kiss him — biting the swell of his lower lip and lapping at his tongue when he hums in response. He parts his lips for you and you kiss him messily, turned on by the way he arches at your intuitiveness.

It’s only then that you start really grinding against his lap, pushing his cock back against your core and rising off of it again, bouncing in his lap as he encourages you to do so. Astarion smiles against your teeth and digs his fingers into the curve of your ass. He pulls against his chest and further into his lap, filling you so full of his cock and encouraging you to rut against his hips so that the feel of it is the only thing you can think of.

Astarion is everywhere.

In your thoughts, in your mouth, in your body and mind.

‘Impatient,’ you whisper to him, trying to still your hips but even the thought of him sitting there while you take your pleasure is enough to send tingles down to your toes.

‘As if I’ll ever have enough of you,’ he murmurs in response. He tilts his chin back and offers you his throat. You bite the tender space beneath his jaw and suckle the skin, tasting a bruise blossom beneath your tongue. ‘O — Oh, that’s it.’

Astarion practically purrs as you leave your mark against his skin. You focus on that, claiming his neck right above the collar of his work shirt so that everyone will know the truth. Astarion Ancunín is yours.

‘Like that,’ he whispers soothingly.

Astarion shows his neediness like this, moaning faintly as you turn your attention to making another hickey. While you do that, he helps you grind and ride his cock, his fingers tucked neatly in the junction where your ass meets your thighs. He pulls you up and down his length without any strain, and it thrills you so much that your toes curl and you try to squeeze your thighs together. You whine against his throat.

‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,’ Astarion warns you.

He uses all of the strength you forget he has to bounce you in his lap. The pleasure is so intense it distracts you from your artwork, and you cry against his collarbone and cling to him. His cock causes you to feel empty and full — like you’ll never get enough of what he has to offer you.

And, well, any thoughts of playing fair after that have gone out the window along with your shame. The front seat of your car is cramped and tight, but you’re not really thinking about comfort as you chase that heat between your legs for something greater. Astarion does most of the work for you between the way he talks nasty and fucks even nastier, unable to keep his hands to himself for even a few seconds.

If his hands aren’t cradling your ass, then they’re beneath your thighs and if they aren’t there, it’s because he wants to torment you further by fucking into you hard by holding onto your hips as hard as his trembling hands will allow him.

Everything feels way too tight. The walls of your car seem to be caving in, and your clothes are suddenly clinging to you in a way that’s bothersome. You want to be closer to Astarion, to have fully melded your bodies together — and you curse the setting because if you had just been patient, you’d be halfway home to a comfortable bed.

‘You’re naughty,’ Astarion whispers, and it does something for you. ‘Did you miss me — Oh fuck, that’s good.’

You bite his neck to keep him from talking. If Astarion talks, you’re going to lose whatever decorum you have left. You wrap your arms around his neck and whine softly in his ear, nuzzling against his warm skin.

‘I missed you,’ you whisper against his neck.

‘I know you did,’ he murmurs, stroking your hip. ‘I can — Mm, I can tell how badly you missed me. Look at how well you’re riding my cock.’

‘Astarion — ’

‘I love the way you say my name,’ Astarion whispers fiercely. ‘I could listen to it all night and day. Say it again for me, pet. I’ll make you say my name.’

Heat causes your cheeks to flush. You’ll never get used to the casual way he says the raunchiest things, and yet, you can’t help but shiver against his chest at the observation. You wouldn’t have said that you were doing well at it. The roof is short, your legs are cramping, but somehow, that makes the feeling even better. There isn’t much room for you to go, and for that you’re grateful. It means Astarion can’t tease you endlessly with the length of his cock. Every move you make has to be short, frantic, calculated, and the tip of Astarion’s cock is pressed so deeply against your core that you can barely stand it.

‘Oh, it’s so much,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah?’ he muses. ‘You were made for me. You were made to take my cock. You’ll take it for me, you’ll cum for me.’

He uses his knowledge of all your favorite tricks against you. You cannot escape his grasp, one arm wound tight around your waist while the other now presses lightly against the nape of your neck. Astarion kisses the side of your mouth passionately and keeps you even closer than the limits of your surroundings. That riles you up even more.

‘I want to — I want to, Astarion, oh — ’

You drag your hips up carelessly, unburdened by shame or nervousness. You’ve known Astarion since your first day in the city, and you’ve been through enough and had each other enough to no longer feel embarrassed by your needs, not that Astarion had ever let you feel insecure about anything. You whine against his neck, and he kisses you fully then, a pouty mouth against your needy tongue, and then you maneuver yourself in his lap so perfectly that it catches Astarion off-guard and he moans fully against your chin.

You lose yourself in the feeling and the sound. Astarion’s moans sound even better in a tight, enclosed space. His voice is soft, low, dangerous when it needs to be, and he only becomes this unraveled with you.

It’s an intoxicating feeling. You cry softly, nose bumping against his, and fall apart at the sound of his arousal, the feeling of his fingers dancing across the back of your neck, the sharp ecstasy that burns like a wildfire in the center of your stomach. You want to chase your release now. To find it in his lap, against his throat, softly and hoarsely in his ear. But you aren’t ready, not yet, and it takes all of your nerves to pull away.

It’s humid inside the car now. You take a quick look at the sight. You reach for stability, your palm sliding against the fogged window, smearing a glance into the darkness outside. You rest your other hand against the center console and arched your back, height leveraged against Astarion so that he can see you fully. He’s quick to respond to your change in position, no longer kneeling forward, but high above him like you’re sitting on a throne.

Astarion’s hands slide beneath the shirt you have left, palms trailing smoothly up the arc of your belly, warming the skin of your chest. He sighs handsomely and stares at you, leaning back so that he might enjoy the sight of you fully. And now that you’re able to, you’re able to pull fully all the way off the length of him, leaving him without the feel of you clenched tight around his cock. You’re only able to wait a few seconds for your own sake before you’re wiggling all the way back down until you are right back to where the gods want you to be.

‘You look delicious,’ Astarion says proudly, wearing a familiar half-smile.

‘For you,’ you confess. And it’s true.

‘You always look so beautiful to me,’ Astarion says in a tone that reminds you of when a cat has had its fair share of milk. He’s preening, cocksure. ‘Go on,’ he adds. ‘Fuck yourself for me.’

You swallow hard and do as ordered with a different rhythm. No longer do you seek out slow assured strokes. These are quick movements, careless, unpracticed and unmeasured, and Astarion helps you with two thumbs pressed against your stomach. It’s his turn to lean as far back as he can to give you all the room you need, and while it isn’t perfect, it’s probably the second hottest thing the two of you have done together. Fucking in a car in an empty parking lot. Your fingers slip against the window and Astarion catches you by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm so that he can wrap his fingers around yours.

‘Like that, beautiful,’ he says encouragingly, helping you. ‘You’re close, aren’t you? Don’t you want to?’

You nod, unable to trust how your words would sound. One way or another, he always gets what he wants, and you know that with enough time and focus on your pleasure, Astarion will have you mewling.

‘Come on, baby,’ Astarion encourages you, and you can’t help but follow his every command. ‘I love the way you ride me — I was made to fill you up, you take my cock so well.’

His words only make you even more frenzied, riding him to the best of your abilities just so he’ll say something sweet about you again. He babbles nonsensical things about you, and if you were in a clearer headspace, you’d be able to make out his words but all you understand now is the nerves building up in the very bottom of your stomach as you chase satisfaction, so determined to see his face once it’s all over.

He coos at you, chin tilting all the way back so you’re able to stare at his pale throat. A gorgeous throat, sleek and elegant, wearing proof of your existence in little bruises and bites that are both new and almost healed. You want to bite him again, to let your teeth graze his Adam’s apple while he talks about politics that you barely understand, and with that, you reach for the back of his neck so that you can slam your mouths together in a clumsy kiss. Astarion hisses, and then he’s biting your lower lip until it swells, and you kiss him so sweetly your head spins.

And from there, you don’t last long. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever shook before, and your chest feels so tight and your cheeks feel so hot that you’re almost incapable of thinking. All you see and know is Astarion. Astarion, lounging against your passenger seat, his own cheeks ruddy and his expression twisted in pleasure. You cry out and collapse forward, burrowing into his chest as tightly as you can. He wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple.

‘Astarion, Astarion, please!’

‘Just like that, my love — ’ he gasps against your crown, grunting as his release hits him hard. ‘Like that, my pet, you’re perfect, my dear, my dear heart — ’

Your core tightens at his sweet words, and then it’s your churn to choke out a hoarse cry as pleasure races through your spine so sharply that it must hurt. You bite down on his shoulder for comfort, moaning as you try to come to your senses.

It’s somehow both hot and cold inside your little car. Everything is sticky with sweat, and the moisture in the air has started to cause Astarion’s hair to frizz up. You’re boneless. It’s only fair that he takes it upon himself to pull you up from his cock, tucking you back into your baggy sweatpants. You hover awkwardly, his cum on your thighs, while he drags his work pants up his slender thighs. You aren’t sure who is groggier, but when you glance at the clock on the dashboard, mild horror thickens in your stomach. You feel faint.

It might have been nearly three in the morning when Astarion was released from his duties, but it’s now four in the morning, give or take a few minutes. You start to make your way over to the driver’s side again, about to inelegantly climb across the center console when Astarion grabs you by the waist and kisses the side of your head gently.

‘You stay put,’ he mumbles. He sounds positively fucked thorough.

‘I made you stay up late,’ you say guiltily, but he shrugs.

‘Honestly, you did all the hard work,’ he says with a snort. ‘Lay back and close your eyes, darling. I’ll drive. Thank the gods it's the weekend.’

He opens the passenger door, and the cool air of the morning smells so refreshing to the smell of sex that permeates everything else. He stretches for a minute before coming back. He kisses your forehead tenderly, nudging your nose with his.

‘Love you,’ you murmur.

‘Love you,’ he says.

It all happens so quickly. You’re faintly aware of the sound of Astarion snapping his seatbelt in, your car humming to life, an Alfira ballad playing so quietly in the background it might as well not even be on. You’re so warm and toasty that you can’t keep yourself from leaning your head against the window. If you fall asleep before the first redlight, Astarion doesn’t say anything. All you can recall once you get home is a strong pair of arms holding you tightly, and the pillow you stole from his side of the bed, and his back against your chest.

