#I attempted to edit them to not much success

[starseungs]

take a shot. ksm. (teaser)

kim seungmin x fem!reader — it really shouldn't take a genius to figure out that you and your co-star didn't get along. you knew kim seungmin. you knew how life functioned despite the cameras. and you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

genre/s — drama, angst, fluff, a sprinkle of comedy, actors au, rivals to lovers • teaser: 1.2k words (actual fic: around 10k or more)

warning/s — profanity, main characters aren't on the best terms, implied death taken lightly, more warnings will be added on actual release if necessary.

note — enjoy the product of me and @starlostseungmin's active imagination over chanel seungmin.... how does one look THAT good? 😖💘 : taglist is open!

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The car remained silent despite your words of confusion. You felt as though your world had come to an extreme halt, giving you a whiplash as the buzz of the road outside continued to pierce through your ears. There was nothing else to keep your mind away from the absolute bomb of news that was just given to you; your manager had turned it down before uttering the horrid sentence that brought your untimely demise.

The car may have kept on with its task of moving forward—but you were stuck frozen in place.

“You’re joking.”

Your world fell on seemingly deaf ears. The man up front, steering the wheel, rendered himself mute to your growing distress, finding the busy traffic of city life interesting enough to keep his eyes glued. But the urban chaos didn’t distract you one bit from brewing a storm of gunpowder inside your throat.

And just like that, a ghost of a click was heard.

“No—please tell me you’re joking,” you voiced out, tone betraying your attempts at keeping things respectful. It soon came to your attention that the effort was of no use, as your manager still chose to keep his peace. “Changbin!”

The car swiveled a bit off-lane for a second before returning to its correct course. Normally, such an abrupt action by a vehicle would concern you, as you would argue that you were still much too young to suffer at the hands of a road accident, but no such thoughts even made their way into your brain. Just like how time had stopped for you, there was no time for debating over survival either. One life or death situation was already enough for you.

You wanted answers, and you were going to get them.

Changbin exhaled audibly from the scare he just put both of you through. His hands shook with a slight tremor, and that was all it took for him to decide that pulling over to the nearest parking area was for the best.

“Don’t yell in the car like that!” You scoffed at his scolding, finding the whole situation ironic.

“Oh, so you can do it all the time, but I can’t?” You shot back. Changbin sighed tiredly, finally registering the extent of your agitation. "Plus, I have a perfectly good reason why I’m yelling!”

“Listen, Y/N, it’s really not that bad—”

“Yes, it is that bad!” The words spill out of your mouth in utter disbelief at his attempts at assurance. “I’m working with Kim Seungmin, of all people!”

“And that’s why it’d be fine!” Changbin argued, running a hand through his already tousled hair. You blinked at his reply, baffled by the sheer implication.

“—How?”

Changbin clicked his tongue at the question, finding it hard to digest just why you were so against working with the mentioned actor. With the mere sound of that actor’s name spat out of your mouth, one would think that he had somehow managed to offend your entire bloodline. But that kind of bitterness could only be achieved through a sour history, so you really couldn’t empathize with your manager’s mindset either.

Even you knew that this movie would be enormously successful from the director alone. Director Han Jisung’s influence and presence in the industry were not a laughing matter—in fact, you should already be trembling in anxiety just knowing that you snagged probably the biggest role you’d ever get in your whole career. He was only around the same age as you, but the winding list of his achievements was already one for the records. And yet, here you were rethinking your contract with him even before the project started.

Just because of who you were going to be acting alongside with.

“Seungmin is a nice person,” Changbin explained gently, like he was coaxing a child, intentionally ignoring the way your face scrunched up at what he said. “I did my research, ok? Everyone only has high praises for him, both on and off set. Isn’t that enough to be trusted?”

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from digging a deeper hole to lie in. The answer was no—it wasn’t enough to be trusted. Now, at this point, someone would’ve had half the mind to ask why you were so sure about your vendetta against the man. If a person was so well loved in a world where cameras were pointed at them in every waking minute, then shouldn’t all the dirt be found by now, if there was any?

To that, your answer would be yet another no.

Because you knew Kim Seungmin. You knew how life functioned despite the cameras. And you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

“Turn the car around.”

Changbin’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets at your demand. Surely, he had heard you now. You crossed your arms and leaned back to rest comfortably on the carseat, turning your head to face the window and glare at the world outside, continuing on with their lives like a well-followed routine.

“Y/N, this is a big opportunity—”

“I said, turn the car around. I’m not attending this cursed table reading,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to keep the incoming migraine at bay.

“You really think I’ll willingly step into a room with the devil’s incarnate? I’d rather get shot—”

“—sensing a great shot!”

Director Han Jisung nodded positively at your performance, satisfied with your initial portrayal of the female lead.

“If we keep going like this, then I’m expecting this project to be a big hit. The casting team really did their pay’s worth on this one,” the young director hummed. “Especially you, Actor Kim Seungmin. I don’t know how they managed to get through your company's walls, but I’m glad they did. You’re perfect for the role!”

You felt your eye twitch as the figure bearing the name appeared within your vision. His mouth curled up into an arrogant smirk, hastily covered up by a bashful smile. You cringed at his actions that only you seemed to see. Why was this prick acting all humble?

“Ah, I always wanted to act in one of your films, Director Han. This is more of an amazing opportunity for me than you, honestly.”

That smoothed honey voice wrapped itself around the room’s premise, charming everyone around like it was coming from an alluring siren. All except you.

Your mouth filled with a coating of spite as his next sentence echoed through your ears. His eyes locked you in as a target, a wordless challenge shooting straight at your own.

“Plus, seeing who my co-star is, I’m quite thrilled to see the end product,” Seungmin grinned with a manic glint.

Fuck. You should’ve turned that damned car around yourself.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix

#starseungs-basement #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #stray kids fanfiction #seungmin fanfiction #skz fanfiction

[kyopmi]

we've talked about jealous omi before but what about when u get jealous and clingy? or alternatively:

♡ — when you're in a secret relationship with kiyoomi but his fans start shipping him with someone else

｡:ﾟ sakusa kiyoomi x reader

｡:ﾟ 1.06k words; all aboard the fluff train!

the second kiyoomi steps foot in your shared apartment, it seems like you're clinging onto him more than usual – greeting him with many kisses and a lingering hug, choosing to sit next to him instead of across from him at dinner, and flopping right on top of him on the couch to watch your show.

kiyoomi doesn't mind at all, arms encircled around your form with one hand resting on the small of your back while the other between your shoulder blades, fingers occasionally moving to brush against your neck ever so slightly and enjoying the way you shiver delightfully and bury your face into his chest.

he is curious, though.

“y/n.”

“hmm?” your response is slightly muffled by the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“what's gotten you so clingy today?”

always so straightforward, you think. then again, he wouldn't be sakusa kiyoomi if he wasn't.

“... nothi-”

“no.” he's immediately cuts you off on your attempted lie, shooting you a pointed look.

“alright, fine,” you huff in defeat, “i saw that video of you and the sports reporter earlier.”

“from the last match?” he asks.

“yeah.”

kiyoomi knows exactly which sports reporter video you're talking about. it's the one where he's stood next to them for a short interview after a successful MSBY match, but just as the reporter was about to begin, they had accidentally dropped the cue cards they were holding. without thinking twice, sakusa had bent down to help pick up the stray cards while the reporter stuttered out apologies, thanking him as he hands them their cards back.

to him, it was a completely normal, harmless interaction.

to some fans, it was the blossoming of a romantic-cliche relationship.

and it usually wouldn't have bothered you so much – you know first-hand how attractive and irresistible kiyoomi is, so it's not surprising that anyone would crush on him at least a little. (in fact, maybe you would be offended for him if no one did.) so, seeing other people getting starstruck or tongue-tied in the presence of your boyfriend? nothing out of the ordinary.

however, it does start getting annoying when you spend your entire afternoon scrolling through social media only to find tweets, video edits and comments about “the way he looks at them is so cute😍”, “he's definitely crushing on the reporter!”, “i'm gonna riot if they don't become a couple ASAP.”

all because of the stupid “cool-guy” image your stupid handsome boyfriend has accidentally portrayed himself as, so now everyone's going crazy at the slightest crumb of him being a decent human being? plus that last comment is being way too dramatic.

your relationship with kiyoomi isn't really a secret, per se. many of your friends and families know about it. it's just the both of you tend to keep it lowkey – no excessive PDA or social media posts, and somehow the media has yet to catch wind of it, either. but, you've always enjoyed the privacy you get from it and so does kiyoomi, so you've agreed to keep your relationship the way it is.

but that was before you desperately wanted to comment “sorry, he’s taken! xoxo” at every post of kiyoomi and that sports reporter. 

of course, you wouldn’t actually do that, and you realize you’re just being petty and dramatic right now (not that you’d ever admit that to kiyoomi. the amount of times you’ve teased him, calling him dramatic? he would never let you live this down.) but a little jealousy in your situation is reasonable, right?

kiyoomi chuckles in amusement from beneath you, a soft smile growing when he sees your pout deepen. his toned arms squeeze you tighter, closer to him, pulling you up towards his face so he can lean in and press a kiss on your forehead. 

“you know it’s just the internet doing its thing, right? they’ll get bored and move on to something new soon enough,” he hums, his hand rubbing circles on your back.

“i know,” you sigh, feeling yourself instantly relax under his touch and you melt into him even more, “it’s just annoying to see.”

he hums again in acknowledgement. there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment, with only the sounds from the tv playing in the background, until kiyoomi speaks again.

“hey,” he calls out, quieter this time, making you look at him again, “you know i love you, right?”

kiyoomi doesn’t realize his heart is pounding until a small smile graces your lips and he feels himself calm down, the corners of his lips mirroring your own.

“of course i know that, silly,” you laugh. “i love you, too.”

“good.” he leans in once again, this time to capture your lips with his in a slow kiss.

sakusa kiyoomi has always loved you with his actions more so than his words, and right now, he hopes his kiss is able to convey just how much love he has for you, in the way his honey lip balm that you got him tastes on his lips, in the way you can definitely feel his heart pick up its pace, in the way his large hand is gently splayed across your face down to your neck, his index and middle finger resting on one side of your cheek and his thumb on the other side, while the rest of his fingers can feel your similarly quickening pulse as they rest just below your jaw. he’s reluctant when you pull away, keeping you as close as possible so you can still feel his breath tickle against your skin as he holds back a pout lest you start calling him your cute baby boy.

“do you want to tell them? everyone, i mean. like, officially,” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

you blink in surprise at his sudden offer. “no, it’s fine. i like us the way we are,” you reply truthfully, “and, like you said, it’ll pass soon enough.”

“okay.” kiyoomi nods and gives you another peck on your lips, one that silently says me too. “i’ll get atsumu or hinata to post a shirtless thirst trap or something. that should shift their attention.”

you snort at his idea. it’s admittedly not a bad one, but...

“i’ll do you one better, omi. why don’t you post a – mmph!”

kiyoomi is quick to shut you up with another kiss on that one.

this is my apology to kiyoomi for always saying he’s dramatic (i mean, he is, but don’t tell him i said that) and PLEASE tell me no one saw me accidentally post this when it was half-done LMAO

#see i told u im plagued with omi thoughts #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu scenarios #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #&works

[twilightarc-gm]

hello :D can you tell me why you like chengxian?

A Non-Comprehensive Guide to Twi's Love of ChengXian

Yes I spent time making this edit. I love them and I'm not an artist so sue me.

Short Answer: I love these two self-sacrificing assholes and their aesthetics and I think they should kiss and get a happy ending for once. If MXTX doesn't want to do it, I'll write it instead! 😤

Long Answer: Click the Read More

"As long as we both live in this world, we'll meet sooner or later." -- Vol1 Chap6

👏 MDZS literally doesn't happen without Yunmeng Shuangjie, it doesn't happen without the huge sense of debt and love and envy and pride and duty that comprises everything about the relationship between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. They must meet because their stories are so wrapped up in each other that where one ends and the other begins is a blurred line at best.

MXTX put in so much work to separate these two for the happily ever after she wanted and if you think about it too much you start to wonder if the Wei Wuxian we grew to love with this story, that says this kind of line, is ever going to be really happy without Jiang Cheng in his life.

💗It's not incest, but the boys wish it was. I am half-joking about this, but also absolutely serious. The vague labels on their relationship is a very big part of the point!

They are very much the Shixiong/shidi(mei) xianxia/wuxia romance trope. The talented and wonderful shixiong. The shidi(mei) that adores their shixiong but can't be honest about it. Childhood friends to sweethearts. MXTX uses this trope and subverts it by not making it endgame or letting the story just end with the tragedy of the First Siege.

She uses the power of this trope to feed into everything in and around the secret of the Golden Core Transfer. It ends up affecting the entire cultivation world as the greatest token of love, of devotion, of sacrifice, of consequence, of dubious consent, of the crux of the very story itself... which is just incredibly powerful.

And the rest of MDZS flows from that.

He had always thought Jiang Cheng would be the one standing with him, and Lan Wangji against him. He'd never imagined that reality would be the complete opposite.

This is literally errata from vol1 official pg 262 and I swear it wasn't put in the first time because it feeds ChengXian too much. You say that Wei Wuxian thought Jiang Cheng would always be by his side? He couldn't imagine a world where that wasn't true?? That now he's in a reality where it's the opposite??? Omg???? Like this is the sum of the ChengXian tragedy right here because MXTX made a reality where they couldn't be together! 💔😭

Like LOOK!

“When you become the family head, I’ll be your subordinate. We’ll be just like our fathers. Who cares about the Twin Jades of Lan? Our Yunmeng has Twin Heroes! So—just shut up. Who said you’re not worthy of being family head? No one’s allowed to say that, not even you. Say it and you’re asking to get beat.” --Vol3 Chap12

You see for me it's about the strain between love and duty and all the points where those two cross.

My actual favorite romance trope is king/lionheart - lord/devoted - leader/subordinate - patron/agent - master/servant - 知己 (zhiji)

this relationship of knowing is one that is worth dying for

“So when Wei-gongzi returned to seek us out, my jiejie was reluctant to even attempt the procedure, at first. She warned him that writing an essay was one thing, but actually doing it was quite another. She wasn’t even confident she’d have a fifty percent chance of success.

“But Wei-gongzi kept pestering her. He said fifty percent was fine; the chances of success and failure were equal. Even if it didn’t work out and his core was wasted, he wasn’t worried about his future—but that wasn’t the case for Sect Leader Jiang. He was too competitive, too focused on what he stood to gain and lose in this aspect, since cultivation was his life. And if Sect Leader Jiang could only ever be an ordinary, mediocre person, his life would be over.” --Vol4 Chap19

Wei Wuxian was willing to risk his life on a 50% chance if it meant Jiang Cheng would Live. Yes yes Wei Wuxian's patent assholery here about how Jiang Cheng is so competitive etc, classic fooling himself. The point is that Jiang Cheng wouldn't be Jiang Cheng anymore and Wei Wuxian would rather die than experience that. Would rather cut himself apart than fail to protect his shidi.

Speaking of failures...

Perhaps there was this:

“I didn’t get caught by the Wen Clan because I insisted on returning to Lotus Pier to retrieve my parents’ bodies.

“When you went to buy rations in that small town during our escape, a group of Wen cultivators caught up to us.

“I noticed them early and left the spot where I’d been sitting to hide in a corner of the street. I didn’t get caught, but they were patrolling, and they would have surely bumped into you while you were getting us food.

“So I ran out and lured them away.” --Vol5 Chap22

Jiang Cheng never wanted Wei Wuxian to die, let alone die for him. He breaks down at the shrine coming to terms with what he will ultimately think of as his fault. We know this because when he feels at fault he doesn't speak of his good intentions. So, he distracts the Wen-dogs from Wei Wuxian > Gets caught and survives, broken > as far as he knows he's miraculously healed > only to find out that Wei Wuxian was taken by the Wen-dogs anyway 3 months later > Jiang Cheng never speaks of his failures, so will never say how lost his core in the first place > a war and 13 years later he finds out that not only did he fail to protect Wei Wuxian from Wen-dogs, but now also knows unequivocally that Wei Wuxian's descent into heretic cultivation was his fault... again.

As tears streamed down his face, he hissed through gritted teeth, “…Why…why didn’t you tell me?!”

And he begs to know why Wei Wuxian would do this!

“Consider it a repayment of my debt to the Jiangs,” Wei Wuxian added.

Jiang Cheng raised his head and looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “…To my father, my mother, my sister?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Not him. Wei Wuxian won't admit it's for Jiang Cheng--the shidi he meant to protect as a good shixiong, the master he was meant to support, the heir and symbol of the clan and sect he loved so much he would readily lose a hand to protect.

The way Wei Wuxian tortures Wen Zhuliu by leaving him whole and standing while his charge Wen Chao is torn up bit by bit... The delicious parallels of -- you made me a failure, now see how you like it, watch the one you are meant to protect be torn asunder.

...

Hold on I need a moment...

...

How about some cute stuff?

Wei Wuxian waved him off and then hooked his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. -- Vol1 Chap4

He put his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and dragged him over to the veranda railings to sit down.

[...]

Jiang Cheng was quiet, but he seemed to have calmed down a little. Wei Wuxian put an arm around his shoulders again. --Vol3 Chap12

💗Wei Wuxian is always all over the person/s he likes and loves. Jiang Yanli might have been the first to carry Wei Wuxian but Jiang Cheng's were the first shoulders he chose to hang off of. Jiang Cheng stands so straight because he is used to bearing Wei Wuxian's weight! (Also he's of the gentry, and you can make arguments about a rod in places where the sun doesn't shine, but Wei Wuxian benefits regardless!)

Among all the kicks and shoves and rough housing and sparring, they are just so tactile.

Gif from this post.

… Jiang Cheng, walk slower, you’re gonna throw me off.”

Not only did Jiang Cheng want to throw Wei Wuxian off, but he practically wanted to bash his head into the ground to create a human crater. “So fussy even though I’m carrying you!”

“I didn’t tell you to carry me,” Wei Wuxian reasoned.

Jiang Cheng flew into a rage. “If I didn’t carry you, I think you’d hang out at their ancestral hall all day, rolling around on the floor. I can’t afford this embarrassment! Lan Wangji took fifty more strikes than you, but he walked away on his own, and you’re not embarrassed, pretending to be an invalid? I don’t want to carry you anymore. Get the hell off!”

“No, I’m wounded,” Wei Wuxian said. --Vol1 Chap4

💜 Yes I am bringing back this quote from my Jiang Cheng appreciation post.

