#and would go so much better with marigolds

[hellsitegenetics]

genome THIS (pleag. it would make me happy):

STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITNER GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITNER

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT JURGEN LEITENER I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP BOOKS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE IS HE DEAD IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST BEARD GET AWAY FROM ME

if i wanted to get into heaven and god said jurgen leitners waiting inside i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down

if i have to deal with jurgen leitner speaking one word in person on voice in podcast not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to rewatch the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip all the times when he is mentioned or alive

i dont even know why i hate him so much. he collects books but i am just mad because i am angy

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some rich shithead whos a fan of creepypasta and wanted the irl version ill go ham

BETTER have had a book make him kill a man cuz if he didnt Im going to make him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateJurgenLeitner

episodes not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe be his library and I lost it

where the fuck is jurgen leitner if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

crusty old man

ill punch leitner and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one final book he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when jurgen died or will die so i can make it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked up if true books

String identified:

T T TCG G T G A CCTG T ATG AT ATA TA T AATA T GGT C T CC AG T T C TCG G T

T G TA AT G T AT C A A C C T C A A T T T T A A ATA A A C A CA ACT T T T A AC A A T TTT A GT AA

at t gt t a a g a g t atg g t t gttg t ac

a t a t g t ag c cat t c t ta t a t t a a t atc t t aga t c g a t a t t t a

t at c. cct t a t a ca a ag

tt a c act t a t t c ta a a cata a at t g a

TT a a a a a a c t gg t a

aa.c/cgatgt

t at . ag t at t a a a t t

t c g t t a gg t at

ct a

c t a a a a tg a aat c g at t a tgat t a tat t a t at a t tt c act

t atg tatg at t t

t a at g g ca a t a

a c a a t a atg t a ct t t a a a c t

Closest match: Calendula officinalis genome assembly, chromosome: 11 Common name: Marigold

#tumblr genetics #genetics #marigold #flowers #the magnus archives #jurgen leitner #sent to me #requests #completely-real-and-normal-human #asks

[riaki]

moneyload | satoru gojo x reader (implied fem)

this is for @satoruoo + everyone who’s tired of my angst | 1k wc

satoru likes spoiling you.

no— like would be the world's greatest understatement. satoru feels about spoiling you the way he feels about you— he doesn’t just like you, he‘s utterly enamored with you. if you asked, he'd move mountains for you. or give up a portion of his candy; both are equitable in his bright eyes. he loves you so much that he'd skip a basketball session with suguru or leave in the middle of the fight to throw the leftover scraps of a cursed spirit to whoever was unlucky enough to be there at the time; you're more important. you've always been.

yeah, that’s gotta be it. a perfect way to paint his feelings for you on a pure canvas brightened by your smile, light as a feather and lively as the sun. and you're completely deserving, he thinks— you, who's always been so patient and kind with him.

as such, he thinks it’s a crime to waste such a beautiful figure on things less than lavish dress and delicate jewelry; but to be honest, he thinks you could don a potato sack and still make it look exquisite. nevertheless, each time you protest when he drapes another dainty necklace glittering with gems cut from a million-dollar wallet and 58 facets (all the reasons he loves you— that's what he calls them.), he shushes you promptly with a swift, sweet kiss; you get a noseful of his expensive cologne every time he sidles up to you and gets comfortable. which, for the record, is quite often.

out of everything he gets you; bouquets of beautiful speckled flowers that look as if a painter dumped their entire palette of pastels and pretties onto the petals, sweet chocolates dark with the tiniest amount of cherry liquor in the center ("i don't need them— i already get drunk off of you, sweetheart!"), fragrant perfume or the latest comfortable clothing that catches his eye (this one's less common. he likes it better when you're only in his clothes.), jewelry is the one he always finds his way back to the most often.

why? well, if you ask him— there's nothing better than being sprawled on your couch with his head in your lap, nuzzling into your warm hand as he catches a whiff of the perfume he gifted you last week paired with the reddest rose he could find on your wrist. your hands card through his hair, and he uses the opportunity to catch your arm before you can move any further, giving you a smug grin as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box.

(it's a little embarrassing the amount of times you've thought he was going to propose from that alone.)

you'll open it, and it'll be a pretty silver necklace that matches the one around his neck, or a gold ring with ornate details that he slips onto your fingers after taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a smile and a laugh. sometimes it's a bracelet adorned with rich jewels the color of your eyes; maybe something rose quartz to represent the flush on his cheeks you always seem to elicit or a marigold yellow to show the pure joy he gets from being around you. if you ask him about it, he'll just say, "i wasn't kidding when i said i get drunk off of you, baby." with a boyish giggle that's far too charming to not have been used in his younger years to get his way and a sweet little wink of an afterthought that has your heart racing.

on the occasions when the gift is far less... appropriate, you'll always sigh and chastise him with a shake of your head because you both know the fabric will be torn to shreds in a matter of a few minutes. he does it anyway, though. he's always been a little bit of a brat in that sense.

whatever it ends up as, satoru absolutely adores seeing your reactions; the cute flush on your cheeks when you accept it with a little thanks and a kiss to his cheek, leaning forward on the tips of your toes because he's too tall for his own good. maybe even to hook a finger around the bridge of his sunglasses for lips to lips, if he's lucky. of course, he knows he doesn't have to buy your affection— you've made that abundantly clear in moments he doesn't like to think about as anything more than vulnerability when he's worn out, but there's just something about you that makes him want to pile it on. he's always had more money than he knows what to do with, anyway.

and maybe, just maybe— one day he'll dare to hope for a future past school hallways, flattering dresses and skirts or sneaky kisses when he's a little sweaty and his jacket is in your arms and you're on the bleachers, hijacking shoko's pack of cigarettes while the squeak of shoes on the gym floor and the sound of a basketball rattling in the hoop fills your ears. past nights when you're curled up in his arms and he can comfortably rest his head in the crook of your neck, tucked away where it always should be (and always will be).

he'll hope for days when he gets to wake up to you by his side, a silver band with so much more meaning than the fifth one he's given you that week on your ring finger and a matching one on his own, because satoru loves you so much that he'd empty out the vaults of a bank just to make you smile at him. not in the hollow way his father always had at home, or in the obligatory resolute smiles of the servants on his estate, but in a genuine way; a way no one else (except his mom) had ever come close to because if he sold everything he ever had for you, his world would still be right in front of him, holding his hands and kissing his face in spontaneous bursts of love, like shooting stars dancing across his cheeks as a way of thanks.

...so, maybe satoru likes spoiling you so much because you always seem to return tenfold.

if u looked at my search history you'd see 'how many cuts does a diamond have' and 'what are the chocolates with alcohol in them called' my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

#i caved (again!!!!) #this has been sitting in my notes app for like a month oopsies #breathe the fresh air. be blinded by the sun and smell the grass (me @ this drabble) #have more gojo fluff!!!! i have plenty to give #now i scuttle away to work on my christmas special #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #billet-doux #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk scenarios #i tbink this is the most i’ve edited for a banner yet oops #- rs !

[lordofdestructionm]

The not so subtle sentimentality of Mordecai Heller

With the Lackadaisy Short Film  teaser trailer hitting over 800K views one line from Serafine got me thinking about a side of Mordecai that is not often discussed but is crucial to his character and may play a key part in the comics story before the end

Though it is easy for both other characters in the story and readers to see Mordecai as just a cold killer that cares more about stains on his shirt than ending multiple lives in grizzly ways (and that is true for anyone who makes the mistake of getting in the way of him completing his work) a closer look reveals that, while reserved for a short list of people, there is a strong streak of sentimentality hidden behind the buttoned down aloof professional persona he tries so hard to maintain

His Mother and Sisters

Mordecai was dealt a very bad starting hand in life. With his father dying when he and his sisters were still very young, despite his loving and hard working mother doing her best to provide for them, the family lived in poverty in the slums of New York

As a result Mordecai has to start working at a very early age and being naturally gifted with numbers he becomes a book keeper and soon enough gets drawn into running the numbers for gambling and loan sharking gangs.

All of this was done to try and make life better for his mother and his sisters. In a flashback to when he was on the run from the criminals he had been working for after being caught embezzling funds from them, his life is in danger and he needs to get out of town in a hurry and so jumps on a train in either 1920 or 1921.

Despite this he fixates on writing a letter to send to his mother in which he explains the location of his ill gotten savings and urges her to move with his sisters to cleaner better ventilated housing.

Because the money wasn’t primarily for his benefit

Mordecai clearly loved his sisters very much and they could break him out of his reserved bookish demeanor. We can see even as an adult Modecai holds the memory of his childhood with his sisters, impoverished and hard though it clearly was, very close. Close enough that thinking about them are enough to bring out his very small but very genuine smile that could not be further away from his “ice pick look”.

Atlas

The next imporant relationship in his life is with Atlas May. When on that getaway train he soon realized that cut throats from his former employers are already in the carriage waiting for their moment to pounce

Mordecai is 100% certain that he is about to get a bullet to the head and the tunnel will provide the hitmen with the perfect cover as the darkness and noise descends.

Only for a ray of light to suddenly appear

Atlas gave Mordecai the means to survive, not just by literally giving him what he needed to escape his would be murderers, but by employing him and providing a new purpose when he had nowhere else to go and no idea what to do.

Atlas being dead by the time of the main story, by design we know very little about his personality and relationships with others except for what the people who knew him have to say.

But is is very clear that Mordecai felt a deep loyalty to Atlas. It may even be speculated that he became a surrogate father figure for him, having lost his own father so young and having been moulded while working for him from the scared youth in shabby second hand clothes to a dapper professional bookkeeping bootlegger

This loyalty has not ended with Atlas’s death. He is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of his murder. This is despite the fact it would be a much smarter move by far for the sake of both professionalism and survival to let dead former employers lie and simply carry out his new role with the Marigold gang no questions asked

Instead it is clear the entire reason he has abandoned The Lackadaisy is not, as Mitzi and the rest think, cold self interest but so he can investigate if the rival gang had any role in his mentors death

Even discussing the topic causes his cold passive exterior to crack and makes him look broken and overwhelmed

Viktor  (You knew this was coming)

As anyone who has followed this account will know this is one of my (and many other fans) favourite dynamics in the series

At fist it seems there is little reason for these two to have any kind of bond. Mordecai is pretty much obsessed with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar, and tends to go on one-sided rambles when perturbed.

 This clashes hard with the surly Slovak who is often unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Indeed the two often bicker and act as if they can’t stand the other

However for whatever reason, in spite of these big differences, the big bruiser mechanic and the fussy nerdy sharp shooter are able to work very well together and soon become key weapons in Atlas’s arsenal

And in spite of their differences there is evidence, that over the course of the roughly six years they were working together before their bosses death, that these two extremely anti-social personalities actually began to form an unlikely rapport

On the one known occasion when Mordecai actually drank strong alcohol, and predictably got hilariously drunk, one of his chosen topics of conversation is his “friend” Viktor and how “great” he is (including a possibly telling comment about his large physique *cough*)

Mordecai also, despite being the type of person who you would assume would just radiate Scrooge energy, makes a point of buying Viktor a Christmas/hanukka present. Though he keeps up appearances by presenting it as another criticism of Viktor’s fashion sense

Tellingly Viktor voluntarily wears the tie for the rest of the day, something only Ivy (someone Viktor treats as a surrogate daughter) is able to get away with as well.

The two also not only work well together in a professional capacity, but seem to truly look out for each others welfare when on the job. Not only does Mordecai save Viktor from being shot while distracted, Viktor then goes out of his way to retrieve Mordecai’s pince-nez from the staircase of a burning building

While a hilarious moment as Mordecai fails to react in the “correct” way to having just survived a bloody shoot out, it also sums up his entire attitude to people, that he separates the world into those who count and those who don’t. The former are a short list

Viktor, along with the others on here, counts for Mordecai

This is made clear at his chat with Mitzi at the lunch meeting.

Mordecai may have kneecapped Viktor when he left the Lackadaisy gang, but from what we know now this was clearly an attempt to get Viktor out of harms way by forcing him to retire from bootlegging, and quite possibly to avoid Marigold putting him in a position where he would have to fight Viktor if he was told to finish off the failing speakeasy. Something he could hardly refuse if he wanted to keep investigating Atlas’s death

Mitzi seems to know Viktor is a chink in Mordecai’s armour, and of course exploits that to the fullest. When she informs him that his theft of the Lackadaisy arsenal put Viktors life in danger Mordecai’s face makes less than neutral expression

As Mitzi keeps twisting that screw Mordecai knows he is in danger of giving something away and with Asa right next to him he needs to restore his barriers.

In this case quite literally using a menu to cover his face to ensure he doesn’t slip up again

It seem to work as Asa laughs of the idea of Mordecai having a heart beneath the cold exterior (something we know is a big mistake)

Even when the attention is off him and the topic of conversation moves on his gaze remains firmly fixed down at the table.

Until Atlas lets slip some crucial information about Atlas’s last days. So much for there being “no heartstrings to tug on”

I am sure the Lackadaisy Animated Movie is going to be amazing and hopefully will only lead to ever more popularity and attention for this amazing world and its characters

#lackadaisy #lackadaisycats #tracy j butler #mordecai heller #viktor vasko #vikdecai #viktor x mordecai #asa sweet #zippy heller #rose heller #esther heller #atlas may #mitzi may #1920s #cats #calvin mcmurray #rocky rickaby #ivy pepper

[keikikait]

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part 2 of my previous fic, which you can find here

for my other gojo smut, click here!

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.5k

summary: you’re home from your teacher retreat to nikko, ready for the new term. what you’re not ready for? gojo to come home to you. 

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) SMUT - 18+ ONLY! MDNI, dom!gojo and sub!reader, protected sex (pill, not mentioned but its there) degrading (he uses the word slut), hair pulling, nipple play, spitplay (bye….), light edging, finger/thumb sucking (don’t look at me), use of the words [cock, cunt, and tits], slight oral (f receiving), a bit of angst & a bit of mean gojo, nickname use [baby, pretty girl, doll], no use of y/n

a note: i know i said this would be out next week but it was my day off so i wrote it all today. this is less angst, more smut, but i can’t help myself so there is some angst. also, im sorry i made gojo such an asshole, i promise that he will get better! part 3 will be out soon my loves.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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

Your eyes are already open when your alarm goes off. 

You didn’t sleep at all. There was no point, even after you finished crying your head hurt too much to sleep, even with some painkillers. You laid there, wide awake all night thinking about Gojo. Did he think of you, too? You turn the alarm off and slide out of bed, your slipper-covered feet shuffling as you make your way around your apartment. 

You brush your teeth and look in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy and swollen, mascara smeared down your cheeks. You pop some spoons in the freezer to cool as you clean yourself up and get dressed. Your phone sits untouched on the bedside table, still plugged in.

You sit on the side of your bed, pressing the now cold spoons against your swollen eyes. You take deep breaths, trying to relax. You had every right to be upset, after all. Gojo has no reason to string you along, whispering sweet nothings in your ear at night about how you’re his girl, his doll, his everything. But that’s exactly what that was. Nothing. Maybe, you think, this is some kind of karma. Some sort of punishment for your arrogance, for thinking you could have what everyone else wants, Gojo, and here—at last—it was.

You put on some de-puffing undereye patches that you keep in the fridge and clean your entire apartment spotless to distract yourself, music blasting from the phone in your back pocket. You finally throw out that dead fern you got as a gift from the school board when you first started, and you finally clean out your fridge of the now moldy condiments you tried once on a whim. You’re washing dishes when the front door opens and, suddenly, Gojo steps inside. He had opted for his dark blue circular sunglasses today, an odd choice for the winter but you didn’t mind it. “Hi,” you say, surprised, pulling off the bright marigold gloves and setting them on the side of the sink to dry. For a second, you think about the absolute state of your eyes. The swelling and puffiness had gone down, and even though he had never seen you cry, you think about the fact that even if he noticed your eyes he wouldn’t care enough to ask questions.

“Hey,” is all Gojo says in response. You wait to see if he says anything else, or if he is going to try to explain himself, but he doesn’t, and eventually moves across your apartment to head to the bathroom. You hesitate before you make your way after him, passing his duffel bag on the floor of your closet, which was unzipped and filled with enough clothes that it was clear that he was going to stay for a while.

You feel pathetic admitting it to yourself but having Gojo there — not just in your apartment, but in your room — feels nice. He doesn’t speak to you yet, but his very presence steadies and refocuses you. As grateful as you are that he came back to you, you are also a little disappointed in yourself, by how dependent you are, how weak. Who were you without him?

Eventually, he faces you, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to be strong, to finally confront him about all of the false promises and the date with Himiko, but you can’t. Not yet. “Hi, Gojo.”

He smiles, reaching you with just one step and collecting you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, for the first time in almost nine days, and you feel yourself giving up, giving all power to him.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, smirking. “I missed you. I’m sorry that I didn’t come home last night…I got carried away.”

You’ve noticed over the past eleven months (yes, you kept track) of your situationship that he uses that term a lot; carried away. He uses it when he gets a little too handsy during the free periods at work and when he stares at you a bit too long during staff meetings. He uses it when he forgets to call or text you and when it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind. Maybe you are. 

You smile, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He grins, gently running his hands up your back, lightly scratching his nails against you, making you shiver. “Of course. I always come back home to you.” He bends at the knees and picks you up, carrying you the short distance to your bed before laying you down and climbing on top of you. Excitement fills your body as he leans down and starts placing soft kisses along your neck. You arch into him, whining and tugging on his sleeves, and he chuckles. “Relax, doll. Quit acting so desperate. You’re not in charge here, remember?”

You feel drool pool in your mouth and you quickly swallow it. “I’m sorry, Gojo, it’s just that —”

He interrupts you, sliding his thumb into your mouth to shut you up. “I know, baby, I know. You went eight whole days without my touch and now you’re acting like a desperate little slut,” You nod, hoping he won’t tease you this time. He smirks at the dumb look on your face before saying, “Open.” You do, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out a little. He pulls his thumb away and draws back briefly before spitting into your open mouth. You swallow it without his command. You know what he likes.

He grins, kissing your lips once more before kissing down your chin and neck, slowly sliding off your t-shirt. You whine and squirm under him, and after he pulls your shirt off he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut up. If you keep whining, I won’t fuck you at all. Is that what you want?” You shake your head vigorously, that’s the last thing you want. He removes his hand before continuing, “Good. Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” You nod, relaxing into your sheets as he kisses down your chest. He pushes your bra up over your tits, groaning as he squeezes them in his hands. “Fuck. I missed my girls.” You would normally scold him for objectifying you, but at this moment you didn’t care. You wanted his hands on you, and you wanted his dick inside of you as soon as possible.

He takes the sunglasses off and brings one of your nipples to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against it to tease you. He sticks his tongue out and drags it along your nipple in circles, loving the way your thighs fall open and the little sounds you make. He finally, finally sucks your nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one hard just to feel you squirm. He rolls your bare nipple between his fingers while he lightly nibbles on the one in his mouth. Your head is spinning, and all you can do is tug on his hair as he teases you. He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips. He picks it up on his finger and rubs it on your face just to humiliate you.

He kisses down your torso, tugging down your pyjama bottoms and tossing them onto the floor. He kisses your thighs as he pushes them up and against your chest so you’re nice and spread out for him, just as he likes. He notices the wet spot on your plain blue cotton underwear and smirks, rubbing at it with his thumb. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

You take it you can respond to him now. “Fuck, Gojo, please! Please stop teasing me, I already went eight days without you.” The whine in your voice makes him feel so big, so powerful. He barely touches you and you’re already crumbling at his feet. Maybe he should keep you there.

He makes that condescending tsk tsk tsk sound that normally annoys you, but now you can’t help it and you whine and squirm even more. “You’re so desperate, baby. You can’t even handle a little teasing?” He presses his thumb right against your clit, the wet spot spreads even more. “I guess you do have a point, though. I haven’t made you cum since we left for Nikko.” He kisses right above the hem of your underwear before pulling it down, the blue fabric now dangling around your ankle. He moans, pushing your legs back even further and spreading your cunt. 

He spits directly onto your pink little hole, watching as it mixes with your juices. In this moment, you’re his. You’re his everything, his girl, his doll. In this moment you actually mean something to him, when you’re spread out and begging for his attention. He runs his pointer finger down your slit, collecting some spit before dragging it back up to your clit and lightly circling it.

You almost cum on the spot. Days of pent-up horniness and teasing and you’re as sensitive as ever. You bite your lip, looking over at him with nothing but love and affection in your gaze. “Please, Gojo. Please don’t tease me. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He gets comfortable, moving your thighs over his shoulders as he lays down on the bed. “You’ll take what I give you. Don’t disappoint me.” He circles your clit with his finger one last time before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back, your hands finding solace in his hair as you writhe and moan. He moans at your taste, gripping your hips hard as he gets lost in your cute little cunt. You grind against his face, and he lets you, loving the feeling of your clit against his tongue. He teases your hole with his fingers, sliding his thumb in as he swirls his tongue around your clit in circles. You clench up tight, mumbling praises along with I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum! before he pulls away completely. He laughs at the noise you make, and at the way your face contorts and tears well in your eyes. He slaps the inside of your thigh before standing up and unbuttoning his pants. “Oh, come on. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You move up on the bed, your back supported by your pillows as he climbs over you. You’ve seen his dick a lot, more times than you can count, but the sheer size of it always surprises you. Thick and long, slightly curved to the left, with a pretty pink tip to match. His balls are big, too, full of cum and practically begging to be in your mouth, which waters as soon as you see it. 

Gojo looms over you, pushing you onto the bed as he slides in between your legs and gets comfortable. He rubs his tip against you, getting it nice and wet so you don’t struggle with the size as he fucks you, at least not too much. In a moment of pure intimacy, he reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against your cheek, looking at you with an almost adoring gaze. You go to say something to him but all words escape your throat as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan in unison as he slides in and out slowly.

“God,” he groans, leaning down on his elbows and getting right in your face. “I missed you so much, baby. I know I’m such a dick to you, I just can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re angry…fuck, you feel so good.” He isn’t vocal in bed very often, and your heart swells as you get to watch him come undone and make such pretty noises as he does. 

In the heat of the moment, you forgive him. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you can’t stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world for him. Your smile is cut short by your moan as you manage to say, “It’s okay, Gojo. Please just stay here. Stay here with me.”

Gojo nods, propping himself up on one flat palm as his hips pick up speed. Normally he loves foreplay, he can tease you and edge you for hours, but the time spent without you in his arms and without you wrapped around his cock was too much to bare for him. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t take it back. He’s Satoru Gojo, and he has a reputation he needs to uphold. He’s all run, and you’re all fight, and that’s part of the reason why he feels so drawn to you.

He looks at you, moving to his elbows and reaching up to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, biting his lip as his hips move even faster. He drops back down to his elbows, your chests pressed together as he shakily moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum.”

You nod, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck as you cum around him, clenching down on his cock. He buries his face in your neck as he cums after you, cumming inside of you, like he always does. His breathing is ragged as he lays there, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum spills inside. Gojo eventually moves away from your neck, some of his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. You push the hair back and smile at him, kissing his forehead gently. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. And you think you always will.

He pulls out, immediately getting you a towel splashed with some warm water as he cleans you up. He’s gentle with his aftercare, making sure you’re comfortable, and collecting your water bottle from the living room. You pee before getting dressed, laying with him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing your face into his chest, and sliding his hand into your hair. He holds you there for a while, your breathing in sync before he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

Gojo puts on a cooking show to watch on your TV, setting the remote aside as he holds you close. He strokes your hair, and your mind starts to drift, and you wonder if he cares about you in the same way you care about him. Are you not good enough for him? Is there something wrong with you? Are you not what he wants? Are you not what he needs? You wake up every morning, hopeful for what’s to come with him, but you spend most of your time thinking about what you’ve already had and what he’s already said to you. You’re missing all these memories—maybe they were never even yours. 

Nothing hurts like he does.

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

part 3 is here

#keikiwrites #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #dom!gojo #sub!reader #f!reader #✿: gojo!

[mytheoristavenue]

Dude I know you don't have any requests but if you ever feel up to it I would absolutely eat up a continuation of your creature x reader fic...perhaps they slowly fall for each other.

Hes just...he's so sweet and the way you write him makes me feral. I'm definitely going to check out your other works.

This is me letting you know that your target audience had been reached

Normally, I would politely decline or ignore requests, as I just don't enjoy doing them anymore for multiple reasons, but I wanted to address this one specifically. Hopefully this isn't too short!

For the sake of this story, let's pretend that the time between the events of the movie span over a longer period.

LF Creature x Reader - Compost

Summary: Creature helps you out in your garden.

Warnings: mentions of rot, bugs, worms, and dung, creature x reader, bisexual reader, reader has a crush on Lisa, continuation of Mutual Comfort, plot holes, not proofread, spelling/gramatical errors, calling Creature Ein

"You look different today," you noticed allowed, squatted over the flower bed, carefully dropping a marigold from your trowel and covering the roots with soil. "Little more alive."

