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cinnamostar · 4 months

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six dates to fall in love

part one. part two (here). part three. part four.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.3k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), cursing, one gorey joke thing, arguing, angsty, they're each other's biggest haters, let me know if i missed anything !!

a/n : this parts shorter unfortunately but i hope u like it! likes, reblogs, and feedback appreciated. pls read part one first if you havent! well. now theres a whole new hurdle for these two to conquer heh... this part is a lot shorter, so sorry for that but i felt like it was best to keep it at this length :o

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“He said what?” Chan asked, shock coloring his voice as you updated him on the night’s events, and how absolutely insufferable Hyunjin was.

“I’m telling you, that guy’s a dickhead,” you mumbled angrily on the phone, shuffling through your apartment as you discarded your outfit and headed into the shower.

Chan took in a deep breath from the other side of the line, “Well, I knew that already, but that was just a new low.” You hummed in agreement, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, whatever. I just have a bad feeling this isn’t going to work out in our favor.”

“You never know, maybe tomorrow will go a lot better, Y/N!”

You smiled at Chan’s attempts to lighten the mood, “I seriously doubt it, but I will try to put my faith in you and this plan of yours,” you sighed, “Well, I’m going to shower and go to bed, thanks for listening.”

“Always, Y/N. Tomorrow will be better, okay?”

“Right, good night, Chan.”

“Good night!”

God, you could only hope that Chan was right.

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You were definitely having a severe case of deja vu as you sat at your local coffee shop, a pistachio latte in hand as you waited for Hyunjin to arrive for your second date of the week. You both had agreed over text this morning that you’d meet at 12:30pm, but it was nearly 1pm and there was no sign of Hyunjin. Great, you thought to yourself, as it seems like his inconsideration was not limited to just your feelings, but also your time.

He most definitely was doing this on purpose, there was no way this wasn’t just one of his other tactics to get under your skin before even arriving. Was this how every date was going to be like this entire week? You wasting fifteen to thirty minutes of your life waiting for some conceited asshole to make it, even though he was the one to pick and agree on a time. This was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but feel peeved as you watched the cafe’s clock tick by, mentally noting how much time had passed at every minute. Maybe it was best to go home, maybe this whole dating thing wasn’t going to work out and it was best to just cut your losses.

Right, going home sounded nice and at least you wouldn’t be losing time on some bumbling idiot. You let out a sharp exhale as you stood up, grabbing your bag and drink to make your way out, but as you turned around, you were met with Hyunjin, who was standing a few feet away from your table with his own drink in hand.

With an eyebrow cocked up, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, you were going to ditch me on our date?”

You rolled your eyes in frustration, an exasperated sigh escaping you as you sluimped back in your seat, motioning Hyunjin to take his seat with a hint of sass in your gestures, “Oh, right, I was the one ditching you, not the other way around.”

“I did not ditch you, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re thirty minutes late, Hwang,” you deadpanned.

“Better late than never, no?” he smirked, taking delight in how easy it was to rile you up with such little effort on his end.

You pursed your lips as you glared at the man who sat across from you, a small ‘hmph’ leaving you, “Whatever.”

Much like the day before, the familiar tense atmosphere took its place once more as you both sat quietly in your own seats, occasionally taking a sip of coffee every now and then. Having Hyunjin in your company was torturous, it was almost as if he held you captive in the most miserable week of your life and he made no attempt to make it the least bit enjoyable.

You, once more, decided to remain quiet, allowing Hyunjin to be the one to make any conversation since he seemed to be the one struggling the most with this arrangement. It was best to let him go at his own speed, right? Although that did not stop the displeased look from leaving your features, your eyebrows remained furrowed since the moment you were made aware of his presence.

Hyunjin let out a gentle huff, placing his drink down as he analyzed yor features, “Do you always have this much attitude?”

Rolling your eyes, you responded sternly, “When it comes to you, yes.”

“Right, because I’m the problem,” murmured Hyunjin sarcastically.

“Glad you know.”

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek, lost in thought as he tried to figure out the right string of words to say, ones that wouldn’t kindle the already burning heat of hatred you had for him. The silence was unbearably uncomfortable, restricting him of any chance to catch his breath as anxiety and trepidation took over him. He despised this, he hated having to always be on guard around you and it was getting overwhelming, despite it only being the second day of this so-called plan. Hyunjin wasn’t dumb though, while he may be upset with these current circumstances, he would be an idiot to not take advantage of it. His plan was simple, all he had to do was get under your skin as much as he can throughout this week in hopes you’d decide to drop out of the project altogether, which would mean he would no longer have to worry about getting kicked off the shoot if they only had to replace you, he thought.

Unfortunately, you were as hard-headed as a bull, bulldozing over any hope Hyunjin had as your stubbornness made itself apparent through your countless attempts to speak to him last night. Though, something had to be working, he thought, as you reached a standstill of quietness in the middle of this bustling coffee shop.