Hnng, I am trying to be more concise, but like one of the things I also enjoy in romance is how two imperfect people choose to be together and that choice that they make is the gold and solder that fits the pieces together into art. Sure MDZS didn't want to go there even though that's where it started, but to me it will only ever be the story of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

Honestly even Yi City arc is YMSJ | CX to me.

Song Lan = Jiang Cheng

Xiao Xingchen = Wei Wuxian

Baoshan Sanren is involved

Eyes = Golden Core

Baixue Temple = Yunmeng Jiang

GUILT

RUNNING AWAY

Xue Yang = Yuan Qi (Resentment) Modao/Guidao

CORRUPTION

A-Qing = lwj being obsessed with WWX and fighting his use of guidao like a-Qing is distrustful of XY and XXC being friends with him.

XXC kills SL = WWX kills JC (figuratively, JYL's death destroyed the last of the JC from their childhood and all the trust he had in WWX (you cannot tell me that WWX doesn't feel like he caused JYL's death (he couldn't control the corpse that hurt her, he didn't sense the sword coming for him and she had to protect him)))

XXC's suicide and shattered soul is thus my grounds for headcanon to what actually happened to WWX at the First Siege, just sayin'

...

Anyway that's a bunch of canon stuff how about the realm of fanfiction/art?

Meme Format Reasons Twi is unwell about ChengXian:

From this post (yes that's my same edit)

Art Commissioned (So Far, more on the way and some I can't share yet) for ChengXian:

Happy ChengXian with Wei Wuxian in Purple by @robinade

Supportive ChengXian in pretty clothes! by Sugar_Shoal

Some more points for consideration:

💗 Point 1: They can't be normal about each other, due in large part by the people who raised them being unable to be normal about them either.

💗 Point 2: Their opposing ideologies, duties, and priorities make for the best drama, but in a better narrative, would balance each other.

💗 Point 3: Martial sibling romance ➡ tragedy! They fought together! Thought the future would be them together always! Then everything in the narrative tears it apart and all they're left with are the ashes of their choices and the lies that buried them.

💗 Point 4: Every AU where they end up happy instead!! 😭 I can't wait for @twinclownsoflotuspiers next CX Happy Ending event! Thankfully there is also @omiixcx coming up this APR 21st-27th! 👀 Yes that was a promo and prod.

💜 Point 5: ChengXian Pros = Zongzhu-shidi getting to love and protect his shixiong fully and truly without restraint.

🖤 Point 6: XianCheng Pros = Overprotective shixiong merciless in his affections for his Zongzhu-shidi.

💗 Point 7: Ship them for tropes based on miscommunication, acts of service, there was only one bed, boundary issues, genderfuckery, soul bound by choice, bickering, bantering, finishing each other's sentences, married-divorced-never-were, childhood shenanigans, cutting oneself on the other and denying the blood ever was...

...

I am not even getting into the monster/monster-maker aspect, am I? They are both at the same time!

JC makes WWX a monster by being the recipient of the golden core and believing WWX has control of guidao so encourages its use.

WWX makes JC a monster by lying to him until their relationship is broken irrevocably at the Bloodbath and years after JC is known for hunting demonic cultivators.

If you want to get really dark with it, there's also the cannibalistic aspect. WWX becomes a part of JC with the transfer. JC unwittingly consumes WWX and his fortune. The golden core is in the lower dantian, the belly, behind and below the navel. The symbology..! XianCheng is really good for the more gothic themes of the ship.

Let's be real, the vibes are straight up Wuthering Heights in multiple facets. MXTX recently admitted to that novel was one she read so insert conspiracy theory red string board meme here!

...

I spend a lot of time readdressing the themes introduced with the YMSJ dynamic and are exacerbated by the golden core transfer and the way Wei Wuxian handles and fails to handle that situation. I like how destructive they are about each other. There's a lot of potential there to create something together as well, but they were never given the chance.

Ideally, after the Jiang parents were gone and not influencing them anymore, or if they aged up enough to just stand on their own—and Wei Wuxian has his cultivation intact... Well in that scenario they could have easily stayed the Twin Prides/Heroes of Yunmeng and they would have been so happy being in the home they both loved and making the most of their lives one step at a time and arguing the whole way.

...

That's what fanfiction is for! 💜💗🖤

Hey, you made it to the end! I hope that was entertaining at least there is so much going on with this ship sometimes my brain just goes brrrr about it, y'know? Take care! Happy CX thoughts to you!

#chengxian #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #twi posts

[teddybeirin]

if you have the means, please help us escape our abusive family

the short version: we need out of here, and if you have the means to comfortably help us, you can help us with getting together the funds to try again to escape here (I will edit the goal when I am able to, the progress shown is for our first attempt earlier this year, which did not last)

the long version.. I don't even know where to begin. Our name is Teddy, and we're living in hell, again, and trying to escape it, again. It was so amazing to be out of here. It was better than anything we'd ever experienced before, in our entire life.

I have been so angry with myself for being unable to keep things that way, we undershot the goal by so much that time because I felt ashamed to ask for more than the bare minimum to get out - no leeway for job searching time, or anything else. It was a mistake to do it that way.. following shame usually is, but what's done is done now, and I am trying not to add any more hurt onto my plate beating myself up over such mistakes.

an update was written for the fundraiser itself, I won't copy it in its entirety to here. I know that everyone has it hard right now, and there is so much hurt in the world, mine is only a drop in an ocean - but I am choosing to believe my loved ones when they say that my life is worth trying to save, and so I am asking for help doing that.

we're doing what we can do on our own - I am back to work that I walked away from for the sake of my mental health before on top of trying to build up less ptsd-exacerbating works, because I feel it is maybe my only shot at a decent steady income, to prevent the same from happening again if I manage to get out of here in the first place. I was not even up to snuff to sell burgers.. It is difficult to cover up bruises in order to look appealing.

but for so many reasons, I can't do this on my own. the hurdle is too high to get over to get out, even though I have by now proven that I can do quite a lot in terms of providing for myself - it's hard to keep anything together when you are also constantly in fear, and hurting, and being threatened, and having to hide any money we make and limit what we do to only what can be hidden, so many obstacles, that we are having any success despite them is proof enough to me that I can continue with this if we can get out. but that's if we get out.

that we even had our first time out of here, was a miracle. I am so eternally grateful to everyone who helped us have that, and to everyone who has been encouraging me and helping to support us while we are here again, it means the world to me, it is everything to me. It feels so amazing to be an adult, and be alive, and have people who care for me, it's so much different from how I understood my world to be before in all the best of ways.

if you are safe, and if you have enough for yourself as well as to extend help to another, please consider helping us. 💟

thank you for taking the time to read this, for even considering to help us, for all the ways you all have shown me the warmth of the world.. words cannot express how happy I am even to be able to continue to struggle forwards.

thank you for your kind words, and for sharing this, for helping in what ways you can, I hope that your kindness is returned to you tenfold, I hope that if you are in a situation like mine that you also can have a way forwards, I hope that you are all safe and well-fed. 🧸💗

[lincolndjarin]

ride cowgirl! ★ (agent whiskey x reader)

(18+ mdni) pairings : agent whiskey x afab!reader summary : you like to make bets with your coworker for simple things, what happens when he decides he wants to raise the stakes? warnings & tags : no use of y/n, smut, sort of dubcon there's reluctance but everything is consensual, porn with plot, this ended up actually being mostly plot lmao, p in v sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, light bondage, use of restraints, fully clothed sex, pet names, size kink, praise, whiskey big dick truther word count : 2.3k a/n : first new fic post on the new blog!!! I had so much fun with this thank you so much to the person who requested it !! one of my google forms anon requests was for anything whiskey!! (I put the request at the end) this was the direction I went in >:) this was meant to be a drabble but I got carried away immediately. enjoy!! (this was edited super fast bc i'm tired after work lmao, so apologies for any mistakes)

It was a stupid deal. 

And you never should have made it. 

Of course it’s a little late for that now, when he’s already tying your hands behind your back with his ridiculous flask belt. 

“This wasn’t a part of the original agreement.” You grumble as he pulls the leather tight. That smug smile on his face. 

“You said, anyway I wanted it. This is how I want it.” He leans back against the headboard to admire his work. His eyes focused on the way your chest pushes out now with your arms forced behind you until you cough to get his attention. He takes his time before letting his eyes crawl back up to your face, still grinning ear to ear. 

“Can we just get this over with?” You groan. 

“Oh come on, gorgeous.” He’s loosening his tie, his smile never falters. “I already told you we don’t have to do this. I’ve offered you several outs and you keep turning them down. Besides,” He flashes his teeth at you in a toothy grin. “it’s no fun for me if you don’t want it.” 

That’s exactly what he’d said when you’d made this deal a week ago. 

“I think I want your hat.” You said rather confidently. The two of you had a long standing rivalry. You were placing bets nearly every week at this point. The winner was whoever had the most successful missions. It had started off simple. The loser has to take the other out to dinner, or pay for drinks after a night out. 

After a few months of that you’d gone out with Whiskey more times then you’d gone on any dates. 

Then you decided to raise the stakes. 

The other person's paycheck that week, a piece of tech the other had, at one point your mothers phone number was on the line. (Thankfully that week you had won.)

This week you were feeling lucky. So you pointed at his cowboy hat, he was never seen without. 

“If I win I want your hat.” You cock your head to the side, smirking. 

“You have a hat already.” He was typing up a mission report, you had come in as you always did on Monday mornings. 

“Nice observation agent, how’d you figure that out?” You took a pen from the mug on his desk, rapidly clicking it in an attempt to get under his skin. “That doesn’t change my mind, I don’t want my hat. I want yours.”

He sighs in irritation, taking the pen from you and moving the mug to the other side of his computer. 

“And if you win you can have mine.” You flick the rin of his hat as you say it and he finally turns to glare at you. 

“I don’t want your hat, I already have a hat.” 

“Someone’s in a bad mood today.” You whisper theatrically as he turns back to his work. 

“I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through darlin’ so let’s hurry this up.” 

“I already told you. I want your hat, if you don’t want mine then pick something else.” 

He turns in his desk chair completely to face you now. Annoyance visible on his face. 

“If I win, then you wear my hat.” As he speaks he cracks the first smile you’ve seen on him all morning. 

“You aren’t making any sense, are you still waking up? Do you want me to go get you some coffee?” You laugh but he leans forward. Even though you were up on the desk and he was in his chair he was still nearly face to face with you. 

“Darlin’ you can be so cute sometimes.” You have no idea what he means but his voice has a condescending tone that makes you scowl. 

“Stop being coy and just clarify.” His first signs of a smile turn into a full blown grin. 

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” He whispers, you’re about to slap him for making such a crass joke but he looks completely serious. 

“That’s not funny. What do you really want?” You pray he doesn’t see the goosebumps on your arms at his words, you spend so much time with him yet he’s never made a pass at you. You’ve watched him hit on countless women these last few months but he’s never turned his attention towards you quite like this. 

“I told you. You win, you get my hat. I win, you wear it.” He has to be messing with you. You want to believe that he’s just trying to push your buttons but you know purely based on the way he looks at you that he couldn’t be more serious. 

It’s an insane offer. But it’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Who wouldn’t be curious about what he must whisper to get women to come home with him, what he must promise them. 

Stop. You can’t seriously be considering this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously I’m not doing that.” You get up to leave. Embarrassed by the entire situation. 

“You win, you get my hat and the Bronco. I win, you wear the hat.” You’re already walking out when he says it and you stumble a bit before turning back to stare at him slack jawed. 

“You’d give me your car?” The disbelief in your tone is palpable. 

“If you won.”

And you just couldn’t say no. It was too good of an offer. 

So you set up ground rules. 

You wanted your clothes to stay on, at least as much as possible for the situation. Which he agreed to, so long as the two of you did it “how ever he wanted.” You didn’t realize until much later what that entailed. And of course there was the fact that he wanted you to enjoy it. An odd request all things considered, but he said it was important to him that you had a good time. 

“It's no fun for me if you don’t want it.” 

He had insisted that if you weren’t into it that he would stop, especially if he thought you were faking it. 

Once everything was decided the two of you shook hands. 

And then, by some cruel trick of fate, you had fumbled not one, not two, not even three, but all of your missions that week. A feat that has never happened to you in the entire history of your employment with Statesman. 

So that’s how you ended up like this. 

Fully clothed other than your discarded panties, straddling your most annoying coworker, who’s sitting underneath you, dressed the same as always except his pants are unzipped, with his belt around your wrists. 

“Just let me know when you’re ready darlin’, take your time. I can wait all night, I've got nothing else planned.” 

You could tell him no. You should. You just don't want to.

The second you did he would take the belt off your wrists, hand you your panties (the ones you pretended you didn’t see him shove in his pocket when you threw them on the bed,) and send you on your way. And he’d do it all with a smile. 

Of course you can’t let that happen, that would just mean that he’s won, again. 

He wouldn’t even tell anyone, not that anyone knew about the deal to begin with. But he’d never tease you for bailing, he’d just make you live with the knowledge that you bit off more than you could chew. 

And worst of all, if you had won, you know for a fact that he would have handed over the keys to his car with zero hesitation. 

So you roll your eyes and nod. 

He clicks his tongue, leaning forward, his hands rub your thighs, pushing your skirt up further. 

“Tell me you want it sweetheart.” He taunts, making you sigh loudly. 

It’s not that you don’t want it. God knows you want it. You crave it. But you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“I want it.” You say, almost comically emotionless which has him frowning, sitting up straighter. 

“Let’s just call it. You clearly don’t, and I’m not interested in an unenthusiastic partner.” He begins to lift you off of his hips but you push against him, properly sitting yourself in his lap. 

“Give me a second, Jesus. I’m not even warmed up, just- I need a minute. We’re doing this.” There’s a determination in your voice that stops his efforts.

There are a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. 

“Do you want me to… warm you up?” It’s the first time he’s dropped the cocky facade since you started this ordeal. 

“No. I think I’m okay. Let’s do this.” You nod a few times, almost like you’re hyping yourself up. The two of you hadn’t factored in a lot of the logistical details of this deal, more specifically foreplay. 

As he pulls himself out of his jeans you’re starting to wish that you had. He isn’t even completely hard yet and you aren’t entirely sure how you’re going to take all of it. 

He unceremoniously spits into his hand before gripping himself at the base, steadily stroking himself. 

It’s like he’s a porn star and you’ve got front row seats to a private show. 

You’re close enough that when he leans forward, softly grunting, his face brushes against yours. His cock becoming fully erect in his hand, you hope he doesn’t hear you gulp. 

As he jerks himself off, his free hand reaches up, removing his hat before placing it onto your head. It’s a little too big for you so it tilts to one side. He gives you a lopsided grin before picking up his pace. You watch with wide eyes. 

He’s too big. 

In every way possible. 

He’s too long, he’s too thick, he’s simply too much. 

And you can’t tell him that. He’s smug enough as is, if you say “actually nevermind. you’re dick’s too big I couldn’t possibly fuck you.” he’ll be even more insufferable than he already is. But much to your chagrin he already knows what you’re thinking. 

“You still sure you don’t want me to warm you up?” His nerves are clearly gone as he chuckles before hissing through his teeth. His thumb brushes over his pink, weeping tip. 

“I’m fine. Ready when you are.” Not true. 

“Maybe I could free your wrists. You can do it yourself if you don’t want me to do it.” He’s reaching behind you and you once again halt his efforts. 

“No. We’re doing this your way.” 

You’re certainly overestimating your abilities, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You scoot forward in his lap until his cock is resting between your thighs. You sit up on your knees and he lines himself up at your entrance. 

“Last chance to back out, sugar.” With that final taunt from him you sink down onto him without warning. Barely taking more than an inch before you drop your chin to your chest so he can’t see your face as he simultaneously leans back to rest against the headboard once more. 

It feels like he’s splitting you in half. 

His hands return to your thighs. His palms splayed against you as his thumbs rub comforting circles against your flesh. 

The sting is all you can think of but buried beneath it all is a heat that threatens to consume you. 

You lift your head to look at him. He’s lost a bit of his bravado as he runs his fingers through his hair. You don’t give him (or yourself to be fair) a chance to adjust. You have a desperate need to watch him unravel despite the ache between your legs. 

You take a deep breath before you take nearly half of him in one rock of your hips. 

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, the heat in your stomach is bubbling over as you let out a moan you’ve never heard from yourself before. His grip on your thighs is tight enough now that you’re certain you’ll have to wear a longer skirt tomorrow. 

“Christ darlin’.” He stutters out, his eyes are squeezed shut and you couldn’t be more proud. 

“Is this enthusiastic enough for you?” You manage to grunt out between your small gasps. 

He mumbles something that sounds like a yes.

You have to wait longer this time before moving again, you wait until the pain eases itself away and is replaced with that heat you’ve been pursuing. Only then do you try taking more of him, you don’t manage all of it but you take most of him after a bit of effort. The entire time his eyes are trained on you, a look of admiration on his face. 

“You are something else, gorgeous.” He whispers.

His low drawl shoots straight to your core and god you’re sure he knows it. He whimpers when your walls clench around him.

You haven’t even started properly riding him and you’re close. 

The way he fills you has you seeing stars. You would love to try and banter with him right now, tease him, but you’re too far gone. Too focused on the way his tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he lets out a soft whine before squeezing your hips.

“Let me touch you, please.” He mutters breathlessly.

You aren’t one to deny good southern manners. 

You give him a nod and he wastes no time as he rubs your clit with the pads of his fingers frantically, like he’s trying to make you cum as fast as possible. You’re confused as to why for only a moment because your climax approaches so rapidly it nearly knocks the wind out of you. Your hips stutter as you sit, finally fully impaled on his length, in an instant your vision is a searing hot white. His hat tilts forward on your head, briefly covering your eyes. You’re left breathless in his lap, when you come down from your high he’s grinning at you.

“I win again darlin’.” 

You groan as you recall the conversation you’d had right before he had tied your hands behind your back. 

“If I finish first you can have my hat, if you do, then I get to finish inside you.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“If I finish first you can have the Bronco.”

“...Fine.”

a/n : requester ily, thank youuu

#lincolndjarin #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey / reader

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler have a well-known channel on YouTube (the name is something horrible and punny that Eddie and Robin made up, way before they blew up - Four Some (just some four guys and gals you perv). They cover pretty much everything - music reviews, various activities like ice skating, pole dancing or sculpting, they do tasting videos, social experiments and much more. Their personalities are so different but somehow that only makes their content more appealing. It doesn't matter if their videos contain Steve and Eddie replicating the famous pottery scene from the Ghost (and Robin's screeches that they ruined a completely fine vase) or Robin testing whether Nancy's vocal range increases proportionately to how many wine glasses she drinks

Gradually they grow their audience and gather a small crew that works with them. Barb Holland does a lot of editing and directing and she is getting recognized for her achievements, just like Gareth Emerson for his work with sound. Everyone in their crew are friends and are supporting each other in growing and promoting their talents.