The man behind you grunted in response, prompting you to glance at him over your shoulder. He seemed to have more color in his face, and his hair seemed less stringy. He lifted a discolored hand, and waved it around as if it were an explaination. You simply shrugged, not understanding the meaning, and went back to what you were doing.

"Regaurdless, I appreciate you helping me." you smiled, standing up and admiring your newly replanted marigolds. Another grunt in responce. "Now I need to mix up the compost pile. Mind pushing that wheel barrow over there?" you aske pointing to the object and then to the destination. Nodding, Creature made his way over.

Once he got behind the wheel barrow, however, he scrunched his face in disgust. "What?" you laughed, slumping your shoulders. "Too good for hard labor? He shook his head, letting go of thehandles and covering his nose. Finally, it clicked for you.

"Oh, come on, you big baby. It doesn't stink tha bad." you rolled your eyes, walking over to simply wheel it over yourself. Seeing you prepared to take matters into your own hands, Creature finally pulled himself up by the bootstraps, taking hold of the handles again and pushing it forward. "Its cow dung, if you were curious," you giggled, following him. "My dad has a friend that owns a far and he hooks me up with free manure for the garden."

Once again, Creature grimaced, turning up his nose. "Hey, Zomboy," you scolded playfully. "Your half rotted flest doesn't smell all that much better." He flashed you a hurt expression coupled with a somber groan, making you back peddle. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

Finally in front of the compost pile, you grabbed a nearby shovel and began to heave the dung onto the top, the smell never once bothering you. When you were finished, you stuck the shovel in the ground and rested a foot on it, hiking your knee up, and glued your hands to your hips, tired from a hard day's work.

"I don't know about you, but I think today is a good day for some lemonade." You sighed, beginning to walk back toward the house, Creature trailing behind you. "You like lemonade?" He nodded when you glanced back, prompting you to smile. "Go ahead and take a seat," you said, motioning to the patio set to his right. "I'll go get us some."

After a few minutes, you returned, slipping out the back door and into the yard, a glass in each hand, but your eyes lit up before you couven step off the patio. You quickly scurried over to set the glasses down, gushing over what he had. It was a lovely little hand picked bouquet, mostly consisting of wildflowers and weeds. In the short time you were gone, Creature had taken it upon himself to currate you a gift. "Ein..." you breathed, taking it from him and examining it. "You did this for me...?" you asked, oblivious to how silly the question was. He nodded with a timid smile, inviting you to sit with him.

After a moment, your heart dropped, realizing what you'd called him by. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry I called you that!" you fretted. "Lisa told me that was the last little bit of your name, I sholdv'e asked if you'd be kay with being called that."

He seemed to wave your worries off, shaking his head, signalling tha he wasn't bothered. He then bowed his head, something that confused you. "So you are okay with me calling you Ein?" He bowed again, and you were unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. "Okay, Ein it is then. I suppose we couldn't have just called you 'Creature' forever, right?" He shrugged, as if he truly didn't care what his name ended up being. "Regardless, thank you for the flowers, they're beautiful."

The man couldn't help but stare as you admired the little nosegay, noting how eyes eyes lit up when you smiled and your nose scrunched when you laughed. He actually found himself so invested in observing you while sipping his lemonade that he choked a little when your eyes flitted back to him.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" you suddenly jumped up, patting his back as he coughed, hunched over. "Ein? Ein! Are you okay?" you panicked, patting a bit harder, and wondering if the heimlick would even work on a corpse. Luckily, that deemed to be unnessisary as he finally spat up whatever was clogging his airway.There on the table, squirmed a very long, slimy earthworm.

"I-Is...is that a worm?" you grimaced, entirely freaked out as you stared at it, eyes flickering back to his every few seconds. Creature was frozen in place, terrified he'd ruined a lovely moment between the two of you, and slapped his hand over the thing, shaking his head no. "You're telling me I didn't just watch you spit up a worm onto my dad's patio table? You're telling me if I move your hand, there's not gonna be a worm?"

Hesitantly, he shook his head with a nervous smile, resisting as hard as possible when you grabbed his hand to move it. Though you had no time to think about it then, you couldn't help but notice the way the stitches holding his hand on felt under your finger tips- definately an interesting sensation.

Finally, you managed to lift his hand up, still holding it, and proved yourself right, once again staring at the wiggly little thing on the table. With a sigh, and ignoring his protests, you reached down and lifted it into your palm. "Got anymore?"

Creature sheepishly shook his head and got up to follow you as you walked away. "Well, this little guy is going in my compost pile." you decided, pinching the worm out of your palm and setting it on top of the pile. "And if it has any buddies in there, they're welcome to the pile too." you smiled, grabbing his hand again.

"I like you," you confessed with a giggle. "A few little bugs aren't gonna scare me away."

I hope this was along the lines of what you were looking for! Sorry it was so rushed, it probably has a million errors, as my gramarly is suddenly not working!

#lisa frankenstein #lisa swallows #creature x reader #lisa x reader #lisa x creature #lisa frankenstein x reader #lisa frankenstein creature x reader #cole sprouse #diablo cody #zelda williams

[gingerbreadmonsters]

better half

or: here comes the... um...

gn!reader, strong language and innuendo, good old-fashioned fluffy stuff. my undying love and gratitude to the gang over on discord who have kept me sane for the last two months or so - @zozo-01 @pinksparkl and @autisticempathydaemon i would be LOST without you!! a veritable tropefest of all my favourites - just don't ask me when it's set, i beg. astarion taking matters into his own hands in 20,700 words or less.

“No, no, do go on. And the marigolds?”

Dear gods.

“Well, they’re a fine variety, to be sure - and fresh as anything, just come in this morning from-”

It was the right thing to say - the man keeps talking, voice lifted slightly over the bustle of the market as he chatters on about petal density and stem texture and who knows else. You’re only half-listening, nodding along and making encouraging little noises whenever he starts to run out of steam, but you’re not really paying attention.

You’d only come to this damned city in search of some complicated magical artefact that Gale’s been wanting - according to him, there’d been an auction back in Waterdeep not long after he left, and the nobleman who’d bought it arrived back home here just a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, he’s throwing a party in a little less than a tenday’s time for a bunch of the city’s rich folk, so naturally you’ll be taking advantage of the distraction to quietly sneak in and steal the artefact when nobody’s looking.

Or at least, that had been the plan, until closer inspection had revealed some pretty nasty enchantments protecting the manor from intruders. Gale and Shadowheart had both had a look, and agreed that while they could probably break them, given enough time, it wouldn’t exactly be discreet - rather, it’d probably set half the house on fire or something equally ridiculous. You’d all been standing around a few streets away, trying to figure out a plan for how exactly you were going to pull this off, when-

Really, now. Did they teach you idiocy at wizard school, or did it just come naturally?

You’d turned, surprised - Astarion, appearing out of thin air and self-satisfied as ever, swanning past Gale with a dismissive flutter of his fingers. I don’t suppose you’d know, but some of us have actually been to parties before.

Ignoring the affronted squawking from behind him, he’d dropped an expensive-looking roll of paper into your surprised hands, before looking down at you expectantly. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be an invitation to the manor, addressed to some minor lord you’d never heard of.

How on earth…? You’d been shocked at his good fortune - what are the odds he’d run into someone carrying an invitation for a party that’s happening days from now? Where did you-?

All taken care of, darling, he’d said dismissively, even though you could see the smug smile tugging just slightly at the corner of his mouth. A word in the right ear is a wonderful thing. We won’t be interrupted, believe me.

It had been that sort of smile - you’d said a silent prayer for whatever poor soul he’d lifted the invite off of. ‘We’?

Please. As much as I’m sure Lae’zel would love to spend an evening hanging off my arm - he’d dodged the kick to his shins with infuriating grace - I think we both know that the answer is obvious.

He’d gestured to the paper in your hand - ah. You hadn’t seen that part.

What say you, dearest? he’d said with a bow, taking your free hand with a princely flourish and laying a delicate kiss against your knuckles. Shadowheart had rolled her eyes at Astarion’s antics, mouthing something at you from over his shoulder before turning to start herding the others back towards the tavern you’re staying at. Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Obviously, there was no way this could possibly go wrong. You’d replied with your best Astarion impression, gasping in theatrical shock and trying desperately not to laugh. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart, he’d groaned as if in pain, kissing further and further up your wrist, your forearm, your elbow. I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

Tonight? At least wait ‘til we’re wedded, dear, you’d gasped in return, smacking him in the shoulder and utterly failing to hide your grin. I’ll have the ring first, then we’ll see.

Conniving little magpie. He’d said it like he’s any better, the bastard. Is that how I’ll win your heart, then? Dangling sparkly trinkets over your head, putting a shiny ring on your finger?

The others are long forgotten, vague shadows in the street. If it were from you, my lord? Nothing would please me more.

He’d raised a single, silver eyebrow, something unreadable sitting just behind his smile. Nothing, you say?

Well. You’d shrugged as he laughed at your faux-serious expression, looking him up and down with an exaggerated leer. I can think of at least one thing…

He’d been about to reply, but you’d caught sight of Karlach halfway down the street behind his shoulder, leaning over to Wyll and whispering something with a chuckle. At that distance, you hadn’t been able to make it out, but that’s what vampires are for - Astarion’s jaw had dropped theatrically with an indignant I heard that, you-!

An unapologetic middle finger from Karlach, and an outraged huff from Astarion as he took your arm and started after them. Defend my honour, won’t you, my love?

For sweet Astarion, paragon of innocence? Dragged laughing after him by the elbow, you’d not really had much of a chance to protest, but it’s not like you were going to anyway. Why, always.

Yesterday evening and today have been dedicated to prepping the pair of you for this little mission, and you really can’t tell if you’re more excited or terrified of the whole thing. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Is it a ridiculous solution to the problem? Yes. Are you going to do something that inevitably gets you both discovered and kicked out of the house empty-handed at best, or run through with something sharp at worst? Almost certainly.

That being said…

What’s the right way to put it? It’s not good for you, to be doing this. It’s not going to do you any favours. It’ll be nice at first, but when the glamour falls away, it’ll hurt even more than it did before.

You like him. Or maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’re scared of what liking him might mean, so you’re trying desperately to convince yourself that there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the way you like him. It could mean anything, the way your eyes always seem to fall upon him first. It could mean anything, the way any joke you tell isn’t funny unless he laughs. It could mean anything, how his voice makes your stomach drop and his smile makes your lungs hurt and his fingers on your skin make you want to tear your heart in half.

He’s something else entirely. The sting of his fangs in your neck, the comforting way he sits in the corner of your eye. This is going to destroy you.

For what it’s worth, the others have been doing some intelligence gathering on this nobleman that Astarion’s supposed to be. Wyll and Halsin ventured out to one of the nicer parts of town last night to see if anyone might have drunk enough to spill anything good, while Shadowheart and Karlach had been making the rounds of some of the… less respectable establishments to try and dig up what dirt they could.

According to their collective notes, he’s one of the younger sons of a relatively unknown house somewhere up north, and he was due to arrive yesterday on some sort of business for his father. It can’t be for anything too complicated or expensive, seeing as a wealthier house would probably have a more famous name, and likely wouldn’t want to be seen sending a fourth or a fifth son as a negotiator.

He seems to be a fairly private figure - no especially distinctive features, and no particular public scandals or habits that Karlach or Shadowheart could discover, which is definitely good news for Astarion’s cover. Gale didn’t recognise the name in a magical context, and Lae’zel hadn’t heard of them as a notable military house - altogether, it’s likely that they’re probably a merchant family that’s come into money through trade, as opposed something like land or banking or politics.

Unusually, he seems to have brought someone with him - the invitation is addressed to him and a nameless betrothed, but none of you have been able to find anything out about them whatsoever. Nobody’s seen them, or heard about them, or even seems to know their name. As far as the people of the city have let slip, they might as well have never existed. Astarion had even said as much when you’d asked him.

I mean, he certainly didn’t look the type, he’d said, grimacing faintly as he pictured the man he’d pickpocketed. I’m more than aware that travelling can be a thoroughly unpleasant business, but really. If he does happen to be affianced, as you say, then I do pity the poor creature - it was barely the afternoon and the man reeked of alcohol.

An easy target, then, you’d replied with a grin. Please tell me you left him with some gold for a place to sleep last night.

He’d made a face, waving a hand dismissively. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. He’ll be halfway home by now, I expect, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

A few seconds had passed.

What? I’ve told you before, I can be very persuasive-

And the fiancé?

You’d been able to feel the headache coming on already. No. No, you didn’t.

…Ah. He’d had the good grace to at least look a little bit sheepish. I, um-

You mean you sent him home without the fiancé? Who I’m supposed to be impersonating? By this point, you’d had your head in your hands, already picturing the myriad of ways this could so easily go wrong. Who’s probably going to turn up at this stupid party and tell everyone that w-

No, no - none of that now, dear. It’ll be fine, I promise you. He’d not sounded entirely sure, but you’d grudgingly let him shush you, featherlight pressure on your shoulder. I’m sure this fiancé - you know, are we even sure there is a fiancé? That it wasn’t conjured up at the bottom of a bottle? The fool was practically pickled - I’m telling you, darling, it wouldn’t be out of the question.

I’ll pickle you in a minute, you’d grumbled, not entirely joking. If we die, I’ll kill you.

Oh, my love. I look forward to it already.

“You know, I had a gentleman come by, not half an hour ago, swearing up and down I’d got these confused with the peonies - peonies! Can you imagine!”

Startled out of your daydream, you’re left blinking back at the man in hapless confusion. “Sorry, come again?”

“Well, that’s just what I told him - but apparently…”

The flower seller launches right back into his monologue, and you’re starting to wonder if there’s a reason nobody was looking at this stall when you arrived. Curse these ridiculous noble types and their ridiculous fashions! Wyll had taken one look at your - admittedly somewhat slender - wardrobe and declared that none of it would do, either for the sin of being far too cheap or terribly out of vogue. Fortunately for your wallet, you’d collectively been able to cobble together something halfway decent out of bits and pieces your little group had thieved over the last few weeks.

Unfortunately, they don’t exactly fit too well, so you’ve been sent out to get it all tailored into something suitably expensive-looking to wear. Astarion, true to form, had jumped at the chance to take you shopping, although you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been dying for the chance to indulge in a little retail therapy at your expense, or just all of the various trinkets and knick-knacks he’d be able to swipe from unsuspecting merchants.

Oh, and you mustn’t forget about our little ruse, dear. Who knows who might be watching?

And thus, you’re stuck at this damned flower stand where he said he’d meet you, trying desperately to avoid whatever increasingly-unsubtle flirtation the flower seller aims at you, and really wishing you’d brought a book. Maybe that would have distracted you from the horrible, twisting feeling in your stomach at the thought of what might happen when he does show up.

Is it going to be weird? Oh, it’s a stupid question - it was always going to be weird, doing something like this with him. Acting as though you’re faking liking him, pretending to have to pretend, the double-triple bluff. It’s bad enough as it is, heartstrings all stretched and sore from the weight of keeping it all inside - but to be allowed to indulge, just this once? Falling into the fantasy of what could never be, letting yourself believe for a long, golden moment that he might actually love you the way you dream of. You’re afraid you’ll snap completely.

To be honest, the waiting isn’t helping. He’d rambled something last night about having some sort of business nearby - what sort of bloody business could he possibly have in a town he’s never seen before? - and that he’d catch up with you by the flower stall by mid-morning at the latest.

Naturally, that means that it’s nearly midday and you still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, one eye on the crowd as you stare absently at the colourful buckets of flowers. The noise of the market all around you, the sun in your eyes, the mild breeze that’s more hot than cold - you were right, you definitely should have brought a book or something, because where in all the hells is that blasted-

“There you are, dearheart!”

Your head whips to the right at the sudden weight of a cool arm around your waist, pulling you to the side. Surprised, you’re already reaching for the borrowed dagger at your hip, only to be met with-

“I - oh, darling!” Before you really know what’s happening, you’re swept into an uncharacteristic embrace, face-to-face with a slightly-harried, definitely-late, maddeningly-beautiful Astarion. Hurriedly, you paint on a smile, looking up at him with what you’re hoping reads as blissful excitement. “Back so soon?”

“Soon?” He takes you at your word, the bastard, like he wasn’t supposed to be here hours ago. “Oh, it’s never too soon to be with you, my sweet.”

It’s infuriating, how your heart stutters at the rakish grin he gives you as he says it, at the thought - fake as it may be - that he might actually mean it. Pressed against him like this, strong hands keeping you close as you steady yourself against his chest, it’s even worse than usual. Can he hear it? Does he know?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the flower seller trailing off clumsily in the middle of his sentence, clearly now at something of a loose end. He settles for reaching down to adjust one of the displays, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he pretends to look away.

He doesn’t suspect something, does he? No, he can’t - why would he even be suspicious? He doesn’t know that this isn’t real.

Astarion must notice too, diving down to kiss your cheek so lightly that it almost tickles - you make the mistake of letting the involuntary laughter show on your face, and immediately regret it when it means he goes right back in for another one. Then another, then another, dipping you further and further back and smothering your protestations in kisses that shouldn’t feel as good as they do.

“Wh-hey, hey - darling!” Embarrassed, you struggle against him, trying to escape his hold, but it’s no good - he’s just too strong. “We’re - this is hardly the time-!”

He relents slightly at that, bringing you back upright and turning you around to face back towards the flower stall, before draping himself over your back and locking his arms once more around your middle. Somehow, it’s even worse than before - now you can definitely see the awkward flower seller, trying not to stare at the absolute mess that you two must be right now.

“Mmm, my apologies for the interruption,” Astarion mumbles against your throat, thoroughly unrepentant, and you can feel him smile as he kisses over the soft, tender space where his fangs normally go. “You were saying?”

You wrack your brain, but there’s nothing there except the swirling, flustered mist that fills your mind whenever he gets this close. What would you say, if this were real? Blindly, you reach for something to say - anything, that might get him off your case. And your neck.

“Did you, um-” You pause, stumbling over the words slightly. He probably doesn’t want all and sundry knowing what he was up to before he arrived, and he probably isn’t going to admit it anyway. Better to just make it part of the charade from the start.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Mm, nothing much,” he hums, fingers tracing tiny spirals across the front of your shirt. “A little bit of this and that, you know how it is.”

Okay, great, a total non-answer. Good to know that he’s really trying to make this act believable.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” You turn your face away in faux-offence, before softening with a smile as a petulant hand comes up to turn your chin back towards him. “Did you at least get everything you wanted?”

“Really, dear,” he huffs, soothing the blow with a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Can’t a man have any secrets from you?”

Gods below, he’s up to something. If your brain wasn’t too busy melting into goo, you might even wonder what it is - alas, you just have to settle for discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

“Of course not,” you reply matter-of-factly, even though the words make your heart ache just a little bit. If only it were true. “What’s yours is mine, and all that.”

“How could I forget?” Sweet hells, he says it so softly, like he’s trying to make it hurt. “As if I could ever be free of you, my love.”

You roll your eyes, even as you lean back into his chest - you’re vaguely aware that you were supposed to be doing something, but you’ll be damned if you can remember what it is. “You make it sound so appealing, you know.”

“Do I? It’s not on purpose, I assure you.”

You gasp, hand limp against your forehead in a mock-faint. “Rude.”

“All part of the plan, darling,” he says, nonchalant, and it’s ridiculous how it does actually make you feel better. “For a prize as lovely as you? I have to find some way of keeping you all to myself.”

You’re about to respond when the flower seller clears his throat awkwardly, evidently not really sure what to do with the pseudo-couple flirting incessantly in front of his stand - you jump slightly at the reminder, feeling weirdly like you’ve just been walked in on.

Astarion, meanwhile, remains annoyingly unfazed - when you turn to look at him, he’s… smiling? No, not quite. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but not his usual one - and yet you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s different.

“Go on, then,” he prompts you, nudging you gently in the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

“Right, right, um-” Shaking your head slightly, as if to clear it, you smile as brightly as you can at the flower seller. Fuck, what did he say his name was again? “Love, this is - oh, this is…”

“Osric, sir.” The man comes to your rescue, tipping his cap in Astarion’s direction with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to be of service to you both.”

True to form, Astarion meets him with a flat, haughty stare, seemingly unimpressed. “Charmed. Now, sweetheart, I believe we were just on our w-”

“Ah - just a moment.” He recoils ever so slightly at the interruption, a tiny tremor that you feel but don’t see. Got him. “I might like to look a little longer.”

It’s only really for show, but you make a point of umming and ahhing over the display, surreptitiously stepping on the toe of his boot as you do it. If he’s going to try and empty your wallet today, as you’re sure he will, you’re not going to let him have all the fun.

“Really. If you want me to buy you flowers, pet, you only have to ask.” Astarion shakes his head indulgently as he catches your drift, rolling his eyes at the young man behind the stall in pretend commiseration. “Trust me to find the one creature in all of Faerûn who’d rather I spend my fortune on dahlias than dinner.”

You twist slightly in his arms without looking away from the flowers, one hand slipping idly up to cradle his jaw as the other drifts over the box of tulips. “But you do it anyway.”

He sighs, exasperated and achingly fond in a way you wish he meant, turning to press a gentle kiss to your palm. “Yes, I do it anyway. Fool that I am.”

You’re forced to step slightly to the side as a lady comes up beside you and starts chatting to the vendor, which gives Astarion the perfect opportunity to dial down the act a little bit. It’s hard work even for you, and you’re not even really faking it - you can only imagine how annoying it must be, having to do all this with someone you’re not actually in love with.

For some reason, though, he doesn’t. Instead he seems to double down, swaying the two of you lightly from side to side as you examine the flowers on display, cold hands warming with your body heat as they smooth absentmindedly up and down your sides.

“Tempted by anything, darling?”

A classic line - somehow, it makes the whole thing easier. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Oh, plenty,” you say, not even trying to hide your grin. “Nothing fit for polite company, though.”

You don’t even have to turn and look - your mind’s eye is enough to see the faux-outraged face he’s making. “Do I look like polite company to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The lady accidentally bumps you with her bag as she walks over to look at some of the other displays, and you can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like you can hear Astarion muttering something under his breath. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, you know.”

“Mind if I answer for you, then?” He waits for you to nod, cautiously curious about what he’ll say, before lifting a blasé hand to the flower seller and beckoning him over with a lazy wave.

“Six of the roses, if you will.”

“Certainly, sir,” the vendor replies with a nod. “Right away.”

What?

Utterly bewildered, you watch detachedly as Astarion points to the colours he wants, some comically cliché blend of red and pink and white. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing. “What in - what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

A sideways glance, faintly bemused. “Pardon?”

You should probably be more embarrassed about the way you’re tripping over the words, but you’re more concerned with wondering if he’s actually, genuinely lost his mind. “I don’t need - it’s fine, let’s just-”

"No, no, you're right, six won’t do." He’s unmoved by your futile attempt to drag him away, free arm locking around your waist to keep you trapped against his chest as he corrects himself to the flower seller. "Make it a dozen."

“Astarion!” you hiss, as quietly as you can so that nobody overhears. “This is - you can’t just-”

“I’ll have you know I certainly can,” he replies, producing a handful of coins out of nowhere and casually dropping them into the flower seller’s palm. Absentmindedly, you notice that he’s wearing more rings than usual - your eye is drawn to a particularly lovely gold one on his left hand that you haven’t seen before. “In fact - oh, would you look at that? It seems I just have.”

You - he - you’re going to m-

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he sighs, eyes bright with concealed mischief, one elegant finger pressing up under your chin. “It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

Sweetling. You’re going to strangle him.

The excellent retort that you were surely about to give is cut off by the flower seller, bouquet in hand and clearly very amused by the whole situation. “There we are - a dozen roses, compliments of your gentleman friend.”

He’s certainly no gentleman, but that’s hardly the worst of his crimes. Hateful, traitorous creature, that scheming villain, tormentor of your mind and thief of your heart.

“Excellent taste, sir,” the vendor says innocently over your shoulder as you lean forwards to take the flowers from him. “They’re some lovely blossoms, those!”

“Mm, aren’t they just?” Damn it all, you know what it means when he uses that voice - when you turn around, his eyes flick back up to yours with a shameless grin. “And the flowers are rather pleasant, too.”

“I - you-!” Oh, you could just smack him for that - you can guess what he was talking about, and it certainly wasn’t a bouquet. The vendor hastily stifles a laugh behind you as you glare daggers at Astarion, sorely tempted to take a swing at him. “When I get my hands on you-!”

Cackling wildly, he dances out of the way with an annoyingly dignified sidestep, bidding a quick farewell to the flower seller over his shoulder before looping his arm around your waist and sweeping you away further into the market. “Careful there, petal. We wouldn’t want the whole town to know about where you’ll put your hands on me, would we?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to fucking kill him, and nobody is going to blame you.

“Come now, darling, no need to look so glum,” he murmurs, leading you gently through the crowd. “Don’t you like them?”