As it should be.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #taco bell tag

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naompspsps · 11 days

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How they would act when you fall asleep on their shoulder Pt. 8

Part 7 (Ruggie, Rook & Jack)

Summary: You had a long morning, and you didn't even get enough sleep so now you are very tired, But sitting with them in the courtyard during lunch break, while they talk you find yourself falling asleep, your head on their shoulder.

Ft. Riddle x GN!Reader

A/n: I love riddle.

! do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site, Reblogs are appreciated alot though !

Riddle

He would be strict about it then a few seconds later, or, if he sees the assignment and the notebook filled with scribbles along with remembering awhile back, that's when he'll realize you've been hard on yourself over these.

He'd be angry, but also guilty? He didn't make the assignment, but something in him just felt guilty. To help himself feel better, he can just let you rest. He can't help but think about the scribbles in the notebook, they all make sense and the correct answer but, why on the wonderland do teachers suffocate students like that.. Also, he doesn't know he should say sweet dreams or sleep well 😭

As you hear Riddle speaking, you write in your notebook. You wonder, What kind of questions are these? Where do you remember learning about it more than the one in class? Books, sure, but which one? So many questions are gathering up your thoughts of what to do for the final question of the assignment. By automatic, you fall asleep, your head falling on Riddle's shoulder. "And For- Huh? What do you think you're doing?" He looks at you, your hand sneaking up to his sleeves and tugging it between your fingers. "Don't tug my sleeve like that, You're not the King of-..." Riddle cuts his sentence, seeing your notebook.

He's not supposed to be doing this. He takes your notebook from your lap and looks at the writings. It's messy but it's probably just your vision getting blurry. All of them seem right but.. "What's not right is the point that you didn't take your rest over these.." Riddle whispers under his breath. "The teachers never did anything about it?" He asks himself. He closes the notebook, putting it aside. Riddle sighs. "I suppose an hour rest will be fine by me. All you have to do is have a nice dream. It's a requirement." He adds, back to reading a book about History.

Author's End Note: Well i died yesterday, I just had somewhere to go with my friends 💀 Anyways IM DONEEE, i dont know if i did all the characters but I will check 🌟🌟

! do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site, Reblogs are appreciated alot though !

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #gn reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts x yuu #riddle rosehearts x mc #twst riddle

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sirenjose · 6 months

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Hunter Norton Backstory Trailer Analysis

As a rule, the sons of miners follow the occupation of their fathers. Once Norton’s father died, and his mother also likely dead by then too, he had no other choice but to become a miner if he wanted to survive. Especially with how poor they likely were, Norton’s father (and mother) likely left almost nothing for their son, forcing him to work hard to support himself from a young age.

Based on Norton’s comment about living like a “rat” for 20 years, as he is 28 in the present, Norton’s father potentially died when he was 8 (his mother potentially died before then), leaving him an orphan.

A Mine Regulation Act in 1872 prevented children under the age of 12 from working underground. Until then, he would likely have been kept to surface work, such as:

Sorting and transporting materials

Loading and unloading transports

Assisting with general maintenance and cleaning

Delivering messages

Etc…

An Educational Act in 1870, which applied to England and Wales, made schooling compulsory for boys between the ages of 5 and 10, while an Act in 1872 applying to Scotland made school compulsory for kids between 5 and 13.

Once he reached the age of 12, the Regulation Act in 1872 would continued to limit his work hours, which prevented boys between 12 and 16 from working more than 54 hours in 1 week or 10 hours in 1 day. It also required them to have 8 to 12 hour breaks between “periods of employment” (defined as starting when they leave the surface and ending when they return to the surface).

Once he was old enough, regular miners were expected to work at least 12 hour shifts (though this varied from mine to mine) on weekdays. And we know from Norton’s deduction 2 that he worked longer than any of his coworkers, while his 3rd letter states, as a habit, he enters the mines at least 30 minutes before the others.

Conditions in the mine were hot, musty, and cramped (as mine owners didn’t want to spend extra to make them bigger), increasing the chance of accidents. We can actually see just how narrow the tunnels usually were in the trailer.

Miners also worked in complete darkness except for lighting they had to buy themselves. In fact, they had to buy much of their own equipment.

Unfortunately, wages for miners were incredibly low back then. Miners were paid by the quality of what they produced rather than by the hour, giving owners plenty of ways to reduce how they could pay their miner (including by lying about the quality or rigging the scales).

The average wage of coal miners in the 1880s was somewhere between 3s (s = shillings) and 5s per day, with around 4s being closer to the normal, and 5 only if you were lucky. 4 shillings was about $1.20. Generally though wages varied greatly in different districts. After spending on equipment, food, and rent, they could be left with maybe no more than 1s.

Going back to the trailer, it says “Blasting Agent – Mercury (II) Fulminate”. This is an explosive compound made from mercury, nitric acid, and ethanol. It was commonly used as a primary explosive in percussion caps and detonators during the 19th century. When struck or subjected to a shock, it would rapidly decompose and produce a violent explosion. Its role was to initiate the ignition or detonation of the main explosive charge, such as dynamite.

This is the stuff that we see him pouring into the dynamite.

Continuing, we see Norton smiling at a coin, but then his wrist is crushed by the other miners, who steal it from him, taunting him to try to take it back.

Norton actually smiling at the coin helps show Norton’s desire to get out of poverty, an idea he emphasizes later when he describes poverty as a “curse”.

But as we see in the Famitsu Article, people didn’t understand why he tried so hard. It “intimidated” them. Then in Norton’s 2nd letter as well as in this trailer, we see that he was ridiculed by his coworkers. They didn’t think it was possible for him to achieve such a goal. This is reflected with how essentially, at that time “Englishmen recognized if he is in a certain social grade, he is likely to remain there. He’ll never reach a higher class, and didn’t rebel”. Each class “cheerfully” accepted “the lot which providence has assigned” to them.

Norton was different though. He says in the trailer “I once thought the same” after it talks about sons of miners became miners themselves.

He may have initially accepted the same thing everyone else did, but things likely changed over time, the longer he was forced to live this sort of life.

There’s also a good chance part of his change was from working with people like Benny. He learns from them to improve himself (and hopefully improve his chance at earning more), but he also sees how these old miners are, which emphasizes in his brain he doesn’t want to end up like them. He doesn’t want to end up in hospice or stuck in poverty his whole life like they did, just waiting for the day they die.

Norton worked hard, harder and longer than everyone else, in the hopes eventually this would be enough to improve his life, to make it even slightly close to what most would consider a comfortable life, even if it meant only the basics. But it wasn’t enough. The mine owners were greedy. The other miners were all in it only for themselves. His wages were miniscule, and his daily and weekly expenses pretty great. Especially with how back in that time period, mine owners had ways where they attempted to keep their employees indebted to them, to force them to keep working for them, as well as improve their own personal profits as much as possible.

Norton was surrounded by these sorts of people forced to live in such a cruel environment, watching the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. This is reflected in his 2nd letter where he says “This is simply unfair. The poor find it difficult to lead a comfortable life, while all the rich need to do is wave their banknotes around”. He describes all the pain he’s gone through just at the chance to “climb up” out of poverty before describing “how much effort I put into this” as “ridiculous”.

His hard work is exemplified by his 3rd deduction, which describes how he’s done so well his employers always attempt (but fail) to keep him for longer. He works to learn, to improve his skills, and better himself at the chance at earning more and thus potentially work his way out of poverty faster.

We can also see it during the trailer, with him surrounded by all these books and other things.

This quality of his, where he likes to teach himself, to learn, and to improve himself has been implied at other points by Netease, such as by several of his skins or even from part of other collabs, like B.Duck, which described Norton as “full of curiosity” and “likes learning”. It also described him with a “desire to act at MAX” or “highest level of execution”. This means he’s the type of person to put all his effort into whatever he does.

It just wasn’t enough.

We even see the sort of suffering this life has forced him to endure, as in the trailer it shows him coughing due to the damage his lungs have suffered due to his life as a miner.

Hard work wasn’t enough. This is why he eventually turned to the list of 13 mines he learned from Benny, seeking to instead attempt to escape poverty by finding gold.

As explained by @metalIurgy and @Deskdeas, each of the names on this list are European mines or people.

(Also, there seems to be 15 names total on the list, rather than 13)

Von Donnersmarck: House of Donnersmarck, prominent aristocratic family that originated in the region of Silesia. Owned mines.

Georg Wilhelm: Russian military officer and engineer who specialized in mining

Prince Konstantin: prince of Russia, killed in a mining shaft

Ștefan Procopiu: physicist who researched electricity and magnetism

Friedrich Alfred Krupp: German industrialist, developed Krupp steel manufacturer and arms manufacturing company

Saarbergwerke: mining company that operated in the Saarland region of Germany

Romeria: religious pilgrimage (Spain or spanish speaking countries?)

Petro-pavlivska (''Петро-павлівська''): black coal mine located in the Eastern part of Ukraine

Nova Baňa: silver and gold mining site in central Slovakia.

Swansea Copper: Welsh copper mines

Eramet: French multinational mining and metallurgical company

Ivan Polzunov: Russian engineer known for his contributions to steam engine technology

Wowdcole: ?

(Sorry, I can't read the 15th name crossed out in the top left corner of the list)

We know from Norton’s 5th deduction that he tried and failed to find anything at any of the other 12 mines, leaving him with only Golden Cave left.

Back to the trailer, we see him with a map.

The left side looks like it should be a map of Lakeside and the surrounding area, with Golden Cave being the X at the base of the mountains. Count Barriere is the owner of this land, and also the owner of Golden Cave. The right side should be the representation of a map of the mine itself.

Considering how earlier Norton’s coworkers stole Norton’s coin, it’s possible they essentially tried to do the same thing here. Saw him looking at the map, then took it for themselves. Like how Norton’s 8th deduction includes “you need more helpers”, they may have forced him to take them along, and why they explore it on their own without Norton. Especially with the looks on their faces in that scene not showing they had any good intentions.

(A lot of what I’ll say next is said very well by @Yaboku_samaa)

Norton seems to have set all this up in advance, before they came through the mine.

Next we see Norton’s inner conflict. A conflict between morals and vengeance represented by survivor Norton vs Hunter Norton. His Hunter side manages to win out by telling Norton that this is what they deserve, it’s revenge for all the pain and ridicule he’s been put through, all in silence, all without fighting back. He’s forced to keep a façade. To keep his true feelings hidden if he doesn’t want a penalty or reduction in wages. He’s tired of having to live such a hard life of constant suffering and humiliation and hopelessness, and thus why he had hit his limit and the side represented by his Hunter version won out.