There is only one person who has always remained a mystery. The person filming them, always hidden behind a camera. Credits always mention Chris C. and the fanbase tries to pry and figure out who they are, they really do, but the group shuts down their attempts almost instantly. "Chris has been instrumental to this channel's success," Eddie says and there is something hard behind his eyes, something that almost never makes it past his laid-back attitude and usual theatrics. "They have decided to stay out of our videos for a reason and we'd like you to respect their decision."

Not everyone drops it, but the four creators assume a united front and eventually, people stop prying. So it comes as a shock when around a year later, a new video drops on the channel. But the face in it is unknown.

"Hi guys," the young woman smiles and she looks so dejected, so scared, but the sound guy Garreth sits next to her and squeezes her hand, grounding her. "I swore I'd never sit in front of a camera again, but...I think it's time. So let me introduce myself. I am Chrissy Cunningham, but you know me as Chris C. And also..." she takes a deep breath, "I am also Chrissy from the Cunningham family channel."

Chrissy goes through it all. She talks about her life with her mother, an obsessive family blogger, who had Chrissy give up all her hobbies, her friends, her privacy from a young age. How her only friend became the school outcast, Eddie, and she had to keep him a secret too - not because she was ashamed, he meant everything to her, but because her mother would steal him too. How she could never have anything of her own, was always on camera, always tested for reactions, always forced to perform and mocked for it at school. How she couldn't handle it anymore and as soon as she was eighteen, she moved in with Eddie and his uncle. How it was only then that she started learning about herself, about who she was and what she wanted to do. "Now that you know who I am, I hope you can look past what I was made to do years ago and see me as...me. Just me."

She and Gareth leave their seats and are replaced with Eddie and Nancy. While Eddie mostly sits quietly, Nancy introduces their newest project that Chrissy suggested - documentaries on dangers of YouTube, TikTok and their insufficient regulations, especially when it comes to family vloggers and loss of privacy. "It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but that is exactly the point", says Nancy and looks directly at the camera. "We're here on camera, showing you parts of our lives that we want to show. But there are many who didn't consent to this, many who are being exploited for views. And on behalf of this chanel, let me address those who think this is okay. We're coming for you."

#steddie #ronance #drumcheer #stranger things au #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #barb holland #chrissy cunningham #gareth emerson #look I love YT #but some things are seriously fucked up there

[bokutosmochi]

MAKE HIM JEALOUS! ♡ GETO SUGURU featuring wingman!gojo satoru

geto suguru x fem!reader

ingredients? gojo's sick and tired of hearing you fawn about geto and geto fawn about you so he decides to take matters into his own hands, and that's bad news for both you and geto.

what's it? crack, kind of

allergen warning/s? jujutsu high teacher!geto au, wingman!gojo is a warning in and of itself tbh, gojo calls himself "daddy" twice, reader wears short dresses, mentions of going to bars, nonconsensual filming (just making out), gets a little heated at the end

if you don't like gojo, this may not be for you because his wingmaning ways is questionable lol.

sugar level? 5.4k

regulars? @tokyometronetwork @tahonet

parlor's note? this is tied with clingy mammon in the poll that i made, but in celebration of the new trailer and visuals, i decided to post this one first <33 enjoy!!

bon appetit!

from beside you, gojo poked at the puff of your cheek with the end of the plastic fork in his hand as he shamelessly devoured the strawberry cake that was supposed to be for two -- you opted out of it last minute when lost your appetite upon seeing something that made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

"c'mon, sweetcheeks. it's not like suguru's a manwhore." his mouth is full of the spongy delicacy and you had no idea how you understood him, but you did.

he was right though. girls and boys may be fawning over geto left and right, but he never reciprocated their affections nor take advantage of their attraction to him. most of the time, he'd just smile at them politely then bow as he thanked them. and most of the time, gojo would clasp a hand on his back as if proud of how people fawned over his best friend.

unfortunately, one of the people who fawned over his best friend was you. now, having geto suguru as the person you had a crush on wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. it's certainly a better option than catching a crush on the annoyingly immature white-haired sorcerer, but the amount of attention he got didn't help with your confidence, especially since a lot of pretty girls who looked like they won the genetics lottery frequented his instagram dms as well. it made you second guess yourself at times you swore to finally tell him your feelings which was an embarrassingly large number of times because you've been friends with geto since you were children, and now, with the addition of a certain gojo satoru, you were teachers at jujutsu tech.

the moment right now was just one of those times. if you've kept track - which gojo did, because he's gojo - this would have been number three hundred and sixteen. the three hundred and sixteenth failed confession attempt.

you went to the bakery nanami recommended, he said that it's where he got his daily sandwich back when he worked as a salaryman, and bought their strawberry cake. the kind girl who worked behind the register told you that it was limited edition, only available during the season where the strawberries in the area were especially juicy and sweet. it was paid for with the intention of successful love confessions and being eaten together by you and geto, but when you saw him getting friendly with a girl outside campus, you quickly threw it to gojo who was waiting patiently for the opportunity, though he did defend themself saying but sweetcheeks, i swear to the gods i did not want it to happen this way with an icing-laced grin that did not help his case at all.

"yeah but still," you retorted to his previous statement about geto not being a manwhore. "asking a guy who gets asked out on a daily basis to go on a date with you is nerve wracking." you picked on the skin around your fingernails.

gojo hummed thoughtfully from his place on your left as he bit into one of the fruits. "yeah, i guess you should be scared to ask out suguru. after all, it's not like he knows you inside and out and realizes how much of a catch you are." he grins at you, a dollop of whipped cream on the corner of his mouth; his tongue peeped out to slide through it.

"tell ya what," he roughly wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you to him. "let's go shopping tomorrow, okay? my treat. let's buy you a pretty little dress to get your pretty little head off of the boy problems, 'kay?" he stands up and wanders away just as geto sits down on your other side. "what was that about?"

you couldn't help but shrug at him. after all, with gojo, who knew? "god knows."

gojo texted you all the information you needed that night when you were done with your missions and out of school premises.

{from [blue gatorade-eyed menace]: tomorrow. we'll pick you up at your apartment at about ten in the morning. we're going shopping for dresses, so wear something easy to put on and off. peace ✌🏼}

you tried to text him back, asking him about the we in we're picking you up in his text, but didn't get a response back though you're sure he's still awake.

so now it's tomorrow and you're dressed in a casual little black dress with mary jane shoes and white knee high socks. you've already showered, eaten breakfast, brushed your teeth, and packed everything you needed in a neat bag, yet gojo still had no response to the question you asked him yesterday night. you had a festering feeling you wouldn't get one and you'd just have to find out who else he meant by we, although if you were being honest with yourself, you already had a pretty good idea of who it's going to be. one, it was just another person who completed your circle - ieiri shoko did like joining in every now and then when she needs some more chaos in her life - and two, geto, the whole reason that gojo's setting this situation up in the first place.

it's ten fifteen - of course the strongest sorcerer is fashionably late, the way he always is - and you're sat down on your loveseat, bouncing your leg, anxious for what it is gojo has planned out for not just you, but your shared best friend too. you didn't exactly trust the man to not embarass you in front of the black-haired sorcerer for more reasons than what you could count.

you retrieve your phone out of your bag, pressing the power button in order to see if the man send a message, saying anything about cancelled plans - that would only happen if luck happened to be on your side - since they were taking so long. there was none, and when you put the device back where it belongs, you hear a car honk in front of your house, a door slam shut, then a shout. "hey sweetcheeks! get your fine ass out of the house!" you rolled your eyes and left then.

gojo was leaned against the black, sleek, phantom rolls royce he brought for the occasion, a mischievous smirk on his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. when he spotted you, his grin grew even larger as he approached you and threw an arm over your shoulder as you locked your house. "don't take everything i say to heart and flatter yourself, kay? everything's part of the plan."

you didn't need to whisper the way you did since the other man was inside the car which had all windows rolled all the way up, but you did it regardless. gojo already had his back to you, strolling down the pebbled path in front of your house, whistling to himself "the what? what do you mean the plan?" you wanted to catch up to him, to grab him by the shoulder - even though you know it's technically not possible unless he lets you - and ask him what he means by that, why the plan includes him being flirty(?) with you, but the bastard warped quickly got inside the car when he sensed your presence getting close to him.

he looked so smooth doing it too. leaving geto is none the wiser. well, if only you didn't glare at the white-haired menace from where you stood in front of the driver's car door where he sat, before deciding that it was pointless - gojo's as stubborn as a mule - and hopping into the backseat. "what was that about?" one of geto's eyebrows were raised in amusement, looking at you through the mirror. "nothing" was all you grumbled out before looking out through the window and effectively ending the small conversation.

"alright, let's go gang!" gojo cheered, pumping his fists into the air from the front seat as he pressed down on the gas pedal and with that, the three of you were off.

he was a fast driver, so the car ride flew by. you did not even get the opportunity to do some sight seeing as everything was a blur. you stopped looking at the outside world after a while as it would most likely just give you a headache. gojo was behaving strangely throughout the whole time though, pretty over there in the backseat said she needed a new party dress and don't go dozing off on me, sweetheart he smirked at you.

when you got to where he was driving you, you realized that you were no longer in a part of tokyo you were familiar with. the mall standing in front of you as well as the surrounding were unfamiliar.

"never been here before, baby?" gojo's head was tilted to the side, catching your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look up at him and stare right into his eyes. "just hold onto my arm the whole time, yeah? and cross your fingers you won't get lost."

"you lovebirds done?" a deep voice came from behind you. you momentarily forgot about geto because of how much gojo was distracting you with his "plan" you still didn't know the details about so you whipped around backwards in surprise. "yep!" the white haired sorcerer said, popping the p in the word as he threw an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

little did you know, he looked over your head and winked at geto who was narrowing his eyes at his friend. "sorry, suguru. it's either you make a move on her or i will" he mouthed out mockingly before walking towards the entrance.

"okay! how about we get some lunch first. i'm starving." gojo turned towards geto who was avoiding looking at your figure. instead, he kept on focusing on satoru's face or elsewhere in the building. "yeah, sounds good." was his short answer.

much to gojo's relief, it seemed like you were playing along to the song he has been strumming. getting geto to finally muster up the courage to ask you out might be easier than he initially thought.

"where'd ya wanna go for lunch, pretty?" he turned to you, lowering his head so he'd be at eye level with you. on top of that, he also smoothly slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose to expose his eyes, what many people considered to be his greatest asset, physical attraction wise. if gojo wasn't your friend and if you didn't have such a strong feeling of affection and longing towards his best friend, you might have fainted right then and there. many people would kill to be in your position right now, that's something you're sure of -- along with that, you're also sure that those aforementioned people do not know how utterly annoying gojo satoru is.

"i'm craving ramen." you blinked at him, not pulling away from him or getting flustered by the intense eye contact. "d'you know if there's a good ramen place here?"

"i know just the place." he grinned, booping your nose and throwing an innocent look towards geto. "you up for some ramen, suguru?"

the long-haired man hoped that you weren't looking at him right now, him who is gritting his teeth at his second best friend -- he's seriously thinking about giving the title to ieiri instead. "sure. ramen sounds good." his broad shoulders were stiff and there was a forced smile on his face.

he continued to walk behind you and gojo on the way to the ramen place, letting the two of you to lead the way. his arms were crossed and the look on his face was positively dangerous. the playful glint in his eyes that was usually there when the three of you spent time together wasn't there and he was glaring at everything he saw. he looked more intimidating than he does most of the time, and more intimidating than he does whenever he gets send out on missions.

because with those missions, he's confident in his abilities to get them done and exorcise - or sometimes ingest - the curse he needed to get rid off, but in this situation, he didn't know if you returned his feelings for you or if you had a thing for gojo. after all, the bastard told him that he has a thing for you -- the first step of his magnificent plan.

on the car ride to your house, gojo adopted a serious demeanor and asked geto about his feelings for you, telling them that he likes you as well. look man, i know you like her, but if you're not gonna ask her out, i will. i'm not gonna waste any of our times. the seriousness in gojo's voice when he said those words frightened him a bit because he can count the times his friend has been serious on one hand and this just happened to be one of those times.

gojo satoru, you are a royal pain in the ass.

between that and the teasing looks the man has been sending him the moment you got here, he didn't know whether gojo meant it or not.

goddamnit satoru, why must you be like this?

he knew the reason - because he wouldn't stop telling gojo about how much he wanted to ask you out instead of actually asking you to go on a date with him - but it's not like he's going to admit to that anyway.

there wasn't much improvement in either man's behavior when they got to the restaurant. gojo continued to flirt with you, you subtly flirted back -- you didn't reject his advances and shyly looked down, silently thanking him whenever he gave you a compliment. your arms brushed against each other's often, and geto did not find you moving away from gojo, you let gojo feed you one of the deep fried gyozas he ordered, and let gojo tend to the stray strands of hair that was falling onto your face as you blew on the noodles, brushing it to tuck it behind your ear. and finally, geto still sported that annoyed, tight smile on his face. by the way he gripped his chopsticks tightly, skin stretching over the carpals under it and veins going up all the way up to his forearm bulged, the white-haired man sat beside you could tell that your mutual friend was getting pissed off. it would only take just a few more shoves before he broke.

personally, you do not know if this was the best route to take; making your best friend and crush jealous, but then again, you assumed that suguru talked to satoru about his girl problems more than he did with you -- and you weren't wrong thinking that considering the fact that suguru's girl problems orbited around being unable to muster up the courage to ask you out. satoru probably knew what he was doing, right?

"we should go and buy my baby's dress now before he forget about it or spend all our money, hm?" gojo suggested making you nod. he had a hand on your lower back as you led them to your favorite store to finally begin shopping. "and dontcha worry about the price tag baby, daddy's got ya covered." he winked at you, whispering the words into your ear. thankfully, he didn't say it loud enough for the whole store to hear the way he usually does things, he just said it loud enough for suguru, who's walking on the other side of you to pick up. "have some fucking decorum, satoru." he grimaced, wrinkling his nose.

"don't got any!" the man chided playfully, folding both hands behind his head as he strolled around.

you definitely chose a good store to browse through. if gojo wasn't on an in-a-way mission right now, he most likely would have wandered off by himself to look through the different dress shirts and suit jackets they have. the colors they came in were appealing, pleasing to the eye, yet not well-known, and the textures were just as rare. he can go and buy things for himself the next day he doesn't have much on his plate. right now, the most important thing was how the dresses on the racks were exactly geto's type. even if you chose the most hideous one available, he's sure his friend will not be able to take his eyes off of you regardless, but then again, perhaps that has nothing to do with the look of the dress; it's simply because it's you and you're absolutely irresistible to one geto suguru.

geto who tries his best to avoid looking at you or at the assortment of dresses on gojo's arm because he knows the effect that you have on him. geto who separates from the two of you so he could browse through some clothing articles for himself. geto whose only reason for doing that is a pitiful attempt at trying to distract himself from looking in your direction, when in reality, your very presence, the scent of your cursed energy in the air suffocates him and distracts him from thoroughly looking through each article of clothing his hand grazes.

but then, when he hears a whistle in the air that's directed to him, he realizes that there really is no escaping this. "hey suguru, sweetcheeks over here wants to try on some dresses in the dressing room. you should come with." he could have said no. he should have said no, but it was like his feet had a mind of its own. he was already walking towards your direction before he processed gojo's words.

the dressing rooms were big. comparable to the areas in that say yes to the dress show that gojo promises he doesn't like even though he binge watches it every single time he finds himself stressed out.

he cleared his throat as you had your back turned to him, hanging the dresses you had picked out up on the hooks. "i've gotten a few things. you mind if i try em on now too?" his deep voice rumbled making you smile and wave your hand in front of your face.

"of course not, suguru. why're you acting so weird today." and at your words, the other man in the room bursted out in uncontrollable fits of laughter.

"yeah suguru! why the hell are you acting so weird today, huh?" he egged his friend on. gojo had no idea if you meant it that way, but he's entertained and glad you said it regardless.

geto only glared at him, taking all three of the long-sleeved button down shirts he got and getting into the main fitting room; the area you and gojo were in now was still private, just for the three of you, but there was one long couch, a circular platform in the middle of the room, and a large mirror in front of it so you'd be able to observe the clothing you debated on buying from several different angles. the area radiated sophistication and luxury, a spotless bright white color from the floor all the way up.

the first one he tried on was his least favorite. actually, he was still just debating on whether he should get it or not when gojo called his attention to go into the fitting rooms. he grabbed it on a whim, not wanting to be awkward and keep you waiting as he stared at the item of clothing. it was an off white color with gold buttons; the same thread color was used, a shimmering gold lining it. it was made out of a shiny silk, one that had geto's nose scrunching up.

it definitely looked better on the rack and would have preferred it if you didn't see him in the thing, but as soon as he unbuttoned the first button, he heard your voice ring out. "suguruuu what's taking so long?" and of course, gojo being, well, gojo, couldn't help but to follow it up with a "yeah! we wanna see what ya got already!" truthfully, the man scoffed at one of the things on geto's arms when they entered the dressing room and it just so happened to be what the black-haired sorcerer was wearing right now.

with a huff and a short prayer addressed to the gods, hoping that you didn't think he looked ridiculous as he actually did, he puffed his chest out, squared his shoulders, and feigned as much confidence as he can when he walked out of the smaller space within the fitting room.

your eyes widened and gojo didn't even bother covering up his amusement.

thankfully for geto, the next two items of clothing were much better. the three of you thought so and he even ended up with the decision to buy them.

with that ironed out, it was your turn to try things on.

the first one was a lilac-toned dress. it didn't reach mid-thigh, but didn't ride up too much if you were to sit down or bend over. the fabric was glittery, but not to the point of being obnoxious. it had a x-shaped neckline, and showed off the space between your tits. it wasn't the tightest, but still managed to flatter your figure.

"okay, what do we think?"

if you were paying enough attention, you'd see how geto's mouth hung open upon seeing you, and if gojo saw you in the same light as his friend did, he probably would have done the same. "looks good!" he said with a wink and two thumbs up.

"c-could be a little tighter, especially around the waist, but it looks good." geto didn't want you to catch on to him being more-than-flustered, and fortunately for him, he was quick to recover and give you his detailed opinion the way he always does.