Irritatingly, you can’t actually say you don’t. The roses really are stunning, each one beautifully rich in colour, all soft, velvety petals and long, elegant stems wrapped in thick paper. They’re also far too expensive for him to be wasting money on like this, but you know exactly what he’ll say if you try to protest.

Instead, you settle for honesty. Staring down at the delicate flowers in your hands, you let yourself believe, for just a single second, that they mean what you wish they would mean. That he gave them to you because he loves you, rather than as a prop for a foolish charade - that the kiss marks burned into your skin spell devotion, instead of duplicity.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say. “Thank you, my love.”

A sudden, scuffing sound from close by - next to you, Astarion suddenly lurches forward slightly, fingers digging almost painfully into your sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing. If it was anyone else, you’d say he’d just stumbled over his own feet. But this is Astarion you’re talking about, fleet-footed master of thievery and rogue extraordinaire, so that can’t be what just happened.

There’s a momentary pause, before-

“You’re very welcome, dearheart.”

He says it softly, low and unusually sincere. You don’t want to think about why. “And for what it’s worth, I do think your blossoms are really rather lo-”

“Alright!” You cut him off before he can finish the sentence - that’s quite enough about your blossoms, thank you very much - and practically drag him after you, bouquet cradled in the crook of your arm as your other hand reaches down to grab his. “No need to lay it on too thick, now.”

He doesn’t stop laughing until you’re almost there, magnanimously letting you pull him along with a shocking lack of complaints. The tangled streets that surround this part of the market are something of a maze, but before long you’re standing outside the tailor’s shop that you’ve been tasked with finding.

Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. There’s a few people working, but it’s not as packed as you’d feared - with any luck, it’ll mean that they’ll have the time to work on your requests, rather than just rejecting you outright.

“Ah - just a moment, dear.”

Your hand freezes on the door, and you turn to see Astarion fiddling with a hitherto-unseen pouch of some kind. It looks like leather, and the way he’s holding it makes it look like there’s something delicate inside. How odd. Did he steal it? You don’t recognise it.

“I have a little something for you that might help with our…”

He trails off, eyes not quite meeting yours, gesturing awkwardly with one hand as he tries to find the words. “Our little arrangement, shall we say.”

“Really?” Intrigued, you step away from the door and back to his side. “What is it?”

No reply. Instead, he takes your hand in his and holds it flat, before upending the contents of the little bag into it and letting you see for yourself.

“I do hope it fits.”

It’s just a prop. It’s just part of the disguise, and he would have done it for anyone. Your mind doesn’t stop, your heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t mean anything, the lovely engagement ring sitting innocently in your palm.

“I…”

Wordless, you can only stare. Perhaps a more critical eye would call it plain, but to you it’s nothing short of beautiful, a tasteful gold band with a delicate tear-shaped ruby in the centre. It looks new, polished and pristine in its finish, not at all like any of the rings you’ve picked up on your travels so far. There’s something inscribed inside the band, but the letters are quite small and difficult to make out - is that Espruar?

Of everything about it, that’s probably the strangest thing. As much as it stings to admit it, at the end of the day it’s a fake ring, so why bother having it engraved at all? Nobody’s going to see the inside except for you.

He can’t possibly have bought it. He just can’t have. Creature of luxury though he is, he’d never waste money on something so… so frivolous. He must have stolen it. That’s the only explanation. He didn’t know it was engraved when he took it, so it doesn’t mean anything at all. And in any case, he’ll probably want it back when this is all over - you’re sure it’ll fetch a lovely price when he’s sold it by this time next week.

You’re interrupted in your examination by Astarion, discreetly clearing his throat, and oh, hells, your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Here. Let me.”

Ever so sweetly, he takes the ring from your hand and slides it carefully onto your finger. Head bowed, gaze fixed on his task. He’s so close. If he looked up, right now, you could almost be kissing. You’d only have to lean forwards a tiny bit.

The thought sends a shiver right through you that you try to hide - but true to form he notices anyway, pulling his hands away like it’s his cool touch that startled you, and you mourn the loss as soon as he does it. He’s right that the metal is cold at first, but it quickly warms with your skin, and you smile as you realise that he’d guessed correctly. Slim yet sturdy, a reassuring weight. It fits perfectly.

“I…”

Sunlight. Washing him in gold, filling the street with light, sparkling on your finger. Vaguely, you remember thinking something about a ring earlier, but you can’t quite remember what it was.

“Let’s get you inside, darling,” he says, and something in his voice aches in a way you can’t describe. “We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as he pushes it open for you, one hand on the small of your back to steady you as you step inside. It’s a tiny little place, jam-packed with all manner of fabrics and half-mended garments - you’re barely able to get the words sorry, it’s kind of last-minute out before the no-nonsense lady by the counter is ushering you back behind a curtain, plucking the roses out of your hands, and pulling it shut with a brisk nod and instruction to the assistant there to help you get dressed.

You can vaguely hear Astarion being pelted with questions as you retrieve the bundle of clothes from your bag. Now that you really look, it’s obvious that some of this stuff has suffered somewhat over time, what with all the fraying seams and threadbare patches, but all things considered it’s not that bad. With a little bit of love, you should be able to decently pass yourself off as the minor noble you’re supposed to be.

It’s lucky that Astarion has such expensive taste, magpie that he is. He’d managed to come up with a reasonable ensemble last night with relative ease, thanks to the various spoils he’s picked up while you’ve all been travelling. His doublet is a little bare, though, so he said he was going to see if they could embroider something for him.

Ordinarily, you know he would have done it himself. He tries not to let on, but you’ve seen him picking through his little sewing box - yes, he does have one and no, he refuses to admit it exists - at camp in the evening when he thinks nobody’s looking. Perhaps the others haven’t noticed how his clothes seem to magically repair themselves overnight after a fight, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment. Either way, he’s certainly more skilled with a needle than you’d first thought, but life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to fine embroidery thread. He almost certainly doesn’t have any, or at least not enough, and he’s far too proud to ask if anyone else happens to.

He really is very particular about how he looks, and you suppose it makes sense. Considering all that’s happened to him, the monstrosity of his servitude… well. It’s hardly a surprise that any measure of control, even over something as seemingly trivial as the shirt he wears, might be intoxicating. If he wants to dress himself in nice things, however gaudy or over the top they might be, then he may as well. Hopefully, nobody out there is getting on his bad side about it.

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s probably not the best idea to leave Astarion unsupervised in a room full of people who you need to like you. Hastily, you start changing a little faster, in what little space there is behind this curtain - clothes like this are so complicated that the assistant back here has to help you, but there’s so little room that you’d almost rather be alone. At the very least there’s no shouting from the rest of the room yet, but you know what he’s like. No point in risking it-

“-haah-!”

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

Wincing, you emerge from the cramped little corner, fully dressed and clutching your banged elbow. You can’t move all that fast, seeing as some of these clothes are a fair bit too small, but it doesn’t really matter. The lady has you up on the riser in the middle of the room, and you’re swarmed by a handful of shop assistants armed with pins and measuring ropes, all chattering away about letting one seam or another out, let’s put darts in here, this’ll need covering up, I see what you mean about the sleeves…

To be honest, you’re not really paying attention, content to have them just get on with it. Wyll had said that this place deals with rich types all the time, so you’re sure they know what they’re doing far better than you do. Astarion, meanwhile, seems to be having the time of his life lounging in his little chair and making snide comments here and there, occasionally getting up and pointing at various bits of you that need embellishing - you’re strangely reminded of a child playing dress-up with a favourite dolly.

“Lift your arms a moment, if you please.”

The tailor gestures for you to raise your arms at your sides, so you do. Her voice is nice, sweet and smooth like honey, and you idly follow her instructions as she tells you how to move. Some of the assistants have gone off to sift through fabrics, but most of them are still clustered around you, honeybees to a flower.

How long have you been up here again? You’re surprised there are any bits of you they haven’t measured yet.

Your mind starts to drift as they keep picking at you, but fairly soon it catches on one of the girls closer to the front of the shop. She’s strikingly beautiful, all fine features and gentle grace, pointed ears peeking out of long, silky hair that reaches all the way down to her slim waist. She hasn’t come over to you, and at her bench it looks like she’s working on a doublet of some kind, so it makes sense that she’s talking to Astarion. It makes sense, because she’s probably asking what he wants embroidered on it.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be why she's standing so close to him, so she can hear every detail of exactly what he wants. She’s smiling so much and laughing at every little thing he says, because she wants him to feel welcome here. She’s guiding him away from you and closer to her workbench, so that he can make sure that she’s embroidering the right pattern.

It makes total sense. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“And if you could just turn this way, please?”

Only it doesn’t make sense, because you know for a fact he’d never be caught dead in that particular shade of coral pink - it clashes horribly with my eyes, don’t you think? - and he’s never liked that type of slashing on the sleeve.The laces are in the wrong style, and the length is all funny. Astarion wouldn’t wear anything like that, not even as a disguise. It’s garish and tacky and altogether far too tasteless. It can't belong to him.

So what in all the hells does that girl think she's doing?

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem too fussed about her - rather, he looks to be fairly entertained. It’s fine, though, right? He’s probably just humouring her, isn’t he? To say nothing of the way his fingers flex at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch her, or the way his gaze fixes on her face like he can’t bring himself to look away.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter - and it’s hardly your place to tell him what he can and can’t do, anyway. This whole thing is just a ruse. He doesn’t know how much you wish it were true, and he doesn’t need to know. If it hurts, that’s your own fault.

Besides, he’s probably just looking for some fun, right? He’s never exactly been shy about it. He flirts with everyone, but it’s not love that’s on his mind - and you’re not stupid enough to think he’s any different when it comes to this. Whether it’s out of boredom or hedonism, it isn’t because he wants to make you feel good, and it isn’t because he’s just so friendly. It’s because he wants something.

You’re not so naive to think he might actually mean the things he tells you, pretty though they may be. When he says he wants you, when he says he wants to please you - every time, it’s as charming as it is frustrating. Charming, because you think you’d give anything for it to be real, for him to like you - desire you - care for you the way you do him. Frustrating, because you know that someone like Astarion would never bring himself to settle for someone like you.

“Face this way for a second, please?”

Even men like him need a change of pace. When he makes faces at you across the campfire when Gale starts rabbiting on about his magic tricks, when he presses his lips against your neck for just a second before he bites, when he softens every practised line with a flick of his wrist and a teasing smile. You know what it means. It means he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play the fool with you - he’s not worried about getting you into bed, because he knows you know he’s out of your league.

He doesn’t want you. He trusts you to not want him either. And you, idiot that you are, thought you’d go ahead and ruin that by falling in love with him. How much worse could it be?

He’s your friend, loath as he is to admit it sometimes. You can’t bring yourself to hurt him with the admission - the part of you that knows he doesn’t come to you for sex, and the part that can’t help but wish he did. If he’s looking for somebody to warm his bed tonight, why would he ever waste time talking to you?

Yeah, that’ll be it. That dull ache deep inside, soaking into all the soft parts of you, watching the man you love give in to a girl he met fifteen minutes ago. And you can’t blame him at all, because it’s your own stupid crush that’s got you into this mess. The pain isn’t his problem. If you were the sort of person he could love, then maybe you wouldn’t have to hurt this way - but you’re not, so you can’t complain.

Gushing, sloshing, seasick. It’s not like he’s actually in love with you.

He’s turned slightly away from you to face her, so you can’t see exactly, but it looks like he’s… smiling? And look, he’s beckoning her closer, leaning down as if he might have a secret to tell her, and if you didn’t know better you might think he was just about to-

“Darling!”

Both of them whip around to face you, and neither of them are as good at acting as they think they are. The girl is breathing hard, pretty lips stretched into what you’re sure she hopes is a convincing grin, and you’ve seen enough of Astarion’s fake, hasty smiles to know when you’re looking at one.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say next - blindly, you scramble for an excuse to get his attention back. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” The girl scurries back to her bench as Astarion looks pointedly down at her, but you can still see how she watches him walk over to you, wide-eyed and flushed even as she tries to go back to her work. “Are you finished already?”

Fortunately, one of the assistants comes over to you at just the right moment, holding out a hand to help you down off the riser. Astarion clearly notices what she’s doing and offers his hand to you as well - and if it’s a sick sort of pleasure that runs through you as you deliberately ignore him, taking the assistant’s hand instead of his, then that’s nobody’s business but yours.

(In the corner of your eye, as you step down, he looks almost… well, it doesn’t matter. The moment has passed.)

“The sampler’s on the table, when you’re ready,” says the assistant to you, bowing slightly before vanishing behind a table piled with rolls of fabric, and you take a shallow breath as she leaves.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Your voice is small, too small, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you say it - by all the hells, you’re pathetic. Don’t let him know, don’t let him see what this curse of a crush does to you. Weighed down, one hand that’s so, so heavy.

“Are you sure, dear?” Something dangerously close to worry crosses his face, just for a moment, but that can’t possibly be real. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head and smile as best you can, already starting to step backwards towards the curtain where your ordinary clothes are. Anything, just to get yourself out of this for a second. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

He nods stiffly, eyes narrowed, and lets you go. You’re obviously not off the hook just yet, but there’s nothing he can say in front of everyone in here - gratefully, you take the reprieve and disappear back behind the curtain. It’s almost certainly your imagination, but you could swear you feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning through the back of your skull, setting your skin alight.

It’s only after about thirty seconds before you realise the problem at hand, and you can’t help but swear under your breath at the thought. This fucking outfit - you can’t even reach half of the buttons and laces that keep it on you, and this time there’s nobody back here to help you. Trying on your own will be pointless, seeing as you’ll probably just get yourself even more stuck, and if you go back out there now, you’ll have to face-

“Let me.”

Another lie. You should have known.

Quiet, slipping unnoticed behind you, cold hands searing through the layers of silk and velvet that separate you. Inch by inch, button by button. As always, he sees right through you.

“Careful,” you say, trying not to notice how hollow it sounds. “You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

He scoffs, and it’s something like lighthearted. “What would they say? Heavens forfend, I should spend a little time with the love of my life.”

Does he have to be so cruel about it? Stinging, smarting, lemon juice in the cut.

“I’m told that said time is normally meant to be spent fully clothed.” His fingers work their way deftly across your back, unbuttoning and unlacing all the pieces of your silken armour, and you fight to keep your voice steady. Whose idea was it to put you in this many damned layers again? “You’re a wicked man, my darling.”

“Oh, certainly,” he replies, and you don’t have to look to feel the careless shrug he gives. “Can you blame me? Between you and a second-rate sampler, I know which is the better view.”

“Depends how much you like embroidered flowers.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I commend your choice of entertainment.” The final button comes undone, and you gesture over your shoulder for him to step back outside. “That’s everything.”

He hums quietly in acquiescence, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he just turns to face away. The rustle of fabric is loud in the sudden silence as you step out of your outfit, skin burning with the closeness of him - as you reach past him to the pile of your ordinary clothes, careful not to accidentally touch, you can feel the coolness of his body in the air. A shadow on the wall, drinking in the heat of you.

“It looked like you were having fun.”

It’s a normal thing for you to say, in a normal tone of voice. Easy, casual, teasing in the way a friend might be. Judging from the way he tenses, spine stiffening ever so slightly, you very nearly manage it.

“Did it?” he asks, and there’s something in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “From a distance, perhaps.”

“You know, I think she likes you,” you sing as you pull your shirt back over your head, poking him in the shoulder to disguise the fact that the note is slightly sharp. “How’s that for a scandal?”

“Hardly her fault.” He makes a show of preening himself in front of the invisible mirror, inspecting his nails and raking a practised hand through his hair - if your tongue didn’t taste so sour, you’d laugh. “An occupational hazard for a gentleman such as myself.”

See, if you weren’t already so stupidly infatuated with him, you’d keep pushing. If you were just a perfectly ordinary, entirely platonic companion, that’s what you’d do. So you say it, and you try your best to ignore the horrible churning feeling that settles in your stomach as you do.

“You ought to go back to her,” you muse, as lightly and sweetly as you can. “If you asked, I’m sure she’d make time for a private fitting.”

To be entirely honest, the innuendo isn’t your best work, but that’s not the problem here. It’s a perfectly ordinary comment for you to make, a normal sort of joke that he really should have been expecting. So then, why…?

Astarion freezes, unnaturally still, one hand still tangled in his curls as the words register. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just your blood running cold - either way, the temperature between you plummets until you could swear you see your breath turning to mist in the air, frozen solid with the chill.

“A pri- sorry, a what?”

It’s a good thing you’re mostly dressed by now - he turns back to face you with an almost comically incredulous expression, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him you’re thinking about asking Lae’zel for ballet lessons. “And why in all the hells would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know…” Your hand waves clumsily in place of words you can’t quite say - surely he knows what you mean. “I won’t stop you, if you want to stay and let her, um… ”

“What?”

It’s a thoroughly bizarre situation, watching the gears turning uselessly in his brain. Normally, you’ve barely had time to think of the innuendo before he’s already said it, and you were expecting this time to be no different. What’s changed? Isn’t that what he was after?

“Darling, you don’t - I didn’t-”

Wait. Oh, shit, don’t say it’s true. You’ve got this totally wrong, haven’t you? He must have genuinely liked her, must have wanted to speak to her - you know Astarion well enough to know that he won’t waste his precious time on somebody he doesn’t care for. That’ll have been why the girl was so close when you saw them speaking, and it’ll be why he’s so confused now. Shame blooms deep and bitter in your stomach as it finally dawns on you - gods be good, he must really think you’re an idiot now, accusing him of trying to solicit some torrid affair when he just wanted to have a chat with someone h-

“Um… excuse me?”

Both of your heads whip towards the voice coming from just outside the curtain - one hand instinctively flies to the still-undone front of your shirt, while the other darts out to cover the sudden flash of light in the corner of your eye. Astarion nearly jumps a foot in the air at your touch, uncharacteristically on edge, but he lets you push the half-drawn dagger back into the sheath at his hip regardless. As much as he might protest, whoever’s speaking probably doesn’t need to be greeted by several inches of sharpened steel.

“Yes?” he snaps, and you notice that he’s moved slightly to put himself between you and the curtain. “What is it?”

“The alterations, sir,” the voice replies. “We can’t start without the, um… without the actual garments.”

Right, yeah, that does make sense. Astarion looks at you as you swallow down the furious humiliation bubbling in your throat, but you can’t look back. Turning around, you’re just reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor when-

“Five days should be more than enough, yes?”

Fortunately, you have the presence of mind not to shout as the world blurs around you, cold hands shoving you gracelessly through the curtain and out into the room proper. Stumbling over your undone boots, you barely avoid tripping headfirst into the poor tailor’s assistant standing just outside.

“I, uh - well, we’ll do our best, sir, but-”

“Excellent.”

You can only watch as Astarion grabs the pile of clothes and dumps them into the woman’s arms along with a sizeable handful of gold, before practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you out of the shop entirely. The elvish girl from before looks up with wide eyes at the kerfuffle, but he swans past without even sparing her a glance.

“Right, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing you all soon, won’t we, sweetheart?”

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. It’s the only explanation you can think of, head spinning from the speed, dazed and dizzy as he coos the words down at you - there’s just enough time to catch the confused assistant’s eye and point to one of the nicer embroidery patterns on the forgotten sampler as he whisks you past it, before the door swings shut behind you and you’re back in the sun-bathed street outside.

(Numbly, you realise that you’re holding your bunch of flowers again, tucked loosely into the cradle of your arms, and that your bag is slung over Astarion’s shoulder along with his own. When did that happen?)

  Silence. Thorns, crawling up your throat, greedy stems clawing their way out of your soft, bloody mouth. Everything tastes like roses.

“Well, then.”

Your voice is remarkably calm, if you do say so yourself. Red sunlight, dancing on the wall every time you move your hand. It’s cold.

“Love, I-”

“Let’s just go.” He recoils slightly at the undertone of venom in your voice, cutting him off, but it doesn’t send more than a faint twinge of regret through you. The more you play this game, the worse it gets - you’ve already put your foot in it once, and you’d rather not do it again. “You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us. I won’t make you.”

Anger and embarrassment bubble in your chest, a sour cocktail that sears a hot flush all down your cheeks and your neck as you extricate yourself stiffly from his hold. It’s useless to try and hide it, but there’s something small and shameful inside that forces you to turn from him anyway, quick steps down the street.

Upset over nothing, you’re making a scene. You won’t cry, you won’t, but you could if you wanted to - clutching the flowers to your chest like they might stop him from being able to hear the rattle of your heart against your ribs, from knowing the heat of your blood as it soaks through your skin.

“You couldn't make me do anything.”

He's quiet, bitter words flung at your back. You slow down, but don't stop.

“Yeah.” Oh, if only he knew how much you wished you could. “I know.”

Sunlight bears down on you, no relief from the fierceness of its glare. Perhaps that's what this has always been about. Selfish from the start, always looking out for yourself, and just too afraid to admit it. This whole fiction you’ve created, that you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. A puppet strangled in its own strings, a control freak in love.

He doesn't love you, and it burns that you can't make him - so here you are, playing house like a spoilt child, forcing him into the charade. Sweet hells. You really are pathetic.

Cool fingers, warmed by the sun, lock around your wrist.

“I always said you were a fool, you know.”

It’s so kind of Astarion, to really twist the knife like this. “Thanks.”

“No - no, not-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, tugging you towards him and sighing when you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” you snap. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine, is it?” he retorts, louder than you think he meant to be. “It’s not fine, and it does matter, because I - I’ve-”

Stone shifts beneath your feet, lightheaded, vertigo. The tadpole.

I’ve hurt you.

He’s in your head, flat pressure against the bubble of your mind. Not pushing, just waiting. A quiet street in the middle of town.

Please. Let me show you.

You want to. Dear gods, you want to, but even now you know that out here, this won’t be good for either of you.

“Not here,” you say out loud, shaking your head. “Not like this.”

He looks a little affronted that you don’t reply in his mind, but acquiesces all the same. “Where, then?”

“Just…” A woman and her son turn down the street behind him, walking hand in hand towards you. They look well-off, to say the least, and you quickly thread your arm through Astarion’s like the lover you’re supposed to be. You can never be too careful. “Inside, at least.”

Not refusing, just postponing. Ever the gentleman, he gestures forwards with a little bow, eyes closed in mock-deference. “Lead on, dearheart.”

After a little bit of walking, inside turns out to be one of the taverns you’d passed on the way here - not the one you’re staying at, but one that might be acceptable for a couple of your supposed stature. It’s only the early afternoon, so thankfully there’s not too many people inside. Astarion goes off to get something to drink while you settle yourself at one of the tables, slightly out of the way and hopefully where nobody else will be able to overhear you.

He’s gone for a little while, coming back with a pitcher of wine and two cups. One for you, one for him, and you watch as he pours them both with a generous hand.

“Any good?”

He takes a tentative sip, pretty lips twisting into a telltale grimace. “Same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my love,” you sigh, light and airy as you take the offered cup. Contrary to what he’d have you believe, it’s actually fairly nice, much sweeter than you were expecting. “Always such a picky eater.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve been over this,” he moans, betrayed, gently kicking your shin under the table. “Not picky, dear. Particular.”

“Particularly difficult to please, you mean.”

“Difficult? Hardly.” That predator’s grin, sharp fangs in the low light. “I can think of a few ways you could please me, if you’re so inclined.”

You shrug, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “No accounting for taste, it seems.”

“There’s something I’d like to taste, certainly.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing any more.”

He laughs as you roll your eyes, knocking his cup against yours in a poor mockery of a toast. “The story of my life, my sweet. The story of my life.”

The air between you feels a little warmer than it had before, sitting across from him like this, like it’s just another ordinary day. He looks a lot more relaxed than he had outside, and you suppose you must be the same. Dancing in and out of each other’s words, the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth.

A bunch of roses, lying next to you on the windowsill. This is… nice.

Is this better?

Astarion’s voice is an echo in your head, ripples on the surface of the sea. You look around, but it’s fine. Nobody’s watching.

He reaches across the table, palm face up. Your hand slides into his so easily, fingers brushing over his wrist, the imagined pulse of an undead heart.

Go on, then.

Your mouth tastes like oranges.

Show me.

The world shimmers and swims around you, iridescent like a soap bubble, melting into something new. The chill of the early morning, weak sunlight not yet enough to warm the street that you find yourself remembering.

“Good morrow, sir. Can I help you?”

A haughty mask, concealing the nerves beneath.There’s nobody else in the shop, early as it is, and it’s an enormous relief - you get the strange feeling that if this strange new heart could race, it would.

“I have a rather… urgent request, I suppose.”

“Urgent, sir?” The man behind the counter looks intrigued, smoothing down the front of his apron, and looking altogether far too cheery for such an early hour and his only customer. “How so?”

Unbidden, the scene twists before your eyes in a blur of sunlight, the cold feeling of impatient anticipation swirling through you like ink in water. Vague impressions of the town rush past you, smoke and sound and life as the sun rises in the sky, before you’re suddenly stepping through exactly the same door as you were a minute ago.