(I’m not going to push the idea too much, but it’s possible Norton may have bipolar disorder. That or DID, especially with how he literally talks to himself in his 2nd letter. Especially as both can form in children or young adults who experience long-term physical or emotional distress or abuse. Causes can include childhood trauma (like neglect, abuse, trauma, losing someone like a parent), stressful life events, genetics, etc…)

This decision is shown during the trailer when Norton says “There are ways to make a change”.

Norton’s 2nd letter does an accurate job of summarizing everything:

“Over the last 20 years, I lived like a rat in the gutter. I spent days under the ground in the dark just so I could earn a minimal living. Scars from the blasts crawled all over my face like maggots. The constant scorn and ridicule... I endured it every time just so I'd get a chance to climb up the ladder. It's ridiculous how much effort I put into this—anyway, I've finally managed to crawl out from the rat hole. I no longer have to pick and pull on the disgusting ash. Those who did nothing but laugh at me deserve to stay underground and be stepped on like maggots forever.”

And the trailer visually showing Norton’s inner conflict matches up very well with how quite clearly Norton in his 2nd letter is arguing with himself. The side represented by Hunter Norton is likely the version talking right now, trying to convince him (the side represented by Survivor Norton) to kill the female, “think about how arrogant she is” and all the money he’d get. The fact he is trying to convince himself shows that Norton doesn’t want to do it, and how he isn’t willing to do anything for money. His hatred for his coworkers for their treatment of him for so long was enough for the side represented by Hunter Norton to convince him to trigger the explosion on them, but that motivation doesn’t exist here. Right now, his less moral side is trying to motivative him with money and thinking about others as “arrogant” and essentially mean, as well as the doubt that she could do something to him.

But that may not be enough to convince him next time to actually do it if he’s given a chance. At Golden Cave, that was his last chance to try to find gold. He’d gone through 12 other mines (and 20 years of pain on top of that) with nothing to show for it. Norton may be very stubborn and determined, but even he was growing so very desperate, which is shown well by Norton’s 5th deduction as well as by the trailer itself. So it makes sense that Norton was mentally not in the right place and vulnerable to the sort of temptation we see him going through in the trailer.

Norton is alone. No family. No money. Suffering from lung problems. Has never been shown kindness and forced to grow up in a very cruel environment. The only thing keeping him moving forward and losing all hope is by focusing on his goal of getting out of poverty and achieving some form of a comfortable life with at least the basic necessities. This is shown very well by Norton’s 4th birthday emote “Savings”, where Norton takes out a single gold coin and thinks about simple worn clothes and a loaf of bread, while the description reads “Endure it, Norton. You’re almost there”.

For years he attempted to push on, but little by little, his coworkers, his employers, his environment, it all chipped away at him until he felt he had no other choice. I believe the trailer does a good job of emphasizing how his main motivation wasn’t greed but desperation, hopelessness, and the pain he was subjected to by his coworkers and everyone. It’s life or death, and this mine is his last chance, and his deep misery that pushes him over the edge, so it’s no wonder he doesn’t care about anyone anymore. He’s always been alone, always had to be the one to look out for himself. No one else could be trusted. They would only take advantage of him or even potentially steal what little he had. Yet even still he hesitated to pull the trigger, which I think says a lot about Norton.

Despite the decision being made, he doesn’t run after he sets off the explosion. He accepts what happens. There’s no way he didn’t know what was going to happen, not with how long he’s worked as a miner, and how much he’s learned in his own time. It could be the side represented by his survivor version sees the scar as punishment for his deeds. It could be he knew if he wanted to get his revenge he had to deal with the potential scars.

But he was here not just for revenge, but for the chance at finding gold. Hunter Norton’s character backstory says the accident brought Norton “Golden Luck” or “a gold rush of fortune”, so it sounds like he did find something.

We do know he at least found the meteorite, which is what he made his magnet from, so this could be what is referred to in Hunter Norton’s backstory.

Along with the above, we could connect whatever his “golden luck” was with Memory’s comment during Time of Reunion, where she says “they seemed to be looking for something other than ore”.

This is repeated during AoM with a newspaper clipping about rumors being false of precious metal ore in the mine.

Considering Golden Cave’s rumor is “despite not a single piece of gold was ever found, Count Barriere still got what he wanted with this land”, these statements should be talking about the same thing.

It’s possible Barriere was after the meteorite, especially as the only things we know that came out of that mine after it collapsed were Norton and the chunks of the meteorite he carried.

There are potential parallels from Lily’s essence, which connects to Golden Cave, and her essence story says “The mine is filled with special phosphorescent ores, which brought wealth to their ancestors but also cursed them with phosphorescent illness”. Considering in the famitsu article it says the magnet aka the meteorite may have been affecting his brain, it’s possible the “phosphorescent ores” is meant to parallel the meteorite.

If that is what Barriere is after, maybe there’s a chance he reached out to Norton afterwards, and he could’ve been the one to offer Norton all that money in exchange for killing some female. Especially when we know Count Barriere has a lot of money based on Lily’s backstory, as he even offered her enough to survive for 2 years and even more via making her the owner of the IOU likely belonging to Orpheus for him buying Oletus Manor.

Anyways, we also know from Norton’s 3rd letter that he “dug his way out through a mountain creek a few dozen meters away from the mine” with only “minor burns”. We also know from the Famitsu Article that people didn’t talk to him, they said a bare minimum then kept a “wide berth”, and considering the very visible scar on his face, it is possible this was the reason they avoided him (they were frightened of him. Like we see at the end of the trailer, it is possible people saw him as a “monster”, especially back then when these sorts of things weren’t treated or seen as kindly as today).

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #Fool's Gold #fools gold #Hunter Norton #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #idv fool's gold #identity v fool's gold #idv fools gold #identity v fools gold #idv hunter norton #identity v hunter norton #sirenjose analyses and theories

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ascendanttarot · 8 months

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PAC: Messages From Your Spirit Guides

Hi everyone! This PAC will cover whether your spirit guides have any messages or guidance for you. This is a little shorter than the last PAC but only a little bit, promise! I'll list a few signs for every pile before your reading to ensure you have picked the right pile for yourself. If you resonate with one or more signs, that is meant to be your reading. And! You’ll get a channelled song! :)

Please remember your fate is not set in stone so your answers may change depending on the actions you take and will take if you please. Tarot is not a substitute for professional advice. The images I’ve used are not mine.

From left to right: Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3

Pile 1

Signs:

You play guitar or favour the sound of acoustic guitar in your songs

You listen to the following bands/artists: Hozier, Florence + the Machine, Mitski, and other similar artists

This is a weird one, but when cleaning you like buying the sprays/wipes/detergent with a fruitier smell?

You like going on nature walks

You read poetry

Your cards: The Tower, Queen of Cups rx, (clarified by the Six of Swords rx) Page of Wands

Your message: Something unfolded in ways you could have never imagined. It’s like all your backup plans fell apart too, and your optimism has been taken away from you. I just heard ‘victim of circumstance’. This is a difficult message to give, but your guides are saying whatever happened, happened beyond anyone’s control. You tried to shield yourself from these difficult emotions by hardening your heart, creating distance between you and your feelings... but you’re spirit guides are asking you, “Is this really worth it all?”. It won’t be an easy feat to move on from this situation, and your guides understand that. However, they’re saying that when the time comes and the right opportunity is in front of you to take that first step of healing, please take it. The best part of your life requires a childlike sense of wonder. It’s going to require a lot more determination and ambition than what you’re feeling now. Your guides are saying to take your time to feel messy, and when it’s time to heal, don’t rush yourself to do that too. They’re here for you if you ask them. They believe in you even if you don’t believe in yourself, but they are waiting patiently and happily for a time when you’ll start standing by your back too.

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 1!

Song: In Your Own Sweet Time by Zaska, Karen Cowley and Hozier

Pile 2

Signs:

You have an alternative sense of style

You love 80s music. I just heard Wham and The Cure to name a few of the bands that popped up in my intuition

Odd sign to give, but you may have had a vaporwave phase? If you know, you know

You like Fantasy and Sci-Fi books and shows

Another odd message to give here—you may be sensitive to touch, but it goes both ways? Like you can only wear certain fabrics, or you like soft things, but also people may say you give good hugs

Your Cards: 8 of Swords rx, 6 of Cups, The World

Your Message: I just saw the image of your spirit guides popping open a bottle of champagne with a knife before chucking (yes, that violently) streamers and confetti! You know why? Because. You. Did. That. You’ve just come out of a period in your life when you had to do some intense shadow work. You’ve worked on your biases, and have started to fix your flawed systems on your environment and yourself; your spirit guides could not be more proud of you. They’re celebrating 24 hours a day 7 days a week because that chapter of your life is over! This new phase of your life will be given gently to you with the love and compassion you deserve. I think this may be an opportunity to let yourself be seen by others again. At the very least you’ll be hanging out with old friends and making new ones, but at the most, I’m seeing possibly an opportunity for a project to start online. Either way, your spirit guides will have your back for that in the future. For now, though, they’re asking you to put your feet up and high-five yourself for how far you’ve come!

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 2!

Your Song: Blame It on the Boogie by The Jacksons (I’m serious, they’re having a party right now haha!)

Pile 3

Signs:

You prefer the dusk over the dawn

You like RnB, so artists like Victoria Monét and Ashanti might be familiar artists to have in your playlists. I also heard Destiny’s Child and Ms. Lauryn Hill

I feel like you might like, collect, or work with crystals and metals. I just saw some people here may wear protective jewellery

You like sports, or were heavily involved in sports when you were younger, but you aren’t anymore

I just heard ‘helping hand’, so you may just be a really helpful and generous person. You’d be the friend people go to if they need advice on something

Your Cards: 2 of Wands, 2 of Swords, King of Cups

Your Message: Okay this feels pretty straightforward. Your spirit guides want you to know that you’re coming into a divine partnership (not necessarily romantic if that’s not you’re thing or if you’re aromantic, so this could be a friendship or a business partner even) very soon. With the emphasis on the number two in this reading, this may correlate with timings in your life. You may meet this person in 2 weeks, 2 months, or even within the span of 2 years, but there’s a strong message of divine timing working in your favour. I feel you may have issues trusting the people around you to have good intentions because of negative experiences in the past. This person won’t break that mental belief for you, you’ll do that yourself, but they will certainly be the catalyst for it. Maybe the reason why you’re so jaded is because you’ve hoped for this so long the hope soured to cynicism, but this is not the natural state of your soul. This person will offer you the emotionally mature partnership you’ve dreamed of, with a sensitivity for you and your feelings you aren’t used to. Your spirit guides can’t wait for you to meet them because I’m hearing this relationship will be healing for all the parties involved. They’re with you on this every step of the way.

