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wonbriiize · 5 months

Note

bestfriend!Anton who puts you on his lap to give you affection, touches your hair, kisses you on the neck...being super clingy and fluffy :(

pairing; anton x reader

genre; fluff, best friends to lovers

note; i thought this was such a cute idea so i wrote something based on it.. hope u like it anon ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

listen to your heart

while working in retail isn’t all that horrible most of the time, you despise it over the holidays. everyone goes crazy as they search for last-minute christmas presents for their loved ones, friends or anyone else.

today was one of those days when everything was so annoying that you really thought about quitting your job right then and there.

luckily, your shift has ended and you are now on your way back home. you seem to be forgetting what a terrible day it has been so far as you imagine yourself curled up in your warm bed while drinking hot choco and watching your comfort movie.

“*y/n*, someone is waiting for you in your room,” your mom says after giving you a big hug when you arrive at home.

you‘re confused as to who it could be, until you recall that your best friend anton texted you saying he‘d drop by later as you were spamming him with messages about that one costumer who was extremely rude to you.

you run up the stairs to your room. you’re not so sure why you’re so eager to see anton, but you can’t help yourself. being with anton after a tiring day makes you feel at ease. he just has that effect on you.

“ohhh, slow down,” anton sits up on your bed. you can tell he made himself feel at home because just a second ago he was laying in your bed as if it was his own. “why are you running? is the rude customer after you?”

since you can’t tell anton that you hurried up to your room because of him, you just throw yourself on your bed. “no, i just really missed my bed. it has been an exhausting day.”

“and here i was hoping that you were running because you couldn’t wait to see me,” anton pouts, leaning back on your bed.

you’re right, you think. but i can’t let you know..

“well, apparently you were missing me because how are you at my house when i’m not even there?”

anton shrugs. “so what if i missed you, is it so wrong to miss your best friend?”

you’re shocked at how casually anton can say things like this. does he truly not realise how much of an impact his words have on you? it irritates you that he's saying these things and acting so dreamy when you're already trying to shake the thought that you like him — much more than you could ever imagine liking someone.

you sigh, laying down on your back. “i just really need to rest.”

“hey, come here,” anton pats next to him. “we can rest together.”

for a second, you’re not sure if you should really go and sit down next to him, because your feelings are all over the place today and you don’t know what could happen, but you push those thoughts aside and just go for it.

“you can lay your head on my lap. i will give you a head massage. i‘m a pro,” anton softly smiles at you.

god, he really isn’t making it easy to not fall in love with him, you sigh. your head is telling you not to do it, but for once in your life, you decide to listen to your heart instead.

you place your head gently on anton‘s lap. you’re afraid you won't be able to resist kissing anton if you open your eyes and see him staring down at you, hence why your eyes are closed.

anton starts massaging your head softly and you’re surprised at how good it actually feels.

“i didn’t expect you to be actually good at this,” you say.

“i told you i‘m a pro,” anton chuckles. hearing him giggle put a smile on your face and usually you would try to hide that, but right now, you’re just letting it happen.

“there it is,” anton whispers softly as he touches your cheek, causing you to open your eyes immediately.

“what?”

“your beautiful smile.”

you start laughing nervously. what’s his deal? why is he being extra sweet today?

“don’t say such things, anton.”

“why not?" his hand returns to your head, but instead of giving it a massage, he plays with your hair, twisting it around with his index finger.

“best friends don’t say that..” what you just said has a sad undertone, but you don’t care. maybe if anton knows that he’s kind of playing with your feelings, he will stop being like that.

anton shakes his head. “no, they don’t.. but here’s the thing, *y/n*..”

the sudden change in the atmosphere makes you nervous so you sit up. still close to anton, but there’s a little distance between the two of you now.

“i‘ve been trying to tell you for the longest time that i don’t want to be just best friends with you,” anton blurts out. “i thought it was obvious that i like you.”

world stop. anton likes me?

“but everytime i try to make a move you put me back in the friendzone, saying things like ‘best friends don’t do that..”

with a sincere expression of sadness that makes your heart hurt, anton glances down at his hands.

“i guess you really don’t like me in that way and i was just stupid to to think that-”

refusing to let anton continue, you take hold of his hand and place it directly over your heart.

“do you feel this?” you whisper.

anton nods unsure.

“my heart beats this fast everytime i‘m with you.”

“is that a good or a bad sign?” anton pulls his hand away and looks questionably at you.

his question makes you laugh. “of course it’s a good sign.. it means that you’re the reason why my heart feels so alive.”

“oh,” anton nods, a little smile forming on his face. “so you do like me.”

now it’s you who’s nodding.

just a while ago you didn’t want anton to know how you really feel about him because you were so afraid that the feeling was one-sided, but now that you know it’s mutual, you’re ready to take the initiative.

you slip closer to anton and sit down on his lap. first he’s surprised at your sudden move, but then you feel his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.

seconds later, your lips meet his. not only was your heart racing faster than before, but because your bodies were so close, you could literally feel anton‘s heart racing as well.

you weren't expecting it, but as anton plastered kisses all over your face and neck, things heated up quickly. you didn't want him to stop, but knowing that your parents could walk into your room at any point made you want to go slowly.

“maybe we should continue this when we are alone, like completely,” you whisper as anton was kissing your neck.

“hmmm,” kiss. “maybe..” kiss. “you‘re..” kiss. “right.”

he stops, looking at you with the biggest smile on his face.

“this big smile looks good on you,” you put your arms around antons neck.

“and you know why i’m smiling like this? it’s because of you,” anton softly whispers before he plants another kiss on your lips.