“Ah, sir.” The same man as before, a little less neat than he was several hours ago, the sound of hammering metal louder than you’d like. “You’ve been well since last I saw you, I hope?”

Restless, nervous, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. “Yes, yes, quite. Do you have them?”

“Aye, sir. Just a moment, if you please.” The blacksmith in front of him walks over to the side, rummaging through a drawer full of little leather bags. “Oh, it was good of you to write it down for us - we make a lot of posy rings here, sir, but not so many in Espruar, you see.”

He finds the one he’s looking for, soft brown leather with a drawstring, and carefully empties its contents to be inspected. A familiar ruby ring, scarlet fire in the blacksmith’s palm, and a lightly-patterned gold band that you now realise you’ve already seen before, as the hand it adorned paid an unknowing flower seller for a dozen roses.

Both rings are engraved inside, and your borrowed brain supplies the words with no small degree of pleased satisfaction. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie, proclaims the ring that now sits on your finger, ubi amor ibi fides the one that Astarion kept for himself.

“All to your satisfaction, I hope?”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s mouth replies but you can feel that his mind’s far away, curled up warm and content in some possessive, instinctive corner of your shared skull. “Oh, yes… lovely stuff, certainly.”

Seemingly satisfied, the blacksmith tips the rings back into the little leather pouch, exchanging it for no small sum of gold from your own pocket. The rings are hidden away, safe in the depths of Astarion’s bag, and he’s quick to turn on his heel to leave.

“A good day to you, sir.”

From what brief glimpse you catch, the man looks a little taken aback at your hasty exit, but this body doesn’t really care. The sun outside is high overhead as you pull the door open, and you feel yourself waving your hand vaguely over your shoulder. Whatever. There are far more important things to think about.

“Yes, yes. And to you.”

After all, you’ve got a date to keep.

“You see?”

As quickly as it came, the scene disappears around you - blinking, you’re once again sitting opposite Astarion, gentle pressure as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth across the backs of your fingers. “I wouldn’t just be late for no reason, dear.”

You can’t really tell how you feel, to be honest - strangely vulnerable, but pleasantly comforted all the same. Knowing he’d gone to all that trouble, for something that you’d thought was just a stolen trinket…

“Elvish?” you ask, eyebrows raised, relishing the way his head dips just slightly to the right like he wants to hide his face but knows he can’t. “You’re getting awfully sentimental in your old age, you know.”

“I - you!” If he could blush properly, would he? As it is, you can just about catch the faint flush of blood - your blood, taken last night up in his bed, while everyone else was still downstairs in the tavern proper - spreading high across his cheek. “Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrug, hand slipping out of his to exaggeratedly inspect your nails, not even trying to hide your grin. He really does set you up perfectly sometimes. “Never had any complaints.”

He laughs, low and surprisingly sweet, and reaches absentmindedly for another mouthful of wine. “Don’t sound so sure, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll get a noise complaint or two out of you yet.”

Bold words for a man who’s barely even seen your bed, let alone set foot in it. “Well, when you learn how, let me know.”

“Darling. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He takes a sip and apparently remembers how bad the wine was the first time - his expression sours, and you very kindly don’t point out that it looks a lot like the face Lae’zel gave him when she caught him absentmindedly licking blood off a dagger she’d grudgingly lent him after a particularly nasty fight a few weeks ago.

(Astarion assured you at length that it had been a very long day and he’d only been having a snack, and really wasn’t it an honour, a real compliment, that he thought her blade to be so immaculately kept that he’d even want to lick it?)

(Shadowheart had not been pleased. Astarion’s not allowed to borrow things from Lae’zel any more.)

While he’s busy making various disapproving - you won’t say endearing, you won’t - little noises about his curse of a drink, you slide the ring off your finger and hold it up in front of your face. It’s warm from the heat of your hand.

Turning it this way and that, idly admiring the way the light plays off the shiny metal, the flaming flicker of the ruby. Hells, it really is beautiful.

Gold band, red stone. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“‘To live in love is my life.’”

He’s watching you, slowly swirling the wine in his cup with one elegant hand. The words are even prettier on his silver tongue, ringing metal like a bell.

“I thought…”

Distantly, a floorboard creaks. Dust, floating in the afternoon sunlight.

“I thought it made sense.”

Carefully, he twists the ring off his own finger, and presses it into your palm. A simple pattern of vines and leaves, curling around the band. Ubi amor ibi fides.

“You should’ve let me pay.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You paid,” you say. “For this. Those flowers. My clothes. You didn’t have to.”

“Really?” It’s almost shameful how your heart stutters when he meets your gaze, even if it’s only so he can roll his eyes at you with a dismissive smile. “Come now, dear. I have to spend my ill-gotten gains on something, don’t I?”

“There are far better things to sp-”

“No.”

His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, tugging it towards him until he can press your fingers to the side of his throat. His ring is heavy in your other hand, knocking against the one already on your finger, clicking against the inside of the band.

“No, there’s not. And if there were, you wouldn’t get to tell me what they are.”

If he’s going to be stubborn about it, so be it. “Clothes that you’re not going to wear are the best things you can think of to waste money on?”

“Do you think about me not wearing clothes that often, darling?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes this time, definitely ignoring the way you can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin, the purr in his voice as it dips low and tempting. “Naughty.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to throw money away by - mmf!”

Astarion mutters something under his breath you don’t catch, before there’s the sudden rush of air past your face and a blunt strip of pressure against your stomach, pulled forwards until you’re half out of your chair. It takes your brain a second to figure out why your words aren’t coming out any more - there’s something in the way - he’s so close - oh, he’s kissing you-

Fingers going slack, a quiet thud as his ring hits the table. Neither of you hear it.

Without even thinking about it, you’re already melting against him, hand sliding up from his neck to tangle softly in his hair as the other braces your body against the table. Ah, that’s what that pressure is - the edge of the table is digging into your middle where you’re leaning forward over it, but you don’t really care. You’re far more focused on the sharpness of his fangs as they dig into your bottom lip, the insistent grasp of his hand as he cups your jaw, the faint sweetness of wine that still sits on his tongue.

“Shut up, shut up,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I don’t care about the damn money, you heinous little ingrate, I - mmm, I just want you to stop being so - so-”

The rest of his words are lost in a frustrated hiss that absolutely shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you wince as the tadpole behind your eye squirms sickeningly when he breaks the kiss. His right hand is still holding your wrist, warm with your body heat, and he groans as he slumps back into his chair and bows his head, pressing the back of your hand to his face. Something reverent, something sacred, saint and devotee.

Just let me be good enough, he thinks, words floating in the dark water of your mind. Tell me I’m good enough for you.

Your jaw tightens. Why does he have to be so vicious with it? That’s not the problem.

Then what is?

He can’t see it, but even so, you’re not going to cry. How could this be what you want? I can’t - I’m - Astarion, you deserve m-

Gods, how stupid can you be? he spits, freezing venom splattering your skin. I know, alright? I know! I deserve more, I deserve better, all these fucking things you won’t stop telling me - has it ever crossed your empty little mind that I might want to actually have the things I apparently deserve?

If he was looking at you, you’re sure it would be with a scowl. I deserve love, or so I’m told. Yes?

Of course.

Then let me have it, dammit!

He takes a deep breath that you feel more than hear, a thin veneer of calm stretched over the words he wants to say. Darling. Dearest. Sweetness. I am in love with you.

Well, that’s… that’s, um…

Hm. You don’t really know what it is.

A strange shiver races through you, giddy with nerves and bitter excitement. He can’t mean it, can he? This can’t possibly end the way you want it to, he can’t possibly be saying - saying that, of all things.

…Right.

Try not to sound so pleased about it, dear, he mutters. I’m only pouring my heart out for you here.

Well - well, yes, but-

He finally looks up at that, interrupting the stammering jumble of words falling out of your sort-of-mouth, handsome features slightly soured with annoyance. But what, exactly?

You don’t…

Pinned in place by his stare, all you can do is faintly shake your head. You don’t have to lie because you think it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not your fault, alright? It’s not.

You’re desperately fighting the urge to flinch. He deserves to know, but it’s a painful admission all the same. I said before, you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a - a prop, or a toy, or anything like that - and I shouldn’t have made you do all of… All of this. I was just being selfish.

Thin, sharp words, papercuts all the way up the inside of your throat. It’s for the best.

Selfish? Astarion laughs harshly, somewhere between outraged and hysterical. Are you serious?

I mean, I - I just…

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. All you can do is watch in confusion as he smiles, sweet at first before it turns manic, dissolving into some sort of - well, the only words that come to mind are giggle fit, which sounds much cuter than he’d probably like, but it’s true. Even the damned tadpoles give up, connection splintering and falling away as he loses concentration and falls back into his chair - anyone looking would think you’d got him with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter or something, it’s that bad.

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he manages to choke out, “an actual, bona fide idiot!”

Such a charmer, your Astarion. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Any time, darling,” he laughs, one hand on his stomach and wincing slightly as he sits up - belatedly, you realise you should probably sit down again before people start to stare. “I’m here all week.”

His little fit of laughter seems to be a little more under control - you can’t help but melt at the pretty smile that still lights up his face, even though you’re still not quite sure what was so funny. “My love, my love - traveller of the realms, slayer of monsters, and proud owner of the thickest skull south of the Spine. Gods, it must be safe as houses in there - that tadpole of yours is really very lucky, dear.”

“A rogue and a comedian,” you reply dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, I’d say.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you are my day job, darling,” he says, nonchalantly picking up his cup again - he doesn’t drink anything, though, and you’re starting to think it’s just because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.“In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a rather vested interest in keeping you alive long enough to get rid of our…”

Apparently, he’s decided now is the time for him to start being subtle about your collective situation. He waves his hand awkwardly towards his head with his cup, wine sloshing loudly but - thankfully for his doublet - not spilling. “Of certain mutual friends we seem to have acquired lately.”

Well, you’ll play along if it makes him happy. “See, it all comes out in the end,” you sigh, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Marrying me for my famed tadpole-killing expertise. What a fairy tale, hm?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his ring from where you’d accidentally dropped it on the table, and slips it back onto his finger where it was before.

“Yes. Yes, I…”

Astarion trails off, eyes slightly unfocused, and you get the feeling he’s trying to find the words for something.

“That’s what it was.”

The floor tilts beneath you, a wriggling pulse behind your eye.

“That’s why I did this.”

He meets your eyes. A silent question, or maybe an offering. No laughter - something small and vulnerable in its wake that you can’t quite name, raw and aching, hollow bones like a bird.

You nod. A whirling blur of colour, and all at once the world is a tailor’s shop a few streets away, awfully cramped and thoroughly too noisy.

“Let’s get you inside, darling. We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

This whole your-mind-his-body thing really is incredible - you can feel the smile spreading across his face as he holds the door open for past-you, even though you obviously can’t see it from here. Unfamiliar muscles forming a familiar expression. It’s weird.

A flurry of questions that you’re not really paying attention to, your new eyes lingering on the shape of your real body as it disappears behind a drab-looking curtain on the other side of the room. Astarion’s hands, fishing a doublet out of his (your?) bag and handing it off to some wretched assistant or other, but not before making it very clear that it is to be embroidered in gold, not silver, to match with his betrothed.

The boy he’s given it to scurries off with a nod, and something flickers deep inside - instinctively, you try to look down, but the memory of Astarion’s body doesn’t let you. Oh, it felt good when he said that. Something lighting up in your chest, fluttering and fizzing, a still heart that dreams of beating.

“What can we help you with today, sir?”

You’re still not entirely au fait with this whole mixed-consciousness thing, but it’s gradually getting easier to let Astarion’s mind talk over yours, relaxing into the gaps to watch the memories like you would a play. Well, it’s sort of like a play. It’s more like an opera, really, or you might say a pantomime if you were feeling especially mean - he’s as theatrical in his head as he is out loud, and it’s absolutely fascinating to realise that this really is how he sees the world.

Some woman or other comes over and starts chatting away, steering him over to a chair on the other side of the room, a little closer to the riser. She offers him a drink, but you see him wave it away - it’ll hardly do to be distracted when there’s time to be spent with you. There’s so little time to be alone nowadays, what with everyone else always clamouring for your precious attention. He’s not about to spoil such a golden chance by filling his head with wool.

(The sentiment is unexpectedly sweet, and inside his head where nobody can see, you can't help but smile like a fool at the thought. He likes spending time with you, he wants to spend time with you. With you!)

He can still hear you changing, cloth rustling behind the curtain, so he gradually tunes back into - gods below, is this blasted woman ever going to stop for breath? She’s still twittering on about… well, he’s not been paying attention, so he doesn’t actually know, but it’s probably not that important.

“Just alterations, sir? Or embellishment as well?

Right, right she’s asking about what he wants them to do. Fine, fair enough. “Family legacies, sent by a rather poorly-informed relative, I’m told. See to it that it’s appropriate for evening, and that it matches mine.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll do our best for you and your… friend - um, companion? Companion.”

Seriously? The nerve. Friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little rude for her to be presuming anything, but he can let it slide just this once.

“Betrothed, actually,” he says, casually running his left hand through his hair and enjoying the satisfied pride that fills him as her eyes focus on the ring on his finger. “Something of a recent development, but certainly not an unhappy one.”

“Ah, is that so?” she says with a smile, much more genuine than before. “I’m sure there’s quite the story there.”

He shrugs, and you can feel how much effort it takes to make it look like he doesn’t care. “Well, it’s not for a lack of trying, I assure you.”

“Oh, my brother was just the same,” the woman replies, like she’s known him for years. “I couldn’t tell you how many times he asked his wife to marry him before she said yes - you know, I told him she’s far too good for him, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head, sighing fondly, and your borrowed heart twinges at the thought of this woman, this glimpse of an ordinary family with ordinary troubles. “But he wouldn’t give up, oh no, I’ll marry that girl yet, Ros, just you wait and see, and now they’ve been married for - ooh, must be going on eight years? Nine? Happy as a clam, he keeps her, and there’s not a man this side of the Spine who loves his wife more.”

“I commend his fortitude.” Astarion tips his imaginary cap to the woman, and it’s so stupidly charming that you could just scream. Bless this ridiculous elf you’ve had the fortune to fall in love with. “I shall have to live up to his example, clearly.”

“Well, obviously your circumstances are a little different, sir, but I should very much hope so,” she says. Her mouth opens, like she’s just thought of something she wants to say, but-

“-haah!”

Astarion’s head snaps towards the curtain where your voice came from, room blurring with the speed, half-out of his chair in an instant. What’s wrong? Who’s hurt you?

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

The curtain that hides you swishes as a hitherto-unnoticed assistant pulls it aside, revealing you in all your stolen finery, and the woman - has he actually asked her name yet? Did she say it? - turns to usher you over. “My congratulations to the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Yes, I…” Astarion trails off, and something in his voice feels like candle smoke, trailing up into the sky. Wistful. “Thank you. I rather think we will.”

(It’s incredibly sweet that he was so committed to the role, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t he a gem?)

She leads you across the floor, and… oh dear. It really doesn’t fit, does it? Well, that’s what you’ve come here to fix, after all.

It’s an eclectic mix, to be sure, but he supposes that’s what you get when you’re just stealing for fun, rather than to order. You’re all stiff and awkward when you walk like the underpieces are all slightly too small, and the rest of it is all oddly proportioned, sleeves heavy but cut too short, laces pulling tight in some places and hanging slack in others.

As dire a situation as it might seem, with a fair amount of elbow grease, he’s sure it’ll turn out wonderfully. The colour is lovely against your skin, and the embroidery is rich and detailed, gold thread twisting and curling around your body, over your shoulders, your chest, your waist…

Dear gods, he wants to know what it feels like. Raised stitches under his fingers, trailing across your body, pressing delicately until he can feel the soft give of your skin beneath the treacherous cloth that separates you. Would it be warm with the heat of you? Would you want him to know?

That’s my darling.

The sinful, stolen thought blossoms in his mind like sweet honeysuckle, out of control, filling his mind with that heady, giddy scent. Look at you, little love - aren’t you a picture, dearest? Mine, all mine.

His teeth ache, biting back the words as they threaten to tumble right out of his mouth. I want you, let me want you, I want to want you. Just right, just right. Pushing himself out of his chair for something to do, palms itching with the loss of you, restless energy thrumming in his bones. I want this to be real. So beautiful, let me hold you, soft and lovely. Spoil you, spoil you, sweets for my sweet. Honey, honey, honey…

(Sorry, wait - that’s what he was thinking?)

(You - you don’t…)

It’s a wonder he’s able to string words together as he watches you, admiring every angle as you turn, the bubbly taste of gleeful shame as he spots the places where everything’s just slightly too tight, revealing just a little bit more of you than it should. Is that wrong? Because if it is, he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy enjoying the way your eyes seem to glitter in the golden light from the window, the way he can see your chest rise and fall with every breath, slightly shallower than normal as you fight not to rip any of the ageing side seams.

The staff in here are mercifully receptive to his suggestions, clearly appreciative of his discerning eye and tasteful sensibilities. One of the stupider ones tries to say something about replacing the neckline with some hideous striped monstrosity, and he takes a grim sort of pleasure in thoroughly rejecting that particular brainwave - same with the one who seems to be advocating for a sort of avant-garde asymmetrical sleeve thing, that looks less like a fashion statement and more like it’s already been chewed by that little owlbear. Twice. Honestly, it looks ghastly.

He’s just about to say the thing about the owlbear out loud - the others won’t get it, but it’ll make you laugh, so it’s worth it, really - when there’s this… this voice.

“Oh, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

No. No, no, no. He knows that tone.

The laughter falls from his lips as his gaze flicks to the left, to be met with some waifish elven girl standing altogether far too close for comfort. She smiles when his eyes meet hers, in a way that’s just slightly too pleased to look as demure as she thinks it does. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“Quite.”

He’s terse, tension locking him in place and filling his voice. The girl’s hand comes up to just barely brush against his elbow, so lightly that he doesn’t even really feel it - but even that is enough to make him jolt, instinctively jerking away and one hand drifting towards the comforting weight of the dagger at his hip.

“Would you come with me a moment, sir?” she asks, undeterred, delicate fingers twisting in her hair and swishing it back over her shoulder - obviously, almost embarrassingly coy. “My workbench is just over here, but there are more rooms this way if you’d rather talk in private.”

Ugh. She’s not even subtle about it - he doesn’t need any sort of elevated senses to be painfully aware of what she wants. Her heart’s fast, eyes bright, breathing a little too hard. It’s almost comical. He’s been faking the exact same thing for longer than she’s been alive.

“And what, exactly,” he spits, “could I possibly have to say to you?”

She laughs - laughs! Normally, the vitriol dripping from his voice can clear a room in seconds, especially combined with the crimson glare that he’s currently levelling at her. Apparently, though, this idiot girl is an exception to the rule.

“Your doublet, sir? I’m an embroiderer, sir, and…”

If she fiddles with that ridiculous hair any more, he’ll cut it clean off and take her fingers with it - does she not see the way he’s desperately trying to keep his hand away from his dagger? “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, and you seem like the sort of gentleman who’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of things…”

So she’s stupid as well as vain. Dear gods, darling, pick a battle.

“Do I look like I want to talk about embroidery?” He resolutely turns his back and tries to focus back on you, still as lovely as ever up on your little perch. “Do excuse me. My betrothed requires my attention.

“Oh, no need to trouble anyone else, sir.”

Forget the hair. If she makes that infuriating giggling noise again, she’ll be lucky to leave this room with a head.

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about…”

Her hand comes to lay lightly at his elbow again, and that’s it. That’s it. You’re going to have to apologise to that woman from earlier for him, because he’s about to stab this pathetic little worm right in front of everyone, and he’s not even going to feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

She lights up as he turns to face her properly, beckoning her a little closer with a single finger. It soon turns to horror as she sees the predator’s grin that splits his face, the façade of politeness cracking like a duck egg, fangs unashamedly on display.

“Shall I tell you a secret, little elfling?”

(You’ve always known that Astarion’s attitude to murder is a little unconventional, but murdering someone for the crime of threatening a relationship that isn’t even real? His head spins with the euphoria of the kill-to-be, and you’re dizzy with how much he wants it. Is it bad, that he likes the taste of her fear? Is it worse, that you like it too?)

The girl freezes on the spot as he leans in, something sharp and brittle in the way she trembles but can’t force her feet to move. Shivering, shuddering, perfect glass splintering like ice. A prey animal. This is going to be fun.

“There’s a funny thing that always seems to happen, to people who try to get in between my darling and I.”

“It - sir, I - I didn't-”

He laughs over her, dark and wicked, already salivating at the thought of what’s to come. Ooh, you could just kiss him.

“Don’t worry, little madam, I’ll give you a clue. It starts with please, sir, I’m sorry, and it rhymes with I don’t want to d-”

“Darling!”

It’s you - sharply, he pivots on his heel to face you, hurriedly smoothing his expression back into a slightly more pleasant, we are in public, Astarion, stop looking so bloody murderous all the time smile. The swarm of people around you has dissipated some, and it’s nice to finally have an unobstructed view of you. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” Bless you, bless you for the excuse to abandon this grasping little wretch. He fixes the terrified creature next to him with one last self-satisfied smirk for good measure, enjoying the way she gasps and trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, before letting the magnet in his chest pull itself gleefully back to you. “Are you finished already?”

Some hapless assistant comes drifting by, clearly not noticing him, and holds out a hand to help you down off the stand. Well, that certainly won’t do - does nobody in this accursed place know that he’s engaged to you? Because he’d thought he’d made it really rather obvious. The ruby on your finger glitters in the light, and he thinks about the words he knows are pressed against your skin, a secret promise.

Amorie ent vivas est ma vie. It’s only right, it’s only fair. How could anyone ever look at you and not know that you were made to be loved? You were made to be doted on, kissed and held and adored like the precious thing you are - spoilt absolutely rotten, thoroughly and entirely, toothache and cavities.

You deserve love, so much more than he could ever give you, but by all the hells, does he want to try. This stolen, golden day isn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps he’s tipped his hand a little too far this time, but it’s true, it’s true. Ubi amor ibi fides, where there is love there is faith. Two hundred years of blood, cracked open on the altar, a broken heart that can’t afford to cry. He’s been abandoned by gods before. A faithful sunflower, ever turning to face you, held blissfully captive in your gravity. All that love that lights your path, that fills your world - would you let it be his, poor and pitiful as it is? Divinity. The crackle of a campfire, truth is faith is you.

Why, then…?

Don’t you notice it when he reaches out to you, palm upturned to help you down beside him? Weren’t you expecting him? Surely, surely he’s not done such a poor job as your fiancé that you didn’t think he’d want to hold your hand, that you’d choose some random shop girl over him.

I thought - I just-

Silently, he watches on as you step down from the riser, the phantom warmth of your hand in his. Does it matter? Of course not, of course not - how could you know that it even matters to him at all? You probably just don’t want to trouble him, or maybe you really didn’t see. It’s his own fault, after all, for trying to find meaning in the very charade he’s brought upon himself.

But I’m here, his traitor’s heart whispers, confused. Won’t you let me help you? What did I do?

So caught up in his own puzzled musings, he barely even notices it when the assistant mumbles something and runs off. The too-loud beat of your heart, the too-quiet sound of your breath, echoing through his skull.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Shit, shit, what’s wrong? You won’t even look at him now, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and you sound all - all sad…

“Are you sure, dear?” He won’t push it, not out here in front of everyone - no matter how much his empty arms ache to hold you, press his mouth to your temple, smooth away the tiny, worried creases in your skin with his thumb. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

It’s worse than he thought. Before he can even do anything, you’re already backing away from him - inch by inch, step by step, like he won’t notice if you move slowly enough. You’re scared. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

You’re afraid - no scent of your blood in the air, no lingering taste of magic, but he’d know your fear anywhere. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, eyes forgetting to blink, pulse beating against your skin like a drum. Did someone hurt you? Say something to you? Fuck, he must have missed something. Who was it? Who was it? Tell him, and he’ll have them turned inside out before you can s-

The thought hits him like an arrow, cold shock spreading through his chest before it turns to horrified pain. He dismisses you with a nod that surely must look as wooden as it feels, unable to take his eyes off you as you scuttle away behind that damned curtain - but in his head he’s still half a mile away, replaying the last ten minutes in his head over and over in search of the thing he must have done wrong. One hand unconsciously comes up to his chest, just to make sure that the crater in his ribs hasn’t bled all over his front.

Broken heart, punctured lung. Are you afraid of him?

A low, stifled curse from the other side of the room brings him back with a jolt, and without really realising it, he’s already ducking through the curtain. Fingernails catching on velvet, still air, floorboard that creak underfoot. Something about forgiveness or permission, or one of those other things he never remembers to ask for.

“Let me.”