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 3!

Your Song: Love Is on My Side by Brandy

#pick a card #pac #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #divination #spirituality #witchcraft #witchblr #witches of tumblr #spirit guides #spirit guidance

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chaoticneutralgood2627 · 6 months

Text

Advice to College Students (From someone who's trying to apply for a master's program)

Note that these are in no particular order and from my own particular experience. I will add if I think of more.

TAKE NOTES ON EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY IF YOU FIND IT COOL: your brain will tell you 'I'll remember that fact, it's so neat!' Your brain is a BITCH. You will not remember SHIT. Take ALL the notes. If you can record your classes, even better!

Write down who your professors are for each class. Make a big document. All the years. Write them. Write down their vibes and if you like them. Write down what sort of assignments they gave. Because I'm over here trying desperately to remember which professors I had multiple classes with so I can beg them for recommendations.

Save your assignments. Even if they're horribly cringey. You can use this to gauge how far you've come. I know it hurts your soul. I have fanfic from when I was 12. Do it anyway.

When they tell you the grad school shit, pay attention. Even if you don't plan to go back to school. Because I didn't listen and now I have changed my mind and I have no recollection of that section of school.

Networking. Gather contacts from your classmates. If for no other reason than because you think they're intimidating and you don't want your LinkedIn to look depressing. They're probably just as intimidated by you. And if not, you can pretend they are.

College is not high school. Next to no one has friends at first. Everyone is a disaster. Talk to people. You might not find Your People in your first friend group. That's fine. There are people there somewhere that can make life less awful. The worst they can say is no, you can't be friends with us (and most people aren't that bitchy). The universe is big and no one is judging you harder than you are.

It's not that friends Can't Live Together, it's that people have different organization styles and needs for survival and sometimes those Do Not Mesh. If you're going to live with someone, make sure that you have talked about things.

Everything can go on a resume if you word it right. Editing a friend's paper? Congrats, you have editing and tutoring experience. Playing DND on weekends? Cooperation and teambuilding to work towards a common goal, sometimes in the face of creative differences (your friends want to Fight Everything and you want to Stay Alive (or reversed)). EVERYTHING CAN GO ON A RESUME.

There are so many resources on campus. Use them, for the love of god because then you're going to be an adultier adult and realize that there is not a med center right across the campus.

Find what motivates you. Mine is spite, I am applying to grad school to get out of retail and to spite 2 specific supervisors. Cling to that when you want to drop out and quit.

There is not a specific route to take in college. Or out of college. Listen to yourself rather than everyone's advice (I am aware that this is ironic to be on an advice post).

If you think you can wake up at 9 after like 4 hours of sleep, that is the devil talking to you. Go to bed.

On the same note. I am aware that you woke up at like 5 for high school. You will not want to exist before noon. 8 am classes are not illegal, but they should be.

Take care of yourself. You're paying a shit ton of money to be there, you can take an hour to eat the food. Plus, if you take care of yourself, then you will work better.

There will be weird shit happening all over. Just roll with it. Unless it's hurting someone or has the potential to hurt someone (my one friend got stalked).

You are not required to stay somewhere social if it's creeping you the fuck out or if you aren't comfy. I think I went to a single party in my entire college life and I hid in the corner with their illegal kitten the whole time.

Speaking of illegal kittens. If you know someone has an illegal kitten, no the fuck you do not. There probably will be at least one. And you do not know about it.

#college life #college campus #college students #advice #college advice #college #student #help

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sourholland · 1 year

Text

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → welcome to the first part of style!! if you guys enjoy this i can for sure come up with a more permanent updating schedule. like i said, i came up with this idea pretty suddenly. let me know to be added to the taglist, interaction is always encouraged if you like!!! it lets me know you guys want more parts

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol use, mention of injury, nsfw content - unprotected sex

word count → 4.1k

reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1

After a rigorous auditioning process with over a thousand girls trying to earn their spot on the Bengal’s Cheerleading Squad, only forty made the cut. Most returners, some new like yourself. You’d watched girls break bones, continuing to audition on them to have a shot on the squad. Many left in tears, cut and sent home with hardly any reason why.

There was a little bit of metaphorical survivor’s guilt after you’d made the team, knowing this wasn’t your dream like it was for some others. This was only a season or two commitment for you while you finished up your last year of college. Then you’d become a teacher, something you’d had a passion for over the years. Cheerleading was more so a hobby, you’d danced all of your life and had cheered in high school. This wasn’t going to be your livelihood, nor did it offer you the funds to live off of for more than a short while.

There were plenty of rules to follow, many of which had you questioning if this was truly what you wanted. The handbook they’d given you was thick, although some of the girls had told you that they’d lessened up on the requirements over the years after a lawsuit had been filed. In the end, it wasn’t so bad. Tedious, but still a very surreal experience.

From about April to the middle of July, it was practice twice a week from 7:30 at night to about 11. There was a separate facility used to work and condition through the colder months, just following the Super Bowl. Once pre-season truly began, the whole team moved practice facilities. This put you in the same place as the Bengals practiced, giving you more field time than gym time to get acclimated. It was different, especially due to the fact that players and cheerleaders were placed at an arms length most of the time.

The afternoon of the first practice at the new stadium, you’d all been given the talk. This was basically your coaches and executives way of saying that if anyone found out that anyone off the squad had anything more than a friendly, professional relationship with one of the players—they’d be either cut or sanctioned. It was bad for the image of the team, making it bad for those in charge.

It shouldn’t have been a problem.

That first night practice in August was tough, you were coming off of a sprained ankle and the heat was blistering even at 8 at night. Amanda, your head coach, sent you inside to grab some ice from the athletic trainer to bring back out to the field. There was a stigma around the coaching and treatment of NFL cheerleaders, but you’d mostly had a decent experience so far. Your coaches did care that you were healthy and equipped to cheer.

Adorned in a slightly baggy Bengals T-shirt and spandex, you walked through the empty halls of the mostly deserted facility. The players had just ended their practice about an hour earlier, you watched them all exit into the locker room. That meant that mostly everyone had called it a night, heading home. The cheerleaders stayed late because practice was meant to be after work or class, it wasn’t a full-time job.

The door to the athletic trainers office was slightly ajar, the light on. Pushing it open slightly, you stepped in with furrowed eyebrows and a curious look. On the large medical table, ice in hand, sat Joe Borrow still in his practice jersey and shorts. The office was empty besides him, trainer nowhere to be seen.

He was a good looking guy, you’d give him that. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6’4 or maybe it was the fact that he was really fucking good at his sport. He looked up at you and gave a friendly grin, laying the ice on his knee.

“Emily said she was heading home about a half hour ago, her kid was sick or something so she had to pick him up from the babysitter,” Joe told you politely. “I came in just as she was like walking out, she just told me to lock up the office when I was done.”

Someone was clearly a rambler.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I was just going to grab some ice.”

He nodded and went silent while you walked over to the ice maker, taking the plastic scooper and putting some of it into a plastic bag. He was still looking at you, making it obvious as you saw him from your peripheral. Twisting the bag, you felt slightly awkward just standing there in silence.

“I’m Joe,” he spoke again.

“Y/N,” you turned back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand towards you, smiling as you took it and shook it softly. When you broke from his grip, he remained looking at you. He was definitely one of those people who looked you right in the eyes through the entire conversation. You didn’t know if this made you particularly uncomfortable or slightly excited.

“You’re a cheerleader.”

“Was that a question?” You chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“No, no. I was kind of just thinking out loud.”

He was easily flustered, that much was obvious. He repositioned the bag of ice and looked back up at you with slightly pink cheeks. This made you want to crack a grin, feeling like you were talking to a boy for the first time ever or something.

“I should head back to practice,” you told him, watching him slowly nod in understanding.

“Yeah, of course,” Joe smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

Walking out of the athletic trainer’s office felt somewhat like developing a crush in sixth grade of sorts. With hot cheeks, you could not get him out of your head for the remainder of practice. Whether it was his stupid hair or his stupid shit-eating grin, or his stupidly toned body.

The drive home was only a twenty-five minute stretch of turning back the interaction in your mind over and over with Phoebe Bridgers playing lightly in the background. Pulling into your apartment complex garage was when you’d finally resorted to telling yourself to leave it be and take a cold shower. This boy was not worth thinking too hard about.

You turned the key over and cut the vehicle off, grabbing your phone and cheer bag to head to the elevator. The walk up was somewhat somber after a hard practice with a racing mind.

By the time you’d made it up to your front door, you glanced down at your phone to check the time. There were several unopened notifications, nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. One immediately stuck out to you, though.

joeyb_9 started following you.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, nearly dropping your keys as you unlocked the door.

There was a small part of you that was excited by this, he was one of the most sought after players in the NFL—who wouldn’t be a bit flattered? Only there was a small part of you that wondered why he was going out of his way to search up your instagram.

Setting your phone down, you resorted to making yourself a quick dinner. Watching your phone light up from where you stood across the kitchen making yourself a wrap was slightly unnerving.

Once you finally couldn’t resist any longer, you sauntered over to grab your phone off of the island. He’d sent you two DMs. One right after the other.

@joeyb_9: Hey

@joeyb_9: It’s Joe.

This boy was either extremely humble or just plain stupid. His ability to continue to tell you that it was Joe—like you wouldn’t know who Joe Burrow was.

@y/n.y/l/n: I’m aware

@y/n.y/l/n: Missing me already?

@joeyb_9: Maybe…

There was a slight pause in between his next message, you weren’t sure what to say to that. This was already pretty bizarre and very against the code of conduct you signed at the start of your cheer season.

@joeyb_9: Sorry if this is weird

@y/n.y/l/n: That you’re sliding into my dms lol?

@joeyb_9: Is that what this is??

@y/n.y/l/n: You use that on all the girls, Joe?

@joeyb_9: Would you believe me if I said no?

@y/n.y/l/n: Probably not lmfao

@joeyb_9: That’s fair, I probably wouldn’t either

This was the point in the conversation where you always wondered what to do. It also was pretty obvious that you were not the only girl Joe Burrow probably private messaged on instagram. He’d probably long forget about you by morning and the few hours of your stomach doing backflips at every message would cease.

@y/n.y/l/n: Alright, I’m headed to bed.

@y/n.y/l/n: Was nice meeting you earlier. Have a goodnight!