"everything looks good on her though." gojo questioned him with a quirk of an eyebrow and it made the man sputter, waving his hands in front of him at both you and gojo.

"i never said it didn't look good! you look good-you always look good-i mean! it just-" you cut him off with a laugh which in his humble opinion resembles that of an angel's. "it's okay, suguru. i know what you meant."

"i might buy this one." you said, smoothing the skirt of the dress out. "it depends on the next ones. if i like this more than one of those, i'll probably buy it." and with that, you were back to the dressing room.

back where your two best friends were sat, there was a whispered one-sided arguement. "don't think i don't know what you're up to, satoru." geto glared making the other man laugh and tilt his head at him.

"oh really now? what am i trying to do then?" he snickered.

geto's fist clenched the same way his jaw did. "you're trying to make me mess up and look like a fool in front of her." was said through gritted teeth, and if anyone else was talking to him, they would probably be on their knees, begging for forgiveness because of how mad and intimidating geto looked, but gojo satoru is not just anyone else. he never was, and he never will be.

he cracks his knuckles and sinks further down into the black leather seat. "it's not my fault you get all fuzzy inside whenever you see her, isn't it suguru?" he grins at him and decides to fess up. "actually, i was trying to get you to confess to her, and guess what? she's on it too. so, are ya actually gonna do it?"

geto's eyes nearly bulged out of his eyes at what left his friend's mouth. does that mean you're aware of his infatuation with you?

who told you about it?

was it satoru? were you able to piece it together yourself? was it painfully obvious that he's painfully in love with you for the past ten years?

how long have you known?

why didn't you do anything about it?

do you find satoru provoking him by flirting with you somewhat entertaining?

do you even want him the same way he wanted you?

so many thoughts were running through his head at an overwhelming speed, but before be could reply to gojo, you were strutting out of the fitting room in a revealing light green number. it was similar to a slip dress, just a few inches shorter than the last one you modeled. it was a spaghetti strap dress and had a rectangular neckline and dipped at the front exposing your neck and collarbones; the color definitely complimented your complexion, geto thought, licking his bottom lip when he thought you weren't looking, when he thought you were too busy gawking at your own reflection because why wouldn't you? his reaction gave you confidence to be bolder, to actually flirt with him. to make it even worse for him now that he's trying to hide his feelings for you - though he recently found out that it's all for naught - was that it was backless. covering nothing of your body posteriorly other than your lower back until the dress reached the hem.

"this one's cute." you commented. the dress much more flowy than the last one, but remained to be sexy and appropriate for bar hopping whenever you - or any of your closest friends - felt the itch to do so. you held the skirt as you spun around in it, stood in the circular platform before staring at your two friends. "what do you guys think? satoru?"

"can't really put what i think into words." he clicked his tongue. "i bet suguru has something to say about that pretty little dress though."

if he was standing up, he's sure his knees would have buckled from the way you quickly turned to him expectantly with the cutest doe eyes and a shadow of a pout on your lips. if you knew about his feelings for you like satoru said, he's sure you're really out to get him, he thought. "i like the other one better." he coughed out. the pout on your lips grew as you looked at yourself in the mirror again. "this one's on sale.. but you're right!"

once again, you heard gojo tsk. "i already told ya princess. 'm your sugar daddy for the day." he smirked, eyes shifting to geto to see his reaction, see the way his eyes dim and the way he irritatingly chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to not let his annoyance show.

you seem to perk up, though, so geto couldn't let himself get angry at gojo for too long. "okay! time for the last one!" you walked into the dressing room, but before you closed the door behind you, you peeked through the gap and winked - was geto going crazy or did you specifically wink at him? - "this last one's my favorite."

surprisingly enough, for the last article of clothing you were going to model for them, neither gojo nor geto knew why you were taking so long. they didn't know if you were trying to get geto on the end of his seat, building up anticipation, or if it was just hard to put on.

from under his breath, gojo uttered out a "you better ask her out after this one." at his friend. "i'm sick and tired of the both of you talking to me about each other. it's getting annoying."

geto gaped internally at that, if the gojo satoru, the person who not only held the title of the strongest sorcerer, but also the title of the most annoying sorcerer found them annoying, then it must be worse than what he initially thought. yet even with this kind of thought, geto simply maintained his calm composure, pairing his inquisitive look directed at gojo with a raise of one of his eyebrows. "i don't think you're in any position to judge someone on them being annoying, satoru."

before the man could reply, you re-entered the room, now clad in the dress that you claimed as your favorite and shit, it's so pretty and it makes you look even prettier, and shit,

it might be geto's favorite too.

you strutted inside the room with an oh-so casual ta-da~ if what you were wearing wasn't enough to put the special grade sorcerer geto suguru to his knees.

the dress was black with cream white colored accents. it was one of those dresses that were very strappy in the back, geto can almost feel the way the skin of your back would warm his hand up whenever he's walking with you at night, guiding you through bars with a palm on the small of your back. the top part of it that's shaped like a butterfly had sequins sewn into it, while the bottom part was made out of a soft velvet-like material. the dress was just long enough to be able to cover your bottom whenever you sat down or bent over to grab something.

it was truly one of a kind, and you in that number was truly a sight to behold.

you didn't need anyone to tell you that though. one, you could see how well the dress complimented your figure, how good you look in it. and two, from the mirror you were facing, you could see the way geto's mouth was slightly hanging open and the way his eyes regarded your form the same way you regard his whenever he rolls up the sleeves of the black button down shirt he wears.

what surprises you though, was the words he spoke while he still found himself unable to strip his eyes away from you. "shit, anybody ever told you how gorgeous you are?" he feels like his mouth is dry, but for some reason, drool can peak out of the corner at any time.

you laughed lightly at him, looking at him from behind a shoulder. "every now and then, why?"

"because," he stands up, still look at you through the reflectively glass in front of you. "you're fucking gorgeous." he's in front of you now with two large warm hands placed firmly on the curve of your waist. after he put his hands on your body, he asked a small you okay with this? which you nodded to. it was all you could do, completely mesmerized and put under the spell of the mint that attacked your senses. the smell of his breath and his perfume as well as his natural scent hit you so hard it almost gave you whiplash.

he wrapped both hands around you now, his hands met at your front. "can i take you out on a date?"

you turn your head to the side and reach up to tangle your fingers into his hair; it messes up the bun he was wearing, and while usually, that would get on the man's nerves, he didn't find it in himself to be the least bit upset when it's you that's doing it. and especially since it's you that's pulling him closer, parting your lips before kissing him.

your lips move in tandem, tongues slipping into each other's mouths as you shift so your body would be facing his. one of your hand remains to be buried in his hair, while the other is wrapped around his shoulders, strong and sturdy after years of workouts and exercise. all the while his hands wander through your frame as if gojo satoru isn't in the same room as you; eventually, his left is on your back, firmly pulling you into him, while the other finds purchase on your ass, groping and grabbing shamelessly.

from in front of you, gojo scoffs. "and he tells me to have decorum." it was only when you pull away that you realize gojo has been broadcasting your whole interaction with suguru on your group chat with your shared friends via video call. your eyes widen in realization while his grin widens at a message he received. "oh, and shoko says finally."

i get: reblog

you get: gojo as your wingman

#order of the day! #order up for geto! #one matcha mochi #with a side of coconut italian ice #geto fluff #geto x reader #geto one shot #geto x you #geto fic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk one shot #jjk x you #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen one shot #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 6: My youth is a scab: under it is a wound that leaks blood

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban make their first move in reconnecting with her past.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Astarion and Ban, by @dafna-winchester

Walking through the artisans’ shops beneath the palace was always an interesting thing, but Ban found herself rather distracted today. Arms linked with her husband’s, she allowed her mind to drift as he handled most of the conversation, chatting amiably and at great length with each artisan they encountered, moving from display to display, eventually pausing to consider commissioning yet another portrait of the two of them.

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“I’ll have to consult my wife about the pose,” Astarion told the artist. “It’ll be on the throne, of course, but I do feel like a slightly different atmosphere would serve to make this piece unique.” He tapped the sketch. “We’ll discuss it and I shall reconvene with you.”

He led her away, making a beeline for the cobbler’s guild’s shop, likely to ask for a fresh pair of wyrmhide shoes to be made.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get a couple pairs this time, in case you keep soaking them.” She quipped, watching his lip curl in feigned irritation.

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes. “One day you’ll wake up to find all your clothes in the fountain. We’ll see how you feel then.”

“I’d be perfectly fine walking around naked,” she teased, and he coughed, stifling a small laugh.

“If only your skill in transforming was as good as your mouth,” he retorted. There was a quick, failed attempt to smack him on the arm; he caught it quickly and kissed her hand instead, smirking.

“I just started a tenday ago!” she insisted, but she knew he was right. There needed to be more effort in it, though she found herself uninterested. If they were to live forever there would inevitably be more instances where it would be much needed.

Astarion merely huffed in amusement, letting go of her hand.

Ban was all too content to let Astarion continue mingling, her thoughts flitting back to their practice sessions. It hadn’t been easy at all - as someone who prided herself on her martial prowess, any sort of magic had always felt unnecessary, a challenge that she never put any effort into mastering. Why learn to cast spells, when cold steel got the job done?

It was unsurprising then, that so far every effort to successfully turn into mist had failed. She’d done a little better in turning into a bat - a tiny, gray-furred version of herself, she lamented - but flying without panicking had eluded her. She’d been lucky; Astarion had taken to catching her whenever she’d inevitably dropped out of the air like a rock, squealing as if her life was on the line.

He’d always chide her, reminding her that she could simply transform back mid-fall, but he always caught her anyway; every time, without fail. She smiled softly at a particular memory: when she’d flown further than she’d ever managed before. Overcome with excitement at her success, she’d turned to look at him, and realized just how far she’d flown. She could barely see him, his lithe form hardly more than a smudge in the distance. Seeing him so far away had deeply unnerved her. Panic had flooded her and the rhythm of her wingbeats had faltered. She’d screeched in terror, plummeting towards the ground.

He’d crossed the distance in an instant, her tiny furred belly landing in his delicate hands yet again. Ban wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more safe than in that moment.

The cobbler seemed happy to have received a work order for five pairs of shoes, all wyrmhide but dyed in various shades - his usual black, vermillion, a deep blue, an emerald green, and white. The last one amused Ban; for someone so concerned about the state of their clothing, white would be challenging.

The next stop was for jewelry, it seemed. Astarion chatted with the jeweler while eyeing the selection. Ban’s eyes roamed over the pieces on display, too preoccupied to register much of anything. Eventually, he dangled a large pair of earrings up towards the light, admiring the large rubies set into them. Ban looked on, watching them swing merrily from her husband’s fingers, the stones sparkling. Rubies, just like his eyes, just like-

Arlette’s favorite necklace. The ruby in it was nowhere near the size of these, but Ban remembered it all too well. Once, she’d tried it on and dropped it, the necklace quickly disappearing into the thick carpet of their home. She’d cried, knowing Arlette would be upset, and had Roderich been home, there would undoubtedly be yet another session of “corrections”. Adrien had come to her rescue, crawling on hands and knees with her to find the necklace before Arlette came into the room.

Adrien. Astarion had noted something off about the way Roderich had spoken about him.

The thought of seeing her parents, of the decision she’d made a month ago, still hangs heavy, but she felt like it must be done for him - for Adrien. They weren’t the closest of siblings, but still. He’d suffered under Roderich’s hand too, under Arlette’s blind eye. After everything that led to the fight with the Netherbrain, the idea of freeing her brother from their parents felt relatively easy. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Astarion seemed to finally notice her silence.

“Love?” He asked, handing the earrings back to the jeweler to place in a little box. “Is something the matter?”

She opened her mind in response, sending him images: of her and Adrien as children, playing amongst the mirrors, of the incident with their mother’s necklace. Memories, few but all the more precious for it, of moments of peace - where they were simply siblings and friends, a brief respite from the horrors of their daily lives. Then her thoughts, as nebulous and unformed as they were; no concrete plan, simply a need to know how her brother is doing and to pry him away from her parents’ clutches, if possible.

He fell silent, taking the now-wrapped box and pressing it into her hands before continuing their slow walk through the shops.

“I had surmised as much,” he said quietly. As she tucked the box into her pocket he thinks, a small crease formed on his brows. “You did say you thought you should see them. I wondered, when nothing further came of that, but I did not want to press. We could…” he paused to admire a pocketwatch from yet another artisan, holding it up by the chain, “invite them to dinner. I assume you’d rather have them here in the palace than have us at the shop, or your old home?”

Ban nodded. “Would give us an advantage.”

“Not that we need it,” Astarion reminded. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his pouch; the watch was evidently to his liking. “But if it does provide some semblance of comfort, we shall do so. Encounters like that, when held in locations that remind you of unpleasant memories,” his eyes scanned the massive room, the former dungeons, and sighed, “are rarely pleasant. I’d love nothing more than to spare you that.”

She couldn’t help but lean against him, pressing a small, grateful kiss to his cheek. “We need to go see my father in the shop, at the least, to invite them.”

Astarion sat in the carriage, Ban’s hand clasped in both of his; she was sitting opposite him, both of them leaning forward. He hated seeing her nervous, her hands feeling colder than usual - not a common occurrence now that she’s undead - and restless. Her fingers twitched and he held them tighter, rubbing his warmer palms against hers. “Let me remind you one last time, Ban. You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to, if only to close that chapter of my life,” she said, eyes locked onto his, as if he was the font from which she drew strength. A rare occurrence - the reverse had been true most of the time, especially before - but a cherished one.

They had a plan, yes, but plans are always changeable, are they not? “The offer is always open, of course. Say the word, and we can just… end all this nonsense.” In an attempt to cheer her up Astarion grinned, playfully baring a hint of fang. She instead closed the gap, kissing him hard. She was all teeth and aggression, her fang nicking his lip on accident. The taste of his own blood stirred a little hunger in him but even more so in her; the way her tongue slipped in and licked the blood told him all he needed to know.

As she devoured his mouth he rubbed her arms, trying to soothe. She soon broke the kiss, eyes wide and a little unfocused. “I’m ready,” she said, pitch a little high. Nodding, Astarion opened the carriage door and stepped out, holding out his arm to help his wife down.

In front of them the store loomed, a little too ominous for such a humble structure, and Ban almost seemed to shrink before it.

Biting back the nearly overwhelming urge to charge in and destroy everything in sight, Astarion laced his fingers through hers. He offered her one last comforting smile, and led the way in.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich said, looking up as Astarion sauntered in, rising to provide a cursory bow. When he noticed the woman walking in behind the nobleman, he went pale, standing ramrod straight, frozen as if paralyzed.

Ban, too, had met her father’s gaze. Her hand tightened around Astarion’s, squeezing almost painfully. She briefly tugged on his arm, then schooled herself. What would her father think if she tucked tail right now?

Better yet, why did she care what Roderich thought?

“Ban?” Roderich gasped, the shock holding him in place seemingly subsiding. He took two aggressive steps toward them, and Ban flinched slightly. Astarion, noticing her discomfort, shifted, placing himself between the two.

“Master Glasscraft,” Astarion said icily, “I’d appreciate it if you gave my wife and I some space.”

The man blinked for a second. “W-wife? That’s… that’s my daughter!” For a moment it seemed like Roderich intended to proceed anyway, that he’d attempt to push past Astarion. Instead he took a moment to regard the cold crimson eyes watching him, the way those cruel-looking lips were curled - ready to strike with the slightest provocation - and thought the better of it. “My lord,” he said, tone suddenly conciliatory, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to see my daughter again.”

Ban, who until this moment had been perfectly content allowing Astarion to take the lead, placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sent a small thought from her mind to his - thank you, my love, but I can handle it.

Immediately he backed off, giving her a small nod. A small wave of gratitude reached her; he’s thankful she’d allowed him into her mind as she confronts her past. With it, however, is a small hint of resentment, one that made her raise her eyebrow at Astarion, but she says nothing for the moment. She took a step forward, letting go of his hand, straightening up to face Roderich.

“Hello, father,” she gritted out. “It’s… nice, seeing you again. I presume you’ve met my husband, Lord Astarion Ancunín.” Behind her, Astarion gave him a small, sardonic bow.

Ban couldn’t help but feel a swell pride at those words, at her terrible, beautiful beloved; at how far they’d both risen above what they were made for.

Roderich swallowed audibly. “I- yes, my little beauty,” he began, seeing Ban’s expression close off at the nickname, “I have indeed met your… husband. The, um, the esteemed successor to Lord Szarr’s estate!” He clapped his hands together with false mirth. “I am sure you’ve seen the mirror he’s purchased from me? You no doubt know he has good taste. It’s-”

“Silver, full length, inlaid with gold, in typical rococo style,” Ban finished for him; Roderich gave a jaunty nod of approval.

“You remember.” He smiled despite the tension in the room, almost taking a step towards her again before Ban crossed her arms. “I will admit one of our mercury mirrors would have provided a far superior product as you very well know, but as it stands the one Lord Ancunín bought has the best reflection silver can provide. You’ve no doubt seen yourself in it and seen how our mirrors have improved over the past four years.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. Four years she’d been gone, and of course, the first thing he wanted to talk about were the godsdamned mirrors. Ban opened her mouth, whether to either insult her father or humor him she wasn’t sure, but he spoke before she got the chance.

“Little beauty, your mother would be so elated to know you’re back. That you’ve made something of your life, I suppose, despite… our earlier reservations,” Roderich continued. “When you left, we assumed you’d end up in a far worse situation than… this.”

Astarion bristled, but kept his peace for her. He began pacing through the store, walking back and forth in a closed path, hands buried in his pockets - almost like a predator stalking its next kill. There was an edge to his thoughts, one that Ban noticed, but mistakenly attributed to mere indignation at her father’s behavior.

In truth Astarion’s mind churned as he paced, Roderich’s voice ringing in his head. Little beauty. Little beauty… gods.

Countless times he’d called her something similar - his pet. His precious treasure. His little love. He recalled how she’d disliked it, but at the time she’d hated everything else he did - how was he to discern the truth?

This is why I needed to know, he told himself, irritation the first feeling he sank into, a little apprehensive about examining the ones that lurked beneath it. Revulsion, self-hatred, guilt. He’d known that he reminded Ban of her father at times, but this new revelation deeply unnerved him.

She must’ve loathed him, he realized; not that he hadn’t been aware of that, but the depth of it still eluded him. The sheer venom in their relationship had meant he hadn’t really been too concerned by her displeasure. A response was a response after all, and her love had been so absent that he’d craved any sign of emotion. And didn’t she want to be denigrated to some extent, he’d reasoned with himself, just as she’d enjoyed it in bed?