Quick fingers skimming across your back, undoing buttons, untying laces. Flashes of a thousand others in your place, pushed haphazardly to the back of his mind, gritting his teeth to stay, stay, stay. Seams tearing, lace ripping, buttons scattering across the floor - but that’s not right, he’s here with you, and you - and you-

“Careful.”

A quiet sort of affection, creeping up on him, the gentle blade that slots between his ribs and begs to stay buried there. Greedy, guilty hands, craving to ruin you, only knowing how to destroy. Protective, possessive, cursed for sure. Dread. Satisfaction, thick, dark blood smeared across his face, the carnage of his feast painted down your neck. The softness of your body, curved against his chest - desire, rich and syrupy, honey-sweet and terrifying in its sincerity.

“You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

I wish they would, whispers something in his head. I wish they knew - and I wish you knew too.

You feel your shared mouth open, but he doesn’t let you stay any longer - before past-him can reply, the scene dissolves into mist and falls away, leaving only Astarion looking back at you across the table.

“Clear enough for you, darling?”

The words crackle against your senses slightly, electric. You nod, left in something of a daze.

“Quite.”

You don’t say anything else, for a little while.

(Absentmindedly, you take a sip of your wine. It’s still not great, but it’s better than nothing.)

He’s on edge, fidgeting slightly in his seat, but it barely registers - your head is swirling with everything you’ve seen, everything he’s shown you. So he - so he had wanted this? It hadn’t been… everything he’d said…

It doesn’t make sense. How could he be so stupid?

You’re not good to love - you’re not good at love. Someone so precious, something so treasured. What could you possibly give him that he couldn’t find elsewhere? What do you have that he hasn’t seen a thousand times over?

You don’t know how to help him, or even where you could start. He ought to have someone he can trust with all those deepest, darkest parts of him, who understands him the way he doesn’t even know he needs, who knows just what to say, just when to listen. Someone confident and funny and kind, someone with the sort of love that’s warm and all-encompassing - a sunny summer’s day, a lighthouse in the storm. Sturdy, dependable, honourable. Safe. He deserves safe.

Instead, all you’ve got is a silly, reckless crush, a clumsy, gangly, unpracticed thing that you barely even know what to do with. Can you even call it love? Would he recognise it, if he saw it? Some trembling, pathetic infatuation, the best your body can do, thin and liquid in the marrow of your bones. Not blood, just water, filling but not full. Nothing that would satisfy him.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He’s lovely and he’s wicked and he’s clever, he’s cruel and he’s sweet and he’s made for so much more than you.

“I, um…”

He’ll thank you later. Not out loud, obviously - this is Astarion you’re talking about, after all - but he’ll know this is all for the best.

“Well, I’m very flattered, but…” Carefully, you arrange your face into what hopefully looks like sympathy, rather than pity. He’s clearly not in his right mind - he needs to think this is you offering to fix this together, rather than you letting him down gently. “Maybe this isn’t th-”

“Oh, for the love of - for once in your life, will you take the fucking hint?”

Reeling, your jaw drops as he practically shouts the words at you, hands slamming down onto the table with a thud.

“I didn’t even-!”

“No! No, you didn’t!” The tadpole in your head writhes as his mind opens to you once again, white-hot and shaking with rage. Does he even know he’s doing it? “Because you gave me that big, sad, I’m-so-sorry-I’m-so-useless look as you opened your silly little mouth, and I knew exactly what you were going to say!”

Snarling, biting, this must be what it’s like to be hunted by him. “So here’s what’s going to happen, darling - I am going to tell you what’s going on here, and you are going to sit there and listen, yes?”

Snap, snap, snap - he clicks his fingers insistently in front of your face when you don’t reply. “Yes?”

“Yes, mother,” you grumble, thoroughly chastised. “Listening.”

He narrows his eyes at the name, but lets it slide. Apparently, he’s got bigger fish to fry here.

“I am not a child.”

A thousand sarcastic replies flit through your head, most of them involving some variant of you’re right, a child wouldn’t be such a messy eater, but the murderous look he gives you as you open your mouth tells you that now might not be the time.

“I don’t need you to choose things for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he spits, fingernails biting into the wooden surface of the table. “I have had enough, of other people giving me orders, deciding things for me - do you hear me?”

His voice, low and bitterly cold. “You don’t get to be my master.”

There’s nothing you can really say to that, so you just nod, feeling slightly sick. Where’s he going with this - gods, what have you done?

“Oh? So you do understand!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. “So it’s finally dawned on you, has it? You’re finally going to let me do what I want, is that it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice thin and cracking. “I - yes.”

“So if I told you I wanted to - to write a book about the uselessness of lockpicking, or let Gale turn me into a frog, or dye my hair purple, or something, you’d believe me? No matter how out of character you thought it was? You’d let me do it, even if you thought I’d lost my mind?”

There’s not even space to get a word in edgeways - he’s really, properly ranting now. “Or if I said I wanted to, um - oh, I don’t know, rob a bank, or run for mayor, or go into business writing terrible Sylvan love poetry - you’d believe me, yes? You’d say to yourself, oh, that Astarion, he’s big enough and bad enough to know what he wants, wouldn’t you?”

Another nod, a little bit more confused this time. Faerie love poetry? “I would.”

“Oh? Is that so? My, you sound awfully confident.” He feigns shock, one hand splayed mockingly across his chest. Sarcastic, almost jeering, a theatrical gasp.

“I must be so lucky, hm? To have someone who knows me so well, who trusts me to do whatever I want? Respecting me, caring about me, telling me that what I think matters?”

Something moving very fast - wine spilled all over the table with a clatter, a curse, a crescendo. “Well, then, dearheart - why can’t you seem to keep it in your ridiculous little head that I am in love with you?”

A beat.

“And before you say it - no, it’s not a joke, or whatever fool excuse you’re busy coming up with,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you like it’ll keep the words from forming in your head. “I’m cruel, dear, but not that cruel.”

Sighing, he flicks his hand and the dripping, crimson wine stain soaking his sleeve disappears.

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he murmurs, reaching slowly across the table, pausing just before he can touch your face. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

“About my open mouth?”

Your voice is weak and the joke’s not your best, but you lean forward, letting him graze his fingers lightly across your jaw. “Not to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Gods. I really have taught you well.”

Words spill unbidden into your mind like oil, writhing in what might be fury or terror. Crawling into the strange, empty space that lies between you, dark and filled with agony, out of your body and inside your head.

Know me, see me - what a joke, that I should want to be seen at last, and by you, of all people. Are you there? Are you listening?

A thousand tiny moments, rushing past you in the current of his madness. You couldn’t make me do it, can’t you see? You couldn’t force me to love you - I have no need of force, not for you! It’s no pretence, it’s no game.

You couldn’t make me, but I did it anyway because it’s real, it’s all been real - why can’t you believe me? Do you think me so spiteful, so cruel, that I would do that to you?

Walls collapsing, worlds colliding. Where you go, he follows - always a step too slow, reaching out a second too late to find your hand already gone.

The words you think I wish to say, the pity and the scorn and the endless mockery that you imagine fills my head when I look at you. Is that what you want? Am I to be nothing but a hapless instrument of your own self-hatred, your own monstrous thoughts spilling from my lips, poisoning you with every word, every kiss?

My love, he wails, my love, my love. You’re so cruel to me.

Is this still only in your mind? The air is thick and close, seeping heavy into your skin. You make me sound so hateful, full of spite and loathing, bent on your destruction. Do you think me incapable of love - of loving you?

Tell me, savage darling of mine - tell this vicious, twisted creature that you say you see before you. Why can’t you believe that I could ever be in love with you?

Ragged, fevered fingernails tearing at the brickwork, half-mad with wanting. Ageing silk, soft and fragile as it frays. A whimper that might be a screech that might be a howl.

Why did I have to be a monster? he sobs, voice splintering and cracking - a phantom hand, all claws, desperately searching for your ankle. Couldn’t I have just been a man? Couldn’t I have just been in love with you for my own sake, because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever known?

Please, my darling, I beg. Don’t make me this way.

You…

You don’t know what to say. Formless, faceless in this imagined space between - how would you speak, even if you tried? What words could reach his heart, could soothe this pain?

Whatever you say next, it can’t be a lie. Not again. He’ll know.

Paralysed with fear, but why? You like him. You want him, want to love him - and here he is, telling you that he feels the same. What’s the problem, then?

I’m scared.

The edge of the cliff, crumbling away beneath your boots. You know how to want love, but you don’t know how to do it - what does that even mean, for people like you two? How does it even work?

You don’t know what you don’t know, and it’s terrifying. Foolish and inexperienced - won’t he be ashamed of your clumsiness? He always seems so… so capable, so much bolder than you are. Confident, if a little too arrogant, and a healthy dose of vanity on top of that - ever unshaken, ever above it all. And yet, even in the moments when the act stretches too thin, when you can see it for the charade it is, it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s still miles beyond you, braver than you could imagine being.

He always seems to have an answer, he always seems to know. You’re embarrassed that you can’t match him.

I won’t - I can’t-

But that’s not all, is it?

He’s so precious to you. He matters, more than he thinks and more than you’ll admit, and he’s in pain. You don’t want him to be in pain. But you’re afraid that your love, weak and unpracticed as it is, won’t be enough to stop it.

Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or because you don’t trust yourself not to hurt him? He should want more, he shouldn’t settle for you. Selfish, lazy you, wanting but never deserving, complaining but never really trying. All these ugly, shameful parts of you that he must not know, or else he never would have said any of this.

Surely, he can’t know. Nobody could know all these things about you, and still pretend to love you the way he does.

And yet…

He says he doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve seen him threaten to stab enough of them that you know it’s true. He says he doesn’t waste his time on things he doesn’t care about, that he doesn’t bother with anything he doesn’t like, and yeah, those also seem to be threatened with stabbing on an alarmingly-regular basis. So maybe it’s more about the propensity for knives than any particular economy of affection, but even so - you still believe him, don’t you?

He’s a liar. It’s the one thing he’ll always tell the truth about. But now, knowing what you know, you’re starting to think that’s not quite right either.

It all comes back to fear. Scared that it’s not true, that he’ll change his mind, that he was lying the whole time. Scared that you’ll be hurt, that you’ll hurt him, that he really is as cruel as he thinks he is. Can you do it? Trust him when he says you’re enough for him, that you’re what he wants? Trust him, when he says he means it?

It’s too much.

Your messy, sticky heart. A breathless, fluttering creature, laden with roses and sick with love.

I don’t want to get it wrong.

A cool hand cups your cheek, and the world comes back to you.

Stinging, your eyes open - weren’t they already open? - to find Astarion close, much closer than he was before. While you weren’t looking, he must have moved, but how on earth did he…?

“Steady on, darling. My eyes are up here.”

However he did it, Astarion looks down at you from where he’s perched in your lap, sitting sideways across your legs with one arm around your shoulders to keep himself balanced. Slowly, he coaxes your face up from the floor to look at him, fingers pressing into the softness of your cheek.

“Ah, that’s better. There you are.”

He doesn’t look angry, as you’d feared. Maybe pleased is the right word? No, that sounds too much like self-satisfied - not reverent, that’s too grand, and not proud either. It’s something softer than just happy, something contented and uncharacteristically tender. Charmed, perhaps.

Slightly awkwardly, you quietly clear your throat. Your body hasn’t cried, but it feels like your mind has, and the gap between the two is kind of disconcerting.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion tilts his head, pretty eyes faintly confused, but you carry on. “It’s just a bit… you know. There’s a lot.”

Your hand stutters as it waves stiffly through the air in front of you, like that’ll somehow help you say what you mean. Everything that’s happened today, everything you’ve done, all summed up in some inept little gesture in your lap.

Luckily, he seems to understand well enough. With a sigh, he leans forward until his head is resting on yours, pulling you gently towards him to settle your head against the curve of his throat, safe in his embrace. Without really realising it, your arms find his middle, settling loosely around his waist in return.

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says slowly, fingers tapping idly against your skin. “I think we do have time, after all.”

Bemused, you frown against his shoulder. “Time for what?”

Another memory, teased out of your brain by the tadpole. A sun-filled street, and a plan that couldn’t possibly go wrong.

What say you, dearest? Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Even now, you find yourself smiling at his overblown antics, the cocky flick of his wrist as he took your hand and kissed it. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart… Did he sound quite so mournful the first time? Or do you just remember it that way? I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

“Let me ask you again, darling,” the real Astarion asks you. Well, with his chin resting lightly on top of your head, he more so asks your hair, but the meaning is clear. “Properly, this time.”

“Mmm…”

Is it a tiny bit mean of you, to make him wait? Probably, but he likes it when you’re mean. “You’ll have to convince me…”

“Oh?” Of course, he plays along, with a smirk that you don’t have to see to recognise. “Then set the scene for me, dear. However shall I win your hand?”

It takes a few long seconds for you to settle on an idea, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his back. This is nice.

“Tell me how it’s supposed to be,” you say, warm words against cold skin. “Tell me how this should have gone.”

“Well, it wouldn’t start like this, certainly,” he declares, tracing tiny, maybe-unconscious circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. “I wonder how we would have met? Something grand, I’m sure…”

He makes some gesture you can’t see, painting the picture in the air. “Perhaps a ball, or a gala, the kind they have in the Upper City - ooh, maybe in the foyer of an opera house or a theatre or something.”

“How… refined.”

“Oh, it would be terribly dull, I assure you,” he replies. “You’d have been to a thousand of these things before, and you’d be bored out of your skull.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way the words fall out of his mouth, full of longing and yet totally blasé. “And you’d save me from it, I assume?”

“Naturally.” Astarion runs a practised hand through his hair, adjusting himself in your lap slightly so he doesn’t fall. “I’d catch sight of you across the room and be utterly captivated by your beauty, darling. Then, I’d bring you a glass of wine and make some excuse to get you talking, and we’d spend the rest of the evening being absolutely awful about everyone else there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Oh, you can’t help yourself - you have to stretch up a bit awkwardly, but you lean up to kiss his cheek, just once. Maybe twice. “Then what?”

He hums, deep in careful consideration. “I suppose I’d have to - oh, we’d both be living in the Upper City, by the way - I suppose I’d have to find your family’s home the next morning.”

“Bold, don’t you think?” you ask with a grin. “It’s barely been half a day since we met.”

He scoffs. “Like that would matter to me. They might show me into the drawing room, but they wouldn’t let me see you - I fear I might make quite a scene, you know. I’d stay as long as I could, waiting for you to come downstairs, and I wouldn’t leave until I’d begged permission to court you properly.”

The image of Astarion in all his finery pops into your head, perched defiantly on the sofa in the lavish drawing room of some imagined townhouse in Baldur’s Gate, arguing with the maid as she tries to shoo him away - it’s so ridiculous, and yet so absolutely him. Who else would turn up on your doorstep and elbow his way into the parlour, setting himself in the middle of the furniture like he owns it, and refusing to leave without an offer of courtship from the family?

“And what’s so funny about that?” He pretends to be affronted as you muffle your laugh into his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t tell me you’d keep me waiting, now.”

“Never, my love,” you proclaim, thoroughly charmed. “Once I heard the racket from downstairs, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away.”

“Racket - you think I’d be making a racket, darling? In what world?” he gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of politeness. Very subtle. You wouldn’t even know, unless I wanted you to.”

“Right, right, subtle…” You nod exaggeratedly, taking in his perfect look of offended outrage. “And I assume that’s why the picture of politeness is sitting on my lap and trying to get his hands up my shirt in the middle of a tavern?”

Cold hands freeze against your sides, skin against skin, and you grin. Got him. “Nice try, though. I was almost convinced.”

“Of my subtlety? I’m sure I could persuade you...” He raises an eyebrow down at you, gaze dark with half-hidden promise. “You don’t think I could be quiet?”

“I’d be disappointed if you were. You mean you wouldn’t let me hear you?” You’re deliberately disappointed, a little whiny in the way you know he understands - a familiar dance, made all the sweeter by the fresh excitement of this new air between you. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play too. “Besides, I thought you liked it loud.”

“Oh, I do,” he breathes, one hand sneaking out from under your shirt, index finger pressing softly against the underside of your chin to keep your eyes on him. “Especially when you’re the one offering, darling.”

See, now you're speaking his language. “Who said I’d offer you anything?”

“Please. You wouldn’t get the chance, dear,” he scoffs, unfairly handsome in his arrogance. “Offering it to me? No, no. You’ll be begging me, pretty thing, and you’ll like it.”

The way he shifts to resettle himself in your lap is certainly no accident, and you really have to fight to keep your gaze up - you can just about keep looking at his face, but you can’t quite stop yourself from staring at his lips as he continues. “So how about it, hm? Would you be loud for me, my sweet?”

“I - well, I…” Your thoughts melt into nothing as the hand under your shirt slips just barely higher, words stuttering and faltering on your tongue. Curse his stupid face, curse his awful voice, curse his ridiculous hair and his strong hands and his pretty smile and his sweet kisses…

“Mm, I think you could be,” he muses, smug like the cat that’s got the cream. “I’d ask you very nicely, you know. And you’d be good for me, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely?”

The tadpole twitches behind your eye, the heat of something liquid and indulgent, a tantalising taste. Half memories, half dreams. Clever hands keeping you close in the middle of a crowded market, pulling you into a side street, pressing you hungrily up against the brick. The swish of a soft curtain, voices just outside, quiet now, darling, or do you want them to hear? Soft and warm and sweating, a trail of fabric in your wake - closer and closer, snatched up in his arms and - and-

Words, you have to say words - dizzily, your hazy mind latches onto whatever it can find. “Nicely?”

“Yes, honey. Nicely,” he sings through a wicked smile, faintly condescending in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “That’s right, sweetheart. Very good.”

He knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. You’re not going to fall for it, you’re not. Was it always this warm in here?

“Look at you, darling. Feeling a little hot, are we?”

The flash of fangs as he presses the back of his free hand to your cheek, blessed coolness, before sliding it down your neck to toy with the collar of your shirt.

“You should have said something, poor thing. I know a way we could cool you down.”

He looks thoughtful for a second, expression pensive before it melts back into a smirk. “Well. Maybe not straight away. But I’d get you out of all these layers, at least…”

Promises, promises. Your hummingbird heart, fluttering out of control. Graceful fingers picking at your collar, digging playfully into the softness of your waist, skimming across the skin. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“You want to do this here?” If you sound a little more out of breath than normal, which you’re not saying you are, then that’s neither here nor there. “Whatever happened to biding your time?”

“It’s your many charms, my darling,” he replies, endearingly - um, infuriatingly ready with a comeback, leaning down to kiss just beside your eye. “A man can only resist so long.”

“Bastard.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

The self-satisfied look is quickly wiped off his face by the bitterness of his wine - he takes one last sip before disgustedly dumping the rest of his cup into yours. “Gods, this stuff is vile - let's be off, darling, before anyone tries to palm another bottle off on us.”

Pushing himself up off your lap, he turns back with a neat little bow, palm upturned to help you out of your chair. “Delightful as the company may be, life is far too short to spend it drinking such dreadful wine.”

“This from he, the undying.”

“And I wouldn't waste another second of my undeath on it,” he sniffs, pulling you gently to your feet and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’ll have you know, being dead is no excuse for subpar drinks.”

“Your idea of a nice drink is human blood, dear,” you reply dryly as you pick your roses up off the windowsill, paper crinkling in your hands. “I’m not sure you're exactly an authority on the matter.”

Astarion rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Touché, my love, touché.”

He leads you back through the tavern, stepping across to hold the door open for you. The barkeep lifts a hand in farewell, and as you go to do the same, something glitters in the sunlight coming in through the open doorway.

It’s true, it’s true. Sweet relief and incredible terror all at once, resolving into something bright and brave and fizzing. Where there is love, there is faith. Is this what stories feel like? Wanting and wanted, a kiss that’s a dance that’s a promise.

Thin gold, red light. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“...Darling? Hello?”

Startled out of your reverie, you look up just as Astarion raises an eyebrow, amused, motioning towards the door. “Some time today, my sweet.”

“Right, right, yes…”

Hastily, you duck out of the doorway and step out onto the street, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Astarion follows, offering you his arm with a flourish, and you take it gladly.

“Where to next, then?” you ask, falling easily into step.

He shrugs, gesturing in front of the pair of you with a wry smile. “Why, wherever the road may take us, of course! We’re free as birds, dear - the very world is our oyster.”

“Back to the others then.”

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so.” Wordlessly, you turn to head back through the market, a little less noisy than this morning but still busy enough. “Unless you were planning on throwing even more of your money at the flower boy, that is.”

He gives you a playful nudge, discreetly shifting you both to the right to dodge a man walking the other way with an enormous crate of apples. “Don’t tempt me, dear. Five minutes to acquire the necessary funds, and you’ll be walking home with more than an armful of roses.”

“Planting me a garden, are you?”

“You’ll have a veritable meadow, my sweet,” he replies like it’s nothing, grand as you like. “As many as there’s room for, and one more for good measure.”

His free hand reaches across to yours, lifting it to his lips and kissing it like a prince from a storybook - it’s almost embarrassing how much it gets to you, and you’re sure he can hear your heart speeding up at his touch. “You’d never buy perfumes or oils again, if I had my way - in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to wash the smell of roses off of you, my love.”

Oh, you can’t let him off that easily. “They’d be roses, would they?” you ask, thinly feigning disinterest, although the effect is somewhat lost when you have to speak up a bit to be heard over the woman hawking fish just behind you. “So cliché.”

He lets out a tortured sigh, pained expression on his pretty face. “It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right, it does,” you muse. “Can’t imagine why it’s happened to you, then.”

“Oh, you-!”

He makes a grab for you, but you’re already gone, slipping out of his grasp and away into the crowded market, ducking through the gaps between the stalls and laughing as he chases after you. “Get back here, you villain!”

It’s a doomed endeavour - you know he’ll catch you, but you run anyway. Weaving in and out of the crowd, he’s never far behind. Fingertips that just barely brush the back of your shirt, shouted threats that grow more and more ridiculous each time you twist away.

“When I catch you-!”

If he wanted to, he’d have you in an instant, but it’s not about that, is it? The chase, the catch, the game. It’s the one you love to play, and you love it even more when you lose.

“There you are, darling.”

Rose petals flutter in your wake, a ruby glitters on your finger. Cold hands pull you close, and the sky, the sky, the sky.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

[marzipanandminutiae]

Rating the Femme en Noir Crimson Peak collection when I should be going to bed (it's not ALL critical, actually!)

no judgment at all to people who like the collection. nothing can achieve higher than a 7/10 because it's all synthetic. let's get into it

Edith Victorian Gown in Ivory

...yeah! that's basically Edith's nightgown copied exactly, so it's a 7/10 from me

2. Lady Lucille Victorian Dress With Capelet In Teal

What. um. What does this have to do with anything Lucille wears? It's blue velvet and it's a dress; there the similarities end. Why is there a ruffly capelet? That's something Edith wears, not Lucille. Why are there leg-o-mutton sleeves? Why is there no trim whatsoever? (that last is to become a running theme.) 3/10.

3. Allerdale Moth Wallpaper Babydoll Dress in Olive

There's a longer version, and were it a natural fabric, I'd be tempted to buy it and alter it into a blouse and over-skirt or something. This one is honestly pretty cute, though I forget what part of the house this wallpaper appears in. 7/10.

4. Edith Victorian Knit Cardigan in Olive

I get that they want to modernize these things for their target audience, but the original being SO much more fitted and sumptuous-looking just makes this one look sad. It's like Wish.com Edith. 5/10 for at least keeping the little velvet pumpkins.

5. Ghost Shoulder Bag

If this were leather, I would buy it. Not a huge fan of Margaret being the ghost on the front, though- I feel like Enola or Eleanor would be more photogenic. Poor Margaret. 6/10 though they're lucky I don't take points off for calling it "vegan leather" in the description. Be honest- it's plastic.

6. Belladonna Maxi Dress in Crimson Red

This is just an existing product of theirs But In Red. Pretty, but 4/10 for lack of effort.

7. Lady Mourning Victorian Gown in Black

It's the nightgown in black with a sash. Try harder. 3/10 and I'm skipping any color repeats labeled as different dresses from here on out.

8. Mourning Victorian Bonnet in Black

You know what? Yeah. Sure! That's a cute bonnet. Good job. 7/10.

9. Lace Mourning Scarf Veil in Black.

You can get a yard of nylon chantilly lace for less than $28, pretty as this looks. 5/10.

10. Victorian Cycling Pullover Sweater in Black

I mean. I guess. What does this have to do with Crimson Peak, exactly? Why is "Lucille" wearing puffed sleeves when, again, her clothing being tight has so much character logic behind it? It's a mystery. 5/10.

11. Victorian Velvet Bustle Skirt in Black

This didn't photograph well, but it appears to have some cool pleat details. I don't like 19th-century skirts getting shortened, but that's more a matter of personal preference than reaction to movie inspiration or lack thereof. 6/10.

12. Taffeta Edwardian Blouse in Marigold

This comes in multiple colors, but I picked the marigold because it illustrates that Wish.com effect once again.