@joeyb_9: Goodnight, Y/N :)

The smiley face was only slightly scream inducing. He was a nice guy, but he was not just any guy. This was the type of guy that charms you straight into bed and is gone before you wake up. This was what you reminded yourself at least.

The next day was fairly simple, the thought of Joe escaping you almost entirely by lunch. Classes hadn’t yet begun, making it easy for you to go out with girlfriends and get your mind off of any failed talking stages or unattainable guys like Joe Burrow.

“He’s hot as fuck, though,” Lena said, eyes closed as she laid on a towel beside you.

It was a lake day, the heat beading down on the both of you as you felt the sun on your bikini clad skin. On your right and left was Lena and Sydney, both close friends from college. Lena had been your freshman year roommate.

“He is,” Sydney agreed. “Plus, I mean, you can’t say you didn’t think about it a little bit when you started cheering for the Bengals.”

“Okay, screw you!” You laughed. “It’s not some fucking erotica, I don’t cheer hoping to sleep with one of the players.”

“Kind of a turn on, though,” Lena hummed.

Once the three of you had made it onto Lena’s boyfriend’s party barge, you broke out the Mike’s Hard and Twisted Tea. This only led to endless giggling about Joe and pretty much any guy they’d heard you have spoken to since high school.

Living in Ohio had its faults, like the fact that there was no ocean. Lake days on the boat weren’t so bad, though. Sydney had a gift for taking hot pictures too. Her camera skills truly did capture your ass at its best, and your skin glowing.

“Post those,” Lena told you. “See if Mr. Joe Sheisty will like them.”

“He won’t,” you sighed. “He definitely was just fucking around last night.”

They both rolled their eyes and sat back as the boat bobbled a little. While the idea of entertaining Joe was slightly enticing, it was so against the rules and you really couldn’t afford to get kicked off the squad before the first actual game of the season.

The alcohol kind of skewed your judgement, though. Making it fairly easy for you to post the bikini pictures and keep refreshing the likes. You weren’t necessarily proud, but it was hard to resist the urge to match his energy of private messaging you.

A few hours after you made it home, the notification popped up on your screen. You were midway through stretching to work on your routine for your next practice.

joeyb_9 liked your post.

@joeyb_9: Would it be wrong to tell you how gorgeous you are?

This just about sent you over the edge. You’d thought your days of dms from Joe Burrow were done and the novelty would’ve worn off after he’d slept on it.

@y/n.y/l/n: Slightly wrong

@joeyb_9: Fine by me

Swiping out of the instagram app, you decided that you needed to continue your stretch and practice. There was a night practice tomorrow and you couldn’t afford to show up unprepared, this would only end in worse things than flirting with Joe.

Between ab exercises and strength training, you’d been able to glance down at your phone with no more texts received. Of course, you had left him on read. It was pretty obvious his intentions, though. At least it seemed it.

Practice was strenuous, it was only three nights of the weeks so the coaches made sure to push each girl to their limit each night. By the last thirty minutes of practice, your ankle was on fire.

They’d made you run through the stunting over and over again, launching you into the air and cradling you over and over again. The stadium lights were gleaming onto you, your face coated in a thin layer of perspiration.

Through your peripheral, you could see Joe leaning against the doorframe of the stadium support office. He was pretending to scroll through his phone, glancing up and watching every couple of seconds. The players had a practiced later tonight, but still had been done for over forty five minutes.

Every time they sent you up, you were reminded of your distractions. A coach would yell to point your toes, or smile bigger, or suck in harder. Physically, you were exhausted. Mentally, you had already checked out of practice completely.

“Did any of you see Joe?” Carolina asked in a hushed voice, picking up her things as practice ended, ready to head inside. “He was watching for like a half hour.”

“Really?” Johnna smirked. “Alright, which one of you is he sleeping with? I won’t tell, I just have to know,” she teased.

The girls continued to discuss it bashfully all the way inside. Joe was nowhere to be seen, making you wonder if he’d even been there to watch you at all. Truly, you were feeding your own delusions. There were so many girls on the team, he was bound to find interest in the group as a whole. That was sort of the whole appeal.

Just as you finished up showering in the locker room, you heard the ding of your phone. Another message from Joe.

@joeyb_9: Hey, I’m in the parking lot. Down for getting something to eat?

The overwhelming feeling of excitement and guilt passed over you. This was so against the rules, and this guy was such a player. It was not worth it, but a part of you didn’t care. You were only twenty one once, wasn’t this the kind of thing you did.

@y/n.y/l/n: Give me like 10 minutes

He liked the message, giving you some time to slip into the white dress you’d thrown in the bag. It was kind of wrinkled, the type of thing you’d put over a bikini leaving the beach. The true definition of a sundress. There were Birks at the bottom of your bag. The August heat was still very sticky and humid, even at almost midnight.

There wasn’t much else in your bag, you let your hair down from its claw clip and used the mascara in your bag to at least lift your lashes. Some Glossier cloud paint and brow gel and you were left with nothing else really. It wasn’t often you needed to do much to your face after practice. You mostly had the few things you did for morning practices before classes.

The walk out to his car was slightly dehumanizing, knowing how badly you were breaking the rules right now. He had turned his headlights off, inside dark and hard to see from an outside perspective. He’d messaged you that he was in a black Porsche, which was telling.

Once you opened the door and the small yellow light came on, you could see him in a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was familiarly slicked back, smirk on his face as he watched you step in.

“You’re going to bring me back to pick up my car, right?” You asked, knowing your car would reside in the parking lot until you came back.

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’ll bring you back to grab your car.”

The car smelled very fresh, you threw you cheer bag in his backseat. It laid next to his football bag, his practice jersey crumbled up and stuffed in carelessly.

He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the lot. It was a comfortable silence for about a minute before he began babbling about watching you practice. You’d never heard a boy so enthused to know about stunting and what it meant to be a flyer.

“What if they drop you, though?” He looked over at you. “Does that happen ever?”

“Well—yes. I kind of just have to get back up and try again or some other girl will take the flyer position. It’s not really something I can control.”

“That’s like crazy,” he mumbled, fully serious.

His radio hummed the sound of Pink Floyd, making you grin. He was a fan of older rock. That, you wouldn’t have guessed. Joe tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, smiling every time he saw you looking at him.

“Do you like Mcdonald’s?” He asked, ready to put his blinker on and pull into the drive thru.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”

He got up to the menu and glanced over it for a second, looking to you for what you wanted. As you told him, he laughed at you for not wanting a burger. This made you teasingly shove him in the arm.

“Welcome to Mcdonald’s. What can I get for you?”

“Alright,” Joe started. “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with onions, a large fry, and a large chocolate shake. Then can I get a ten piece chicken nugget and a large Dr. Pepper.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be it.”

Joe pulled up, still laughing about the fact that you went through a drive thru and got chicken nuggets on purpose. He slid his wallet out of his back pocket, giving you a funny look when you tried to hand him your card.

Pulling up to the first window, he gave the woman his debit card. You turned away from the window, making sure if she did recognize Joe, she would not be able to make out your face. While it was unlikely, it was just too risky. You did the same at the next window, Joe pulling the bag into the car and setting both drinks into the cup holder.

“Alright, I got a good spot to eat,” he said.

Cincinnati had plenty of spots you were unaware of, so when he continued to drive you out of the main part of the city, you were blissfully unaware of where you were. Either this was a ploy to murder you, or he just really liked surprises. After all, you were the one who got into his car.

Once he finally parked at the location, it was pushing one in the morning. It was a deserted lookout, a beautiful view of Cincinnati. The city looked lit up from this view, making your smile at that the gesture.

“The food might be slightly cold by now, but I really just wanted to bring you up here,” he said with a sigh as he sucked down the last of his milkshake.

“Here, have some,” you chuckled and handed him your soda.

The two of you ate, looking out at the city. The small talk was nice, he asked about cheerleading and you asked about football. Joe told you about his family and you asked about his hobbies. By the time you’d been sitting for a half hour, you were trying to throw french fries into his mouth without missing.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” you laughed nervously. “Why did you want me to come here with you, Joe? I mean, it’s all really nice and I’ve had a great time. Just why?”

He was silent for a moment, taking a sip from your soda. The question was kind of sudden, but you had to know. You’d only met a few days before, and this guy definitely had no trouble picking up women. So why you?

“Honestly, I just haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he chuckled. “As stupid as that sounds out loud. I knew you might not go for this, but I thought maybe it’d be worth asking you.”

Your stomach flipped, his hair falling slightly into his eyes. The swell of his arms underneath that white T-shirt. This guy was insanely good looking, and maybe he was just saying what you wanted to hear, but you did really want to hear it.

Now, it wasn’t necessarily a good idea to look at him the way you were. It was impossible not to, though. Like clockwork, he was leaning into you full force and you let your hands go to his hair. His lips were hard on yours, desperate and hot. It was one of those kisses that wasn’t gentle nor rough, but completely and incandescently full of desperation.

Letting your hands slide down his body, you pulled at the white shirt, letting him know it was okay to run his hands up and down your torso. There was a middle console between you, making it hard to truly do much.

“Backseat?” You pulled away.

“Are you sure?” He asked, breathing heavy with swollen lips.

You nodded, he got out of the driver side and threw both bags in the front. Slipping back from the passenger seat, he got in through the back door. Immediately you’d both found each other again, bodies on fire. He let you get on top, straddling his thighs and kissing his throat.

Soon his hands found your breasts, leaving you to let our breathy whimpers. His lips were soon on your neck, sucking hard enough that it might leave a mark. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, pulling his shirt off and letting him do the same with your dress.

Left in your underwear and bra, his fingers grazed overtop of the fabric. His name left your lips in pleas, making his erection grow increasingly more obvious. He was watching you rock back and forth on his fingers, the windows of the car steamy.

“Fuck me,” you breathed. “Please, Joe. Fuck me.”

He unclasped your bra, letting his lips trail from your pulse point at the throat down to your collarbone, then to the bud of your nipple. He played with the other with his fingers, leaving you a whimpering mess. He felt you grind on his clothed erection, sending him into a spiraling mess as he sucked harder and harder, fingers slipping underneath the fabric and inside of you.

Eventually, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you pulled at the waistband of his sweatpants and let him help you to pull them down his thighs. He wore white Calvin Kleins’s, cock very clearly erect and begging to be let out from the constriction.

He slipped his fingers out and took the hem of the underwear, tearing the fabric in half. This made you slap his arm, muttering something about how those were Aerie and expensive.

“I’ll get you another pair,” he kissed you again.