He knew she’d forgiven him, but this made the idea of making amends even more daunting. How could he even begin to atone when even now, more than six months later, he was still unearthing new and horrifying ways he’d inadvertently tortured her with his twisted idea of love?

Ban watched him from the corner of her eye, concerned. Are you alright?

His eyes snapped back to her, and for a moment he looked stricken. As they locked eyes, however, he seemed to relax, visibly taking a deep breath. Perfectly fine; there is no need to concern yourself. His eyes flicked towards Roderich, a silent reminder to focus on the issue at hand.

She turned back to her father. “I daresay I did well by your standards. You wanted me to marry someone rich - that I did. Someone powerful - I did that too. He has both in much greater measure than you could have in your wildest dreams.” She didn’t add in the most important things: that her husband is someone who loves her, who sees her as his equal, someone that she loves beyond reason; there’s no point debating that with Roderich.

There was also the odd omission of her brother; and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Her eyes flicked over to Astarion again; he gave her an almost imperceptible nod of understanding as the mental link passed the message along.

Roderich appeared to realize the veiled insult he’d just leveled at Astarion. “Ah- I mean, of course! That isn’t what I meant, little beauty. I merely meant, well. The Szarr family owned the palace, and then Lord Ancunín inherited it and…” he paused for a moment then shook his head. “I was just confused. Forgive me, I did not mean any offense.”

Ban noted that her father was keeping something from them. The way his eyes darted to Astarion every few seconds, as if her husband was a threat, was curious, as was the way he paused mid-sentence, as if he meant to say something else and then changed his mind. She felt a wave of irritation pass from Astarion to her. Turning, she saw him slap on the biggest, falsest grin as he finally stopped pacing and rounded on Roderich.

“And none taken!” Astarion declared, coming to a stop right next to the older man. “After all, you’re family now, and I understand if you find the - change - in last names odd. The Ancuníns are - let’s say - a distant branch of the Szarr clan, and since Cazador died without any heirs - may the gods have mercy on his soul,” he placed a hand on his chest, playing the role of a young man mourning his dearest departed relative so well Ban almost had to stifle a laugh, “the estate and mansion have passed into my possession.”

The act sent a small pang of nostalgia through Ban, memories of him playing the fop back in the day making her more than a little wistful. This didn’t escape his notice, of course; the mental link and her face were more than enough indication. His eyes met hers, and for a moment his gaze was pained.

“What I mean to say, Roderich,” he continued, wrapping an arm over the older man’s shoulder and tugging him close, “is that the estate is mine and your daughter’s, now. In fact, we would be delighted to host a small soiree in your honor. My beloved hasn’t seen her family in years, and we would be honored to have you and your family as our guests.”

That had been the plan: come to the shop without warning, catching Roderich by surprise, then invite the Glasscrafts over for dinner at the Crimson Palace. It would give Ban a chance to see her family in a more comfortable setting, and then decide if she wanted more contact or not.

Roderich squirmed in Astarion’s grasp. “Of - of course. We would be more than happy to come, my lord.”

Satisfied, Astarion dropped the act, letting go of Roderich. “Good. We expect to see you and your whole family at sunset in a tenday. Don’t be late,” he drawled, the coldness settling back. His eyes raked over Ban for a second.

Do you want to go?

She considered it and then nodded. As she turned around, however, Roderich finally gathered enough courage to reach for her - she felt his calloused hand wrap around her wrist.

“My little beauty, dear,” Roderich started. “You left us, you gave up on your family-”

Ban faced her father, for a moment tempted to do exactly as Astarion wanted and sic him on her father, perhaps even bite Roderich herself. Her lip curled, and behind her Astarion tensed, the bond ensuring the thought did not go unnoticed.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, glaring down at her father. “Don’t-”

Ban furiously snatched her hand away from Roderich, rubbing at her eyes. Don’t. He can’t be allowed to see her cry, not when he’d caused it countless times in her life, when he considered her tears a victory.

Easier said than done, however, the prickling feeling of impending tears not abating. Her eyes found the only source of solace in this cursed place, Astarion locking gazes with her. He took a step even before she could communicate anything, arm wrapping around her waist.

“We’ll be off, Master Glasscraft,” Astarion said, the anger simmering under the obviously insincerely pleasant tone. “As previously mentioned, Ban and I will be expecting you and your family in a tenday.”

Roderich tried again, mouth opening to say something more, but Astarion gave him a withering look that invited him to try it and find out. Falling silent, the older man sighed and stayed put, watching Astarion lead Ban out of the store and back to the carriage.

He still had an arm wrapped around her, fingers gently ghosting over her back in what he hoped were comforting touches. To his surprise she came to lie down on his side of the carriage, resting her head on his lap and looking up at him quietly.

Displays of unbridled emotional openness were still uncommon for her; she’d always been that way, but he didn’t fool himself into thinking he hadn't exacerbated the lack of it.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, “I can sit up.” As she moved he placed an arm across her chest, clasping her shoulder.

“I never uttered a word of complaint, did I?” He thumbed away a tear. “I insist; I don’t like seeing my darling so upset. If this eases you somewhat then I’d be delighted to have you crease my trousers.” He offered her a quick, easy smile that he hoped would soothe her.

Especially when I still feel terrible about the nicknames; Roderich’s words today were a weight in the forefront of his mind. He was quick to sever the mental bond before that thought had a chance to get to her; when she raised an eyebrow in question he merely shrugged. His other hand ran through her hair, tracing the braids there absently.

Ban relaxed under his touch, the tears slowing somewhat. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Seeing him again wasn’t easy, especially given the circumstances of, well. Everything.”

He resisted the urge to tell her about the thoughts plaguing him; for now settling on lighter things. For her sake. “That was a rather impressive display of knowledge back there, with the mirror.” he stated carefully. “I admit I was rather surprised when he mentioned mercury mirrors; it’s a wonder he’s survived this long working with the material.”

She laughed, a loud, acerbic sound. “Astarion, you think he crafts the mirrors himself?” She shook her head and nuzzled against his thigh; he couldn’t help the sudden intake of breath or the shiver that ran through him.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “So, hire some unfortunate soul, teach them how to make mirrors, and then once they’re ill, replace them?” A small scoff escaped his lips. “A waste of resources. You would do better keeping them in your employ and instead only produce silver mirrors.”

“I don’t disagree,” Ban looked up at him. “Silver would be better for the health of your mirror-makers, sure, but it wouldn’t be as expensive to sell.” Her hand rose, cupping his cheek. “I did tell you. The shop was his only love.”

Astarion felt her thumb brush over his cheekbones, wondering if the gesture soothed her; he mimicked the motion, tracing her own in turn. They weren’t as sharp nor as defined as his, but they were perfect, the shape of her face perfectly molded into the curve of his palm. The all-too-familiar swell of affection rose in him and he huffed.

“That is unfortunate, and dare I say his loss. The one thing he should have loved best is mine now,” he murmured, “and I am never letting go.”

Not again, not ever; and now that he was starting to believe that he was enough, he knew he could do anything and be everything she wished him to be. It aided in quieting that small seed of resentment he’d been harboring and keeping sealed tight in his breast.

It aided in softening the horror his new discovery had been plaguing him with, too.

The carriage began to move; he held her waist, keeping her secure. For a moment they were both silent, both lost in thought, contemplating what had just happened.

Ban broke the silence. “You’re thinking too loudly, Astarion.” He could tell she was amused, and more than a little worried.

“Am I that easy to read, love?” Of course she saw through it, through the feigned disinterest and the not-too-carefully worn guise of that’s not important, all I want is for you to be alright - not that it wasn’t true, of course it is - but he did need to talk about it.

“Not exactly hiding it, Astarion,” she mumbled, and he smiled slightly, chagrined. He gently nudged her to shift in his lap, facing away. His hands gathered up some of her loose hair, separating it out into sections. He’d helped her braid it before, and he wasn’t the best at it, but he had to admit that he found the repetitive motion soothing. The task was a good exercise for his nimble fingers, hands that hadn’t felt the heat of combat in what feels like forever.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Your father’s preferred term of endearment - little beauty - irks you, doesn’t it?” The braid he was working on slowly took form, and he paused to admire it. “I would hazard a guess and assume my own names for you… elicited the same response.”

Ban craned her neck to watch his work; he held the partially done braid up for her to see. “Not bad,” she commented. There was a small pause, where she gave him a look that seemed to be more fretful than anything else, and continued. “You’re right. It’s… he’s always reduced me, my mother - my brother, even - into things, to ensure his success. His little beauty to marry off. His broodmare, to give him successors. And of course his heir, to carry his name into the future.”

“You haven’t answered the other half of the question,” Astarion chided, eyes pointedly fixed on the half-done braid instead of her eyes.

“Your assumption,” Ban pointed out, “which isn’t wrong, of course, but neither is it some huge, unforgivable thing.”

“Ban…” he murmured, voice low. Dare he hope?

She sighed, hand curving around his chin to make him look at her; he saw nothing but earnestness there.

“You’re fine. We’re fine. That was the past, and you stopped the moment I asked you to. There is no issue here.”

He couldn’t help the relieved laugh he barked out, the tension leaving his body. “I - I suppose you’re right.” He searched for something else to say, and settled on a question. “When was the last time you saw Roderich, and what were the circumstances of your… departure?” He surmised she was likely to have run away, from what Roderich had said; he was curious, but this was also a test of sorts. Would she trust him enough to tell him more?

Ban frowned, thinking. “I ran away. It was after they wanted to have me wed.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, all faux cheeriness; his hands resumed their work on the braid. “You escaped the clutches of some disgusting, lecherous lout. A good decision; it does not surprise me that you effortlessly repeated the feat when it came to leaving me.”

There wasn’t any bitterness there, merely a need to make light of things. She chuckled and nodded. “My to-be-husband was not hideous, however. He was tall, I daresay even taller than you,” she laughed as he let out a loud, offended scoff, then continued. “He was also rather handsome. I just didn’t want him, nor feel anything for him.”

“You could have, provided with enough time. Although…” he cocked his head at her, teasingly, “had you done so you wouldn’t have been with such a devastatingly handsome vampire, would you?”

“Devastatingly arrogant, yes,” she said, simpering up at him. “But, I met him, and he was rather insistent on being betrothed as soon as possible. He was prepared: dowry, a date for the marriage, the guest list, which apparently my parents had input in…”

Astarion yet again felt pique surge in him: for her, but also at the ease in which this all flowed now. He forced himself to refocus on the braid instead. “Let me continue the story, then. One night, when everyone was not paying mind, the poor maiden slipped out, likely through the window of the house, her meager possessions the only thing she carried with her.” He said it all with an amused, if slightly dismissive air.

“I… well, yes, mostly. Except that it was midday.” She looked at him with a slightly quizzical expression; for a moment it seemed like she wanted to say more, then thought better of it. “You’re getting good at this,” Ban pivots, nodding at the almost finished braid.

He shrugged. “It’s not so difficult to do; a twist here, a turn there…” he finished off his work and raised a hand, letting his fingers dance, as though rolling a coin between them. “What am I if not skilled with my hands, hm? You know that better than most.”

A smile broke over her features and she smirked. “So is that what all that braiding was for? To show off your dexterity?” She reached out to take his hand, running her rougher fingers over his soft knuckles.

“I could be persuaded to demonstrate it in a different manner,” he purred, eyes flicking up to watch their approach to the Crimson Palace. “And the braids may prove rather helpful in that regard.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The braids stay on this time? She’d always liked having them in her hair. Before the rite he’d occasionally helped her braid her hair; in the days after it she’d done them herself - he’d found it beneath him to do so. He’d always helped her take them out, however, one of their nightly routines before inevitably ending up in each other’s arms. The thought of his hands tugging her braids while he took her was intriguing, warmth beginning to unfurl in her core. “I might be amenable. After all that, I definitely need a distraction.”

He gave her a careful once-over, to make sure this wasn’t merely her skirting her emotions, that it was something she desired. He figured that it was skirting somewhat, but it was also a request for help - she didn’t really want to think about the events of today. He smirked, then gave her hair a small, playful tug. “Then a distraction you shall get, darling. As always, you need only ask, and it will be yours.”

He’d had ideas on how to do this, to reintroduce a little rougher play. The idea of holding onto her head, threading his fingers through those locks as her mouth-

Astarion shook the mental image off. “Let’s get home and-”

The rest of his words were swallowed up by a moan as Ban turned her head to mouth at his clothed cock. She pulled away and he viciously fought the urge to hold her head there and fuck her mouth; he watched her sit up, his eyes locked onto those lips.

“Of course,” Ban said, mirth in her eyes. “Once we get home, I’ll let you distract me all you want.”

Getting home could not be any slower, he thought.

Getting to the bedroom was a challenge, especially since she couldn’t keep her hands off of her husband in between attempts to strip off her own clothes. Their lips were locked, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, each trying to strip without ending their kiss. Her shoes and trousers came off, abandoned somewhere in the main hallway. He seemed to be having just as much trouble as she was; a shoe went flying and he cursed, lips parting from hers with a groan of frustration as he lifted a leg to tug off the other.

“Godsdamned-” he cursed, tugging it off with one hard yank. “You see the issue when the wyrmhide gets soaked and then dries? It shrinks.”

“Oh, shut up.” The moment the shoe was off she grabbed his face, kissing him again. He smelled the way he always had, that lovely perfume a blend of notes that he always made for himself, even now. But underneath was his own scent, one that matches hers, that slight hint of earth and death. But there was more, so much more. That warm flesh under her hands, the ragged, hot breaths, the racing of his heart. Racing, because of her.

“Mh-” He tried to get a word in then gave up the attempt, instead pushing her against the wall of the hallway. A small whoosh of breath escaped her and she shot him a look of surprise, desire raging through her. She broke the kiss to speak; he growled disapprovingly at the loss of contact.

“Seems like you want something,” Ban said, coy. She knew perfectly well what. Astarion fixed her with a wry grin, eyes lidded, head tilted - the picture of seduction.

“My love, I only ever want one thing - you.” He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing the same air. “I crave you, long for you, want you.” His hand slipped under her shirt, tracing a path to her breast. “You did so well last time, showing me exactly what you wanted me to do. Perhaps you could be enticed to give me a little…” he found a nipple, playing with it absently, “…more?”

Ban felt her nipples harden at his touch, a low groan escaping her lips. “I could. What do-” her words hitched as he mouthed at the base of her neck; both hands now focused on the rather urgent task of unbuttoning her shirt. The cool air greeted her as her shirt opened, baring her torso.

“What do I want?” He said, blazing a path of searing kisses and nips from her collarbone down between her breasts, then further towards her belly. “I want you to trust me,” Astarion whispered against her skin, looking up at her, “enough to let me be rougher. More… aggressive.”

Those eyes pleaded, soft and gentle despite the intensity of his kisses. A hand slipped down to adjust his hardness, drawing Ban’s attention, and all of a sudden her throat was dry. “Yes, Astarion. I… I daresay I’d like that. Very much.”

She’d liked it before, Astarion’s roughness. It had been a discovery they’d made within the confines of their tent in the Shadow-Cursed lands and it had always been just right. He had ruined it bit by bit after he’d ascended, but she figured it was time to try again; she’d missed it and knew he had as well.

“Very good,” he replied, eyes steely and mischievous again, tucking away the softness without reservation. “Remind me, my darling: what do we say, when we want the play to end?”

“Sussur,” she breathed, and was rewarded with an approving purr and Astarion using his mouth to slowly tug her underwear down, his hot breath ghosting against her mound as he did.

He replaced his mouth with a hand, pulling the fabric the rest of the way off. She rested her hand on his shoulder as he slipped them off her legs, then tossed them over his shoulder. Astarion licked his lips; on his knees he was at eye level with her core. “Sussur, indeed,” he murmured, mouth ghosting over her, but not quite touching just yet. “You look delicious from here, darling. I almost can’t resist…” a small lap of his tongue, warm and pleasant and just perfect against her folds, just enough to hint at what more he could be doing, “...a taste.”

“Astarion.” Ban bit back the moan, barely managing it. “If you want to lead, just do it. Quit teasing.” She wasn’t irritated, and the idea of being teased to hell and back is something she so desperately wanted, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to give him a little cheek. His answering smirk was mischievous; he was all too aware that she was at his mercy.

Half-lidded eyes met hers as he rose, pressing his body against hers. “We’ve just started, my sweet. You must be patient while I decide exactly what I’m going to do to you.” The slow roll of his hips against hers was pleasant, his cock hard and rubbing against her in slow, increasingly insistent circles, the clothes separating them merely adding to the much-needed friction.

Ban met his gaze, then brazenly reached down to cup his erection. Astarion hissed, eyes glinting dangerously at having his authority challenged, but also with a hint of barely hidden delight. She couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of her. “How about you make me suck your cock, my lord? You can do all the things your pretty little head was thinking of whilst braiding my hair.” She paused briefly, a rebellious smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “If you think you can make me, that is.”

Her own sudden boldness took her by surprise, but even more so her husband; she watched his eyes widen, cock twitching against her palm, the warm heat more than a little gratifying. After a moment, his eyes narrowed into a searing, sultry glare.

Astarion’s answer was breathy, more growled than spoken. “Bedroom.” he turned, already working on the buttons of his doublet, “Now.”

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon

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[writingquestionsanswered]

How Much World Building is Too Much?

Anonymous asked: This question is on behalf of my cousin who came to me for advice. When he has an idea, he writes the most detailed worldbuilding EVER, designs the characters and has a general idea of how the story will go, but then when he starts writing he does maybe 2 chapters and it dies. I, on the other hand, do ZERO worldbuilding ahead of time (I don't need much) and end up finishing 80% of what I start out to write. How do you know how much worldbuilding is enough? How do you keep from spending so much time planning that by the time you get to writing, you don't know where you're going with the actual story? I want to help him but our styles are so different, I don't know where to start.💔

(Ask edited for length...)

I identify with your cousin a lot, because this is often how my stories go. I'm first inspired by a place, or the idea of a place, and everything sort of grows out from there. In my early days, I would also pour everything into world building and character creation, only to find myself falling flat with the story. And a big part of that, I learned, was that I didn't really understand how stories worked. It was easy to build a world and set up characters, but since I didn't understand story structure, I didn't understand how to flesh out the nugget of a story idea I had to go with that setting.

So, one thing you might do is try to get a feel for where your cousin is in that respect. You can start by asking pointed questions about the potential plot, and if he doesn't have answers already, it will help guide him in that direction. Some questions I would ask:

1 - Who is your protagonist? What is their "normal world" life like before things are turned upside down with the inciting incident?