The OG bodice from the movie that they're clearly trying to evoke. It has DETAIL! it has TRIM! It has LUSH FABRIC! And obviously you can't do that with a mass-produced piece, but ye gods, why would you set yourself up for failure by trying? If they hadn't gone for the look of a specific movie costume, their blouse wouldn't look disappointing by comparison. 5/10

13. Wicker Tilt Hat With Black Veil

Once again I feel they shot themselves in the foot here. It's cute! But it suffers by trying to be something that was better in the movie.

Not great by comparison; it's TOO close without going all the way. 6/10 because it is cute, though.

[skipped a bunch more veils and some lace mitts, which were cute but have nothing to do with How Well Or Poorly The CPeak Inspiration Was Executed In My Opinion]

14. Victorian Hands Belt in Silver

THIS IS NOT THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. THIS IS NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?

IT IS THIS 1970S BELT- WHICH, LIKE THE ONE IN THE MOVIE, IS NOT BASED ON ANY VICTORIAN ORIGINAL THAT I'M AWARE OF -THAT HAS BEEN COPIED 50000 TIMES. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND WAIT FOR CUTTLE AND BONE TO HAVE ANOTHER PREORDER OF ACTUAL CPEAK HAND BELTS. 0/10.

Conclusion: Not all bad, but I feel like I actually would have gone in a more modern direction with the resources and limitations of this collection. You're never going to be as good as the movie costumes at their own game, not with mass-manufactured pieces. So why set yourself up for failure? Bringing the characters, themes, and motifs to a yet-unexplored time and place (with some Victwardian touches, of course!) seems like it would have been a better way to go about this, IMO.

Also stop being allergic to trim when you're taking inspiration from a movie with oodles of passementerie and beadwork and lace all over everything.

5/10 overall.

#long post #fashion #crimson peak #also for the love of everything can we get some natural-fiber clothes that AREN'T beige linen? #Gothic Natural Fiber Attire When!!!

[an-otterly-adorable-being]

Hello!

I was wondering if you can do a headcanon on any lackadaisy cat and how they would react to a hairless cat reader.

Thank you!

I did a handful of characters (romance, sorry if you wanted platonic) for this, so I suppose a bit more quantity over quality this time. Ideally, it's still relatively ok. If there's one that I miss and people want them, I'd be happy to do a part 2. Hope y'all enjoy!

Various(Lackadaisy) x HairlessCat!Reader

(Note:this has one of my personal headcanons that, similar to Stardew Valley players, Ivy just collects people, learns everything about them and moves on.)

Mordecai Heller

• Mordecai is a very analytical tomcat, and you being without fur is certainly... analyzed.

• You're just a regular at the Marigold who stands out to him for your appearance, and definitely no other reason.

• It's not because of the way the lighting makes your bared skin look heavenly, nor is it because of how easily he can see the way you blush around him.

• Yeah, he's in denial about it, that's for sure, but a gentle nudge in the right way and boom, he melts like butter on a hot pan for you.

• In private, of course. He has a reputation to maintain.

• Though, he definitely doesn't mind silently adoring you from across the Marigold.

• And if anyone so much as maliciously looks at you because you're different, well, Mordecai is very good at hiding both his feelings and the nondescript adult sized bags he "takes care of."

Rocky Rickaby

• Imagine if you will, being a god/goddess. People throw themselves at your feet, and want nothing more than to sing your praises until the end of days.

• That's how Rocky sees you.

• To Rocky, seeing you is like Romeo seeing Juliet. There isn't a better phrase to describe it than utter adoration.

• Unlike Mordecai though, Rocky's love for you is no secret.

• In fact, if you let him, he will go on for hours about how beautiful you are, building shrines to you with rhymes and prose, as well as painting you as heaven-sent bliss with the saccharine notes of his sweet symphonies.

• Yeah, there's no better way to put it, he's smitten.

• He also really likes the way it feels when you hug.

Ivy Pepper

• Ivy has a tendency to "collect" people.

• It's something she isn't super aware of, but it definitely affects your first couple of interactions.

• Ivy is totally entranced by you, and while at the beginning it's mostly just because of your lack of fur, it begins to become more and more about you as a person.

• She gets ahead of herself. A lot. And you definitely need to ground her sometimes.

• Yet despite it all Ivy genuinely adores, in a way that's not her finding interesting people, getting to know them, and then just moving on.

• It's not luck, by the way. Ivy genuinely loves you that much, because you are just that amazing.

Calvin "Freckle" McMurray

• On a more comedic note, Freckle is the one to make sure that all your needs are accounted for, even if it means being a bit overprepared.

• It's not that he's wilfully ignorant or dumb, he just needs a gentle reminder every once in awhile.

• The sunscreen and extra layers when it's cold out is very sweet of him though.

• Freckle's similar to Rocky in that he absolutely adores you, treating you like an angel sent from above, even if that is a bit sacrilegious.

• Unlike Rocky, he's not overtly affectionate, aside from packing things you may need because, well, no fur.

• Instead Freckle hangs off your every word, silently appreciating you. Just being in your company is just... amazing to him.

• Also, since he's usually worried about you being cold, you get the perfect excuse for cuddles too ;3.

#headcanon #lackadaisy #lackadaisy headcanons #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy rocky #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby x reader #rocky x reader #lackadaisy ivy #ivy pepper #ivy pepper x reader #ivy x reader #lackadaisy freckle #calvin mcmurray #freckle x reader #calvin x reader #mordecai heller #lackadaisy mordecai #mordecai x reader #mordecai heller x reader

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 16

Find the series masterlist

You attempt to gather more intel, with limited success. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Price isn't going anywhere.

Warnings: Price needs a whole warning label by now, flirting, swearing, Valeria also needs a warning label, more backstory for Ace, Flirting.

Word count: 1.9k

John Price x f!reader

You took over an empty office to make your call, shutting the door on Captain’s (admittedly mild) objection. You needed privacy to make this call, and Kate, at least, was used to your ways. 

You just hoped that Valeria would answer still. 

“Marigold.” She sounded faintly surprised. 

“You did me a big favor,” you told her without preamble. “I’d like to return the favor.”

“I’m listening.” She spoke carefully but didn’t sound suspicious, thank goodness. 

“There are… people who know about AQ and are working against them,” you said, hesitating briefly. There was only so much you could tell her without breaking your own rules. “If you’re still involved, I’d recommend you back out. Immediately.”

Valeria hummed softly to show she’d heard, undoubtedly weighing her options. “You’re certain?”

“Saw the plans myself,” you confirmed. “I’d rather not see you face this.” 

She was quiet for a few moments, and you remained patient. “Is this to do with the name that sent you running?”

For a moment, you debated asking how she knew. But you tabled that for a later discussion. “Yes.”

She huffed softly. “I wondered. He is a little too cozy with Al-Qatala.”

“Don’t suppose you know more about that?” It couldn’t hurt to ask.

She laughed softly. “Nothing that will benefit you, Marigold. You find somewhere to hole up until this blows over, then come visit me. We can build in the ashes.” She hung up without giving you a chance to respond.

Well. Good to know that you had a place with her if things didn’t work out. 

Now you just had to survive this whole mess. No problem. 

You opened the office door and found Garrick sitting in the hallway, typing on his phone. He didn’t seem like he’d been paying attention, and unfortunately you didn’t know if he spoke Spanish or not. 

“Kate ordered coffee and pastries,” he said, glancing up at you from his phone. 

“Thanks.” You stepped past him to the conference room again. Captain was gone, nowhere to be seen, leaving you and Kate alone. 

“That was fast.” She didn’t look at you, one hand waving to the pastries in a clear invitation. 

“I got lucky, caught my contact at a good time.” You picked out something that looked good, taking a careful bite. Mm. Yeah, you were definitely hungry now. 

“How are you?” She was fortunately still focused on her tablet as she asked. Well. Knowing her, she’d done it intentionally, giving you a little space. 

You puffed out a breath, taking a moment to decide how to answer. “Been better,” you managed lightly. 

“Understandable.” Kate breathed out slowly, glancing up at you. “We’re in a better position now than last time.”

“Yes,” you agreed mildly. But you didn’t voice the thought that so was he. 

So you decided to ignore the unease settling in your gut and just focus on helping Kate. 

The amount of information she had was a little surprising, and idly you wondered how hard she’d pushed to get it all. But that worked in your favor - the more information, the better. 

The main problem, as far as you were concerned, was that she had no information on Gray, and you didn’t have a way to get that kind of information. 

Captain and Garrick dipped in and out of the room, talking to Kate. You mostly ignored them, focused on your tasks and putting puzzle pieces together. But you did notice something… not odd, perhaps, but quite interesting.

Captain touched you every time he was near you. A hand to your shoulder, two fingers to the back of your hand, his knee pressing into yours under the table. Each touch warmed you, little sparks lingering on your skin long after he’d moved away again.

You knew what that meant. You’d felt something similar before. But you had no idea what to actually do with that information. 

So you didn’t. 

“The others will be here tomorrow,” Captain said, which finally made you tune back in. “Some of the Vaqueros volunteered to help, too.” 

“Of course they did.” Kate’s smile was small but pleased. “They’re good men.” 

“Sounds like a fun little war council,” you quipped, leaning back and squeezing the back of your neck. “Also sounds like not my area of expertise, so–”

“Not a chance,” Captain interrupted, smirking down at you. 

You shrugged, though you did eye him. “What if I promised to stay put?” 

“You’ll do more good here.” Captain returned his attention to the map. 

“You’re outmatched,” Kate told you, quietly smug. You flipped her off. 

“You should be on my side,” you grumbled at her. “I doubt I’ll be of any use to you lot.” 

“We’ll see.” Kate leaned away from the map finally, checking the time. Darkness had fallen outside the window, and you finally realized how late it must be. “I’m calling it a night.” 

“Good plan.” Captain helped roll up the map. “Meet bright and early, then?” 

“With coffee,” Kate promised. 

“Can I get you dinner?” Gaz asked, near-gluing himself to Kate’s side. “Mum has a recipe she wants me to pass on.” 

Those two left, their voices fading as they walked down the hallway. 

Leaving you with Captain. 

“Gaz’s got the right idea,” Captain murmured, stopping next to you. “Dinner?” 

You swallowed. Oh this was a bad idea. This was a terrible idea. But you tipped your head to look up at him, catching the flicker of a smile across his lips. Bad ideas hadn’t killed you yet. “Yeah. Sure. I know a place.” 

Captain motioned you out first, flipping lights off as you two left. “Why here?”

“Hmm?” You looked back at him, blinking. 

“Why have this be your bug out city?” He slowed his steps a little to match yours, hands brushing as you walked. 

You puffed out your cheeks, briefly debating how to answer. You could lie. Easily. But… You could also tell him the truth. What would he do, mock you? Somehow you doubted it. 

“I grew up here,” you admitted. “My father had a house in the suburbs.” 

“Seems a bit on the nose,” Captain murmured. “You’re certain Gray won’t think to look for you here?”

“Nah.” You grinned. “I’ve been back here several times over the years, you know. Even been here with Kate before. Gray abandoned this place long ago.” 

Captain hummed softly, stepping ahead only to hold the door for you to get outside. You hunched your shoulders a little, not expecting the chill. Captain stepped closer to you, lending you body heat in a way he probably thought was subtle. 

“I need to run in here,” you told him, nodding to the nearest store. “Got an order to pick up.”

He blinked at you. “An order?”

You shot him a wry smile. “Was in such a rush I didn’t grab clothes yesterday. It’s a bit out of the way to drive back there, so.” You motioned to the store. 

He snorted softly. “How long had you been awake?” 

“Not sure,” you answered honestly. “Way too long.” You were not in the least surprised when he followed you into the store. Picking up your order was quick, at least, and he took one of the bags for you. 

“You can give me directions,” he said, half an order, as he steered you back to the car. You just gave in. Honestly, it was easier. 

And, if you really wanted to be honest with yourself, you didn’t feel like arguing with him. 

You were surprised when he asked for a booth and sat next to you, though. He didn’t talk much until you’d both ordered and the waitress had left. 

“You make a habit of taking snarky information specialists out to dinner?” you joked, leaning back in the booth. 

“Nah.” He pressed his leg against yours, smirking at you. “Just you.” 

Your pulse fluttered in surprise, and your lips parted, just a little. His gaze dipped down, slowly, leisurely. 

He may as well have started a bonfire between the two of you for how quickly you warmed. 

“Well.” You licked your lips, watching him track the movement. “I’d ask if you know what you’re doing, but you seem to have things well in hand.” 

“Usually do.” His hand landed on your knee, a relatively safe location. And yet it sent your pulse thundering. 

“I can see that.” You let your gaze drop purposefully to his hand before meeting his gaze again. But you didn’t complain. Far from it. “What are you hoping for here, Captain?” 

“Getting you to use my name is a good start.” His fingers inched up to your thigh. 

“I’ll think about it.” You smirked, amused. 

“What’s it going to take to get you to use it, hm?” He leaned closer to you, voice dipping lower. 

You smiled slowly, tongue darting out to wet your lips and tempt him into looking. He didn’t quite give in, holding your gaze instead. “You’re a smart man,” you murmured. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

He hummed soft acknowledgement, fingers gripping your thigh gently. But he didn’t do more than that, gaze lifting to the waitress who brought your drinks and food.

Quiet fell between the two of you again, charged but also oddly… peaceful. Easy. 

You really needed to stop being surprised at how much sway this man had over you. You also had to decide what you wanted to do about it. 

Captain paid, waving off your offer. He even opened your door for you when the two of you got back to the car. 

The trip back to the hotel was silent. Charged but peaceful enough. And it gave you time enough to decide what you wanted.

You knew that if you said the word, he’d back off. Let you shower in peace and give you the bed again. Because that was the kind of man he was. 

And if you didn’t tell him to back off, if you gave him permission to continue… Well. You would be in for a hell of a night. 

You just had to decide what you wanted. He was already close, closer than most people ever got. He knew you better than most. And he already had a place in your heart. Which was the most dangerous part for you. 

He could so easily hurt you. 

But a part of you, a small part, wanted to trust him. To see if this would work. 

He parked the car but didn’t get out yet, simply sitting. You blinked and looked at him, shadows from a light in the parking lot playing across his features. 

If there was anyone you would want to try this with, it was him. He had Kate’s trust. Surely you could piggyback off hers and extend your own? 

“Plannin’ on looking all night?” he asked, low and amused.

“Still deciding,” you quipped back. “It’s an awful nice view, after all.” 

He chuckled, low and quiet, and popped his door. “Might as well have better lighting then, hm?” 

“Suppose so.” You flashed him a grin before you got out. He took one of the bags for you and walked you inside, hand light on your back. 

By the time the elevator made it up to your floor, you’d decided. 

When the door closed behind the two of you, you dropped your bag, uncaring of the contents at the moment. You turned, hands lifting to his mutton chops (surprisingly soft), guiding him down into a kiss.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

In the spirit of Valentines Day, I come bearing headcanons. Specifically, the mercs favorite flowers, plus how they'd react to getting said flower as a gift! Also, bonus Miss Pauling because I like her too.

————————————————————

Demo- Buttercups

I'd like to think that when Demo was younger, he lived in a house near a field that had wildflowers. Like he could look out his window and just see flowers, and out of all of them, he found himself being drawn to buttercups. I think yellow is his favorite color, so he was naturally drawn to them based off color but something else draws him to them that he can't describe.

He will cry if he gets a bunch of these. He knows that buttercups aren't a traditional flower to get in a bouquet which means, the person giving him them had to, not only remember whatever one off drunken comment Demo made about his favorite flower, but also had to go out and spend time picking flowers for him.

————————————————————

Engie- Hyacinths

I think he’d be a big fan of hyacinths because they were his mom’s favorite flower and now, seeing them reminds him of her. He may have not had a great home life growing up, but something about seeing small things to remind him of his old home does make him very happy. He likes blue hyacinth more than any other, which do represent loyalty and patience, so that’s fun!

If he receives flowers he’s immediately a little pink, the whole, “Aw, you shouldn’t have.” schtick, he is very happy to have received any gift at all. Not happy about how out of the way this must have been, but knows better than to argue when presented with a gift. He likes how they, at least a little bit, brighten up his work space. 

————————————————————

Heavy- Marigolds

I genuinely think he just really likes how they look. No deeper meaning. He just thinks that they are one of the prettiest flowers he’s ever seen, and he adores them. I think he really just likes flowers in general, and it’s hard for him to pick a favorite. This man just appreciates the beauty of the world! I think he is a little drawn to the color and shape, he thinks it's such an interesting flower. Something about it is unique in a mundane way. I also just think he’s read a lot of books on flowers and plants and has always been drawn to them.

If he got flowers as a gift he would be very appreciative. I think at first he wouldn’t really realize someone put the effort into buying him his favorite flowers. I like to think that his sisters would pick wildflowers for him when he was younger and he would always be appreciative of the “Thank you for thinking of me, this is the eight time this week you brought these, where are you finding these.” type of way, so he’s conditioned to feel that way at the sight of flowers as a gift, but is genuinely very happy when he realizes that someone remembered his favorite flower and bought them for him, small things mean a lot to him.

————————————————————

Medic- Chrysanthemums

Similar to Heavy, he is also a big fan of plants and flowers! I think he definitely minored in botany at one point after developing an interest. I think he actually grew to love chrysanthemums specifically because when he was going to college, he found that there was a small patch outside his dorm window, and he would occasionally watch the flowers moving, the life around them just living. He used watching the flowers as a break, a distraction, so his mind just associated them with good times.

He is posed with a… situation. He appreciates the gesture immensely! But… he does have birds, and as smart as the birds may be, they are still a little stupid, and he would prefer his plants NOT to be eaten. Also, he can’t risk coating his gift in blood, despite how much he loves the stuff, he knows that a blood bath probably isn’t the best for flowers. Fret not, however! He most likely keeps them in his room, or in a common area. He is very meticulous in caring for them, if he puts them out, the gift giver may see him watering and caring for the flower as often as he can between his other work. Maybe a bit more stress than originally worth it, but he definitely appreciates the effort!

————————————————————

Scout- Roses

Scout is a fan of roses, like his mother actually. He isn't aware of the symbolism of the color of roses though, he just always knew orange was his favorite color for roses, for some reason. It's just interesting that orange roses can represent energy and pride.

If he finds himself on the reviving end of these roses, he will get very defensive. He totally doesn't like them, why would you get him these, he doesn't want them, no, no no wait don't take them back- He keeps those flowers around until they rot, and even then he doesn't want to give them up, he loves the gesture.

————————————————————

Sniper- Tiger Lilies

Sniper likes flowers well enough. He’s more of an animal fan than anything, but he can appreciate the beauty of nature in all forms. I wouldn’t say tiger lilies are 100% without a doubt his favorite, I think he just likes seeing them a bit more than others. They represent prosperity and positivity, and he’s fine with having a little bit more of that in his life at any given time. Might give a half smile at the sight of one,

Hey, no, no no no, HE is the gift giver! Very uncomfortable receiving gifts. He’s appreciative, yes, but it;s just very hard for him to express that! People remembering things about him is very…new. He’s already very quiet and reserved, so the fact that someone managed to remember something so insignificant (in his mind) is confusing, but not entirely unwelcomed. He’s not very good with plants, so hopefully the gift giver won’t take offense to the fact that they might already be wilting by the next day.

————————————————————

Spy- Lily of the valley

A mix of a few things makes this Spy's favorite flower. I think Spy became attached to them after receiving them a couple of times. He attaches to them because any time he's given a gift, it changes a little part of his brain. Also!! Lily of the vally are symbolic of rebirth, and maybe Spy has always been ready for change.

If you managed to find out his favorite flower, you are instantly a threat (/hj) Spy does NOT like people knowing about things he likes, nor does he like them being “used against him” (<- having to feel an emotion one time), He’ll take them with the promise of not keeping them, so your money was a waste and you’re stupid for even doing this- he keeps them in his room along with the other plants he keeps. He loves the gift, like Scout, would rather die than admit that.

————————————————————

Soldier- Forget Me Nots

Calling these his favorite flower is almost a stretch, I don't think he particularly cares for flowers. I just don't think he really pays attention. But if he finds himself sitting on the ground, most likely with Demo, his eyes will be more focused on these than anything else.

If given as a gift, he doesn't really understand what the sentimental value is supposed to be, but he is grateful for the present. He most likely keeps them on his nightstand or somewhere where he can see them regularly. He enjoys looking at them and reminds him he's being thought of.

————————————————————

Pyro- Daisy

If given as a gift, immediately joy! They will definitely reciprocate with flower crowns made from the daisies. Just enough for it and the gift giver to have matching ones. They definitely like being given flowers to make crowns with, but much like Soldier, probably doesn't exactly understand the sentimental value of someone remembering/gifting it's favorite flower

It adores daisies! Something so simple but so beautiful makes them really happy. It really enjoys them and definitely always has some laying around either in a vace or just lying around. Gives them in all forms as gifts regularly, either by leaving them in the places each other merc is at the most, or by giving them it directly.

————————————————————

Miss Pauling- Lilac

Probably not the most original, but whatever! I think her favorite time of the year is a mix between spring and summer already, and when it's just getting hot enough to have warm, breezes and flowers blooming, she KNOWS lilacs are going to come out and she is so excited!! She loves the smell more than anything, the sights are also beautiful and make her very happy.

She never really gets flowers as a gift, who would have guessed, but she is overjoyed if someone gets her a bouquet of lilacs. Something about people remembering her favorite flower makes her feel... cared for and just a little less stressed out. She will smile at those flowers each time she sees them.

————————————————————

Went heavily on the symbolism, hm?Anyways, I am SO glad I finally wrote something and that I feel motivated again. Hope you guys liked them! Now, I'm going to bed.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 headcanons #tf2 hc

[maliciouslove]

𝕃𝕚𝕝𝕒𝕔

SFW, shopping district!AU, aged up characters (21+) 

pairing // todoroki shouto x reader

summary // a story you’ve never shared with anyone before is how you came to love flowers as much as you do. it’s simple really—it all started with him. it all started with the boy who brought you a single flower every day of the week when you scraped your knee riding his bike. your first love. but how long will it take for him to come to understand it?  

word count // 4.2k 

tags // CEO!shouto, florist!reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, (hurt) comfort, mutual pining (except shouto doesn’t know he’s pining), shouto with long hair, shouto is dense af, jealousy

Do you believe in soulmates?

You could understand why so many people thought of soulmates as some sort of far fetched, overly romanticized pipe dream, but honestly—you knew better. Because you had already met your soulmate. 

The evidence pointing to that?

You’ve known him since birth basically, being born less than a year after him. You grew up together, living two houses down from each other. You spent your entire youth together: from playing in the sandbox, making pretend meals out of mud and stones and using leaves as money, to being classmates throughout middle school and highschool, always walking home together and doing homework in your living room late into the night. 

The two of you were truly inseparable and shared everything—so when he got a bike at the age of six and you didn’t, of course he was more than willing to share. He wanted to teach you how to ride, put his little blue helmet on your head and fastened it under your chin, calming you down because you were nervous. 

“But what if I fall…”

“I’ll catch you.”

And the way his big heterochromatic eyes were fixed on you, full of promise and safety, gave you all the courage you needed for you to get on that bike. And he tried, he really did try to catch you when you lost control of the bike and swerved right into your front yard, trashing your mother’s flower garden and falling face first into the peonies. 

That little boy was so worried, mortified by the idea that you got hurt because of him, he simply could not stop apologizing. Even when you told him through tears that it doesn’t really hurt that much. I just scraped my knee a little, I’m okay!

But it wasn’t okay for him because he promised to keep you safe and failed. So he stood by your side, tightly holding your little hand in his as your mother was cleaning up your wounds and lecturing you about safety. And his tiny chest would feel tight every time he looks at your injury, eyes heavy with guilt and worry. 

For the next week until your scrapes were fully healed, every time he’d come to your house to play he would bring a small flower with him to give to you. 

The first day, he brought you a daffodil, clutching it in his hand as he nervously presented it to you. The second day, it was a tulip, most likely stolen from his mother's garden. On the third, he had a wild rose, a few cuts visible on his fingers, proof of his struggle to get the flower for you. On the fourth, he had three geraniums in hand that quite frankly looked bigger than him, but he smiled brightly as he gave them to you. On the fifth, he got you marigolds and taught you how to make a flower crown out of them, and on the sixth he got you peonies, bringing some for your mom as well as an apology for ruining her garden. And finally, on the seventh day, he got you lilacs. 

“To congratulate you on your recovery.”

“It was just a scrape, Shouto…”

“So?” He was then crouching down to inspect your knee, satisfied that the scrape wasn’t going to leave a scar. 

“Why flowers?”

“Because they’re pretty like you.” 

What a simple, yet powerful answer. Despite your young age, you thought long and hard about his answer as you tentatively took care of the lilacs. With every day that the flower wilted, a fondness bloomed in your heart, and you learned that you like flowers, that you very much like the boy that gave them to you. 