You sat up on top of him, aligning yourself and letting his length sink into you. There was sweat dripping off of both of you, burying your head into his neck.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

It was like nothing mattered except for this moment, you weren’t thinking about the consequences of your actions, or why it was wrong. He steadied your hips and held your jaw, looking you in the eyes at each thrust until you both came undone. Neither of you had regulated breathing, the whole car smelled like a mix of sex and his cologne.

“Fuck,” you sighed, head dropping onto his shoulder.

Slowly, you got off of his lap and let the realization of what you’d just done hit you. Here you were, in the back seat of Joe Burrow’s Porsche, having just had car sex. Now you had no underwear as well.

He pulled his underwear and sweatpants up, looking over at you and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. There was something funny about the entire situation, making you nearly bust into a fit of giggles.

“Are you laughing?” He teased.

“A little,” you laid your head against the seat.

He leaned forward and grabbed the Dr. Pepper from the middle console, taking a long sip and holding it out to you. You were pretty sure this wasn’t one of the five love languages, but it worked nonetheless.

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#joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series #joe burrow x yn #joe sheisty #joe burrow #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow blurbs #elle’s fics

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heich0e · 2 years

Text

a gentle tap against the metal of the trailer door has you turning towards the unimposing sound.

"oh!" you say, setting down the brush you'd been cleaning as you spot a familiar figure in the doorway. "good morning."

touya dips his head in a little nod of greeting. his voice is sleepy and thick as he rasps out his own little g'mornin back.

he looks around the empty trailer, three seats and stations open in front of him. you follow his gaze as it travels across each available chair, and then back to you.

"where do you want me?"

you tap the back of the seat closest to you. "here's good!"

touya shuffles in, dropping himself into the seat. he's got a coffee in his hand, and you can smell the warm, rich scent wafting up each time he tilts the to-go cup back to take a sip. it's not from a nice cafe like you might expect but rather a simple cup emblazoned with the logo of a convenience store, and even though you're not the one drinking it, you swear you taste the familiar, slightly burnt bitterness of cheap coffee on your tongue.

"just you and i again this morning?" touya asks through a little yawn as you line up some skincare and shaving products at your station in front of him.

"you take the longest, after all," you laugh lightly, glancing at him in the reflection of the mirror. his disarmingly bright eyes meet yours, still slightly lidded with fatigue, and you quickly look away once more.

"i'm the problem child," he sighs jokingly, slumping down into his seat. he's still got his puffer coat on--it's barely 5AM, and it's chilly outside since the sun hasn't yet risen over the production lot--and you swallow down a laugh as the collar of his coat bunches up around his cheeks, like a down-filled ruff.

touya's special effects makeup takes a minimum of four hours to apply--and that's in its most minimal form. if he needs his chest and arms exposed in a scene, it can take upwards of 8 hours to get him ready for set. it means his call times are almost always earlier than his cast mates, and as you're the lead sfx artist on this season's production, it means the two of you often find yourselves alone for the first few hours of the day as you begin the process of turning touya into dabi.

the first step in the undertaking is shaving.

touya doesn't have a particularly notable amount of body or facial hair, but the adhesive that affixes his character's prosthetic scars and staples to his skin requires as smooth of a canvas as possible for best performance, so every morning you carefully shave the smooth planes of his cheeks, jaw, and throat (occasionally down to his chest and arms.)

it's a surprisingly intimate, harrowing ordeal, dragging the sharp straight razor across his skin. you pay careful attention not to nick him, knowing it will just make your job harder down the line if you have to treat a wound. you often find yourself holding your breath as you pull the blade softly along his jaw, your eyes watching your every movement raptly.

"don't sweeney todd me," touya murmurs as you hold his chin in your hand. his eyes had been closed as you worked, but they flutter open to peek up at you as his words hang in the air between you.

you chuckle breathily, redistributing the froth of the shaving cream along one side of his chin with your thumb. his skin is warm and smooth under the slip of the foam. "stop talking, and I won't have a reason to."

next is a simple cleanse to clean off any lingering shaving cream or hair, and to prepare his skin for the skincare you'll press into it to protect it from any negative effects as a result of all the makeup that will follow. you have a hairband that you keep on hand just for touya—half because it's effective, and half because you think he looks sort of cute with his fluffy white hair pushed back from his face like that. it has two little cat ears on either side of the band, and he'd actually giggled the first time he'd seen it, much to your surprise.

(you keep two spares tucked away into the back of your kit, in exactly the same design, just in case anything ever happened to this one.)

then finally, after his skin is sufficiently prepped—soft and dewy with moisturizer that rapidly sinks into his pores—the real work begins.

you keep reference photos on hand—touya's face and body, in full makeup, from every possible angle—affixed to the mirror and spread across the station countertop to make sure you're recreating his character's appearance in exact detail. it's an arduous, painstaking process, that requires a professionally trained eye and meticulous attention to detail. by the end of the application, your hands sometimes ache—your knuckles tender to the touch—and sometimes you need assistants to come in and help put on finishing touches if you're short on time and rushing to get him to set. but you take your job very seriously, and refuse to let him leave your chair anything short of perfect.

"how's it feeling?" you ask, applying a bit of shading onto the prosthetic attached to his neck—raised, textured skin to imitate a burn that you're hand-painting to look more realistic. the familiar smell of liquid latex and alcohol hangs in the air, slowly overtaking the residual smell of the skincare you'd used on his skin.

"awful," touya gripes, though you expect nothing less.

"so, same as always?"

"same as always," he agrees with a little laugh.

you glance at the smartwatch on your wrist, backing away from touya’s personal space and setting your makeup brush down atop your station. “it’s almost eight. a PA should show up with your breakfast soon before I start on your face.”

“wow, is it that late already?” he asks, surprised, sitting up slightly in his seat.

“sick of me yet?” you tease him, wiping some of the reddish purple pigment from the tips of your fingers onto your smock.

he smiles as much as the prosthetic affixed to his neck and chin will allow as the glue sets, and shakes his head.

“nah.”

touya’s breakfast on set is always the same: another cup of coffee (black), a little cup of fruit salad (he eats around the green grapes and yet never asks for the caterer to leave them out), a granola bar which he tucks into his pocket to snack on later even though it will definitely mess up his makeup, and a breakfast sandwich.

“how come you don’t eat the grapes?” you finally ask the question that's been plaguing your mind for the past few weeks, watching as he sets the little plastic cup aside with 8 green grapes still sitting in the bottom.

he chews the piece of strawberry he still has in his mouth, swallows, then speaks.

“they’re gross.”

“they are not,”—you roll your eyes—“they’re delicious.”

touya’s nose crinkles. “they’re squishy and sour and taste like wet raisins.”

“they are wet raisins,” you remind him pointedly.

touya shoots you a look as if to say exactly.

“oh, let me guess, you also hate tomatoes?” you go on to ask.

he gags dramatically.

“don’t!” you chide him, seeing the way some of the staples lift along his jaw. you surge forward and grab his chin in your hand to still him, tilting his face so you can survey the damage. you click your tongue and dab a bit more adhesive onto the little metal bits and press them into his skin. his eyes watch your face while you work.

“I never took you for a picky eater,” you remark softly as you hold the pressure steady against his cheek.

“don’t you have any foods you don’t like?” he asks you, equally quiet, while you wait for the adhesive to take.

you hum curiously. “not really.”

his turquoise eyes widen. “nothing?”

“i mean,”—you lift your fingers off his face and watch to make sure the staples stay in place—“i don’t really love those really weird, funky cheeses. you know, the ones that look fuzzy?”

touya shudders—evidently he does know, and he agrees.

you glance at your watch again. 8:20. it’s time to get back to work.

“down your coffee, we’ve gotta start on your face.”

touya sighs, but doesn't complain, reaching for his half-drained drink obediently.

the face is inarguably the toughest part of touya’s makeup. the camera will be focused there most closely, meaning it’s the most important part to get right. the staples need to be in the exact right place. the adhesive must be applied liberally enough to keep everything in place, but not so thick as to limit touya’s ability to emote.

there’s music playing in the makeup trailer, but its kept relatively low—your own playlist that you have free reign to control until other artists and talent show up to begin their days, and the noise in the space grows too loud for any music to be heard over it anyway. it’s a mix of old favourites and songs you’ve found recently that you’ve been enjoying. touya never complains about the unusual mismatch, hums along softly to the ones that he does recognize, and and you’ve even caught him shazam-ing a song or two a couple of times in your mornings together, which fills you with an unusual feeling of pride.

you’re quiet as you work, completely immersed in the task, and the only sound in the makeup trailer is the playlist in the background, you and touya's alternating breaths, and the sound of your tools as you pick them up and set them down on your station.

“do you want them?” touya asks you softly, shattering the silence as you hold the fake scar tissue under his left eye, waiting for the glue to set enough to take the pressure of your fingertips away.

you tilt your head to the side as you lean over him, painfully close to his face.

“huh?”

“the grapes,” he says quietly. “do you want them?”

your breath catches a little in your throat as you watch his eyes flicker unmistakably down to your lips.

your chest feels tight, and you will your fingertips not to tremble.

“maybe later,” you murmur.

“later?” he echoes. but it almost feels like he’s asking about something else entirely.

you hum, not sure you'd be able to form any words even if you tried.

another makeup artist shows up moments later, the metal trailer door creaking open as they enter. she greets the two of you and claims the station at the far end of the trailer, and it's like the bubble of intimacy enveloping the two of you up until that point has been punctured and popped.

you’re a little grateful for the interruption, you can’t help but think.

touya's impossibly soft question of later? echoes in your mind for the rest of the morning.

#touya x reader #touya x you #dabi x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki #dabi #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #bnha drabble #bnha writing #writing #actor au!touya

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love-lilly02 · 30 days

Text

The Challenge— Ch. 8

AN: This is a preview for the next part, where we will find out more about the readers past and get to explore the existing elation ship between the boys. it got posted early so the next chapter could take a while or come out like tomorrow, idk

“Hold still,” Price said, holding the packs above your hands. You nodded, shifting nervously on your knees. “Only gonna hurt for a second.” He lied every time, but the brief attempt at comfort made you feel a bit better.

The second the medication touched the burns you cringed, tensing immensely. You heard him try to tell you to relax, but his voice was drowned out by a wave of pain. Every time you two did this procedure it only seemed to get worse, but you were slightly thankful for it.

Coming back home had been rough. Nik only stayed for a few hours, making sure that you were situated and properly taken care of before he returned to his desolate corner in russia (they always preached how lucky you were to make your way to him, instead of heading in your enemies direction), and you had been thrown into testing immediately after that.