2 - Who and what is important to your protagonist? (Stakes)

3 - What past experiences have led to them being who they are now?

4 - What needs to change about your protagonist's life, beliefs, or values?

5 - What happens to turn your protagonist's world upside down? (Inciting incident) Who (or what) causes this to happen? (Antagonistic force)

6 - How does this affect your protagonist specifically, and what goal do they decide to pursue in order to resolve the problem?

7 - What steps does your protagonist plan to take in order to reach their goal? What knowledge, skills, resources, or help must they acquire in order to achieve their goal?

8 - What obstacles does the antagonistic force create that the protagonist must overcome on their way to the goal?

9 - How do the events of the story help to change your protagonist's life circumstances, beliefs, or values for better or worse? How will they change by the end of the story?

10 - How does your protagonist face off against the antagonistic force, attempting to defeat them once and for all in order to reach their goal? Are they successful? What is the aftermath and how is the character's world/life changed--for better or worse--as a result of these events?

If your cousin can answer these questions, they'll have a reasonably well fleshed out plot that should help carry them through the story. How little or much planning of the plot ahead of time they need is something they'll need to discover over time, but if the above isn't enough to help them get through the story, they might want to go back and flesh out the specific plot points. You can point them in the direction of my post Creating a Detailed Story Outline, which suggest several different story structure templates they can look at to help them coax out the specific plot points of their story. And, bear in mind that story structure templates do not have to be followed exactly. They're just a guide to help you flesh out the story. Many writers like to combine different elements of different plot structures as a loose guide as they write their stories.

I hope this helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[thetriplets3]

whispering to each other + searching for the other’s hand in bed like theyre both tired but cant fall asleep (matt or chris x y/n or smt)

❝𝐢’𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰❞

pairing: matt x reader (no defined relationship but mutual pining?)

warnings: brief mention of anxious thoughts, loneliness, depression, vague mention of suicidal wishes

a/n special thanks to @dwntwn-strnlo for editing this you’re the best and shoutout to whoever it was to color code dialogue i took that idea anyways enjoy 🍿

having my 3 best friends away on tour was hard enough but having a rough few weeks physically and mentally on top of that was really hard on me. since i've moved here i haven't really made any friends. parties, events, and crowded loud places aren't my thing which makes it hard to meet people. sure i've met people the odd time the boys dragged me out but i was never able to hold a conversation let alone willingly go up to people. which brings me to now.

the triplets asked if i wanted to come on tour with them but i was in the middle of the semester, the busiest time. so i've spent the past few weeks alone, only leaving when i had to work. it sucks having no one to be able to go do things with, to talk to, and to just be there.

mindlessly clicking through the stories of people i follow, just trying to distract myself from my own thoughts, my screen reveals the faces of the only people i wish i were with right now. my heart aches watching them have the time of their lives being able to explore places they always dreamed of and getting to show their personalities on stage. don't get me wrong i'm beyond happy for them and how successful they’ve become the last few years, but i just wish i were with them. quickly hearting matt’s story of him posing in front of the bean in chicago, i drop my phone beside me and get under my covers, curling up. he seemed so happy being on tour.

i lie there, thoughts wandering, and tears gently flowing as i realize how truly alone i am. my thoughts are disrupted when i feel my bed softly vibrate. lazily rolling over, i grab my phone only to be met with a text from the person i yearned for the most. matt.

heyyy look who’s alive!

where’ve ya been it’s been a while since any of us heard from you?

you doing okay?

unfortunately i've been busy, midterm term time sorry edited

i’m fine

looks like tour’s fun, you look happy

unfortunately? please take time for yourself too you can only do so much if you’re not at your best

you’ll do great on them don’t overwork yourself love

it’s a blast seeing new places, meeting new people, i just wish you were here

shoot i forgot you can see what the other person edited

i was kidding. i’ll try

i wish i was there i miss you but it makes me happy seeing you be successful

we’ll be home before you know it i miss you too

and with that i turn my phone off for the night and bury myself under my covers in a desperate attempt to shut my brain off from thinking things it shouldn't. as the hours passed i tossed more and more not able to fall asleep, stay asleep and get comfortable. peeking at my clock to see the glowing 6:44am, i roll over shoving my face into my pillow and let out an unnecessarily loud groan. seeing no point staying in bed just to not be able to sleep i pad my way to the living room, claiming it my spot for the day. i put on a random season of the office to fill the silence and loneliness that i've sadly become used to. having seen the office far too many times, it's become a comfort background show, making it easy for me to fall asleep.

i accidentally ordered a package to your house from the last time you used my amazon prime to order something. it says it’s been delivered could you just put it aside for me? have a good day

staring at my phone i reread matt's text a few times, my mind still fuzzy and confused thanks to my lack of sleep. finally understanding it after the 5th time, i wrap my blanket around my body and trudge over to the door to pick it up. opening the door and checking the ground for a package i'm met with beat up air forces instead. startled, my head whips just to confirm it's who i thought it was.

matt.

all the loneliness, emptiness, sadness, yearning to see you hit me at once, a wave of tears overcame me as i engulf you in a hug nearly sending you and i to the floor. no words have been spoken, there's no need to. i immediately bury my head into your chest, your one hand coming to cradle my head as the other holds me securely to your body. we stay like this for a few minutes before you slightly pull away grabbing my hands and placing them around your neck, sneaking a quick peck to my cheek as you do so. your hands snake around my waist and gently lift me, bringing both of us into my house. closing the front door we make our way to the living room sitting on the couch turning to face each other.

god i missed you. today was our last day of tour but we were gonna stay there and explore the city for a few days but i couldn’t wait any longer i needed to see you. i was worried about you and couldn't bare the thought of being away for another second.

i missed you more. things haven’t been right since you guys left

like what?

it feels stupid to say out loud but ive felt so alone. like i have no one other than you guys and that makes me feel so pathetic that i rely on you guys so much. i haven't been able to sleep that much my mind just won't shut up i kept thinking about you guys and worrying about something bad happening to you it's stupid i know. heavily sighing i roughly wipe my face drying the tears that i tried so desperately to not let fall.

hey what did we talk about? every thought and feeling is valid they’re not stupid don’t say that.

you stand and offer me your hand and lead me to my room where we crawl into bed. you pull me as close to you as you possibly can. my head on your chest with my arm loosely draped across your body, your cotton shirt carelessly balled up in my hand. your arms wrapped around my torso like your life depended on it. god i missed this

i’m here now okay? everything’s okay, i’m okay, my brothers are okay, nothing happened to us. we’re not going anywhere for a while and when we do your coming with us. and don’t try and say you won’t be able to because of school, you’re coming no matter what. i can’t go that long without you, nothings the same

i won’t put up a fight i don’t want to do this again this was horrible being alone for so long. i missed being in your arms, feeling like nothing bad will ever happen because i have you here

as you place a gentle kiss to the top of my head a comfortable silence falls over us and we bask in this moment of being in each others arms again. my eyes grow heavy but my body is still fighting sleep like it has for the past few weeks

you can sleep now i’m here i’m not going anywhere i promise. i love you so much sweet girl

with the hushed tone of your voice and gentle pecks on my forehead, i feel my body grow heavier with sleep. i blindly reach my hand around searching for yours which you seem to pick up on what i wanted, placing your hand on mine and give it a squeeze once and a while letting me know you're right there.

goodnight sweet girl. i’m right here

taglist: @antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs

(i can’t remember who it was but i saw someone color coded the dialogue and that makes it so much easier to read so shoutout to you if it was you)

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #readers pov

[bella-rose29]

Darling

Nikolai Lantsov x f!reader

Woke up in a lot of pain because my body systems hate me, so I wrote this (I'm doing better now)

Word count: 1.4k (wtf i didn't mean to write this much lol)

Warnings: periods, anything period related, swearing, this is also based purely on my own experiences (although not the bit where he's hugging her 🥲), not proof read/edited

Tag list: @bubybubsters, @el-de-phi, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @iambored24601, @itsyoboo-jassy, @karensirkobabes, @kentucky-criedfricken, @little8sun, @mvidaaaa, @naushtheaspiringauthor, @notoakay, @simbaaas-stuff, @pietromaximoffsbabe (i'm so sorry lovely i completely forgot to add you earlier)

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck, fuck!"

"You alright, darling?"

"Yep, all good, Nik!"

Y/n was not at all good. She'd woken up next to an empty space that morning, smiling and shaking her head when she realised where her husband was, sat at his desk and already working, and then had felt an excruciating burst of pain in her abdomen. She heard Nikolai stand up, his chair thumping against the carpeted floor as he came over to the bed.

"Yeah, you're very clearly not alright, darling," he said as he took in her pained expression. "What's going on? Do you need me to get the healer?"

"Monthly cycle, and yes please," she gasped out.

"Okay. Are you able to move?" Y/n shook her head, blinking back the tears that were forming in her eyes. "Alright darling. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? Just gonna get the healer." He planted a kiss on her forehead, then practically sprinted out of the room. Y/n would have laughed if she thought it wouldn't hurt.

Nikolai really was only gone a few minutes, returning on his own but laden with heat packs. Y/n felt tears form for a different reason as he knelt down next to the bed to activate the heat packs, placing them on her lower stomach, adjusting them so that they all fit. The healer appeared with an assistant then, bag in hand as she sent Y/n an apologetic look.

"How are you doing, Your Majesty?"

"Not great," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to force the pain away. It was times like these that Y/n wished she were Grisha; if she were a Healer or a Tidemaker then maybe she could heal the pain away or force her body to comply through the water in her brain. The healer and Nikolai were talking, although Y/n couldn't make out what was being said, but then a minute or so later her husband was out the room and the healer was placing her hands over Y/n's abdomen, attempting to ease the Queen's pain. The assistant had brought a change of underclothes, helping Y/n to swap them.

"The King has just gone to arrange some things so that your day is easier for you, Your Majesty, he'll be back in a bit. I'll stay here for as long as you need, and in a moment I'll ask you to take the tonic on your bedside table, alright?" Her voice was calm and soothing, and Y/n felt ready to drift off.

"What's the tonic for?"

"It should alleviate some of the pain. We've only recently developed it, but it's had an incredibly high success rate."

"Oh, okay." She was feeling better now, the work the healer was doing helping hugely, and the heat packs distracted from what pain was left over.

"Are you able to sit, Your Majesty?"

"I think so, hang on." Wincing at the stab of pain when she moved, Y/n gritted her teeth, and with the help of the healer was able to sit up in bed. Nikolai returned then, now carrying a box of some description, and his face lit up at the sight of his wife looking better.

"I've got chocolate," he said, lifting the box. "And I managed to convince the head cook to surrender a couple of those breakfast pastries you love so much. Don't feel you need to eat anything now, darling, just let me know and I'll get it for you." She laughed lightly, flinching when it made the pain increase, and took the hand he offered when he sat down next to her. He managed to manoeuvre them so that he was sat behind her, a leg on either side. He pressed kisses to her hair every now and then, arms stroking up and down her arms, sometimes drifting down to gently stroke her stomach.

"Do you think you're able to take the tonic now, Your Majesty?"

"Yeah, I think so."

It tasted bitter going down, and nothing seemed to happen, but the healer reassured her that it would kick in within about 20 minutes.

"I just need to go and sort a few things out, Your Majesty, but I'll come back every so often to check up on how you're doing and bring you more tonics, alright?"

"Thank you," Nikolai said, grateful smile appearing on his face. The healer and her assistant bowed, exiting the room. The couple sat in silence for a while, Y/n basking in the warmth of the packs and her husband's body behind her, and the soft touches of his hands on her arms. Her heart ached with how gentle and loving he was being, and the tears came back. Hearing her quiet sniffles, Nikolai panicked, thinking it had gotten worse.

"What's wrong, darling? Does it still hurt?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Well, yes, but not as much. It's not that though. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed by you, Nik."

Although she couldn't see it, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Me? Why?"

"I've never been looked after like this before. It's nice. And I guess because we were arranged I thought you wouldn't care that much, but you do, and my body is all out of whack right now which isn't helping but it's making me want to cry because I love you."

Nikolai was silent for a while, never stopping stroking her arms, but Y/n started to worry. She was just about to speak up when he finally spoke.

"I love you too, Y/n."

Then she really did start crying, tears slipping down her face and wetting the bedsheets. Nikolai turned her face towards his, softly wiping away what he could and leaning in to press his lips to hers. It was brief, but more full of love than any other they'd shared, and Y/n couldn't believe how lucky she'd been in getting him as her husband.

"Wait," she said, pulling away with a frown. "What about your meetings?"

"Cancelled them," Nikolai shrugged. "You're more important to me, darling."

"Won't Zoya be mad? That you're leaving things to her?"

"She was actually weirdly understanding for Zoya. I'm fully convinced I'm going to be sent some very strongly worded letters involving death threats, though. Or made to plant face first into the lake by a strong wind."

Y/n giggled, picturing the scenario, and made a mental note to ask Zoya to do just that. Preferably when Nikolai was in just his slacks, suspenders and undershirt, and not for any particular reason.