#riize #riize imagines #riize fics #kpop #riize scenarios #riize drabbles #riize x reader #riize fluff #riize anton #anton lee #lee chanyoung #anton x reader #anton fluff #boyfriend anton #riize oneshots #riize short story #x reader #anton scenarios #sumi‘s requests ೀ

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astralnymphh · 5 months

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i've said this before, but ellie loves being straddled. esp jackson!ellie, when you prompt the position yourself, shifting weight onto your knees n' tossing a leg over right as two r cuddling, like the legit moment you do it her lids hastily peel back and you see her arm reach out for your hips like a reflex— bends at the knees behind you where her thighs press into ur' butt n' fuuckk she gives a faint squeeze to your hip bones, notably her thumb on the opposite side of the bone so you truly feel that dimpled push, and her other fingers inching the round of your butt— on the sly she eases you further on her hips/belly, skimp roll of her groin creasing the fabric under your bottom blehhhh AND THE BUTTON OF HER FLY POKING YOU DELICATELY AUGHH.

tries to keep the conversation ordinary— but her voice, her fucking voiceeee would be so nasally and lush with dry scoffs, "pshh— please, you probably don't know the first thing about 'the turning'." when all she wants to do is flip your body plumb to the mattress and bury you in it with soft, wanton nibbles weaving through the bare/revealing bits of your shirt, to have you giggling and bucking when she ruts her frame through the gap of your spread thighs n' envelop herself in the plush skin, to leave an impression with the tight jam of her fingers fondling said plush fat on your flesh, pretty little raw marks, lovely hidden traces of how fucking bad she needs to take you. ♡

sorry like. ellie x reader starting a relationship in jackson is literally my empire i need to write a whole fucking drabble book on it (or fucking finish tps LMAO) also this angelgbc pic AHHHHHH (dunno the direct source but pls lmk so i can credit)

also update on knight!ellie fic it's going smooth but because it's the prologue it's sooo lore heavy before the romance and tension actually begins to bloom BUTT LIKE heyy!! slowly leads up to some romantic n dirty smut scenes in other chapters!!

#ellie williams #⊱🦷.•aestra talks #this post was supposed to be short fml #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams concept #jackson!ellie

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

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OK OK you just gotta hear me on this one,, Astarion and gn reader where reader is little spoon and Astarion can *sense* just how relaxed reader gets. Instead of their pulse racing from his touches they slow down. Muscles relaxed. Happy little sighs.

^^ he can’t handle this btw he’s absolutely fucking bewildered

A Person to Hold

Synopsis: Fluffy post-game epilogue

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

He looks at you, unable to stop smiling.

"They deserve happiness. We all do. And I will forever be grateful to have found it with you," Astarion says.

You make a step forward with open arms. Astarion hugs you, closing his eyes like a content cat.

A mere half year ago these hugs scared him. It was weird. It was scary. What did you want? Did you want to hurt him? Did you want his body?

No.

None of that.

You taught him not to be afraid. You hug him daily and if he occasionally flinches you don’t let him go. You hold him in your arms when he has nightmares and kiss away his tears when it's just too much.

"I feel bad keeping you all to myself! After all, I get to see you every night."

"Are you sure? You won't be bored?"

You kiss his cheek and leave. In a few seconds, you look back, trying to see if he hasn’t changed his mind.

"Darling, I can spend some time with myself. Go on, go and mingle. And I will be there, when you’re ready. I will always be here, my love."

He hasn’t. Astarion sits down beside a campfire sensing its warmth.

He doesn't feel like talking. He didn't manage to make friends with the others and now can sense hostility from them. He is a vampire. His strength isn’t suppressed by the tadpole and apparently once the vampire's master is dead, spawns become lesser vampires. Astarion doesn't feel the difference, to be honest, but he knows people feel something is off with him.

Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he feels good. He has never thought his head might be so clear. He can make a working ambush plan in a blink of an eye and it won't lead to a disaster because he actually can think everything through. He can walk on ceilings and walls again, he regenerates before you manage to notice he is wounded.

He has the world to explore, places to see, things to do. He is going to make up for all these decades of misery, to bury them under the pile of happy memories.

And he has you.

Probably the weirdest thing that could happen to him.

You, who forgave his lies and manipulations, who gave him the second chance when it was the stupidest thing to do. Who made him believe the world isn’t an evil place.

You are the first person he sees when returns from his reverie. Your breathing soothes him, so does your heartbeat.

Astarion never had anything. Everything he had a right to was stripped away from him including his own life.

But now he has you.

To hold, to kiss, to talk.

To travel together, to hunt monsters, to be independent adventurers. You are there to save him from nightmares. And he is there to save you from death.

How could he become so happy?

“I am going to sleep, are you with me or do you want to hunt?” he feels a soft “pat” on his shoulder.

How come he has you?

You are a bit drunk and very sleepy.

“Let’s go to the tent.”

“Good, I got used to sleeping with you by my side.”

Astarion looks around as if ashamed of what he is going to do and, having made sure no one sees you, takes you in his hands bridal-style.

You are weightless to him thanks to the vampiric strength. He could walk many miles carrying you and not getting tired.

In the tent, you get to your bedroll and immediately cover yourself with a thick blanket. Then, you open it a little, inviting Astarion to join.

He takes his clothes off and crawls to your side. The night is warm, so are you. But since you have to share your body heat with him, you sleep under the thickest fur blanket.

You are his and he is yours. If a year ago someone told him that would be his future he would bitterly laugh.

Astarion presses your back to his chest, placing the chin on your shoulder.

Your muscles relax, the pulse slows down. You are falling asleep in his arms.

"My love, thank you" he whispers in you ear, tugging you closer

“Hm?”

“Thank you for finding me."

You squeeze his hand. “You were worth it.”

He doesn’t want to meditate. He wants to hold you like that until you wake up. Astarion concentrates on your breathing and heartbeat. You are already sound asleep.

“Sleep well, darling,” he kisses your cheek. “We still have plenty of things to do together.”

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion angst #astarion drabble #astarion short fic #spacebarbarian fics #astarion fluff #astarion comfort #baldur's gate post game

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 10 months

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I was going to do a text post of a sterek incorrect quote;

Derek: I have the urge to do something stupid.

Stiles: I’m stupid. Do me.

But a different idea struck me, and I had to write out a little scene.

…

Derek sat in the armchair, the light from the window bleeding over his shoulder and illuminating the pages of the book that lay open in his lap. He let out a deep breath, shutting the book and blurting out, “I have the urge to do something stupid.”

“I’m stupid. Do me,” Stiles replied without thought, not taking his eyes off the screen of his laptop that was balanced precariously on his stomach as he lay upside down on the couch.

Stiles froze, his eyes widening as he realised what he’d said. His cheeks flushed red, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or from the blood rushing to his head.

“What?” Derek said, his tone stretched thin and edged with anger.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but the words died on his lips as he sputtered and shrugged as if trying to brush it off.

“Stiles, you are not stupid,” Derek growled.

Stiles blinked rapidly, stunned by Derek’s words.

Derek continued without hesitation, “You’re one of the smartest people I know. Clumsy and uncoordinated, yes, but not stupid. Don’t say that; don’t even think it! You’re not stupid, Stiles, and I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself stupid again. And I wouldn’t do you; that’s just—”He screwed his face up in disgust. “—ugh. No. No way. You deserve better than do. Dear god, I would make love to you. I would hold you in my arms and Melt as I feel the warmth of your body against mine. I trace the curves of your naked body and utter your name like a prayer. I would kiss you until I had no more breath in my lungs, and even then, I wouldn’t dare stop. I would not do you.”