After that, there was nothing that could tear you two apart, not even college. True, you’d spend a lot more time apart, face timing every other night and texting on the daily, but you’d still hold onto old traditions. You’d always be at his door at exactly 00:00 on his birthday, singing (poorly) a birthday song holding out a dessert you made yourself—a muffin with a candle stuck in the middle, strawberry shortcake (his favourite), cheesecake, cherry pie, even some pudding once. 

He would always pick matching Halloween costumes, and he’d always walk you home every chance he could. He remembers all your favourite coffee orders and, without failure, texts you good morning and goodnight. He watches out for you and holds your hand when you cross the street, squeezing once before he lets you go. And without failure every year for your birthday he gives you a bouquet of lilacs that’s simply twice as big as you are. 

You always believed that with time, Shouto would notice the longing in your eyes. After all, you weren’t really hiding it. Quite frankly, your love for him was seeping out of you: far too large for your body to contain. Every word you spoke to him was harbouring feelings, but alas, they were feelings that never reached him, their fingertips millimetres away from his heart. So close, yet too far away. 

But that’s okay. You loved him just the way he was—kind, reliable, and just a tad clueless. What he lacked, you made up for, and the same was true the other way around. You fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He just didn’t know what that puzzle was yet. But that’s okay. You loved him just the way he was. 

And before you knew it, college was over too. Shouto went off to become the CEO of a big company. He was brilliant at his job. But then again, he was brilliant at most things. He could play the piano at the age of four and the violin by the time he was six. He was an incredible athlete, and he always had the best grades. Valedictorian. Graduating summa cum laude. 

You? You stayed true to your heart and did the thing that brought you most joy. You opened your own little flower shop in the old shopping district where you grew up. You’ve wanted one since you were six, and you’ve held the vision of what your workplace will look like since you were ten. You studied hard and went on multiple internships to polish your skills as a florist so you could stand where you are now. 

Your dream was slowly coming to life. 

You had just finished furnishing the store and setting up for your grand opening the next day when you heard a soft knock on the door, and a familiar face smiling behind it. And there they were—lilacs. 

“Congratulations.” His voice is low, serene, but his eyes hold a sparkle of excitement, a glimmer of pride. “You always wanted to have your own little shop. I’m so proud of you.”

His smile is enough to silence all your worries. As you lead him up to your little apartment above the shop, you tell him all about how you almost weren't going to be ready on time for the opening, about the delivery service that brought you the wrong order and now there were no red roses in your store. What self-respecting florist doesn’t have red roses in their store?

He told you about his work as you were placing the bouquet of lilacs into a big marble vase. Something about the stock market that you didn’t really understand, but you nodded along and listened closely anyway. He loosens his tie and makes himself comfortable in your home as he always has, but he doesn’t notice how long you stare at his tie. How much you wish you could just… pull him in by the tie. Does this man even know how good he looks in a suit? 

It’s always the same: He comes when he can, stays for dinner, talks about everything and anything—or nothing at all. His presence is soothing, yet so large; it fills every nook and cranny in your apartment. He belongs. With you. After dinner he doesn’t stay long, his workdays are longer, harder, so he can’t stay as long as he wishes to. But that’s okay. Because he kisses your forehead every time, and it sets off fireworks in your chest. 

“I’ll come tomorrow too. For your opening.” 

He was so big now, he took up the entire doorway. How time had changed him. His childish round cheeks were now gone, instead, he had a defined jaw. His big round eyes now had laugh lines around them. His hair was also longer now, combed and tied in a ponytail. He didn’t wear short jeans anymore but rather an expensive suit and watch. But he was still your Shouto. The boy who has always been there for you. 

“You don’t have to, you know, your schedule is busy enough as it is.” You offer him a way out, but you secretly hope he comes anyway. You want to see him again. You want him to say he’s proud of you again. You want him.

“I insist.” He smiles reassuringly. “I want to see your dream come true.”

At this you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“I owe it all to you.”

“Nonsense. You got here all on your own.” 

You shake your head. It’s not what you meant. I fell in love with flowers the day I fell in love with you. But the words never come out. They become a part of the graveyard of unspoken words that rests on your lips. But that’s okay. This is all you need. 

It’s okay.

Once he leaves the apartment feels much colder and your arms ache. Your heart feels just a little heavier once again. Just a little though. You’ve become exceptionally good at keeping these thoughts to yourself and channelling them into your work instead. You let your flowers talk for you. 

Carnations—I miss you.

Forget-me-nots—Please remember me. Selfishly, I hope you never forget me.

Amaryllis—the pride that stops me from revealing my feelings. 

Pink camellias—I long for you. To hold you. To call you mine.

Yellow tulips—a symbol of my hopeless, unrequited love. 

And of course, lilacs—you are my first love.

This is the great thing about flowers. Like relationships, they require a lot of love and care, and like long-lasting friendships, they carry so much meaning. Friendships, just like flowers, carry countless memories hidden between each petal, they carry expectations—the sun will rise each morning, the flowers will bloom, and he will always be right by your side.

Flowers hold so much meaning—for every feeling blooming in your chest, there is a flower to symbolize it. 

The petals of unspoken words lie heavy in your chest, but perhaps one day those petals will get scattered, and at least one will reach his heart. 

But for now… this is okay. This is enough.

It’s already the end of May, but it’s extraordinarily cold tonight, and the wind is unkindly bending tree branches under its will. There is no moon, nor any stars, just clouds of uncertainty and doubt. Flowers cannot bloom in darkness, so they wait for morning light. The same applies to people—hope comes to us at dawn. 

Shouto wakes up promptly at 5:55AM, exactly five minutes before his alarm. He’s barely awake, but his mind drifts to you. Would you be able to take an hour off for lunch? Perhaps dinner would be better? He wants to celebrate the happy occasion. He wants to see you, even if it’s for 10 minutes only. Even if it’s less, he wants to be close to you, to feel the comfort of your presence, to see you smile and hear you laugh. 

He doesn’t think twice as he picks out his suit, a neat lavender coloured tie to match his little pocket square. He has four other ties like this one, something about the colour just feels right to him. The first half of his day goes by in a blur, practically working on autopilot as his mind just keeps going back to you. Are you smiling right now? Is the opening day going well? 

He imagines you happily buried under a pile of flowers and chuckles to himself—something Midoriya doesn’t fail to notice, but evidently chooses not to ask about anyway. The green-haired man had a pretty good idea what was on his boss’s mind anyway. Which is why around 11:30 he practically kicks Shouto out of their shared office and reassures him that he has things handled. 

“You have more important things to do now, go on.”

His heart is beating quite fast in his chest, so he deliberately slows his pace in an attempt to calm himself. But it appears that the closer he gets to your little shop, the faster his heart seems to race. He briefly considers consulting a cardiologist, but shoves the thought aside as soon as he can make out your silhouette behind the register. Your voice carries through the shop like a melody, and for a while he just stands by the entrance and listens. 

“It’s been sooo long, I’ve missed you Denks, you should swing by more often! I never see your face anymore.” 

Shouto can’t quite see your face from the broad shoulders of the blonde man in front of the register, but he can hear the little pout in your voice. He can vividly picture it. 

“You’re absolutely right, let me make it up to you! Let me take you out to dinner sometime? I’d love to catch up, spend some quality time with my favourite florist.” 

There is a pang in Shouto’s heart. Who is this? A friend of yours? But he knows all your friends? 

“You know what, I’d love that. How about sometime this weekend?”

“Perfect! I’ll text you the details, okay? I gotta run for now, but thank you for the beautiful flowers! Almost as pretty as you are!” 

The unknown man leans over the register and places a tiny kiss on your cheek, grinning widely at you and waving his hand goodbye. He doesn’t even look at Shouto as he passes him by at the door. 

“Shooo! You came!” He barely has time to compose himself and react to you throwing yourself on him and wrapping your hands around his neck. The moment you touch him all his previous thoughts fly out the window. Nothing else matters but you being in his arms. 

“Of course I came, it’s my girl’s big day today.” 

Once again, everything feels easy, natural. It feels like home, like you are a place he can return to whenever he needs to, a safe haven. The rest is easy—talk, have lunch, laugh, discuss visiting your parents soon, having a family dinner together since it’s been some time. But the question remains, gnawing at him. 

“Hey, um… who was that blonde man you were talking to right before I walked in? You two seemed familiar?” He hated how the word tastes in his mouth: bitter and unpleasant.

“Hm? Oh, Denki? Old college mate, but he quit his study midway because he moved away for a while. Apparently he kept my number, reached out to me the other day saying he’s back in town so I told him to stop by my shop!” You smile fondly, and it tugs at Shouto’s heart. It feels strange. His hands are sweating. 

It doesn’t feel easy anymore. 

It doesn’t feel natural. 

As usual, he walks you back home, wishes you luck with the rest of the day, and gives you a forehead kiss, yet it doesn’t give him the same feeling of calmness it usually does. It feels stiff. Rushed. Why are his legs carrying him out of your shop so quickly? Why is his mind racing without having any particular direction? Why? 

Once back in the office he thinks he could bury these feelings with work, he hoped it would be a sufficient distraction until he can schedule an appointment with a good doctor. But Midoriya beats him to it. 

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, just have a lot on my mind. Need to focus.”

“Uh, no. Spill. What’s on little Shouto’s mind?”

And Shouto knows better than to argue and evade. They have been friends for years, and Izuku Midoriya is known for his persistence and his need to help others. A good man, a man he trusted with half his company, so why shouldn’t he trust him with the mess of feelings in his head? 

So he does. He tells him about the other man, the conversation, the date plan for the weekend, the ugly feelings that it gave rise to, the struggle to understand them. The youngest Todoroki bared his heart to his friend, hoping that he would have some insight, an answer as to why he feels so strange. 

But he just laughs. An exasperated chuckle, and he buries his face in his hands, fingers running through green locks as some sort of ritual to help him remain calm.

“You cannot possibly be this oblivious, Sho…”

“What do you mean?” he replies in earnest. Izuku sighs once again. 

“Okay, uhm… is this the first time you feel like this?”

Shouto ponders for a moment and searches his memory. The answer comes quite fast, no, this wasn’t the first time. It has happened before—in middle school when you got paired to do a science project with another boy and you stayed with him after school. He felt a similar pang when you would laugh at that other boy’s jokes. When you would lend him a pen, or your notes.

And then again in high school, when all the other boys were raging with hormones and would stare at your legs a little too long. I made him frustrated, angry even. Why? When one of his classmates hinted he had a crush on you, it made his chest feel heavy. It made him green with envy, it made him lose sleep that night. Yet his heart felt as light as a feather as soon as he learned you rejected his advances. 

It had happened before. He had been jealous before. 

“And why do you think you were jealous?” Izuku pressed further, giving Shouto enough room to sort his own feelings out. 

“Because… I respect her, and I want the best for her?” He still sounds puzzled, so the green-haired man gives him another gentle nudge. 

“I’m sure that’s true, but is that all it is? Do you think anyone is ever going to be good enough for her?” Izuku raises his eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smile.

“No.” Shouto shoots out immediately, eyebrows furrowed and chewing on his lower lip. 

“No. Nobody will ever be good enough, I… Fuck.” His foot was furiously bouncing under the table, his whole body felt tense, on edge. Like the eerie feeling that you’re forgetting something important. Like when a certain word or phrase is at the tip of your tongue, but refuses to roll off and come to reality. 

“So, you care for her, you respect her, you feel jealous when other men approach her with a romantic interest, and you think nobody will be good enough for her. Sho, you’re a brilliant man, so tell me, what do you think that means?” Izuku gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a little squeeze, giving him the courage to come to terms with reality. 

And surely, almost like a movie, all the memories of you play inside his head. The first time you tried coffee jelly and scrunched up your nose in disgust because it was too bitter for you. When you cut your hair short and ended up hating it, refusing to come out of your room for a week. When you got drunk for the first time at a karaoke bar and sang “My heart will go on” while on top of a table. You, in your prom dress, posing for photos as the sun sets behind you. It was probably a beautiful sunset, but he couldn’t care less for it at the time. He only had eyes for you. 

Everything you did was wonderful. 

He found the way you scrunch your nose at things you dislike to be adorable. He thought you looked as beautiful as always with short hair. He adored how happy you look whenever you sang. To him, you were perfect. To him, you were his entire world. 

It makes sense now. All the puzzle pieces fall together and the realization makes him feel like he could fly. 

“I’m… I love her.” He finally looks up at his friend only to find him smiling back at him. 

“Well, what are you standing there for? Go to her!”

The sky is dark. When had it gotten this late? His feet were carrying him through the narrow streets, lavender tie discarded a long time ago. As soon as Midoriya said those words his feet moved on their own. Didn’t even stop to get his car, he just ran out the office, sprinting like his whole life depended on it. 

He loves you. 

He has to run faster, God he needs to tell you. How can he be so blind? How could he miss that the colour of lilac reminds him of you? Or miss the fact that you’re always on his mind? How can he not see that you’re in every detail in his life? All the feelings that previously had no names are back, swallowing him whole. Longing. Jealousy. Regret.

His hair is no longer tied in a neat ponytail, it’s loose and wild from the wind, it’s as messy as his feelings are, but that doesn't matter right now. Two more blocks, and he’ll be at your apartment. What does he say? What is his plan? What if he’s too late? 

Heart hammering in his chest, he takes the stairs up to your apartment two at a time. God, his hands are shaking, his face feels warm. Wet. But his hand is already knocking on the door. It’s not soft like the usual, it’s urgent, it’s desperate. His mind is spinning, why is his face wet?

The door creaks open and there you are in your sunny yellow dress, perfect. Always been perfect. For him. 

“Shouto, what ar—”

“I love you.” It’s barely above a whisper, and the silence following these three words is deafening. 

The sound of the TV fades into the background, there are no birds, no cars outside. Just the two of you. The moment feels static, completely still, yet still buzzing with energy. It stretches longer than it should, as if time warps and stops to make way for love. The world feels small right now, it shrinks and the entirety of it fills the tiny hallway.   

You don’t say anything, you simply brush his tears away with your thumb, searching his eyes. His hair is dishevelled, chest heaving. He ran here?

“Again.” 

It takes a moment for Shouto to register what you’re asking of him. He takes a step closer, shortening the distance between you two. 

“I love you. I have for… for quite some time now.”

The words make you simultaneously feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and also as if there is an elephant sitting on your chest. It’s hard to breathe and your eyes feel prickly, even your voice quivers. 

“Again.”

He takes another step and he’s impossibly close to you now, his large warm hands cradling your face, heterochromatic eyes staring into yours. 

“I love you. You’re the only one for me, I’m… sorry it took me so long, I—”

Now it’s your turn to cut him off by pulling him by the collar of his white shirt and kissing him. His lips are soft, and a little wet from the tears, but so sweet. Gentle. Another step forward and then another, and you’re slowly being pushed back into your apartment, your back hits the wall as he deepens the kiss. When his own desire and impatience finally slip through the cracks he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing himself impossibly hard against you. 

“Sho.. m’not goin’ n..ywhere.” You try to mumble through the kiss, but it only elicits a smile in response. When he finally pulls away you can see his face is dusted with pink, eyes raking over you as if he’s seeing you for the very first time. 

“Please… please be mine?” 

There are many emotions in his tone—desire, fear, jealousy, pure excitement. Hope. They’re the words you’ve always wanted to hear, and now that you have, you can’t help but wonder if you’re hallucinating. If this is just a very vivid dream. If it is a dream, then surely, the next part won’t matter once you wake up. Right?

“You silly man, I’ve been yours since I was six. God… You made me wait so long.” 

You’re smiling, but there are tears streaming down your face. All the feelings that you had to express through flowers, all the unspoken words, the longing, it’s flooding your senses like a broken dam. 

You feel the rough pads of his fingers under your eyes, wiping the tears the same way you did for him. Once again, he kisses your forehead, after which he simply presses his own to yours. 

“Let me make it up to you. Please.” 

Your name sounds so sweet coming from his lips right now. A plea for consent, a plea to allow him to finally have you. Make you his own. Erase everyone else from your mind until there is only him. Permission for him to be selfish.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

#holytext.exe #shouto #todoroki shouto #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto #shoto #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto sfw #todoroki shouto sfw #bnha sfw #todoroki shouto comfort #shouto comfort #todoroki shouto hurt/comfort #shouto hurt/comfort #bnha hurt/comfort #cw.jealousy

[for-all-time-imagines]

The plant asks are a soul feeding lifesaver thank you 🙏. Can I get a ~Marigold~ for all the lovebrush boys?

Plant Ask Prompt List

🌻marigold: how jealous do they get? how do they react when they get jealous?

Alkaid

Whenever Alkaid feels jealous he's never angry towards you or the other person, thinking it's an internal problem that he needs to sort out. Is he feeling this way because he has a hunch that he's lacking? Should he take notes of what the other person is doing and emulate it to make you happy? In a way he puts you in a pedestal since he places a great deal of trust on you and nothing is ever your fault, pointing the blame to himself if something goes wrong. He will still step in if he notices you're beginning to get uncomfortable, but it takes a while before his mind completely clears up. Later on he will bring it up and then apologize, vowing to do better next time so he doesn't feel that way again, not quite realizing that being jealous on occasion is normal and he shouldn't take it as a bad thing as long as he never goes too far.

Ayn

Ayn tries not to let the jealousy get to him most of the time but it can't be helped that there are days where the little things can set him off: it happens when the other person stands too close to you, talking to you too familiarly, even worse if they're touchy as if they have no concept of boundaries. At the very least he makes an attempt to keep the jealousy under control by deflecting, letting you know beforehand that you're responsible for your actions and there's no way in hell he is going to leave you room for forgiveness if you choose to make advances, regardless if you meant it as a joke or not. Admittedly it's not the best method to keep his thoughts at bay, but it does the job. Afterwards you'll notice that he is pouty which is not something a few reassurances can't fix.

Cael

Cael has never really felt it before due to his upbringing so when the jealousy surfaces for the first time, he isn't sure how to categorize the emotion. All he knows is it makes him see red and the sudden urge to deal with the other person through any means possible is overwhelming his senses. Considering how much it would take for him to get to the point of jealousy, it also takes a while for him to calm down, and his thoughts of how to keep you away from all harm (both figuratively and literally) are getting sorted into the part of his brain that consists of actions he should never act upon no matter what. Ultimately, his jealousy is rare and unfamiliar, so strong that can make him act purely on impulse, which undoubtedly will thwart all his future plans and break your trust if he doesn't keep himself in check.

Clarence

Clarence isn't a jealous person by nature. He doesn't mind seeing you grow closer to others because he wants you to have as much agency as possible with your own actions. If someone is bothering you, he knows you can handle yourself so he doesn't interfere but should you use your voice to ask for help, you can count on him to be there within a moment's notice. Typically just his presence is enough to send them running although he isn't above threatening the other person if they refuse to back off after the first time. His choice of words are deliberate and seemingly dangerous but he would never think of inflicting harm to them unless he has no other choice. It takes someone truly formidable for his threats to be serious, thankfully the person bothering you is far from that.

Lars

When someone gets too close to you Lars pretends to be jealous for the laughs. Aside from that you've never seen him actually get jealous over the course of your relationship but that's far from the case when you weren't together yet. It's not as if he ever doubted that he stood a chance with you, if anything he knows he has a shot if he makes the most of his time with you. Problem is his chances are few and far in between; he has to work harder if it means freeing up a fraction of his schedule to see you, and even then there's a possibility that he will see you basking in somebody else's company as soon as he enters the room. There are moments when he wonders what it's like to have less responsibilities, to have more freedom to do what he wants, but he quickly pushes the feeling down before marching to your side.

#for all time #for all time imagines #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles imagines #x reader #alkaid mcgrath #ayn alwyn #cael anselm #clarence clayden #lars rorschach #alkaid mcgrath x reader #ayn alwyn x reader #cael anselm x reader #clarence clayden x reader #lars rorschach x reader #plant ask prompt list

[dxstopiaa]

For me..?

Summary: Your college had decided to incorporate a festive gift-giving event, ever more better in secrecy….Oh you’ve been caught… What do you give your assigned student?

Characters: Modern AU! Xiao, Kazuha, Wanderer, Zhongli, Childe.

If you have any characters you’d like to see in my posts, lmk! + i was going to make this with more characters but ideas weren’t coming into my head at the time :(

Xiao

•You -> An authentic jade bracelet, a white tassel attached in the middle of it, gold accented clasps -> Xiao

•Honestly, choosing this gift for him was not that difficult, the only downside being the rather pricey cost, but you thought it was worth it. After all, he has always assisted you whenever you needed it.

•You decided to quite riskily knock on his dormitory door and bolt down the corridor in hopes he didn’t see you making your grand escape. Seconds later, a sleep-deprived student stepped outside his room, glancing around whilst clinging onto the door handle.

•Xiao sighed lightly, crouching down to retrieve the small parcel on his doorstep, which delicately embellished in tones of marigold and teal, resembling himself. At first, he thought a skittery postman had fled to complete his next order, that’s how panicked the knocks upon the wood sounded.

•He shut the door behind him, indolently slouching onto the couch and inspecting the present, opening up its contents. Xiao had to physically stop his jaw from dropping at the sight of such expensive jewellery, who would give such an exorbitant gift?

•It didn’t take him much time to figure out it was you, given that you were the closest to him and due to his reserved nature, not many others. Xiao did consider the possibility of his sister, Ganyu, gifting him such, but she had already told him she was assigned with somebody else.

•He smiled to himself, admiring the bracelet and clasping it upon his wrist. Would he ever take this off? Certainly not. He was positive he would make it up to you, either via a similar gift in nature, or with dozens of drinks and meals whenever you came round.

•Xiao chose the former, synonymously leaving another package at your accommodation, except he concealed himself behind a wall to experience your reaction, chucking quietly. You couldn’t stifle the gasp escaping from your lips at the reciprocated gesture. Besides, you can’t have jewels without the remaining half, can you?

Xiao -> An amethyst beaded bracelet, marbled initials of his and your own name, polished with sterling silver clasps -> You

Kazuha

You -> A gorgeously embroidered scarf, crimson in colour, his initials carefully inscribed within it, soft to the touch with crotchet hearts for tassels -> Kazuha

•Kazuha’s admiration for the vermillion colour was evident since you two met, when you had asked him why, it seemed he was pondering a way to formulate what he would tell you. His soft, gentle voice complimented the words that articulately whispered from his lips told you so in such a poetic way it would put the most esteemed writers to shame.

•’It symbolises many ideas, like love but also bloodshed, i find it can express all emotions solely by its presence.’ So of course, a gift with this fond hue was necessary. You spent a couple of days wondering what to get him before the scarf came into mind.

•Though you didn’t want this to be the regular autumn accessory, going to a shop and buying one won’t carry the message you wished to give your dear friend. You knitted it yourself, despite the effort required for it, appending small hearts in exchange for tassels at the rim of it, and finally embroidering his name into it with a lighter ruby shade, hugging it tightly once you finished.

•It wasn’t difficult to see Kazuha outside from his accommodation, which gave you the perfect chance to enter it secretly and place the item onto his armchair, an envelope placed delicately on top of it containing a cute chibi sketch of him wearing it. Guilty to say this was on your mind for the past week, you just had to!

•When you had made your escape, Kazuha returned a few minutes later, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of the unlocked door, sighing to himself at his forgetfulness. In case, he checked his dorm to see if any of his items had been displaced or stolen.

•He was delighted to see the accessory on the chair, moving it onto his lap to inspect it, before swaddling himself with the scarf. Opening the letter, Kazuha chuckled lightly at the sight of himself and set the illustration on his desk. He knew it was you, for this was quite obviously a dear fashion student’s work.

•Don’t be surprised if you are seized with a gentle embrace, with Kazuha handing you a miniature box, as this is precisely what you deserved.

Kazuha -> A signet ring from his own heritage, a precious gem inscribed in the centre, from valuable silver. -> You

Wanderer

You -> A scrapbooking journal, complete with ink calligraphy pens, various stickers and equipment, also with a small diary -> Kuni

•You knew he would guess exactly who sent him such the moment he got it, though it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Why? Well, You and Kuni had inside jokes, mainly on him, for he was amusing to tease.

•For example, You recalled the one time when you found him quite literally looking like he could strangle you when you asked him what was wrong as he groggily sat on his bed with a laptop on a pillow. Only after tons of investigation, did you find out it was due to the fact he had submitted his assignment just to find it was the ‘wrong one, as it had been tampered with’, jumping to his own defense.

•It was obvious he had a difficult time suppressing his emotions, specifically such of anger. You had suggested him to try out journaling but he only side eyed you with malice and claimed he ‘didn’t need time-wasting outlets’ So much for that.

•What did you do in spite? Get him exactly as described. Whilst you visited him, and he was occupied in the kitchen of his dormitory, you snook into his resting area and slid the set under his pillow, before casually strolling outside of it despite his critical glare.