It felt like something out of a marvel movie, they assessed your injuries and just how well you were able to operate, thanks to Nik, you were still able to participate in field work as a long distance asset, you gave them the information you stole from the russians, and they gave you medicine for the many burns you had on your body.

Which was why you found yourself in this position.

You could still use your hands, thankfully. They were good for a manner of things, fighting, eating, and the like. But you couldn’t do things like write or hold a brush, which was the exact task required to apply the medicine that the doctors gave. So Price had to help you.

At first it was awkward, sitting there half naked on his desk while he applied a cream that burned worse than the one Nikolai gave you all over your body, but you two slowly got used to it, even breaking the tense silence with small bursts of conversation. Usually about something that had happened earlier that day. Never about the indecent that put you in this position.

There was one burn that required special attention, seeing as it hadn’t healed correctly. On the back of your neck, just in the juncture connecting your shoulders, and the only place you couldn’t reach. That one specifically hurt the worst, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving to touch it once the cream was applied.

Price’s solution to this was to have you sit between his legs while it was applied.

It did help, of course. Any time you tried to shift your neck or flinch away from the pain, he was there with a steadying hand on your head and a slight “Don’t wana do that,” and you were still again.

Some nights were better than others, but you were always distinctly aware of the position it left you in.

Just as you were always aware of the way he would go half-hard every time you two did that.

“There you go, all done.” You sat back, looking up at him with wide eyes. You didn’t miss the way he had to swallow a bit harder, or shift his hips ever so slightly. “Wasn’t too bad.”

“You try having second degree burns and come back with that same bull shit.” He just laughed and shook his head.

“Ya know… if you want to talk about what happened—“

“John, it’s okay.” Truth be told, it wasn’t okay. It was the farthest thing from okay, but you weren’t going to bring it up anytime soon. “What happened happened.”

He just grunted. “ ‘Boys still haven’t given up on that challenge.” You just laughed, wincing at the sting of the burns.

“Honestly, you guys find even one photo and i’ll sing your praises.” You could feel his eyes on you as you got dressed, and sure enough when you turned back around he was staring at you with a different kind of intensity.

“It took you being gone for two months for us to realize we hardly know anything about you. Why is that?”

You blinked in surprise, stepping towards the door. “I have my reasons.” The hall was empty, and you sort of wished John had people outside eavesdropping on your conversation.

“Find those photos and you’ll figure it out.”

me when i wanna write sex but they aren’t like that yet

My masterlist<3333

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader

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coffeedepressionsoup · 3 months

Text

Somebody Does Love | MYG - He Falls First

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where Yoongi is a man with a crush, and Sammy is a diligent shipper. Part 4 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.9k+

Warnings - lil swearing, drinking is injurious to health, smoking too (dk if that bit is in there), flustered Yoongi Pro Max

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona

A/N - It would seem the word limit is me overcompensating for the long break. Hehehe. I have received so many positive and encouraging comments throughout this time, some anonymous, I wanted to write a slightly longer note to thank you all. On some of the worst days, your enthusiasm puts a smile on my face. Thank you, and take my warmest love.

Partially proofread. Basically word vomit. Written in three frenzied, sleepless nights. Please be kind. Like, reblog and comment to let me know what you think of this chapter. Also, feel free to DM me to be added to the taglist. That's all. Enjoy!

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Sammy tries his best to keep a straight face as he looks at his friend of more than 8 years explaining why he decided to drop by his house - the third time in two weeks, which is more than the number of visits in the last two years, combined.

Min Yoongi, the friend in question here, allegedly found inspiration at a park earlier that day and had the beats for a new song in mind, for which Sammy was being requested to work on the lyrics. Could it have waited until the next day? Apparently not.

The urgency (of the creative variety, of course) is why the award-winning music producer was hunched over at Sammy’s living room sofa, having hijacked the latter’s laptop.

However, the explanation did not seem satisfactory to Sammy. I mean, obviously, there are some good beats that Yoongi presented in the short while that he was there. But that is not unbelievable. He has previously seen him finish a song in less than an hour.

Even the inspiration is not doubtful. Not in the least. Of course, he can believe in finding inspiration for a song at random places, at random times. Sammy himself had made a song about the annoyance shaving can be after a particularly annoying early morning schedule.

The urgency, however, is the fishy bit. Not that it’s too late in the night. It’s 10:27, Sammy checks his phone. It is not too late at all for his friends to get together for drinks or movies. But turning up at his house though? And Yoongi?

Sammy has had to often take in a drunk and dejected Jaehyeong at around midnight when he was going through a difficult breakup and would end up in his neighbourhood because the ex used to live close by. Dojoon and Yijeong would often come in unannounced for impromptu jamming sessions. Hajoon would drop by to cuddle Woolfie. You get the drift.

But the most Yoongi had done, in all their years of knowing each other, was call and ask if he was down for a drink and/or meal. If it was regarding work, a .wav file over chat. Never has he barged into his house, unannounced. What are the odds of that happening after 8 years of knowing one another? Thrice within 14 days? Sammy wondered.

The first time did indeed take him by surprise.

Sammy was getting out of the gym in his building and heading towards the elevators to climb back to his apartment. He had promised Y/N some of his signature japchae for dinner. She had been nagging him for it ever since she arrived in Seoul. The previous night at Hajoon’s place, he pinky swore that he would make it for dinner the next day. He was ordering all the ingredients he’d need to fulfill that promise. It was as he was going to add spinach to the cart that Yoongi’s caller ID floated on his screen.

“Hel-”

“Are you at home now?”

“Uh-yeah, wh-”

“Okay”

And the line disconnected.

Sammy had intended to call Yoongi back. But by the time, he got back to the apartment and freshened up, he heard the buzz of his doorbell. Expecting his grocery deliveries, Sammy was disappointed to find someone else at the door.

He was more surprised when he realised that someone was Yoongi, with the straps of a tan corduroy tote bag clutched in one of his hands. The two men stared at each other for a few quiet moments - one in confusion, the other in fluster. Meanwhile, Sammy’s groceries arrived and since they were at the door already, the two friends quickly emptied the items and returned the bag to the delivery person.

Once the door was shut, Yoongi held up the bag, saying, “I had some leftover food.”

Sammy nodded. Yoongi had made him food at times when he was sick, and even when he had locked himself in his apartment save the daily hour-long walks with Woolfie to finish his first solo album. This was not a new thing. And even then, the rapper did not announce “I made this for you.” It was always variations of “I made too much,” “I don’t want this anymore,” or sometimes just quietly shoved into the arms, without any explanations.

But what he wondered was why now. He was neither sick nor stressed. They did not even have an ongoing argument that needed to be smoothed over with pensive bribery or a crony bet that required settlement.

“What’d you make?” he asked, carrying the meat that arrived in the delivery alongside a few other boxes to the kitchen.

Yoongi followed with the remaining items in his arms and placed them all, including the bag he was carrying, on the granite-top kitchen island. “Just threw some stuff together,” he lied comfortably. Nobody had to know that he went shopping that noon and handpicked the ribeye fillets among other things.

Sammy smirked at the very vague and characteristically predictable response. “Want some beer?” He saw Yoongi’s head nodding in his peripheral vision as he dived into the fridge to fish out a couple of beer cans.

Stood across from each other, at the kitchen island, the two opened and tipped their cans in silence and took a swig each when Yoongi’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and gestured to Sammy that he would take the call, who nodded back in acknowledgement.

Yoongi walked out of the kitchen with the beer in one hand and his phone held up to the ear in the other.

Sammy was making a mental checklist of the things he needed to soak, wash, peel etc. and in what order as he glanced over the ingredients laid out on the countertop in front of him. When his eyes fell on the tan corduroy bag placed there, curiosity caught up. He dragged it towards himself and brought out the casserole inside it. It was heavier than he anticipated.

He opened the lid to reveal a piping-hot pot full of japchae. His confused frown gave way to a knowing smirk within a couple of seconds when he joined the dots. He closed the lid and continued sipping on his beer as he checked the time on his phone and walked out into his living room.

Y/N will be home soon and things will get interesting, he thought.

Just as he plopped himself on the sofa and turned the TV on, Yoongi, who was perched up against one of the bookshelves, finished his call, shoved his phone in his back pocket and joined his friend.

By now, Woolfie had woken up from his evening nap and strolled out. He wagged his tail and shoved his snoot up Yoongi’s crotch, as he usually does, earning coos and cuddles from the man.

Sammy patted his dog on the back a couple of times from beside his friend, resulting in Woolfie withdrawing from the aforementioned crotch and sitting down in front of the couch, like the goodest (we know it is a valid superlative adjective for all dogs) ever boy that he was. Yoongi chuckled and continued showering pets on the husky till he heard his friend’s almost prosaic statement, made apparently to no one in particular.

“Y/N loves japchae.”

Yoongi tried his best to not react to the statement. He took another swig of his beer attempting to appear nonchalant. But chalant, he was. Of course, he knew Y/N loved japchae. She lamented missing the dish and reprimanded Sammy for a good part of two minutes the previous night for not making it. When Hobi suggested ordering the dish, she rejected the idea claiming she wanted the kind with slightly burnt garlic, the one that Sammy made once by mistake and has since and will forever have to make it that way for this adorable little friend of his.

However, Sammy would never describe Y/N as adorable or little. He would choose something along the lines of tenacious and talkative. Adorable and little were Yoongi’s interjections as he observed the japchae exchange unfold. Adorable because everything about Y/N seemed to warm his heart at that time - her voice, her hand gestures, her face, her anecdotes. And little because he often found himself wishing, throughout the night, to hold her close and safe, near him, like a little flower.

That morning, when they were leaving Hajoon's place, Yoongi remembered the smile she had as she waved her goodbyes. At one point, her eyes landed on him, and she said a simple, “See you around.”

He managed to smile back and nod in acknowledgement. He wished to no one in particular that the around would come sooner than later. Then his eyes fell on the jacket that was draped across her forearm. His jacket. His smile faded and anxiety crept back in.

Yoongi had attempted about twice through the night to will himself into owning up as the owner of the jacket. But he failed. Sometimes he drowned in her eyes, or the curve of her smile. At other times, his will just wasn't strong enough to face the mountain of curses and rebuttals he'd heard about his perceived self, or rather of his absence.

As he saw her drive away with Sammy, he decided what to do. He will cook one of her favourite dishes, directly own up for his fuckery and apologise, no conditions applied. Simple enough plan, one-third of which he seemed to have completed successfully. With his friend's single comment though, all his resolve started to fall apart.