He huffed out an angry breath as he sat back.

Stiles stared at him, his eyes wide and a dumbfounded expression on his face.

A moment later, Derek’s brain caught up with his mouth. Realisation hit him hard. A rush of heat coloured his cheeks bright red.

“I… I mean… I…” he stammered, unable to find any words.

Stiles stared at him, still looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Okay.”

Derek’s brow furrowed as he looked at Stiles, utterly confused.

“What?”

“Okay,” Stiles repeated.

“Okay?” Derek echoed questioningly.

“Okay,” Stiles said again.

They stared at each other for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Okay,” Derek said after a while.

They tore their eyes away from one another, their faces twisted with perplexed expressions as they processed what they had said.

Silence settled over them.

“You still got that urge?” Stiles asked abruptly.

Derek glanced back at him, meeting Stiles’s gaze. “What do you have in mind?”

#sterek #sterek incorrect quotes #incorrect sterek quotes #incorrect sterek #sterek imagine #imagine sterek #sterek drabble #sterek crack #sterek crack fic #sterek short crack fic #sterek short drabble #sterek one shot #sterek short one shot #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months

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Okay but Price on a road trip would 100% be the guy to stick his hand around to the backseat. Shaking his palm around upwards for snacks to be poured in as he drives and you voice out navigations from the passengers seat. You turn around to watch the rest of the boys all huddled up in the back- shifting around and fighting one another for space as you snap a picture for the album.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fandom #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #cod mw #cod john price #headcannon #short fic #drabble #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 6 months

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the ocean loves her children, you see.

There's an old story selkies tell their children. The ocean loves her children, you see: if you ask for her help, she will gift you the things you need, even if they are not what you want. So most seafolk- sirens, merkin, sea monsters, etc- were once like us: the soft and gentle selkie folk, who love the ocean and the world she gives them. But they were once in need of the ocean mother's help, and their hearts cried to her- and she answered them in kind, changing them beyond the magic their shapeshifting allowed. And so they survived.

You were lost from your family, in a strange sea, and had tried to help a struggling sailor. When they had turned on you, wanting your skin, you were shocked, scared, confused, angry, and you screamed your heartbreak so deeply that your throat went raw- and the ocean mother gave you new gifts, and you used them to tear the sailors apart.

selkies are meant to be soft, kind, the gentlest of the ocean's children. and in your moments of pain and betrayal, you had chosen to forsake those things. your rage and agony tore the water red and frothy, until there were no sailors left to rip apart.

you fell into despair, then. you tried to rip the scales from your back, tear the fins from your bones, but all for naught. then you slept. you did not want to wake. but the ocean heard the weak cries of your heart, and carried you to a new home.

you woke to another boat. more sailors. you were terrified. of them. of yourself. one spoke to you, fed you, tended your wounds. you were scared- scared of him. scared of how your heart longed to be healed by him.

later, you would love him. and, later still, you would feel whole again.

#sea monster au #sea monster reader #blood #tw blood #injury #tw injury #bones of a rabbit au #doodles #sketches #short drabble #ramble fic #lore #bones of a rabbit lore #selkie lore #idk i just like thinking up lore for my own dumb aus okay sue me skjdfsjdfh

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7brownsuga7 · 7 months

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Jungkook considered himself to be quite patient when it came to a lot of things, but seeing you in that skirt made him reconsider. The elevator ride seemed too extremely long, and with other people getting on, just made it all the while longer. He needed something to relieve the sexual frustration you’ve obliviously caused. His hand reaches up your skirt, past your underwear. You suck in a breath, shocked by his sudden action. His finger circles your entrance, your wetness coating them instantly, encouraging him to put it in. He’s aware there are people in the small space with you both, luckily you’re both pushed to the back. He couldn’t care less if people knew what he was doing to your tight pussy, but he knew you were still shy at the thought of people knowing. He respected that. You place your hand against the wall when his pace quickens, the soft music of the elevator drowning out the sounds of your pussy. You try to suppress your moans in fear of anyone catching you out. He curls his fingers and you lean against him, your legs feeling weak already. “We’re nearly there” he whispers in your ear, a smirk plastered on his face. You’re unsure if he’s talking about the elevator ride or your orgasm because as soon as he says that the elevator pings signalling that your floor is next, and you feel your stomach tighten with that pleasurable feeling. Your breath increases and thighs clench together as Jungkook rides you out of your very quick orgasm. Jungkooks hand rests on your lower back as he guides you out of the elevator. Some juice dripping down your thighs making you feel dirty but all the while confident in a sick way. When you look at Jungkook he has a cocky smirk on his face while he sucks on his fingers, and then happily smelling you on them afterwards.

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serregon · 7 months

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drabble prompt Nellas + first moonrise

thank you!

🌕

Starlight was all Nellas had known; she did not call this time “night” as there had been no “day” to define its time in the cycle. The child of the forest lived beneath the glow of Elbereth, her small pockets of light illuminating the vast sky. The starlit dance had been harmonized, all equal in place, until one star unlike any other had risen in the sky, outshining the waltzes of all its neighbors. Nellas heard much clamor and murmuring beneath her tree, but she heard not their words, as the wonder of the great star drowned out all words.

#nellas #requests are open!#drabbles and short fic

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popponn · 3 months

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Seeing the esteemed Duke of Meropide eyes a pair of decorations curiously is an amusing experience, turns out. Even when your relationship with him is pretty much an unsaid ‘almost lover’ situation.

“So,” leaning against his working desk, you try not to smile too wide, “do you like them?”

Wriothesley continues to stare and blink at the black and white dog miniatures—intended to be placed on flat surfaces, however, your creativity is your limit, or so the craftsmen of Liyue said. Straightening his sitting posture, he then leans towards the objects that sit on his desk. “…this feels like a series,” he finally says after a long while, taking one of the two dogs. He once again takes in the merry dog figurine in his hand. Slightly bigger than his thumb, carrying a ball with a tail that is depicted to be in the middle of a swishing motion.

“It is. There are actually another eight dogs,” and also another twenty cats that are a story or, perhaps, a gift for another time, “but I don’t know if you will like it… or do you even have the space to keep all ten, so I just buy you two this time.”

“Hey, hey, since when do I seem like the sort of person who is unappreciative of something people give me?” Wriothesley put down the dog, only to take another one up. In between that, a smile and a glance are addressed to you humorously, yet as softly as always. “And also…”

You realize he purposefully trails off. “And also?”