"You'll be fine, Kolya."

~~~

Later that day, Y/n was feeling much better, having taken another dose of the tonic, and was sat outside by the lake with Zoya. Nikolai had rescued a frog (although the frog looked rather happy where it was) and was placing it on the bank. All of a sudden, the wind picked up, and Nikolai was pushed in the water, arms windmilling as he fell. It was a warm day, so he'd taken off his jacket, and while Y/n did feel a little bad for asking Zoya to push him in, all regrets were washed away when he emerged from the lake, completely soaked with water from head to toe.

He stalked over, trying not to smile at how loudly his wife was laughing, and pointed an accusatory finger at the Grisha General.

"I know that was you, Zoya. How could you, to your King, of all people!"

"I was just doing what my Queen commanded, Your Majesty," she mock bowed from where she sat, smirk on her face as she watched Nikolai wipe the water from his eyes. Y/n was still cackling next to her, and Zoya was glad to see her friend doing better than this morning.

"Darling Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like a hug?" Her eyes widened, almost comically so, as Nikolai leaned in, arms open wide. She shrieked with joy as he got closer, pushing him away (not really, he was far too strong).

"Nik!" she laughed, all thoughts of pain completely forgotten.

He did eventually get his hug, but only when he was clean and dry (Y/n had found bits of grass and water plants in his hair), and not threatening to cover Y/n in lake water.

"Thank you, Nik, for everything today."

"Of course, darling. I love you."

"Love you too," she hummed, drifting off in her husband's arms.

#grishaverse #netflix shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai x y/n

[sweetpeasummers]

Everything That I Want

Summary: Leon has been avoiding you and you’re worried about the reason why.

Word Count: 3.2k

Rated: Explicit (Language, Smut, Mentions of Death)

Pairing: Leon/Fem!Reader  

Author’s Note: I originally wrote this when RE4 first came out as Leon/OC, but am not comfortable uploading that. So I took my favorite bits (more to come), edited them on my own into something I’m proud to post and here we are. I will be uploading to Ao3 later.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Resident Evil nor any of the characters.

It's been a frustrating few weeks and you're trying to do anything to not think about why your partner Leon Kennedy has been avoiding you. Which is why you find yourself at the gym hoping to bench press your way into oblivion. You grip the bar, take a deep breath in, lift the bar and lower it to your chest, exhaling you push it out away from you.

One...Two...Three...Four

You set a steady rhythm desperately willing the simple act to clear your mind the way it typically does, but you feel it start to wander again. What in the hell is going? One day he was Leon your friend and partner and the next he was...gone. He hadn't returned any of your phone calls and every time you were in a room together he'd make some weak excuse as to why he had to leave. It was confusing and as time dragged on downright hurtful.

You'd always had a bit of a thing for him ever since you were first paired together, his good looks had drawn you in, but his snarky one liners and compassionate, friendly nature had endeared him to you in a way no other man ever had. Initially it wasn't easy being paired together. Leon was leery and jaded though warmed to you quickly. He threw himself into the work, you admired his drive and told him as such. Though on more than one occasion he joked about being forced into it. When you pushed for an explanation he told you everything; the outbreak in Raccoon City, the creatures he fought, and how he barely made it out. Then admitted he wasn't given a choice to become an agent. His vulnerability made you confess to your share of misery, the T-Virus leaked in your rural town. Killing reanimated corpses of the people you knew and loved was a nightmare you'd never forget. Subsequently you weren't given a choice either. Your relationship was different afterwards. You turned to each other, shared secrets, doubts, and even fears with one another. The innocent crush you had on him developed into something so much deeper. The job was brutal and having a partner you could rely on was more important than a boyfriend, so you buried those feelings. It was so damn hard because sometimes you thought he was flirting with you but chalked it up to you seeing what you wanted to see. So you stayed guarded, pulled away just enough to still be considered professional, but weren't always successful. Maybe Leon finally figured it out, caught on to the fact that you had feelings for him beyond what a friend or partner should and it freaked him out.

You hated not knowing, sighing heavily, you look up at the man spotting you. Daniel was such a nice man, one of the few agents to have a normal life outside of the insanity that was your job. He owned the gym you were in, had a wife and a little family. He was happy. One of the more well adjusted agents you'd met and couldn't help but wonder if it was because of his life outside of missions. You attempted to date but every relationship fizzled out.

“Could you add more weight please?” you ask Daniel. You hope the extra weight will make you focus. He reluctantly does, you grip the bar and lift up your hand slips and the weighted bar comes dangerously close to crushing your throat, but Dan catches it in time and together you put it back in place. You sit up breathing heavy, shaken from what just happened.

“What is going on Y/N, you look like shit?” he asks gruffly.

“Thanks I feel like shit.” you reply still trying to compose yourself.

“You wanna talk about it or do you wanna hit something” Dan asks you. You always appreciated his bluntness.

“I wanna hit something.” you quickly respond. Not even knowing where you'd begin to explain your situation with Leon with any sort of anonymity. It'd be embarrassingly obvious who you're talking about.

“I can help you with that.” Dan motions to you to follow him. He leads you down the hall to a large empty room with a ring. He throws you a pair of gloves and gets in the ring. You spend the next half hour sparring, Dan was right it did help.

“Thanks for helping me out,” you say and truly mean it. You feel less tense, like you could go home and not mope around your apartment.

“Yeah no problem,” Dan answers cheerfully, “You seem like you needed it. If you don't want to be alone you could come and have dinner with me and the Mrs. You know Julia always makes enough to feed a small army.”

It's tempting, you feel better than you did earlier, but also you know you'd still be miserable company.

“Maybe some other time, thank you for the offer.” you respond with a small smile.

“I'll hold you to that,”Dan replies.

Before you can leave, you hear a door open and footsteps approaching, Dan looks behind you and waves. He calls out “Hey Leon long time no see!”

You freeze, oh you're tense all over again, suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You hear Leon chuckle and answer with “Yeah I've been busy, had a lot to think about.”

Okay, Leon hasn't been avoiding just you it seems. You turn and see him walk closer to where you and Dan were standing. Well that's different you thought, but stay quiet whatever he was going through he'd made it clear he didn't want your help. You just look away and focus on a random spot on the wall. You tune out their conversation lost in your own thoughts. Normally Leon's presence was a comfort but now it was bringing a god awful stew of emotion you felt these past few weeks to the surface. You wanted to stay and try to talk to him again, but decide you have to go before it bubbled over and you did something embarrassing like sob or scream. You try to leave quietly, but you feel a hand softly catch you by your wrist.  You're shocked to see its Leon holding on to you. You get your first good look at him. He looks exhausted, nervous and unsure of himself.

“Y/N, please don't leave. I need to talk to you.” you hear Leon say. You pull your wrist out of his grasp and stay in place. Good or bad it seems like whatever is going on can finally be over.

“Well I don't want to keep Jules waiting so I'm going to head out, unless,” Daniel trails off looking at you with a nervous smile on his face. You look away from Leon to Dan then back to Leon and take a deep breath hoping it's enough to calm yourself before speaking,

“It's okay you can go Dan. I'm actually very curious as to what he has to say to me.” Your response does absolutely nothing to alleviate the tension in the room.

Dan breathes out a shaky “Okay, you two are the last ones in the building, you know where the keys are. Could you lock up on your way out?” Dan walks away quickly looking back and gives you both a small wave on his way out the door.

“Do you think you'd want something like that?” Leon asks you.

“Like what, you mean like what Dan and Julia have?” you ask and answer your own question. You don't give Leon a chance to respond before asking him what you've wanted to ask him for weeks.

“Leon, what's going on? Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask more hurt than you wanted spills out, perhaps the feeling hadn't completely faded. You cross your arms bracing yourself for his answer.

Leon winces before continuing, “I've been a real dick haven't I?”

You nod your head not trusting yourself to speak. Leon continues, “I'm sorry. I've gone about this all wrong. I didn't want to hurt you I just needed time to get this right.”

It feels like your head is spinning, you want to ask more questions, but you press your lips together and let him continue.

“It never felt right with anyone else and it killed me every time I saw you walk away with another man. For so long I couldn't understand why, ever since Raccoon City I've shut a part of myself down. Detached, because I thought it was the safest thing to do. It's easier. It's also pretty damn isolating. I finally figured it out. I want something more outside of just being an agent. I want something that isn't death and monsters and lies. I wanna be happy, every time I think about what that looks like it's with you. I know what I just said could make you uncomfortable and I will respect and decision you make.” he finishes breathlessly. He still looks nervous but like a weight has been lifted from him.

Your mouth falls open in shock, you slowly uncross your arms and let them fall to your sides. That he wants to be with you wasn't even in the realm of possible things you thought he might say. How could the two of you have gotten it so wrong. All this time you thought you were making him uncomfortable and he thought he was going to make you uncomfortable. You were so wrapped up in hiding your feelings you missed his right in front of you. Three years worth of memories hit you like a truck; so  many conversations, stories shared, dinners that weren't dates, shouldn't be dates but in hindsight very much were. You remember the night he admitted to you he didn't know how to keep living with what he'd been through.  You stayed with him until he fell asleep. He always returned the favor, some mornings you'd wake to the smell of coffee and his smiling face. How could you have been so blind? It didn't matter though Leon wants to be with you. You want to be with him. Happiness blooms and spreads in your chest, your lips lift in a brilliant smile. You can see the moment it clicks in Leon's head that you feel the same way he does. He's just waiting for you to say it.

“I want everything and I want it with you.” You reply. You're both so giddy you almost don't know what to do with yourselves. He steps towards you until there's the barest breath of space between your bodies. Leon is staring at your lips while slowly leaning down. Unable to speak you nod your head. He reaches his hand to cup your face and your lips meet. It's the sweetest and gentlest you've ever been kissed. You lift your hands up to hold onto to his arms afraid if you don't you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. You break apart, but he keeps his hands on your face Leon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

“I want you,” he whispers roughly. A different kind of tension fills the room, heat flushes through your whole body.

“Then take me.” you simply reply. “Here, now, please. You heard Dan we're the only two people in the building..” You waited years for this you don't want to wait any longer.

His eyes snap open. He pulls his head back and drops his hands to rest on your upper arms. A delicious smile spreads across his handsome face at your suggestion. You reach up to grab his hand and without a lick of shame guide him down the front of your pants to cup your warm center. You whimper, your lasciviousness sends Leon over the edge. He yanks his hand away, wraps you in his arms and kisses you. There's nothing sweet or gentle about it this time. He's desperate, like a long-lost lover coming home. You give as good as you get wrapping your arms around his neck to press yourself closer to him. You feel him half hard against your belly and gasp, Leon slips his tongue into your mouth deepening the kiss. You continue on like that for a few minutes, barely breaking apart for breath, hands roaming each other's bodies touching everything and anything you both could reach. You run a hand through his hair, down his chest, and palm his erection through his shorts.

“God yes,” he whimpers.

He pulls away from you and reaches behind  himself to yank his shirt off and throws it down on the mat. You're a bit lost at the suddenness of it but follow Leon as he pulls you down to sit on his discarded top.

Aching to touch him again, to feel his bare skin against yours, you pull your shirt up and over your head, Leon grabs it and throws it behind him. You both try and get your sports bra off but the sweat coating your body makes it difficult and your arms are sore from your punishing workout earlier. This bra ain't coming off without a fight. In your frustration you pull from the bottom up enough to free your breasts. Your spandex bottoms prove to be just as difficult, you kick a shoe off and manage to get one leg out. Leon leans back and shoves his own pants and boxers down to his knees freeing his cock. He moves to balance on one knee awkwardly struggling with his clothes. It doesn't dampen the mood as you can see his thick cock bobbing with his every movement, you're keenly aware of how empty you feel as your cunt clenches around nothing.

Once his clothes were sufficiently dealt with Leon looks down at you, eyes heavy with desire and you shiver. He pushes you gently to your back and moves to cover your body with his. Your stomach tightens as he lowers his open mouth toward your chest. He runs his teeth along a hardened nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking. Your head tilts back and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. Your hands find the back of his head and hold him close to you. He switches to the other breast lavishing attention there. His other hand slips down to pull your panties aside to slide two fingers through your wetness and into your cunt, fucking you open. When he crooked his fingers just right and rubbed your swollen clit with his thumb the pleasure was so intense you felt as though you were melting, but it wasn't enough. You needed him inside of you.

“Please,” you whine “I'm ready. Fuck me.”

His mouth moves away from your breasts, “Yes ma'am” he rasps against your ear.

He takes his hand away, you look down, spread your thighs farther apart plant your feet down and see him grab his cock and guide it into you. You both groan in pleasure as he smoothly sinks all the way in and finds his rhythm thrusting into you. You'll never be able to be in the room again without thinking of the delicious feeling of Leon inside you, your soft breasts pressed against his hard chest, his ragged breathing in your ear. The wet slapping sound of your bodies meeting. You kiss every part of him you can reach. Your hands run through his hair and nails score down his back. They finally land to hold on to his shoulders. Leon Kennedy is your entire universe at this moment and nothing has ever felt more right.

He moves a hand down between to where your bodies are joined and rubs his thumb against your sensitive clitoris again, its all you need. You move to wrap your thighs around his waist, the orgasm flashes bright and fast through your body. You come hard moaning his name.

You feel him stop moving and hear him say, “Shit no condom.”

He moves back slightly, removing your legs from around his waist and back down to the mat still spread wide apart. Leon pulls out of you entirely, gripping the base of his cock tightly. Through the haze of your orgasm you realize what's happening and before he can do anything you lick your own palm, bat his hand away and make a fist around his cock. You massage and stroke the jutting flesh between his thighs while encouraging him to thrust. It doesn't take more than five thrusts before you see and feel copious amounts of thick, wet come on your belly. He groans what sounds like your name, eyes tightly shut, mouth open with the mind numbing pleasure. You let go of his softening cock and wrap your arms around him, relaxing your legs to brush against his. He sags boneless against your chest uncaring of the mess now between your bodies.

Reluctantly he rolls away from you still trying to catch his breath. You sit up, push your bra back down, find your shirt and use it to wipe the come off your stomach then move to wipe the remnants of it off of his him. Luckily you have a change of clothes in your gym bag. He mumbles a thank you before pulling you down to cuddle by his side. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.  You can't wait till the next time when you're in a place where you can both take your time to explore and luxuriate in each other's bodies. You'd never been so hot for another person that you couldn't wait till you were in a private place. The thought brings you back to reality and you tense up, remembering where you are. Leon feels your discomfort.

“You finally realize how out in the open we are, haven't you,” he chuckles a bit. Too mortified to reply you simply nod your head still holding onto him. He sits up bringing you with him. He tucks a stray bit of hair behind your ear and says, “Go home. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“Promise?” you ask, reluctant to be away from him even for a short time.

“Promise,” he breathes his answer against your kiss swollen mouth. He kisses you quickly and gets up to get dressed. You smile and do the same.

There would be consequences to what the two of you had done. A romantic relationship between agents was deeply frowned upon. Damn the consequences, you could worry about that later, besides you can't imagine Leon cares much about them either. The smile on his face echos the one on yours. Confident about the place in each other's lives the weight of life shifted, now balanced comfortably between the two of you. The odds weren't in your favor but you'd take the bad with the good as long as you had him.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy #tagged: i wrote this #light angst #smut with some plot #happy ending

[groenendaelfic]

Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

#it was editing this #or throwing myself a pity party #because for the first time ever #I could attend all the Eurovision events live #with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious #so clearly I'm boycotting it all #and that's the easy choice #no pity party for me #hello editing #I'm not saying Simon is staying at the Hilton Garden Inn #but I'm also not not saying that #yes Faroe Gone will have a happy ending #faroe gone #young royals #young royals fic #fic snippet #wilmon #fic update

[tylered-up-in-blue]

Response to “The Magic Trick You Didn’t See” / The Coffee Theory

I, like many people in the Good Omens fandom, have already read the big essay “The Magic Trick You Didn’t see” –which blows up the coffee theory that’s been circulating on my twitter page to greater heights and big claims. I have some thoughts.

First of all: I think that the original essay has a few details wrong, essentially because it falls into a kind of utilitarian perspective with the whole magic show metaphor. The thing is –sometimes details which are left hanging, or themes which are shown to be important, don’t always tie up somewhere. Sometimes they’re there because they’re interesting, or poking at intrigue –trying to get you to notice and note down for later, rather than evidence of one ultimate solution that’ll be revealed as a holistic great plot. Also “I didn’t think the writing was good in this moment” isn’t very convincing to me, I’m sorry.

But –I do think that they were onto something. I hesitate to make any grand claims, like “Maggie isn’t real,” or “The Metatron is editing the book of life,” because -to be honest- I don’t trust myself to put my name to something as big as that, and I don’t want to erase my favourite thing about Good Omens: its whimsicality. But I will say that there are themes and notable elements which I think will be important later and hint at some larger fuckery (if you’ll excuse the OFMD reference) going on, so consider this a kind of rejigging of the theory to be a more thematic approach that lays out things I just thought were interesting under an more open-ended (or flip-floppy, depending on how you take it) idea:

Something was going on this season which will be revealed as a Heavenly plot to split Aziraphale and Crowley up by the end. It worked. And the person to reveal the greater plot will be Muriel.

I’ll write down first of all a list of things that have been introduced to the world of Good Omens which I think are important, and highlight why one of them sticks out to me. Then I’ll work on a thematic basis of what things are shown to be worth narrative focus/presuppose S3. The first two themes are very much commentary drawing on the essay I’m responding to, and the second two are more my own ideas –certainly the fourth.

Okay, so: there are introductions to the Good Omens-verse which are clearly there to expand our world for later use. I don’t know if all of these things will come up again, but by the end of this season we know:

There are Nazi (and possibly more) zombies running around London.

There is a gun in Aziraphale’s bookshop -in case it’s needed. 

Heaven is interested in keeping things quiet, and they will fiddle with memories to do so. Erased memories can be “stored” in things/creatures.

There is a thing called “The Book of Life” that if you’re written out of, you NEVER EXISTED. (It can be edited, too, presumably.)

Crowley is possibly the most powerful being in the show. “Half a tiny miracle” ends up being enough to resurrect someone 25 times over, and his attempt to stay calm after a little tiff with aziraphale results in draining the street of electricity. Also he created the entire universe. (coming back to amend this with the fact Neil said he got going just "that tiny corner of space" -but I still feel there is significant evidence to say he is very powerful:) )

I lay these out because they’re just good to have noted down, really, and because they’re definitely GOING to be important. ALSO because the last one makes sense for the greater aim to be breaking up the ineffable husbands. Emphasis on Crowley’s power –and for their shared power– sets up a REAL threat for what we KNOW will be the basis of s2: The Second Coming. If you’re Heaven, and you want the second attempt at an apocalypse to be successful, you’d be stupid to let the two celestial beings who were meddling in the whole averted-apocalypse ordeal last time to just be AROUND for it. Especially when one has the ability to stop time!!! You’ve GOT to break them up. 

Theme 1: Investigation (Muriel!)

Investigation is a fun little theme in s2: Aziraphale goes full detective mode. He loves the clues, he’s in his little trilby investigating. All the marketing was very investigative and invites the audience to pay close attention. And there are SO many little easter eggs. From The Colour of Magic appearing to Gabriel reading the first lines of Good Omens –even as small as a Terry Prattchet impersonator speaking over the tannoy in Hell, or the film in The Resurrectionist being chosen specifically to play because there’s a scene where Jimmy Stewart talks to a fly. 

So! Investigation is fun! It’s important. And my favourite part of the essay I’m responding to is definitely that about Muriel. I think that all this build up to the detective-vibe is going to cumulate in their s3 role. Essentially: I entirely agree that they are coded as the one to blow open this whole case in S3. The police costume and giving them The Crow Road are certainly suggestive–but more than anything, leaving them in charge of the bookshop (full of Aziraphale’s diaries and books and everything) props them up perfectly to earn the promo they got for s2. Because I’m not sure about you, but my mutuals and I were shocked that the NYCC scene (“hello hello hello, I’m a human police officer!”) didn’t happen until episode three. From the way the promo was going (character profiles, trailer etc.) I thought Muriel would be in s2 WAY more.

They also make a HUGE point of how Muriel is considered “nobody.” They say it themselves, they’re called “the dull one” by Metatron.

They set them up perfectly to solve this later.

Theme 2: Memories and Stories:

Memory! Another theme! –memory that can be tampered with, contained, erased and returned.

Heaven is willing to meddle with and erase memories if necessary. They are, then, SUBTLE.

There is no God narrator.

There is a statue immortalising a very real Gabriel (somehow/for some reason –Gabriel was also involved in its making?) 

My favourite part of season 2 was definitely the minisodes. The costumes, the settings –I was so surprised to find the horses and carts in ep 3 were CGI in the X-Ray! They look so good! I loved how every single flashback was incredibly vital and interesting to expand on Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship –that convo on the rock in ep 2? WOW. Stunned. Anyway, not to go on.