This was too forward, wasn't it? Is he encroaching? In a space where he doesn't belong? Is he making this too easy? Too hard to deal with?

Sammy saw in glee as the top of his friend’s ears and cheeks turned a bashful red. He stopped at a channel playing “Tease Me” by Seo Inguk and paused.

Yoongi gulped down the last bit of beer in that can, crushed the sides a little and cleared his throat. “Everyone loves japchae. It is easy to make.”

“Is that why you made it?”

Yoongi turned to look at his friend and looked into his eyes. Fucker had caught on, had he not? He cursed internally but held his gaze, unfaltering.

“Yes.”

Sammy let out a laugh and did not implore more. If he teased some more, there may be actual smoke coming out of the poor man’s ears.

Before Yoongi could act annoyed about being inflicted with stupid, pointless questions, their attention was drawn by Woolfie’s gentle growling. The dog jumped up on all fours and pattered towards the front door of the duplex, wagging his tail.

Familiar enough action for Sammy, he continued surfing channels without reacting but glanced over at Yoongi ever so often.

Confused by the dog’s sudden departure, his face had a frown in the beginning which smoothened out and gave way to his mouth hanging open ever so slightly when he heard a familiar cooing voice.

Yoongi was not surprised by Y/N’s arrival, he was of course expecting it. He was however not ready for his heart to beat that fast at only her voice, even when sober. For some inexplicable reason, he stood up from the sofa.

He heard Y/N’s giggles from the corridor and when he finally saw her, he regretted standing up because he could feel his heels faltering a bit.

Y/N was half carrying, half dragging the 50-something pound Siberian Husky and muttering phrases like “Yes I missed you too bubba.” “Aww my little baby.” “I know I know.” “I love you so much.” into his fur, which was peppered by pleased grumbles and breathy sighs from the dog. He was quite happy having resigned his weight over to one of his favourite humans, not minding one bit for having his hind feet dragged leisurely across the carpeted floor because she was gone for a tad bit longer than he would have preferred. Fines would have to be paid.

Sammy’s anticipation was killing him but the sight of his child with one of his best friends endeared him a lot more. Grinning at the duo, he clicked a couple of pictures and walked towards one of the shelves.

“Come on big boy, time for your walk,” he called out as he picked out one of Woolfie’s favourite leads. The boy, snapping out of his baby mode, whoofed and ran towards his dad in earnest, earning a giggle from all the adults in the room.

Y/N could place all but one of those sounds. One from her, unmistakable. One from Sammy, who had managed to hook the lead on. She turned to see the source of the third giggle, whose face had now frozen into a taut smile.

Sammy’s voice emerged before the other two people could say anything. “Yoongi, Y/N. Y/N, Yoongi. Y’all remember each other right? From a few hours ago?”

“Yes, of course, hi,” Y/N said.

“Hi,” Yoongi whispered back.

Sammy stopped near the turn of the corridor and said, “Yoongi bought us japchae. He made too much.”

And with that he walked out of the door, laughing once he was out of earshot.

What he left behind was a red Yoongi, warm to the touch. The last thing he heard was, “Oh thank you so much! Hope you are staying for dinner.”

Sammy does not yet know the details of what transpired in the 35 minutes that he was gone. He apologised to Woolfie for cutting their walk short but his curiosity would not allow him to not observe the progress of what could become a legendary love story further down the line. He would even volunteer to write the foreward if a book was ever written on the matter.

Was he building castles in the air? Yes. But was it unfounded? No. Even with the japchae out of the equation, he saw his 33-year-old friend fluster like a teenager with a crush. He also had to stomach about 1:40 minutes of “Oh I thought he was haughty at first but he’s quite a good listener. Helps that he is cute,” from when they started driving back from Hajoon’s place, till Y/N left for work that morning. He liked to believe that he was a realist, but what is life really without the dystopian fantasies of romance we build in our silly little heads?

He had come back to the pair of his friends in the kitchen - Y/N straining out some noodles and adding them to a pan of sauce and Yoongi chopping spring onions, with Ash perched upon his shoulder, observing his skills like a diligent invigilator.

The tail end of the conversation that Sammy managed to catch was - “That is probably a smoother blend, but the aftertaste of Glenfiddich sits better with me,” Y/N said, to which Yoongi replied, “I agree. But you have to try Bowmore once. I might have a bit of the 15-year-old left, I can bring it over next time.”

Which had offered a very flexible segwue to the second visit that Yoongi made to Sammy’s place. Sunday night. As Y/N and Sammy were watching the match highlights of an earlier Arsenal vs Liverpool game, the bell rang.

Sammy was less surprised this time when he buzzed Yoongi in. He held up an unopened bottle of Bowmore 15 Scotch Whiskey this time instead of a tote bag. He walked in to see Y/N scream at the TV with half a chicken wing pointed at it with some of it still in her mouth, muffling the expletives.

When she saw Yoongi, she smiled a wide smile to greet him. He smiled back but when he saw the packets of chicken and beer cans strewn around, felt immediately like he was intruding. Intruding into quality time between two people. All because he could not stop thinking about one of these two people at all, and had also not mustered enough courage to exchange numbers with. He admonished himself internally endlessly for everything in the next couple of seconds of silence where he thought of what he could say.

He settled on, “I-uh told you about this,” held the bottle up again, “Thought I would drop it by.” He went up and placed the bottle on the lounge table.

“Are you not staying?” the question was immediate. Innocent enough but filled with a slight tone of disappointment that tugged at his heart.

“Yeah, what the fuck dude. You gotta have at least a couple of drinks with us.” Sammy patted him across the back. That encouraged him.

“Yeah. It’s only going to be fun when you have someone else who also enjoys and understands scotch,” Y/N said, ignoring the hurt Sammy displayed at the slight jab, adding, “Stay for a bit if you have nothing else lined up.” That convinced him.

“I did not mean to interrupt anything,” he said half matter-of-factly, half apologetically.

“We are eating fried chicken and watching a week-old football match. Trust me, you’re adding life to the party,” Y/N said as she scooted over to allow Yoongi enough space to sit by the lounge table, facing the TV.

Yoongi blushed and could feel his ears heat up as he sat down beside her. Y/N did not notice it but Sammy did. “It is true though, Sammy does not really enjoy anything other than a beer.”

“Well, fuck me that I like for my tongue to not burn out of existence,” Sammy grumbled as he brought over three glasses and ice.

A little more than half the bottle was finished that night between Y/N and Yoongi, who bonded quite seamlessly over teasing Sammy about giving up after a single peg, scotch in general and discussions over media’s ever-evolving role in influencing a person’s life choices on a day-to-day basis.

Although Sammy would have offered the sofa to Yoongi for the next few hours anyway, he stepped back when Y/N urged Yoongi to not drive back. He also exaggerated how tired he was with a couple of over-the-top yawns, which would have been suspicious if he was amongst sober company. He therefore hurried back to his bedroom and shut the door, allowing his friends the privacy he thought they probably sought.

He was partly right. Yoongi and Y/N had both wished to have met one-on-one but neither had the balls to ask the other first, caught up within webs of self-doubt and anxious ominosity in their heads. Even with Sammy having retired to his room, as they sat alone, only with each other for company, they did not dare go where their mind sometimes wandered to.

There had been occasional hand and shoulder brushes throughout the night that they managed to glance over. With Sammy gone, though, they became hyper-aware of their proximity. Y/N turned to look at Yoongi and when he did the same, they were one head tip away from a kiss. Theoretically.

He tracked as her eyes moved from his own and fell to his lips and then back.

Y/N could feel warmth wash over all her body. She also felt his warm breath sync with hers. His face was flush and his lips luscious, inviting.

She had thought about these lips often in the past few days. Not intentionally, but she caught herself with her mind wandering quite often. Him - his demeanour, his voice and his attitude pulled her in. If she was reading things right, there was an interest she could read as well. If making the japchae was not a loud enough argument for that school of thought, the glances and the smiles surely were. Since Sunday, there have been a tonne of those and the eyes never lie, right?

And those damned eyes. They seemed familiar but at the same time, she found new depths in them each time she focussed on them. She stared at those dark orbs for a while before tracking back down to his lips.

This man was too beautiful for Y/N to hold her sanity. But she had to try. He was who he was in the public eye, but he was also Sammy’s friend.

Sammy is one of the most important pieces in the stained glass panel of her life. And pursuing something like this with one of his friends and industry peers would intermingle things beyond a point of recovery.

She readjusted her posture with an audible sigh.

Yoongi drew in a sharp breath and looked down at his hands fiddling with a coaster on the floor. An apology sitting at the tip of his tongue. But before he could get it out he could hear Y/N say, “We’re drunk, aren’t we?”

He looked up to see a smile on her face. He would call it fond but there was something else in it. However, he could not stop smiling back. He nodded slightly and let out a huff of giggle. For a moment it felt like he was 16 again.

Y/N slapped her thighs and got up. “I will get you some covers,” and by the time Yoongi managed to drag his ass up onto the couch, she was back with a comforter and a throw blanket.

She held the folded items out to him, “‘s all I could find.” He muttered a thank you and when he went to grab them, his left palm grazed over hers, ever so slightly. But it was enough to spark him awake, out of whatever sleepy haze he was in a moment earlier.

He heard Y/N say “sleep well” on her way back to her room. He lay on his back staring at an empty spot on the ceiling, trying to replay images from earlier that evening and the last thought he remembered having was that he had to ask her out. Properly.

Yoongi woke up to a slight pinching sensation on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Ash making biscuits on his pecs. He nuzzled the kitten closer to his face and drifted off again for a couple of minutes before waking up to a strong waft of coffee that Sammy was brewing in the kitchen.

Y/N had left for work already. Yoongi left soon after coffee and a handful of muesli. He expected Sammy to tease him in some manner but was not met with anything other than what their normal mornings post a night-long drinking session sounded like.

Work kept him busy enough for the next couple of days. But not enough for him to completely ignore what he decided to do. Ask her out. Properly.

Which brings us all to today. Wednesday. Almost midnight. Yoongi was a little taken aback to learn Y/N was not in. But that minor flick of a longing he could not put a name to yet, immediately lit a few of his neurons alight and he had to get the beats and melody down before it slipped away.

Sammy, amused as he was, also impressed by the tune, brought out his trustee Fender CD60 to play around with.

Splayed across the living room floor, with a few beer cans, a couple of notebooks, a guitar and a laptop on each of their laps - that is how Y/N found the two men when she came in after her departmental dinner with a few of her university colleagues.

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