With how entertained he is at the handcrafted woods, you think he will praise the craftsmanship. Or perhaps, it is time to recall that musing of his about wanting to keep a pet and how these two will be a perfect replacement. Or maybe, he will make another unpredictable joke one would never thought would come out from his mouth.

Yet, instead of all of that, Wriothesley merely reaches out a hand to take yours while his other hand and focus remain on your present. His tone is far from anything—as if he is simply stating a fact. Despite all that, the squeeze he gives as he intertwines his fingers with yours says enough.

“This is from you,” he states, finally shifting his attention to fully land on you. “There is no way I would dislike it.”

#genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley fluff #drabbles #i finally write something for you your highness!!!! tho it's short #i hope i can write a proper fic soon but drabbles are fun in their own way haha #that idle of him wanting pet...i really want to give him a selee for company at least...

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yandere-writer-momo · 1 month

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Yandere Head Canons:

Love After Death

Yandere Skeleton x Fem Reader

I’m obsessed with Kate Bush’s song ‘Army Dreamers.’ So I decided to write a story about a soldier who died during a war, but he came back to life just to fulfill his promise of coming home to his lover…

There was a Great War many years ago between monsters and humans. A war that took countless innocent lives all due to the human’s greed. A war that took the life of your lover, Zered. Your childhood sweetheart.

Zered was a young sorcerer from the magic tower. A prodigy and pioneer of magic with a heart of gold. He was the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. You wanted to run your fingers through those blonde curls until the two of you were balding and wrinkly. To look into those sea foam eyes until you couldn’t. To press soft kisses against his full lips until your lungs burned. You loved that man more than anything in this world… but the war took him from you.

Zered may have died a hero of the empire, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped its fingers into your heart. Your beloved was no nothing more of a war story. A great sorcerer who was able to take down the dragon enemies to give time for reinforcements to arrive. A war hero. And they couldn’t even bring a single remain of him back to you…

You sighed as you sipped on some homemade ale. Your eyes glanced at the sun’s rays that danced across the hay fields in sorrow. This was the cottage the two of you were going to live in for the rest of your days. The one you’d start a family in that was now cold and empty. It didn’t matter that the sun hit it perfectly each time, Zered wasn’t here.

You rock back and forth in the rocking chair. The birds weren’t singing their melodic tunes like they normally did. Which was odd. Why weren’t the birds singing- you almost screamed when you see a dark figure slink through the meadow towards your cabin. What on earth was an undead doing here?!

You quickly sprang up from your chair and fell over since you were a bit tipsy. Crap. Crap. Crap! You needed to head inside before that creature got to you.

You let out a shrill shriek of terror when the skeleton stood in your porch. Its red eyes stared into your very soul as it tilted its head to the side. Oh god… this was it. This was the end. You were going to be ripped apart by this hideous creature-

You went still when the creature threw itself into your arms as it released weeping noises. The skeleton whined and shook as its arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug.

“H-home. I… home.” The skeleton’s voice was a spin chilling rasp. A small tuft of blonde on its head showed that it was once human.

What did it mean by being home- wait. This cousin possibly be?

“Zered?” You gasped when the skeleton pressed its teeth onto your cheek like it wanted for press a kiss against your cheeks. “Zered, what happened?”

“Home… home.” Zered was barely to rasp out legible words. The skeleton cupped your face in its palms. “Love you… I home.”

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metalhoops · 1 year

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“I think I’m seeing things, man,” Eddie spoke from his spot on the Harrington’s couch. His white skin appeared paler still against the brown leather.

Steve didn’t blame him. He was on all kinds of painkillers. It’d been two weeks since the world fell apart. Two weeks since Vecna disappeared. Two weeks since Eddie almost died.

Steve liked to treat those memories as others treated head-on collisions. It was better not to look at them directly. It was better to treat it like it’d never happened.

“What’re we looking at?” Steve asked from his spot on the floor, following Eddie’s line of sight to the gap in the curtains.

“Don’t know. Thought I saw somebody outside,” Eddie confessed.

The Harrington house had always been filled with spectres, whether that of partygoers, like front lawn flamingos in need of an exorcism or the body in the backyard pool. But those were Steve’s hang-ups, not Eddie’s.

If all it took to be a ghost was to haunt, Eddie might be included in the ranks of his own private phantasmagoria. He kept checking each night to make sure the boy was really there, that he’d really gotten out. People shouldn’t have that much blood in them, and they definitely shouldn’t have that much blood out of them.

Steve went to the window because that was something he could do for Eddie. He wasn’t sure why he kept feeling the need to apologise. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but hell if Steve knew if he’d done anything right either. He’d gotten Eddie out of the Upside Down. He’d put his hands inside the boy’s body, shoved his shirt beneath his skin and held it in the dark cavity that oozed and throbbed warm blood like the rise and fall of the tide.

Don’t think about it. Check the window. His hands at his side felt cold. He wondered if they’d ever be warm again. There was a figure across the street.

A boy in a basketball jersey circled passed the house.

Things never ended smoothly. Steve liked to think once Jason went down the rest of the vigilante crew would stop looking for Eddie, but there were some stragglers who hadn’t got the message.

Hopper had his hands full trying to clear Eddie’s name. Eddie’s uncle was still looking for him. The whole town was holding their breath in the midst of destruction, waiting for someone to blame. Steve shut the curtains, turned the lights off and moved to Eddie’s side in the darkness.

“Hounds of hell still circling then?” Eddie guessed after one glimpse at Steve’s face.

“I’ll call Hopper,” Steve reasoned, reaching up to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe to make sure he was real. Maybe to tell him he was sorry.

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Eddie spoke, reaching out and snagging the hem of Steve’s sweater.

“No one thinks I’m here. If the cops show up at the Harringtons’ it’s going to turn some heads,” Eddie reasoned, and he was right.

So where did that leave them? Sitting alone in the dark with Eddie fading in and out of sleep and Steve watching car headlights dance across the curtains, waiting for the moment everything went wrong.

“Steve?” Eddie breathed beside Steve’s ear in the blackness. He hadn’t realised they were so close.

“Yeah?” Steve moved his eyes from the window to look at Eddie.

“I think I’m crashing,” he noted, a grimace dancing across his face. Steve had never felt smaller.

“Doc said we’ve gotta wait six hours,” Steve replied, hoping he didn’t sound as worried as he felt.

“How long’s it been?”

“Three.”