I completely disagree with the conviction that these were edited. I think that, to the contrary, these memories are (IF there’s something going on with temptation/persuasion (more on that later) and The Book of Life) are ENTIRELY real. And the reason for that is highlighted in the very essay: each memory is tied to a physical record of it happening. The Book of Job; the Polaroid in ‘41, and Aziraphale’s diaries. This is not to say that there aren’t still gaps: where was the “I’m sorry” dance of ‘41? If Aziraphale wasn’t drinking in 2500 BC then when did he start? Just little things like this.

This is the thing: stories, words, are vital. The challenge that they gave the guy who did Sherlock (I can’t remember his name I’m sorry!) –it’s talked about in the X-Ray– was to have words pop out in 4 different ways across S2. This a fun stylistic choice, but it also gives words narrative attention, so ties in with all this. Without God to narrate, narratives and accounts are left to the characters within the world. It’s fun and important both. So is the spelling stuff. Maggie can’t spell, neither can the demons. (She may be a demon herself –I’m not entirely convinced it’s this simple, tbh, but Aziraphale’s miracle not working on her in ep5 is definitely a red flag.) Anyway – it’s also interesting.

With all this, my idea that Heaven/Metatron had been planning the aziracrow divorce from the beginning might mean they’re tampering with The Book of Life –it also could mean that they’re ABOUT to do something weird with Aziraphale’s memories, or all these pieces are going to become very very helpful for Muriel’s investigation.

I really do wonder what this role of records, memories and narratives will come to, but I have a feeling it’ll bleed into s3.

Theme 3: Food

Crowley was the reason Aziraphale tried food in the first place. I just wanted to put that down because of course he was, but also it is deeply INSANE that he INTRODUCED AZIRAPHALE TO THE CONCEPT OF EATING. God, David was right. They really don't exist without each other.

This is kind of the point I make with food here: it’s a HUGE theme in s2, largely just to emphasise the fact that it’s powerful.

For some reason (jokey or otherwise) eccles cakes can “calm you down.”

Aziraphale becomes significantly bonded to Crowley by eating the Ox in ep2. Later, Crowley is “as strong as an Ox." –fun little echo.)

They drink the same wine as always in ‘41 –they share no wine in s2, just the sherry and whiskey respectively. They also don’t share a meal, which seems interesting. I personally think that it’s to do with consumption being a metaphor for queer desire, and the absence of it being a sign of C/A being on “their own side” in s2. Crowley abandons temptation as Aziraphale abandons attempts to “save” Crowley. –-Or it may mean something else!

Crowley drinks laudanum and it makes him go lala. It ALSO makes him turn tiny, then giant, and he does something kind –kind enough to get him dragged off to hell and tortured so badly that he’s asking for holy water as “insurance” 40 years later.

That fucking oatmilk almond coffee. Okay. So if food is powerful, this has weight. From the colour of it being weird against the background to the fact (to quote my dear friend Jey) “nobody fucking drinks almond syrup!!” –I’m sure you’ve see all this going around. Almonds are obviously very poison-coded, and considering the above point I smell something strange. (I don’t believe it was quite a case of drugging per say, but more metaphor: Aziraphale is being tempted. He’s being manipulated, and drawn back into the culty office world of heaven.)

So what we know here is that food is powerful. An important metaphor and force (especially for aziracrow.)

Theme 4: Resurrection

OKAY: so, this is the most original of my listing in these themes. I am so interested in this resurrection thing they’ve got going.

The Resurrectionist pub: where Gabriel and Beez come to their plan. We see that The Dirty Donkey is a lift to heaven (which NOT enough people are talking about) –so what about The Resurrectionist? What power does it hold as a space? Why is the legacy of Mr Dalrymple important?

Why did (wee) Morag’s eyes glow briefly? Is she a zombie now?

Zombies exist. We know this. They’re also tied to the concept of consumption, which is cool.

Heaven measures miracles by Lazarii.

Gabriel, in one of his flashes of prophecy, says: “there will come a tempest (...) the dead will rise from their graves and wander the earth once more.”

These are all cool. Thematically, it seems that being raised from the dead is going to be something big. I’m interested in this, considering that after Gabriel said the above mentioned prophecy my good friend Jey said “hold on, is this going to be about The Rapture?”

Now: we know that “668: Neighbour of the Beast” was supposed to be set in America. Whether it actually is or not, I don’t know, but I think that if it is about a second coming on American soil, The Rapture feels VERY pertinent. The dead are the first to rise and be with God in The Rapture, but all believers join them: and they join them permanently. In some versions, there is a period in which Christ rules the earth. All very fun and interesting prospects for s3!

Where this leaves us:

S2 is the “bridge” between 1 and 3, in Neil’s words. It’s the “romantic filling” of the sandwich.

I would argue that some seriously tough bread started with “oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever,” but hey ho, that’s the very ending of the season. I just want to talk about coded language/draw on what I’ve just said to talk about how we’re set up for the structures of s3:

Heaven is a CULT. A serious cult. From the (temptation) manipulation of the coffee, to the man at the pub calling Gabriel a “mason” –which I’m assuming he means freemason– to the frankly INSANE smile on Michael Sheen’s face as the credits roll (also sickening lighting there)– they are a big threatening cult, and that is going to be important. I think it’ll just get increasingly so.

FurFur and Shax have it OUT for the ineffable husbands. Like they are NOT fans. And they seem to also be buddies now so… not great news.

In The Scene </3 Crowley stops himself short of saying he’d like to spend eternity with Aziraphale, and instead asks him to “go off together,” just like s1 –I think their language is going to develop hugely in s3. It’ll go back to being the space they “carved out for themselves,” only further.

And finally: a bet. The last time we see Crowley, he’s in a car full of plants because he’s carrying “their side” away with him. I am willing to bet –not that this is a hottake or anything– that it’ll end, as it began: in a garden. S3 will end in the garden of their South Downs Cottage !!!

#gos2 #the coffee theory #good omens #good omens 2 theory #good omens 3 #ineffable husbands #permit me a soapbox

[dinsdjrn]

everything i wanted | j. miller | 2.8k

track one | track two | masterlist

bodyguard!AU

AU!Joel x singer!f!reader

summary: it's not what i meant when i said i wanted to be seen. a scary note, a long day, and a security detail.

tags for the series: 18+, minors DNI, angst/fluff/eventual smut, sarah's dead (plot), ellie is alive, parental manipulation/abuse (maternal), depression, drug and alcohol use, sobriety, stalker behaviour from a fan, will update as i go, this ones gonna get dark but it will have the happy feel good too! as always if anything is missing tell me and i will add it!

a/n: another wip that im pumped about, and guess what i have already written pt 2.. so thats coming. this is intro it really picks up next chapter xoxo.

track one - to be seen

It was a cool winter night in LA, or well as cool as LA gets. You had just arrived back at the house you rented in LA when you were in the studio. It had been a pretty typical day for you, your album had just been released and you were doing loads of press. You were also attempting to write and produce a deluxe edition of your most recent studio album. The resounding success of your first album catapulted you into fame overnight. 

This second album was much more by the book, trimmed and produced as if to make you a working dog eager to please those who owned your success. You felt it was missing the grit of your first album. You hoped with the release of a deluxe edition you’d be able to bring that grit back in, take back control of your sound. The only issue being you had to write the songs to be able to produce them. 

You were so excited to just collapse into bed, it had been a long day doing both a morning talkshow and late night TV. You reminded yourself that this was your dream for so long and it was finally happening. Two be grateful for the love and support. That your fans cared about you and the songs you made. 

‘They started your career, and if you don’t work for them they’ll end it.’ you could hear your mother in your head. So you turned your exhaustion into gratefulness. Long days meant a long career ahead. 

As you unlocked the door to your house a small envelope fell from the crack of the door to your feet. 

Probably just a flyer. You thought to yourself. 

You picked it up and made your way into the modern home. The kitchen was clean and a bit too sterile for your liking. You missed home, your friends, your dad, playing gigs at bars and comedy shows. This life was overwhelming, it felt like a tornado scooped you up and placed you in LA, New York, or London. Your heart was both so full and so empty all at once. 

You opened the envelope with your finger and pulled out a small piece of paper. 

And just like that, your chest went tight, phone falling to the tile floor and the world stopped moving.

‘I’ve found you, and I’m never letting you go. You’re going to be mine forever. Love always, B.’

The next twelve hours were a whirlwind, it was a blur. Going from your house to you managers, and now back to Golden Record headquarters at a bright and early 4am. You sat in meetings for hours, where people would talk about you as if you weren’t there. By ten in the morning it was decided that the letter was a threat and you needed a new apartment and a permanent body guard. By eleven, a firm had been hired and a detail was on the way.  By noon you were being shuffled away to a new apartment with a large broody man who was referred to as Miller. 

You had never felt so tired in your life, being awake going on twenty eight hours now and coming down from a hit of adrenaline had really taken all you had left to give. You sunk into the leather seats of the large black SUV and let out a large sigh clenching your fists and closing your eyes. 

You glanced over taking in the man who was assigned to be your detail for the next three days. Three days on, rotating between Miller and Jones they said, two private details until they decided there was no threat to your life. 

Miller, first name unknown, was quite handsome. He had thick brown hair and soft waves, he was wearing all black t-shirt and jeans that fit is form extremely well. He was toned. But not to the point of being “chiseled”, his jaw was square and there was a seriousness to him. It made him look threatening even. He pulled out his phone briefly as the car started moving and you could see his jaw tighten at whatever message he had received. 

“So is Miller what I am supposed to call you? Or Is there a first name that goes along with it?” You asked through a yawn. 

“Joel Miller,” He said quickly, not even glancing in your direction. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Joel.” You said. An awkward silent fell between you, you shifted in your seat. 

As if by grace of the gods, your phone began ringing loudly. 

Joel glanced to see if there was caller ID, it was just your mother. A conversation you’re sure couldn’t be delayed, but you dreaded it none the less. 

“Hey mom,” you sighed.

“Why did I have call you?!” She started. “You’d think that when something like this happens I’d find out from my OWN daughter, not her manager telling me she won’t be recording today!” 

You just put her on speaker and let her berate you for not telling her, you scrolled through twitter wondering how your interviews were being received. 

“Are you even listening to me?! You don’t have anything to say for yourself?!” She dramatized. 

“Mom, I’m really sorry. Everything happened so fast and I was in meetings all night. I was about to call y-“ 

“I don’t want to hear excuses, this is stupid. You’re being dramatic, if you had thought this through you could have recorded today.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” you droned. 

It wasn’t an uncommon track to play, you get blamed for something out of your control and you apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. 

“I didn’t have a whole ton of material today anyway. I’ll make sure we do double time tomorrow and I was going to write this afternoon,” you said hoping you were reaching the end of the conversation. 

“Good, you’re not popular enough to slack off. One popular song isn’t the promise of a career,” She said in a matter of fact tone. 

“I know, I’ll keep working on it,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Joel had been so quiet next to you, not seeming interested at all in the conversation at hand. For the best, every time you spoke with your mother, she took a small piece of your soul with her. Breaking you down into the perfect little star, nothing left of who you once were.

“Great! Make sure you don’t waste the potential of this! Crisis’ creates hits! Alright my love, Jan and I are meeting for breakfast on Fifth so I have to go! Next time you’re in New York we’ll catch up” 

“Yeah, talk so-,” the call ended before you could finish your sentence. 

At least she was happy, and you needed to lay down for the foreseeable future. You rubbed your temple and sighed, you just wanted to curl up and cry until there wasn’t anything left. 

As soon as you arrived at the new apartment you noticed your clothes packed neatly away for you, it comforted you knowing you wouldn’t have to go back to the house. You laid down fully clothed on your bed, finally alone for the first time in twenty-nine hours, and you let yourself cry. 

By the time you had woken up it was nearly dark out, the sun had made its descent past the Los Angeles skyline and all that was left were the warm oranges and reds of the evening. 

You were still tired but needed to get up, eat and do a bit of work. You grabbed your phone to check the time, 7:31. You noticed a few missed texts from your dad back home, your manager, and saw a headline on twitter about a police presence at your house. 

You swiped away the twitter notifications not wanting to be reminded what a nightmare the last day was. You opened the text conversation with your dad, certain he just wanted to check in. 

Hey Kiddo, hope you’re doing okay? Mom called, here for you. 

No surprise there, they divorced as soon as you had moved out for good, but she would always call to prove a point. To let him know that she knew something before he did. 

Hi Dad, I’m ok, uneasy but ok. Talk soon :)

Your manager had texted you the phone number of both security details and the company they worked for just incase something were to go awry. 

You made your way to the living room, Joel was there sitting at the island on his phone. You made your way to the fridge not surprised to find it empty. You sighed pulling out your phone to order delivery. 

“You hungry?” You asked him. 

“Huh?” He looked confused. You noticed he had put his phone away and was standing again. 

“I’m gonna order some Thai food, do you want me to grab you something?” You explained. 

“Oh, uh, that’s alright, thank you though.”

You noted he had a slight southern accent. 

“Well there’s no food here so…” you trailed. 

“Well just grab whatever and I’ll eat some of it,” you nodded in return.

It didn’t take long for your food to arrive, you and Joel both grabbed a plate and ate in silence. You hated every second of it. You’re not sure he felt it though, the uncomfortable silence between you. 

After eating you grabbed your headphones and made your was to the living room. You had to have something to show for yourself in the studio tomorrow. You could tell there was frustration around your deluxe edition, you had recorded and scrapped three songs this week alone. 

Just as you were grabbing your guitar your phone started ringing on the table. 

James 

You answered immediately. 

“James! What’s up?” You were excited to hear from your best friend. 

“Hey girl! Some crazy shit going down this morning?” He asked. 

“Something like that,” you sighed, giving him just a few details of the past day.

“Well, I’m here if you need me. I did have a question though?” 

“What’s up?” 

“How would you like to come out with some friends tomorrow? We have a table at new bar and it might be fun, take some stress off!”

“I-,” you started, being cut off immediately. 

“Before you shut me down you only have to come for like ONE drink,” He said emphasizing the ‘one’.

You sighed, “Fine. ONE drink. Text me the details and I’ll run it past my security team.” 

“Fancy ass security team. Are they at least hot?” 

You scoffed. 

“So they’re super hot,” he made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now. Love you, bye!” You said ending the call before any more words could be exchanged. 

You phone buzzed immediately. It was James. 

Lucky bitch! Send a picture ;) here’s the details for tomorrow xo.

[attachment: 1 image] 

A screenshot with the details. You loved the message and left it at that. 

“So what are you running past your security team?” Joel inquired, your head snapped in his direction. 

“Drinks with a friend tomorrow, at an exclusive restaurant.” You showed him the screenshot. 

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” He sounded unsure. 

“I’m not really asking; I mean I am, but if there’s even a slight chance I’d like to go.” 

Joel sighed and scratched his temple, “Alright.” 

“Great, you can stay here if you want. I don’t think going out with a large group requires this level of security.” You pushed to see what the answer would be. 

“Do you have any concern for your own safety?” He scoffed toward you. 

“It was an empty threat, Miller. Look I can appreciate everyones concern for my safety, but this is hardly the worst thing anyones said to me.” Your annoyance was no longer easily masked. 

He inhaled sharply at your remark as if it surprised him.

“Yeah, but most of the time the things people say aren’t in an envelope on your door.” 

You just sighed in return. 

“Alright well, then you come with me. No use getting up in arms about it.”

The dark and broody man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. Somehow it made him look exceptionally powerful. The muscles in his arms moved and shifted showing how well defined they were, he had a few tattoos that peaked out from below his t-shirt sleeve. You had realized your were staring and quickly turned to look down at your notebook, Joel still in your peripheral.  

“So is there any reason you took this job, Joel Miller?” You asked as you reached for your guitar again, finally starting on a song. You had a soft tune stuck in your head since your meeting with the security team earlier that day that you had to put to chords. 

“I don’t think knowing about my personal life is keeping you any safer,” he grumbled. 

“Maybe not safer, but more comfortable with my situation perhaps.” You continued to hum the same tune over again. Scribbling lyrics into your notebook. 

Not what I meant when I said that, I wanted to be seen. 

“Well, Miller? Why private security?” You pressed. 

“My uh- my kid. It is just her and I, the gig pays well and I’ve been told I look like an attack dog before.” 

That made you laugh. 

“Whoever said that, I whole heartedly agree,” you smiled at him. 

“I’ll do it if I have to,” you hummed, “hope and dun na in between.”

Quickly jotting down the first part of that lyric, hoping the second half would just come to you. 

“So, this kid, tell me about them?” You asked strumming some barre chords. 

“No.”

“Oh come on! Her name? Her age? Anything?”

“Have you ever been told you’re too friendly? That you pry?” He scoffed. 

“Most people don’t seem to have problems with it funny enough,” you quipped. 

“Ellie, she’s fourteen,” he hesitated, “she like jokes, the outdoors and playing guitar.” 

He was very grumbly and reluctant. You could help but smile at the fact at at least today he would talk to you. 

“Well if she’s any good you should bring her to the studio! Maybe she can help me get out of my slump,” you chuckled smiling at him. 

For a moment his face softened and he smiled lightly at you. It sent a chill down your spine, he was handsome when he was hard and cold. But that moment of softness made your stomach do backflips. You quickly looked back down. 

“Dun dun little empire and made a mm mm mess,” you jotted that down. 

“She’d uh love that you know. Thanks,” Joel interrupted momentarily. 

You smiled and nodded for at him. He didn’t say anything else after that leaving you to record little voice notes here and there.

You got on a bit of a roll writing this song. It had finally sparked something exciting in you. Maybe writing something your mom would detest was what you needed to do more often. She only ever wanted a breakup ballad or an upbeat song. The songs that you loved most though were the ones that pulled from your soul, explained the pressure you were under. They were the flowers that bloomed in your darkest parts, picking them and presenting them hoping someone would understand you. 

As you worked Joel sat on the stool on his phone, or worked away on his laptop you’re sure filling out reports for the day. You couldn’t help but stare as he worked. It made your song writing take exponentially longer, but he was just mesmerizing. You’d never felt a pull like this to anyone. Maybe it was his mysterious demeanour or his unparalleled looks or even the sense that he was a bit dangerous. Any way about it he was off limits.

You knew everything in your head was off limits, but fantasies weren’t going to hurt anyone. Joel Miller was devilishly sharp and handsome, and you were going to be spending a lot of time together in the coming weeks. 

By the time midnight rolled around again you had the bones of a song and a headache to match. You yawned and stretches your back, it ached from being hunched over your notebook. 

“Right, well, I think it’s time for me to go to bed, Joel.” You closed your book and stood up. 

“Alright, have a good sleep. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall in the security room.”

You nodded taking him in one more time, his salt and pepper hair, tight fitting t-shirt and chiseled jaw sent you into a frenzy. 

“Anything else y’a need?” He looked at you confused. 

“Oh, uh no, goodnight!” You turned on your heels embarrassment flooded your system. 

This was a bad crush, but when he looked at you it was electric. No matter what you felt when he looked at you, you’re sure it was one sided. Your fantasies had to stay just as they were, no matter what.

track two

tags: @joelsversion @tightjeansjavi @pedgeitopascalreads @wand-erer5 @orcasoul @quality-lust @bearsbeetsbeskar (once again new fic new tag list, if you'd like to be added lmk, if you want to be tagged in everything i post just lmk, i don't wanna tag anyone who doesnt want it 🥺❤️)

#joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

[akajustmerry]

I always think about how the only openly gay characters on Succession we've met are Tabitha and Naomi and their primary relationships are with Ken and Roman. Both Naomi and Tabs are outside the Roys' social circle. in Naomi's case, she's a Pierce; the family are canonically regarded for their left leaning media which is Waystar's main competitor both ideologically and commercially and that's why Logan wants to buy them out. But more than that, I do not think it's a coincidence that, as the only 2 openly queer characters in the show, Naomi and Tabitha's most significant relationships are with Kendall and Roman. Kendall and Roman are the children Logan directly and derogatorily interrogates about not being straight. He does that multiple times throughout the seasons, using slurs to describe their behaviour, as well as, in Kendall's case, using his sexuality as part of the blackmail about the waiter's death. Neither Tabitha or Naomi ever directly ask Roman or Kendall about being gay, but it's clearly something they share that goes unsaid. Kendall and Naomi connect primarily on their struggles with addiction, but the conversation they have about the pressure and shame of it could easily stand in for, and even stem from, struggles with sexuality too. much attention is paid to how Gerri "handles" Roman's sexual frustrations (without her consent), but Tabitha is really the only person who comes (or rather doesn't. rip sorry) closest to consensually getting Roman to attempt facing what he wants sexually. a conversation he only has with her after he learns she's not straight and after she makes him feel relatively safe from ulterior motivations. For both Kendall and Roman, naomi and tabs are relatively non-judgemental when it comes to the parts of who they are Logan shames them for because it's clearly something Tabs and Naomi understand empathetically. Of course, it doesn't work out for either couple, but how could it? Kendall and Roman are so repressed because they have to be to survive. because these people were born into such ultra conservative circles, there's tragically no amount of privilege that would make it feel safe for them to just exist or even contemplate existing outside of hegemonic norms. But yeah, in the armory of smoking guns that makes up Kendall and Roman's queer subtext, Naomi and Tabs are framed photos on the wall.

EDIT: making this post at 2am I forgot about Lawrence Yee of Vaulter fame. But the theory still fits because Lawrence's primary interactions are with Kendall and Roman. He clocks Kendall's much facade almost instantly which very much has a queer subtext to it. Also, Roman is sent to "wine and dine" Yee and his partner which is obviously loaded with subtext. I mean Roman even refers to him being out with them as metrosexual...

#did that metaphor get away from me yeah but the girls who get it get it ❤️ #roman roy #kendall roy #naomi pierce #tabitha hayes #succession