•Once you left, and he deemed it time to sleep, was when he found it, quizzically lifting his pillow to see the disturbance. He took it in his hands, even though he was partially embarrassed, Kuni admired the quality of it and your intent.

•Let’s just say he spent the rest of the night sitting in his bed decorating the said journal in a way he felt aesthetically pleasing. Would he ever let you know so? Never, the topic essentially vanished.

Zhongli

You -> A traditional tea brewer and press, with exquisite flavours to try, dainty yet precious -> Zhongli

•Zhongli certainly lived up to his title of an old soul in a young body, his interests seemed to be that of mythology and cultures from various dynasties in his home country.

•Of course, the right thing to do would be to give him a present in this category, for it was undeniable he’d treasure it. Although it would be quite difficult to seek what you had in mind, your determination kept you focused.

•You located an antique store about a mile away from campus, from what you have seen, priceless family heirlooms from elder people had found themselves here in abundance. A gorgeously intricate tea set had you fixtured to it the minute you entered the shop. Just what you needed.

•The young student was curious to see a rather large gift bag on his kitchen countertop the following day, though he couldn’t repress his enchantment at the traditional china, his golden irises fluttering with glee whilst he admired it for what seemed like ages.

•Zhongli was not particularly sure who had gave him this gift, but you were his primary ‘suspect’, to which he decided to approach your lecture hall and wait outside, a small gift bag in his hands, the contents within perfectly concealed.

•You expected him to catch on, after all, Zhongli’s sense of perception was never faulty. You pushed open the large doors only to see him smiling warmly at you, lightly squeezing your hand and guiding you to his dormitory.

• A compromised sort of tea ceremony was laid out before you and him, he poured you your own customary cup and then his, caressing your hand which was laying on the table, idle. Zhongli chucked quietly at your flushed state, ‘Thank you for this gift, i can only give one back to you, please.’ He motioned the present to you, urging you to open it.

Zhongli -> A beautiful folding fan, illustrative dragons and cranes covered one side, the other with lapis and jade mines, resembling the treasure hidden beneath -> You

Childe

You -> A cerulean whale plushie with the most adorable expression, accompanied by another rosy one, wearing a smiley face -> Childe

•You and Childe instantly clicked when he first joined, partly due to the fact you were both exchange students, though he was of Russian descent and you from your respective country.

•The other reason was his humorous and gentle personality, the last quality was seen by only you, as Childe typically seemed a little eccentric and carefree to others. You adored the way he would wait for you outside your dorm to walk you to your next class, or how he traced his fingers in spiralling patterns upon your palm to soothe you when feeling overwhelmed.

•Truly, Childe was the most compassionate person you had ever met, so of course you were delighted at the opportunity at gifting him a present. Once your lectures were finished for the day, you decided to catch the local train into the city centre. Yes, Childe did have a car, but you wouldn’t want him to find out about this gift.

•Browsing the spectrum of stores within the mall, a certain one caught your eye. This particular shop was overflowing with cute plushies and stationary, it was difficult to resist the urge to vigorously purchase everything inside it. You skimmed the shelves until you found your gift, a squishy plush whale accompanied with another, one in azure whilst the other in rose.

•When you returned to your dorm, it was early evening at least, giving you enough time to wrap your presents and to anonymously deliver them to his own. You did this with the traditional ‘knock and run’ method, leaving it on his doorstep as you hastily sprinted back.

•Childe was quite puzzled, clutching onto the doorknob and motioning the door open whilst balancing his laptop on his forearm. He looked down to see the dainty gift bag, it’s contents concealed neatly and carefully, before picking it up and placing it on the chair beside where he previously sat to investigate it.

•Childe discarded the wrapping paper, sighting the precious little animal and rather childishly hugging it whilst grinning to himself. The small label on the ribbon around his neck claimed it was a 2 piece bundle, though he couldn’t find one in the bag. After some careful thought, he came to the conclusion it was you, besides, he didn’t think anyone else he knew would give him a gift of this nature, right?

•The following day, Childe waited upon your own doorstep, to whom you opened the door to and let him in. He was right, he immediately saw the other matching plush on your bed, surrounded by pillows in a poor attempt to conceal it. Smirking lightly as he read your rather nervous expression.

•He leaned into you, gently grasping your face in his palms as he admired your now flustered countenance, pressing his lips onto your forehead with pure affection, then embracing you in his arms whilst he caressed your hair.

•’I find it adorable how you got us matching plushies, though you seem to be competing with that action.’ Childe teased, chuckling lightly whilst you bashfully hid your face in your hands. Welp, you suppose you weren’t so good at hiding your identity, but he would argue he liked this outcome more.

#genshin impact #we’re zhongli and xiao lovers here #xiao #zhongli #childe #wanderer #kunikuzushi #college au #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha #genshin impact childe #genshin x reader #genshin #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin alatus #anemo boys #kuni #genshin modern au #genshin fluff #fluff #genshin morax #alatus #was gonna add more characters

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 7. striped carnations

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: as you are confronted with stigma from the court after your punishment as well as the reality of yeonjun's engagement, you send him one last message -- and make a decision that you regret.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst angst angst, confrontations, exactly one (1) swear word

notes: i am posting this earlier than planned bc i got a sudden burst of inspiration over the last few days and i've been writing more! same as last chapter, there are OCs here to fill out the other kingdom so that i don't depict others' faves as the "villain" of the story

prev | masterlist | next

by the time you are released from your punishment, the ongoing efforts to secure a marriage for the crown prince are no longer a secret. the whole castle seems to be abuzz with preparations for the first of several meetings with the prospective bride, princess ajin, and her mother, queen hwayoung. everywhere you go, you see the castle spruced up for them, from new velvet curtains hanging from the windows to the rarely-used porcelain dinnerware placed in the dining hall.

to aid the preparations, you and your father have been assigned to make floral arrangements that are both welcoming and hardy. today you are planting some marigolds by the front entrance; you know that the bright orange blooms will both cheer the guests up and ward off pests. the skies are thankfully clear as you work.

while you are crouched down making sure that each plant is positioned well enough without overcrowding, you overhear two servants chatting as they each carry a stack of cream-colored linen. you’ve been part of the castle long enough to recognize that this particular linen is reserved only for the most important guests.

“...if it will be a good match,” one of them says to the other.

“princess ajin is going to have a hell of a time with his majesty,” the other replies with a snicker. “let’s see if her charms are enough to thaw an ice-cold prince’s heart!”

“oh no, i heard the princess is pretty ice-cold herself. she had to be dragged to come here and won’t look anyone in the eye, like she thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

“they’re perfect for each other, then! you couldn’t arrange a better match.”

they both burst into laughter. you ball your gloved hands into fists and grit your teeth, fighting the urge to stand up and tell them off that yeonjun is not the cold-hearted prince they think he is. but before your anger rises too much, one of them spots you from the corner of his eye. he gives his companion a light shove with his elbow and they both move away from you, their voices becoming more hushed. still, the other servant can’t help but stare at you with wide eyes before turning away.

you swallow hard and turn back to your marigolds, sighing to yourself as you secure the soil around each plant. you’re in no position to defend yeonjun from the servants’ rumors, not when you yourself are also the target of gossip; what more for preventing something as important as his marriage?

you pause in the middle of your gardening to wonder why yeonjun’s arranged marriage bothered you so much in the first place. you always assumed that he would stop being friends with you when he got married, but why? surely the royal household would benefit in keeping you and your father as long as you didn’t cause trouble; capable staff are hard to replace, after all. aside from that, yeonjun liked you well enough to actively seek out your company, and he would probably do so as long as he could squeeze out free time. 

so why are you so afraid of this marriage? 

you try to delve deeper into the question, but you hit a wall of emotions that you dare not climb over. perhaps you could climb it if you want to, but whenever you try to, you are overcome with a strange dread. a feeling settles over you that whatever is on the other side of the wall will make things much more complicated than they already are.

instead of climbing the wall then, you step away from it and resume planting the marigolds.

一

you spend the next few days avoiding yeonjun and, to some extent, soobin and beomgyu. while you are busy planting more marigolds in the western gardens, a servant passes by and asks if you can deliver some fresh flowers to the tearoom, and you politely decline. “i can prepare them if you like, but i’m too busy with other things to personally deliver them,” you say. the servant simply nods and leaves, but you still catch her shaking her head and muttering to herself.

you decline a few more of these errand-invitations, and you find yourself avoiding parts of the castle that you know yeonjun frequents: the tea house, the horseback riding grounds, even the portion of the castle grounds overlooking the library where he has his lessons. you stop delivering flower vases to his room altogether. the preparations for the princess’ arrival even provide you with convenient excuses: i’m busy replanting some flowers at the southern gardens, or i’m making the floral decor for the dining hall. even if you do want to see them, the work you’ve been assigned is just too much.

still, you catch glimpses of yeonjun or soobin or beomgyu from time to time as they carry on with their duties. you deliver flowers to the castle and pass by a study room where yeonjun is practicing etiquette (for the princess, maybe — you don’t dwell on it), or you’re on your way back to the greenhouse and hear excited screaming, only to see that soobin and beomgyu are playing a badminton game that has gotten a little too heated.

on arrival day you’re at the southern gardens on watering duty. with the days getting warmer, you need to make sure that the soil doesn’t get too dry, and you’re more than willing to distract yourself with the job. you’re so immersed in your work that you don’t even see the small party strolling by; you only notice them because of the sound of a familiar voice.

“your majesty should not rely on me too much, because i won’t…”

you look up before you can stop yourself. yeonjun is walking some distance away, flanked by queen hwayoung on one side and princess ajin the other. you notice that the princess’ arm is linked with yeonjun’s, just as he used to do with you, and you feel a sting in your heart.

as soon as the princess walks close enough, your insides freeze. she looks absolutely beautiful, her dress studded with tiny rubies against wine-colored silk and her updo emphasizing her sharp features. but as beautiful as she looks, you can’t read her face at all. her lips show no trace of pleasure or displeasure, and her eyes seem to be empty of all feeling. the servants were right too; she faces straight ahead, not even bothering to look at either yeonjun or her mother during their conversation. you wonder if she really is as cold-hearted as they say.

the trio passes you by. neither princess ajin nor queen hwayoung seems to notice you, but yeonjun turns his head ever so slightly to face the princess 一 then he sees you.

to those who know him less, the change in his expression would be imperceptible. but you see the way his eyes soften, the way his lips part by a sliver, the way the stern tone of his voice mid-conversation loses a bit of its edge. his eyes meet yours for a moment, sending an unspoken message, until queen hwayoung turns toward him and his attention is taken elsewhere.

you feel… heavy. the old sudden warmth in your chest comes back, but this time it never settles comfortably in you, filling you with a sinking feeling instead. you turn away and look down at the flowers you’ve been watering and shake your head as if to shake off the unpleasant feelings.

you need to put a stop to things, you think. as much as you want to cling to him again like old times, it makes your heart ache too much — and you know it makes his heart ache too much as well.

the next day you prepare a flower vase for yeonjun’s room for the first time in who knows how long. your hands tremble the whole time as you fuss over the arrangement, and once you make the journey to his quarters, you feel the heaviness in you again. you head up the steps and down the hallways as quietly as possible, ducking into a room whenever you pass by a servant or a court official; it’s a miracle that no one sees you or the vase held snugly in your arms. your heartbeat quickens the closer you get to his room, and though part of it is from the adrenaline of trying to stay hidden, much of it is from something else entirely.

as you make your trip, all sorts of images flash in your mind. one moment you see princess ajin staring blankly ahead, arm firmly linked with yeonjun’s; the next you see yeonjun facing you inside the gazebo on ball night and gazing at you with fondness. you see the yellow roses you delivered to his bedroom when you declared that you’d be friends, then you see the ornate arrangements of zinnias you made for his prospective bride and her mother. with each step you the images feel sharper, and you feel yourself closing in on that dreaded wall of emotions again.

when you enter the prince’s quarters, each footstep feels heavier than the last; when you finally reach the ledge for his vase, you have to position yourself and screw your eyes shut before setting the vase down with trembling hands. once the vase is in position, you slip out the door and nearly run all the way down back the way you came. you don’t allow yourself to think, and instead pray to whatever gods are listening that you made the right choice.

you leave behind a vase of striped carnations: frilly white flowers with crimson staining the edges of each petal. a beautiful sight, but their stems hide a solemn message.

i can’t be around you anymore. i’m sorry and thank you for everything.

一

you fill the next few days with work, taking even the portions of work for your father or the other servants. you water and fertilize both the western and southern gardens, you replant and tend to dozens of plants in the greenhouse, you run to and from the castle to provide fresh flowers and herbs 一 as long as the assigned area is in the opposite side of the castle as yeonjun’s bedroom, at least. the work takes your mind off the thoughts that were plaguing you, and if you focus on them enough you could tune the worries out. it’s easy for you to ignore the stares of the court officials or the whispers of the servants when you are too busy pulling weeds out of the bed of daisies or trimming off rose cuttings in the greenhouse for planting.

yet no matter how much you trick yourself into believing that you can work your worries away, they eventually catch up to you one day as you head to the kitchen to deliver a fresh batch of herbs. as you round the corner, you spot a familiar figure walking towards you.

“y/n!” you hear yeonjun call out.

 you pretend not to notice him and try to walk past, but he steps in front of you.

“y/n, please!” yeonjun moves closer and looks at you with desperation in his eyes. “can we talk for once? you’ve been avoiding me for a week. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m busy,” you say, and you try not to look him in the eye. “i have to bring these to the kitchen.”

“don’t do this to me, please. you can spare a few minutes to talk.”

“no, i really can’t.” you try to step past him but he only moves in front of you again.

“you can at least explain what you meant by your message. what do you mean, you can’t be around me anymore? is something wrong? none of the staff have told me anything. i’ll do anything in my power to make things work for you. i can talk to the chamberlain, the servants, anything一”

you swallow and stare at the bag of herbs in your hands. “there’s nothing to explain,” you lie. “just... don’t be around me, okay? it’s not good for either of us, yeonjun. it’ll get us into more trouble. i’m sorry.”

“‘not good for either of us’?! don’t tell me you really believe that!” he’s half-shouting now, but there seems to be more fear than anger in his voice. “i don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn! why won’t you let me help you? there has to be a way to make things work!”

“there really isn’t, okay?! it wasn’t meant to end up like this in the first place! that’s what got us in trouble!”

 “end up like what? end up as friends? but we一” you try to ignore the crack in his voice一 “we said we’d be friends. can’t we act like friends just this one time then, at least? or do you seriously believe that it’s not good for either of us?”

“i said what i said, okay?! maybe we shouldn’t be friends!”

you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. now they hang in the air as silence fills the space between you and yeonjun.

he stares at you and opens his mouth to speak, but only lets out a pained whimper. you see his eyes start to water and you look away.

“that’s how you really feel, huh?” he barely manages to string the words together. “fine, then. if that’s what you think is good for us, then maybe we shouldn’t.”

he turns on his heel and leaves.

“yeonjun, wait一” you run after him, but as soon as you turn a corner he seems to have diseappeared.

you curse yourself and bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming in the middle of the hallway. you stare at the bag of herbs you’re still holding and feel the urge to throw them onto the ground, but instead you let out a long exhale and focus your gaze on a still life of fruits hanging on the wall. your attention falls on one of the painted oranges, and whenever your frustration starts to build up again, you stare at the orange as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

it’s a miracle that you manage to calm down long enough to deliver the herbs to the kitchen. when one of the chefs asks you what’s wrong, you ignore her and head straight back to your quarters.

in your room you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, realizing just how badly you fucked up. in your attempt to protect yourself from punishment and yeonjun from abandoning his duties, and especially in your attempt to get away from the wall of emotions that you can’t confront, you ended up breaking the one thing you cherished most in the whole castle: his friendship.

you curl the blankets around yourself and try to sleep, hoping that you’ve simply ended up in a bad dream.

end notes: hehe i love angst :) also princess ajin was originally not part of this chapter in the original outline, but after seeing the feedback from ch6 + thinking about the setup for her from there, i decided that i should probably introduce her here

taglist (open!) @seosalad @lilplilplilp @yeonboy @pyuae @hyuneyeon @strawbrinkofdeath @yushiu @mazeinthemoon @banggyu0308 @shytubatu @kyaneosprincess

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #txt fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #bhj originals #fic:flowers of every color

[kararisa]

marigold promises

— 22. look me in the eyes [☕︎ = 0.6k words]

Attending classes in Lawrence Hall is a daily occurrence for you, but today you walk towards the building for a different purpose. Today marks the first day of your training for the annual regional competitions. 

Loath as you are to see a certain someone, Tighnari had informed you that he and a friend of his would be your teammates for the science segment, so you’re holding out hope on the possibility that today might be peaceful.

The moment you see Albedo reading a book on the staircase brings you back to reality.

Working with the person who hates you more than anything will prove to be difficult (or inconvenient at best), but you were always one to step up to the challenge. You’re not backing down just because of some argument.

Albedo glances up and stands up the minute he sees you, making his way up the staircase.

You had come here with the intention of trying to establish one of your temporary truces – it wouldn’t be appropriate to have the two of you fighting over who’s more correct in a situation where you’re supposed to work together. Besides, you certainly weren't going to be crossing a bridge that has long been burnt. Would it kill him to listen to what you had to say for once?

You pick up the pace and make your way toward the second floor, moving in front of him and blocking his way. 

He will hear you out, whether he wants to or not.

“I have somewhere to be,” Albedo greets you, his tone void of emotion, “And I’m sure you do too. I would appreciate it if you would get out of my way.”

You cross your arms and scowl at him, “Cut the attitude. I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

He gives you his full attention, yet his gaze is diverted elsewhere.

“I know we hate each other and everything,” you start, “But we’re supposed to be working together. Can we put our differences aside just for this week? Then you can go back to hating my guts afterward.”

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to dislike you,” he scoffs, “Fine, whatever makes you happy.”

Albedo tries to walk past you, but you’re not letting him get away that easily. 

It was instinctual, the way you grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall.

Even after all that, even after his eyes widen ever so slightly, he still can't bring himself to look at you. 

You grab his chin and carefully turn his face toward yours.

"Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you, Albedo."

His cold blue eyes meet yours. 

And this time, he doesn't look away. 

A second passes — Albedo's eyes echo the hatred you yourself felt for him. 

No, not hatred. 

Envy. 

What did he even have to be envious about? All your life you've had to claw your way to get where you are now. You work just as hard as he does, if not harder, yet he always beats you at your own game. The things you excel in, he exceeds. 

If anyone knew a thing about envy, it was you. 

Your voice is low when you next speak, "You think you're so much better than me. Well, listen up. The two of us qualified for a reason, so you better cooperate. Because we're not just representing ourselves, we're representing the whole school. So let's put our pride aside and work together."

Leaning in closer, you whisper against his ear, "We did it once. We can certainly do it again."

Releasing his collar, you turn your heel and make your way toward Room 208.

You don't bother to see if he follows you; his silence already says as much. 

And you're sure he got the message one way or another. 

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: it was evident that you and albedo have changed in the five years you’ve spent apart, but you know better than to view him through the lens of nostalgia. with one goal on your mind – graduate valedictorian – who better to stand in your way than the studious, intelligent, ice-cold albedo? one thing’s for sure: he’s going down.

author's notes:

had a friend proofread this chapter and she reacted with five separate keyboard smashes and an "OOOOOOOOH"

still really busy though so it might be a while until the next chapter :(

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @aiikalvr @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @fuyaa @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @elfxiao @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn't highlighted it means i can't tag you.

#genshin smau #genshin impact smau #albedo smau #genshin x reader #albedo x reader #genshin x you #albedo x you #genshin fluff #albedo fluff #genshin modern au #marigold promises smau

[mantisgodsart]

THE WORLD'S MOST DATING POLL

As Kabbu's birthday rolls around, the internet turns pink, and people talk about "love" and "romance" and other things like that. Very ironic, considering the man is aroace, but in accordance with the season, we have assembled some very viable bachelors to... date, probably. Dating profiles below the cut, but you can choose from cliff notes if you want, we guess, this is just so the post isn't ABSURDLY long.

Bau (short for Bauplan) - They/any - Dune Cricket - 18-21 (varies based on fic, generally tied to Vi's age) - Bi/pan

When it comes to a date, you can't do better than Bau! Though dune crickets are normally more than a bit antisocial (and cannibalistic), Bau is an exception! Terminally friendly, great at parties, and unendingly loyal - they'll do anything for a friend, and if you can get friendly with them, they'll be more than happy to date if you ever pop the question! You'll have to compete with other friends, of course - not to mention other partners, and their criminal entanglements as a Bandit that often operates as an intimidation detail but really, is it that much of a downside?

Jask - He/they - Ashy gray lady beetle - Late 20s - Gray-ace

If you want level-headed, Jask is your bug! A bandit medic with years of expence under his belt, Jask is well experienced with taking care even the most dangerous of bugs - his boss, for example. Sure, he's a bit busy with patients - but there's a tender heart hiding under that tough exterior. You just have to stick around for... what, five months? Ten?

...more?

...you'll figure it out, we're sure.

Zoza - Whatever the bandits come up with that isn't immediately veto'd (usually she/her) - Damselfly - 70+ - None of your business

The Bandits' second-in-command, a feisty old damselfly with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She's a bit old to be dating around like you young'uns, but this old woman can still be a loving partner - prove you can contribute to the Bandits, prove that you're strong enough to not die horribly on your first outing, and manage to build enough of a rapport with her despite her many, many vital duties, and you might have a chance... if you're into grandmothers, of course.

(...is GILF a thing? GMILF? Hold on, we need to do some research...)

Marigold - She/her - Death's Head Hawk Moth - 30s - Married to her job

The most eligable bachelor on this list by far, judging by how people have reacted to her! Marigold is a charmsmith with a good, stable job, a good, stable personality, and only a little bit of active torture going on in her basement! We, uhh... aren't entirely sure how you're planning on getting her out of her lab and into the dating scene, seeing as she hasn't really been anywhere near the zone of "dating" since she was... what, sixteen? But we're sure you can figure it out.

Agapanthus - Variable (genderfluid) - Orchid mantis - Older than you'd think - Pan

A waiter(and sometimes waitress) at Club Maenad, this mantis knows exactly how to show you a good time. Charming and attractive, even if they've been banned from bartending for the forseeable future, and flexible for nearly anything you might need in a partner, if you slip in the right compliments between rounds, you might very well have a shot! Just... keep in mind the waiver you signed at the door, and please remember that this is a bar for parasitoids and bugs of species prone to eating their mates.

ZM-32 - It/they - Io moth/cordyceps - 100+ - Fungus

Bugaria's most eligable bachelor! Everyone wants a piece of this, and for good reason! It'll be fierce competition, but maybe, just maybe, if you can evade the deadly lasers and circumvent the persistent hatred for the living that tormented it and its colony for years on end... you could win its heart.

Chips - He/they - Two-striped grasshopper - ??? - Has Better Things To Worry About

Green is in this year - and so are grasshoppers. This one is dateable! Probably. Just be sure to cosy up with him before his gambling debts do, or he might get eaten by a large praying mantis before you get the chance.

ZB-162 - It/its - Cordyceps symbiote - 100+ - Switchboard Operator

...are you into responsible bugs? Are you into fungi? Do you enjoy dating people who are preoccupied with regulating and operating the communication network used by an entire cordyceps colony? Well, ZB-162 might be the bug for you? Though, uhh, often occupied with its job, ZB-162 is a fine specimen of the cordyceps species, and certainly very attractive if you... if you...

...okay, we won't lie to you, this one's a bit of a fixer-upper. Not sure how you're going to drag them away from the communication channels long enough for

The Wraith - ??? - ???????????? - Reported active since Elizant 1's reign - ???????????

Mysterious figure from the Ant Kingdom's criminal underbelly. Married, but you can still shoot your shot, we guess...???

Marble - she/they - Wasp - late 20s - It's In There

…didn't this one get blown up? We're pretty sure this one got blown up. If you pick this one, you have to take mandatory bomb safety courses, we think.

Unit of Radioactive Decay - They/it - Iterator - First activated in late Gen 1 era - Aroace

This is... a building, but you can still give it a try, we guess? Honestly, we have no clue how you found this one. We're pretty sure it's not even a bug.

L2tM & Enot - Any u can call us anything u want bb &lt;3 - Former iterator & karmic wyrm slugcats - Gen 1 & ageless wouldnt u like to know - yes

Why are you two here?! Get out of our fucking poll!!!

#our art #bug fables #rain world #ocs #our ocs #bau #jask #zoza #marigold #agapanthus #zommoth #kjdrira #chips #zb-162 #the wraith #marble #unit of radioactive decay #l2tm #enot #finished #watercolor #valentines #this poll is a joke and not serious. we also dont have enough allo characters to fill enough slots for a real poll #for context chips is the random grasshopper guy from horror hunger agapanthus is from original fiction and l2tm is from dnd #you can tell we were running out of steam by the end but tbh its fine its done #the dating can be platonic if u want but ur not allowed to remain neutral