Steve always wanted to appear cool in times of crisis, but he had no idea what he was doing. Some of the government agents Steve had signed countless NDAs for over the past four years had patched Eddie up as best they could and had started scrambling for a cover-up.

In the meantime, Eddie would stay at Steve’s place. It made the most sense. Eddie was nobody to Steve. No one would go looking for Eddie at the Harringtons’, and unlike the other older teens, he didn’t have parents to answer to. Big house. No parents. Perfect place to lie low.

Steve was nobody to Eddie and yet for the past week, they’d been an island unto themselves, trapped indoors together, watching shadows on the walls and trying to keep each other alive and sane. He felt completely unprepared.

“Alright. Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Steve muttered, kneeling in front of Eddie. He watched the boy rise to a sitting position over his shoulder. Eddie snorted.

“What exactly is the plan here, Steve?”

Eddie had been stuck oscillating between the living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom for days. They could both use a change of scenery.

“Piggyback,” Steve spoke, trying not to think about the connotations that the word had garnered. He wasn’t going to think about Vecna. Not today.

He expected the boy to argue, but instead, he felt Eddie’s arms snake around his throat. He held tight, but not as tight as he should. Steve had to hold on to his forearms like backpack straps as he stood. Eddie’s legs were stronger. They held firm around Steve’s waist.

Eddie’s head flopped against Steve’s shoulder blade, nuzzling into the space. He was warm as the sun. Too warm. He was running a temperature. Steve tried not to think of the last time he carried Eddie. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet. Steve needed to do something.

“Saddle up, buckeroo,” Steve spoke, hoisting Eddie further up his back. He felt a puff of air against his neck, a barely there laugh.

“Hi-yo, Silver,” Eddie grumbled against Steve’s skin.

Steve moved deftly through the dark, taking the staircase slowly and methodically. The last thing either of them needed was another broken bone.

“I think I owe you one once all this is over,” Eddie noted. Steve was already shaking his head.

“You stick around, and I’ll call it a favour. I think Henderson would kick my ass if you died.”

“The kid’s got spunk. I’ll give him that,” Eddie noted as the two reached the top of the stairs.

“He’s got an attitude and a problem with authority,” Steve corrected, taking Eddie to his bedroom.

He moved to the edge of his bed and let Eddie extract himself. When they broke apart, Steve felt cold again.

“That’s our boy,” Eddie chuckled, shooting Steve a lopsided smirk. He was definitely still high on painkillers.

Steve rolled his eyes and helped lower Eddie down onto his favourite pillow, the one worn down with age but all the more comfortable for it. He pulled the covers up around the boy’s shoulders.

“Yeah, our boy,” Steve echoed in a too-fond tone.

He’d never let Henderson hear the term of affection. The kid had a big enough head as it was, but in the too-quiet world of just himself and Eddie, he felt okay admitting it. Once it looked like Eddie was settled in, Steve sat on the edge of his bed, feeling as he always did, like a stranger in his own home.

“When did you last get some shut-eye, boy wonder?” Eddie asked, his foot tucking beneath Steve’s thigh.

Friday. What day was it? Sunday. Not good.

“Well, come on then, don’t make a guy beg. Lay down, Steve. It’s your bed. I could sleep in the spare room if it’s a problem.” There was something cautious about the offer Steve didn’t understand.

He flopped down beside Eddie, so close the two shared a pillow. It changed the shape of the thing. It made the familiar strange.

“You know, I had this dream last night,” Eddie began, his dark eyes still open, glued to the ceiling. He cringed, knowing all the ways dreams could go bad, but Eddie shook his head.

“Not that kind of dream,” He insisted, his hands balling into fists on the bedsheets.

“I had a dream I was a pinball machine,” the boy stated plainly. The absurdity of the statement shocked a laugh out of Steve.

“These painkillers are legit, Harrington,” Eddie spoke, shooting Steve a sidelong glance.

“What kind of pinball machine?”

“You know the Centaur one? It’s black and white, mostly. The arts got this topless guy who’s half man, half motorbike,” Eddie explained.

Steve had no idea what he was saying, but it was nice to hear him talk.

“Wait, if you were the pinball machine, how did you know what you looked like?”

“Great question Steven. I’ve got no clue. Dream logic,” Eddie reasoned.

Steve screwed up his nose at the use of his full name. Only his dad called him Steven. Eddie raised a brow, seeming to take note. One of them had shifted closer. Steve wasn’t sure who. Eddie’s hand brushed against his side as he played with the sheets.

“Remind me again why I needed to know about your pinball dream?” Steve asked. The sound of the wind in the trees outside his bedroom window set his teeth on edge.

“Because you’re too damn serious and I thought it’d make you smile... Which it did.” Eddie added the last part in quietly and Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie craned his head to look around Steve’s room before screwing up his nose.

“Anyone ever told you your wallpaper is gaudy as hell? Your curtains match your walls. Dude, I thought rich people were meant to have taste,” he observed, the boys’ shoulders pressed together.

“This coming from the guy who eats cereal out of the box with his hands,” Steve countered, no heat in his voice.

“Are you still mad I used to stand on your lunch table?” Eddie muttered, shoving Steve’s shoulder before tensing. When had Steve last checked his dressings?

He flipped the bedside lamp on, leaning over Eddie to do so. He’d been helping the guy shower for days now. Privacy was a word reserved for other people. Intimacy was a necessity.

“Once you stood in my mashed potatoes. It was disgusting,” Steve uttered, gently peeling up the hem of Eddie’s tee shirt. Really, it was Steve’s, but it seemed strange to make distinctions.

Eddie’s eyes trailed down to Steve’s fingers, half-hooded and slowed with sleep or inebriation, Steve didn’t know which. He wondered how much of all this Eddie would remember when he got better. He would get better.

“You never ate the potatoes. You’d bring your stupid bagels from home,” Eddie remarked, as Steve carefully unwound the bandage and gauze. It was stained brown with dried blood, but it looked better than it’d been a few days before, no longer as red or swollen.

The bagel comment made Steve look up. Seemed like Robin wasn’t the only one that’d been watching him. Maybe Eddie had a crush on Tammy Thompson, too. Maybe it was something else. Steve’s friends had crappy taste in women. Eddie could do better.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Eddie questioned, noticing Steve’s sudden silence.

He cleaned the wounds as best he could. Eddie’s fingers had found their way to Steve’s thigh, gripping so tight he thought it would bruise. It would be another to add to the collection. Steve hadn’t been thinking of how his battle wounds were healing. He was in triage mode. Eddie’s wounds were worse than his.

“We're going to have to amputate,” Steve deadpanned as he found the first aid kit he’d hidden beneath his bed years before, starting to redress the wound.

“How the hell can you amputate a side?” Eddie asked with a shaky laugh, his breathing more ragged again.

“Well, you see, there’s this new experimental procedure that lets you transplant your brain into a pinball machine,” Steve began and felt Eddie’s elbow in his side.

“Screw you.”

Steve laid back beside Eddie, less space between them than before, if it was at all possible. They braced against each other, the contact grounding Steve. Eddie was alive. He was alive. Maybe one day they could look at each other and not think about death. That day wasn’t today, but Steve could hope for it.

As Eddie drifted to sleep, his head fell on Steve’s shoulder. He wouldn’t sleep for long that night, but he was used to that. He knew the weeks and months after a run-in with the Upside Down were full of fitful sleep and nightmares, but they never lasted.

On a long enough timeline, you could get used to anything. It was strange how short that timeline was when it came to getting used to Eddie.

More days came and went with the same imperfect routines. The two boys woke at all hours of the night and spent the daylight hours behind closed curtains, trying to heal.

By the third day, Steve got sick of the quiet. A sombre mood hung over them, shifting and changing like the phases of the moon. It never entirely disappeared, but there were moments it seemed almost absent.

One of these such moments arose when Steve hijacked the boombox from the living room and dragged it upstairs to his bedroom, where a slowly healing Eddie sat bored out of his mind, aching and itchy. Steve knew the feeling. The wound on his neck had scabbed and begun to fade into a scar.

“Hey, Munson?” Steve spoke, sitting beside Eddie, spreading his tape collection between them.

“You wanna hear some real music?” He asked, watching Eddie’s nose scrunch and his teeth worry away at his bottom lip.

“These are all horrible, Harrington.”

Eddie turned over several cassettes in his hand, treating them gently as though they were something special.

“You have every WHAM! album, dude. The Outfield. Halls & Oats. Tears for Fears,” Eddie listed off, his tone one of disgust.

“You’re going to have to pick something, or I’ll pick WHAM! out of spite.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and shuffled through the tapes, tossing one Steve’s way.

“Bowie isn’t horrible,” Eddie mumbled as Steve placed The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, into the player.

The two sat shoulder to shoulder, as always, listening to the quiet swell of drums. Steve realised too late it was a song about the end of the world. He realised, later still, that it was a love song. Eddie’s fingers drummed against his knee. Steve tried to ignore the way the action made his heart swell.

Steve couldn’t sit still any longer as Moonaged Daydream began. He remembered another life in Nancy Wheeler’s garage, asking her to pretend things were normal for a couple of hours. God, he wanted that. He needed a few normal hours.

He wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, but parts of him had stayed the same. He didn’t know how to change them. Nancy Wheeler faced problems head-on, but Steve? The passage of time had taught him how to stand his ground in the face of danger, but he hadn’t yet learned how to stop being chased.

He caught Eddie’s eye and watched as a wicked grin spread across his face. Without words, he knew exactly what Steve was about to do. He grabbed the nail bat he kept by the bed, the same one from the Wheeler’s garage and sang, using the gnarly weapon as his makeshift microphone. He was a little too loud and a little off-tune. He sang about alligators and space invaders, lyrics he knew off by heart, without understanding them.

He watched as a grin threatened to crack Eddie’s face in two. There was a reckless abandon to his smile. It was different from the glazed-eyed, half-high smiles of the past week. His eyes were keen and sharp as he watched Steve fling himself across the room in the way only someone who’d learned to dance drunk could.

By the time the album finished, he’d worked up a sweat. Eddie joined in, singing a couple of lines when he could before tugging Steve back to bed, his hand in Steve’s hair, smoothing it back in place. The action was intimate, yet familiar.

“Alright, Starman. Maybe Bowie doesn’t suck so hard, but when I’m not on the run from the law, I’m going to show you what real music sounds like.”

“Promise?” Steve asked, his chest heaving.

Then, Eddie did something so unlike anything the populous of Hawkins would expect. To them, he was a Satanist and a murderer. Steve had always known better, but he’d seen Eddie as a wildcard. He was loud and rough around the edges, but he also had the capability of being endearing when the moment called for it. Still, Steve had never expected Eddie to roll over, extend his pinkie and link their little fingers together.

“I promise,” He assured, placing his lips to the knuckle of his thumb as though sealing the deal.

The action was equal parts childlike and intense. Steve looked down at their interlaced fingers and knew he was in over his head. Warmth pooled in Steve’s fingertips.

“Eds, I—,” A knock at the downstairs door made the words die on Steve’s lips. The boys pulled apart. Steve was cold.

“I’ll get it,” Steve spoke, picking up the discarded nail bat and trudging down the stairs.

He hoped it was one of the door-knocking jocks. Some primal part of him felt like hitting something. Years before, he would have questioned if he was the kind of person who could do it, but now he knew he could.

Steve clutched at the bat hidden behind his back as he swung open the door, coming face-to-face with an older man dressed in too-short jean shorts, holding an armful of paper bags. He looked familiar. He’d seen the man with Hopper. A furrow etched its way onto his brow.

“Aren’t you going to let your beloved uncle in, Steve?” The man spoke, loud enough for the people in the next neighbourhood to hear.

“Right,” Steve mumbled, pushing the door open and stepping to the side.

The man walked through the house as though he’d grown up within their walls, dropping the paper bags on the countertop, switching on the lights and examining the space.

“Hopper sent me with supplies. It’d draw too much attention having the feds at your front door, but a visit from your favourite Uncle Murray? That’s incognito. I’ve got groceries and painkillers, slipped in some vodka too, on the house. Personally, I was thinking of making my homemade ravioli for dinner. Trust me, it’s to die for. Where’s the other one by the way?” The man, Murray, breathed, spinning on his heels to examine the interior of the house. Steve let his nail bat fall to the floor.

“You really should invest in a gun, kid...Was I interrupting something?” The older man asked, gesturing absentmindedly to his balding head. Steve touched his hair and found it still out of place. He ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame it.

“No, we... I was sleeping. Eddie’s upstairs. I think he’s okay, but I could use another set of eyes. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here. Are you staying?”

“I’m just staying for dinner. It’d look strange if your uncle only showed up for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?” Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Murray spoke, glancing up at the top of the staircase where Eddie stood, leaning heavily on the banister.

“What happened to staying up there?” Steve spoke through gritted teeth, making his way back up the stairs.

“You were taking too long,” Eddie muttered with an unbothered shrug.

“And if it’d been one of Jason’s asshole friends, we’d have been screwed,” Steve rebutted, letting Eddie lean on him as they made their way to Murray in the kitchen. At least he could walk.

“But it wasn’t,” Eddie huffed, his breath warm on Steve’s neck.

Steve kicked out one of the kitchen chairs and lowered Eddie into it. The older man watched them as a scientist observes a specimen. There was a morbid fascination to it.

“I see you two are getting along well,” He spoke.

He’d found where Steve’s mother had stored their pots and had begun some strange kitchen alchemy. Steve had made risotto. This guy looked like he was completing a summoning ritual. The ingredients were splayed out on the countertop like objects of adoration.

Steve sat down in the chair beside Eddie. It felt strange having someone else in the house. For what seemed like a lifetime, his world had consisted of one other person. He missed Robin, Dustin, and the rest of the kids, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d known their isolation couldn’t last forever, but he’d never have guessed Murray would be the first person he’d see.

“Tense mood. Why is it I always end up in the middle of couples in denial?” Murray breathed to himself.

Eddie’s head snapped up with a speed Steve hadn’t seen him manage all week. Steve didn’t look at Murray, he was too busy trying to unpick the pained look on Eddie’s face. His eyes searched the boy’s body for some torn open wound he’d missed.

“What? Don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what kids these days think, we did have homosexuality in the sixties,” Murray informed before pausing. He gave Steve a once-over that made his skin crawl. He felt as though he were a bug, pinned beneath a glass plate.

“And bisexuality,” He clarified.

Steve averted his eyes and reached over to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He was hopelessly lost in the conversation, but he knew something was wrong with Eddie. The boy jumped at the sudden contact and Steve pulled his hand away as though burnt.

“So, what’s the problem? Still in denial?” Murray asked, levelling Steve with a knowing look. He scowled back at the man, ready for him to leave.

“No. I think you know how you feel, maybe even how he feels.” Steve didn’t know how to respond.

“You, however,” Murray continued, turning his attention to Eddie, the boiling pot on the stove, forgotten.

“I don’t think you have a clue. Self-esteem issues, maybe. You try to hide it, but you couldn’t imagine that someone in a house like this would look at you twice.”

“What the hell, man?” Eddie breathed with a huff of indignation. Murray showed no signs of stopping. His eyes were back on Steve.

“So, what’s holding you back? You got your heart broken after Nancy Wheeler. Let me guess, you keep saying how much you want commitment, but you keep dating the wrong people, people who don’t want to be tied down. That, my boy, is self-sabotage and him,” Murray spoke, indicating Eddie with a wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the rice.

“He looks like a long-haul kind of guy.”

“Dude,” Eddie interjected.

“What? You’re both obviously attracted to one another. Don’t lie. I have eyes. You’re telling me that all this near-death stuff hasn’t made you re-evaluate your life a little? It’s just been you two, locked away together at the end of the world, helping each other heal. Seeking comfort in one another. You’ve got shared trauma. That kind of thing bonds you for life.”

“Leave it alone,” Steve said, standing as he spoke. The chair scraped on the tile floor. A nails on a chalkboard kind of sound.

Steve pushed past the older man, pulled the pot off the stove, and let a tense silence settle over the three of them. The subsequent dinner dragged on in uncomfortable silence. Steve and Eddie kept their eyes glued to their plates. Murray talked but neither paid attention. He gave Eddie’s wounds a once over, appearing as lost as Steve. He didn’t seem concerned, so Steve took it as a good thing.

He thought he’d known what tense silence between himself, and Eddie felt like, but he’d known nothing compared to the moment Murray left. His whole body was on edge. Eddie wouldn’t meet his eyes. They needed to talk, but neither wanted to be the first to cave.

“I was thinking of turning in early,” Steve spoke, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The boys lay side by side, but sleep didn’t come. Eddie’s body was wound tight as a tourniquet. This time, Steve was the one bleeding out.

He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe that he was sorry. Murray was right. Steve had known Eddie liked him and he hadn’t said anything because it wasn’t a problem he could throw himself in front of. It’d be easier if he thought telling Eddie would end up with him getting hit. There were worse things.

Eddie’s feelings had become more apparent as their time together wore on, but on some level, Steve had known long before. When Eddie had leaned over into his space smelling of cigarette ash, dried earth and sweat and called Steve some god-awful pet name, he’d known. He also knew the feelings weren’t one-sided.

That revelation came later. Eddie had been fading in and out of consciousness. Steve had shaken him awake to redress his wounds when it happened. The boy awoke, shooting him a lopsided grin, gazing at Steve with his drowsy, doe eyes.

He’d crooned, ‘Good morning sunshine’. And that had been enough.

Steve’s heart had stuttered to a halt as it had all the times before when a pretty girl had called him a prettier name.

As much as Steve hated to admit it, Murray had been right about a lot of things. There was one thing Steve desperately wanted him to be wrong about.

He and Eddie were bonded because of what they’d been through. That’s what the man had said. Shared trauma. Was that all they were?

Steve was back in the bathroom with Nancy, her white shirt, red. The whites of his eyes the moment she left, red.

He knew where shared trauma got him. He’d try to bury it. To move past it. He wanted to be more than what was done to him. People would say he was running. He was bullshit.

How was he meant to sit with the kind of stuff he and Eddie had been through? How was he meant to fight it? Would Steve always look at Eddie and see his death? Would Eddie always look at Steve and feel like dying?

“I wished I’d met you later,” Steve spoke to the dark room. Eddie’s locked body loosened, and as it did, he started to shake. In a moment, he’d start to bleed too.

“You know, normally people say they wished they’d met you sooner.”

“I mean... I wish we’d met after everything with The Upside Down. That you hadn’t gotten dragged into it. I wish that we’d gotten to know each other the normal way,” Steve explained. Eddie snorted.

“Can you imagine me doing anything the normal way?” He had a point.

Steve didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. The silence was back, looming large as a lunar eclipse.

“You aren’t... weirded out by what he said? About me liking you?” Eddie’s voice was small. The only time Steve heard Eddie whisper was when he was dying.

“I think he also said something about me liking you back,” Steve replied, glancing at Eddie’s profile only to find the man was already watching him. His face was contorted in confusion.

“Then... what’s the problem here, Stevie?”

Steve had never been good with his words.

“What if we’ve ruined it?” He tried. At seeing a frown cross Eddie’s face, he knew he hadn’t done a good enough job at explaining.

“With what’s happened between me and you. You never would’ve looked at me twice if I hadn’t saved you, and what if that’s all we’ve got? Shared trauma.”

Bullshit. What if all they had was bullshit? Eddie finally understood.

“I don’t like you because you saved me, Steve. I like you because despite all the terrible shit you make me want to laugh. I love that you’re shit at dancing, but you do it anyway. Also, screw that guy your risotto is better than his. You’re a good cook. Your stupid hair makes me want to slam my head in a car door and before you say anything, that’s a compliment. You care so damn much about everyone.” To Steve’s surprise, Eddie’s hand reached up to touch his cheek.

“I don’t like you because we’ve been through bad shit together. I like you because you make me feel like one day, we’re going to get out on the other side of it, that things aren’t going to be like this forever,” Eddie finished.

Steve’s heart was a cardinal, beating itself bloody against a windowpane.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve breathed. For the first time in a long time, he was nervous.

Eddie’s smile was a lightning strike, bright, beautiful and something they’d shape gods after.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Eddie’s lips were warm.

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scoupsofjisung · 8 days

Text

༘♡ ⋆｡˚ feed me, seungminnie :(

🧸 paring: kim seungmin x f! reader

🧸 warnings: none

🧸 author rambles: im so hungry and tired right now can you tell? but im at uni by myself so in order to eat i must get up and make my own food, oh the agonies. i love my seungminnie who shows his love secretly, it’s my first time writing him so i was sorta experimenting too lol. also my usual app to make texts is being annoying and not working so i had to get a new one ugh i hope it doesn't look to weird/different <3 also seungmin is so the type of bf to say no to something you ask while literally in the process of doing it for u TT

masterlist

blog info post!

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Note

For the angsty romance prompts, #6?

"i am sor-" "don't you dare apologize."

"I am sor-" "don't you dare apologize" from Angsty Romance Prompt List

Probably not that angsty, I just can't hurt this character

(no beta)

Masterlist

AO3

Headcanons

Reverie

"Astarion?"

He sits motionless with an empty stare into the darkness. His eyes are open wide and his lips moving as if he is whispering. The vampire is completely naked.

How long has he been like that?

He doesn't notice you. His whole world is probably shrunk to the dark chamber of his mind. Elven trance. Or more like its twisted version when Astarion just has to relive the same horrid events over and over again?

Reverie - the Elven trance - is the way for Tel'Quessira to remember their long lives. But what if your long life was just a parade of horrors until recently?

"Astarion, can you hear me?"

Nothing. He isn't here.

You aren't sure what to do. Wake him up? Put the blanket over his naked body? Just sit there till he returns to reality?

What?

You sit beside him and gently touch his hand. It's cold like marble. You study his veins visible through the pale skin.

"Astarion, wake up."

And again, nothing. You put your hand on his back, touching the edges of the scars.

The thought of how painful it was for him makes you sick.

Vampires are stuck in time. Their regeneration is nothing but reclaiming the state of the body at the moment of death. That's why Astarion's hair doesn't grow. And when Cazador would flay his skin, it healed within the moments - and then, the vampire lord flayed it again. And again. And again.

The only thing that can leave permanent marks is silver.

The silver dagger cut those awful symbols onAstarion's back. And it will always remind him of the past. Nothing will ever make up for this.

You try to be as gentle as possible, caressing his skin as if it were the cat's fur. Careful, thoughtful.

Then, you wrap your hands around his waist and place the cheek on his back as if trying to hear the heartbeat.

Suddenly, his body tenses. Astarion jumps on his feet, making you fall on the wooden floor. His face is distorted with anger.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

You stand up and reach out for him but he bares the fangs. He looks like a wounded predator, dangerous and desperate.

"I am not touching you. What was it?"

"Nothing," he mutters. "Fuck! Why?!"

"Why what?"

He steps back as if you've hit him.

"How can I be with you if I can't trust you?!"

Oh no.

His back.

It's not like he forbade you from touching it. But he said to you at least a few times not to touch it without consent.

You violated his boundaries. This innocent touch was like torture to Astarion. What is worse, caused by you.

"I am sorry-"

"Don't you dare apologize! You knew what you were doing!"

Whatever you say now, it will make it worse. Much worse.

"What next, Tav? What else will you want to do to me when I am in reverie? When I am unconscious?"

Suddenly Astarion gets silent as if finally noticing he is naked.

You leave the room, carefully closing the door, the feeling of guilt and self-blame scorching your brain.

… A few hours later, you sit on the roof of the inn, watching the town. It's dark and quiet at night, as if abandoned.

You hear the soft steps behind you. Astarion, fully clothed, looks at you with his crimson eyes that glow a bit.

"Listen… Tav... I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Never mind. Should have chosen a different way to wake you up."

He sits beside you. "I was re-living the moments when those scars were engraved on my skin. Over and over again. I knew it wasn't real, I knew it was just a memory, but the the pain was so real, I couldn't do anything."

"Astarion, I promise I won't touch the scars ever again!"

He chuckles and then puts off his shirt as if feeling hot.

"I need you to touch them. Please. I want to forget. I need to forget!"

He sits on the edge of the roof, and you crawl away a bit, so his back is right in front of your chest. Astarion does look like a marble statue. Cold white skin and no breathing.

You carefully touch the upper scars, caressing them with your fingers. Astarion doesn't move.

You intensify your touches, stroking his back and drawing invisible figures on his skin.

"You know… Silver feels like melted steel. I thought I would die of pain and shock the moment he touched me. But it was only the beginning. It took him a few days to finish the poem. Well, we both didn't need to sleep, after all."

You plant a kiss in the center of the scars, and Astarion shivers.

"I couldn't die. Because I was already dead."

You put your hands on his shoulders. No one will ever hurt him. He won't allow it. You won't allow it. You are his, and he is yours.

"Tav..."

"Hm?"

"You see the scars every day. How repulsive do they look?"

"They don't."

"Tav, for fuck's sake..."

You touch his curls and make Astarion look at you. "They don't. I feel sick when I think about how you got them. I tremble every time I realize that when I was happy, when I had fun, when I cheered - you were tortured at that dungeon with no hope to escape. But the scars themselves don't look that awful. I thought so the moment I saw them for the first time. I still think so."

He smiles and kisses your forehead. Your heart melts.

"So, I can touch your back now, or I still should ask first?"

"Don't ask. Let's… limit consent to strictly sexual things, if I can word it this way."

"Deal."

"And about what happened earlier. I am sorry-"

You smile and put your thumb against his lower lip.

"Don't you dare apologize."

Tel'Quessira - Elves ("the people")

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