The coffee shop was brimming with life, fellow patrons laughing with their company and baristas shouting out names to orders as the espresso machines and blenders whirred in the background. It was a relaxing, welcoming, and cozy environment which sharply juxtaposed the energy emanating off you and Hyunjin. If anything, you and Hyunjin would be more fitting standing outside in the cold, icy, and piercing winter winds as you exchanged hardened gazes, neither wavering from their stance. Anyone who stepped within a three foot radius of you both would feel instant chills due to the intensity of the situation, yet, everyone was too absorbed in their own world to pay attention to the mental battle you and Hyunjin were engaged in.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The sudden question surprised Hyunjin, effectively drawing him out of his stupor as his gaze softened at the vulnerability in your tone and the slight quiver to your voice, though your features remained in the permanent scowl that seemed to falter ever-so slightly. This was new, this was something Hyunjin had never seen from you before and it made his heart ache to hear the confusion and uncertainty reverberate from your words. This show of weakness from you should be something he celebrates though, this means his attempts to push you away from this project had to be working, yet why did he feel so guilty? Why did he feel his stomach drop slightly when he heard you tremble over your words? Moreso, why were you asking him that?

Hyunjin’s face contorted with perplexity, “You’re seriously asking that?”

Your frown changed into one of curiosity, not entirely understanding what Hyunjin meant by his question, “... What?”

Hyunjin could only return your confused gaze, your cluelessness only seemed to light a fire under him as fury began to settle in his eyes, “You’re joking, right?”

Taken aback, your mouth struggled to form any words as your brain tried to rack through your memories, searching for a moment in time that you could’ve upset or hurt Hyunjin back then, but there was nothing. You were drawing a blank and could only wonder what you could’ve possibly done to cause this kind of rage in Hyunjin. You spoke cautiously, afraid the wrong words could escalate the situation as you desperately did not want to call attention to you two, “I’m sorry… I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjin could only wear a baffled look in his face, scanning your eyes to only find you were being truthful, no sign of deceit and you were not feigning ignorance, you were genuinely lost at his sudden outburst. He couldn’t believe it, had his version of reality been entirely false this whole time? Up to this point, he had scrutinized you as a villain, one of the worst in the industry, yet the thread that held this belief was quickly unraveling as he took in the innocence your eyes conveyed, a silent plea for him to not doubt your honesty.

“Weren’t you the one…” Hyunjin questioned, uncertainty in his voice, “Didn’t you sabotage me from getting that role on Director Han’s project?”

“Huh?”

That was all you could muster out, your jaw dropping at the sudden accusation, “What the fuck are you talking about, Hwang?”

“I saw you talking to him on the set of your first film project together! Just a few days after my audition,” he spoke firmly, doing his best to remain steadfast in his perception of events.

“Yes, I did speak to him. In fact, Hyunjin,” you spat his name out, anger burning in your eyes as you tried to keep your voice down, “I was telling him how much of a joy you were to work with and was recommending him to cast you.”

“You’re lying.”

You stood up suddenly from your seat, hands flat against the table, refusing to listen to Hyunjin’s fictitious words and accusations as you felt yourself ready to explode, struggling to keep the heated discontentment you felt contained. Has this really been the reason why Hyunjin had been so cruel to you all these years? Over some dumb hunch that had no weight to it, no proof other than it being a convenient explanation? Was it simply easier for him to frame you rather than accept someone with more talent landed the role? It took everything within you not to slap Hyunjin across the face as you seethed in your rage, trying to make sense of everything that had occurred since that time.

Of course, missing out on the role was absolutely heartbreaking for Hyunjin, as that film ended up being a blockbuster success and would’ve launched his acting career in a way so many could only dream of. Though, it absolutely wasn’t your fault that the director decided to cast a more experienced and already established actor, one whose name alone would’ve bought the film instant success.

“Right, I am so lying. Because there’s absolutely no way in hell they decided to cast someone who was just a better actor, right? It’s all my fault because of course, the great Hwang Hyunjin could never be a failure.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, studying his reaction as he remained frozen in his seat, a conflicted expression on his face as he tried to process your words. However, Hyunjin was a deeply insecure individual, one who needed constant praise to feel any bit of confidence in his ability to perform and he was quick to become defensive when it came to facing failure. Perhaps that is why he was so sure to blame you without second thought, someone who was such a stark polar opposite from him, someone who had all the confidence of the world in themselves, someone he absolutely envied and grew to hate over some theory he piped up to cope with his own shortcomings.

You scoffed at his lack of response, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Yet, you cannot expect someone to just back down from their version of events that they upheld as truth for so long. He had spent two years believing this, and how could he ever be so sure that you weren’t just lying to him in his face? What if you were just trying to maintain your image through lies? Though, something about the expression you wore told him that was not possible, but his own selfishness refused to let him fully accept that.

“I don’t believe you,” was all Hyunjin could say, stubbornly holding onto the reality he had unknowingly fabricated as he did his best to ignore the hurt in your eyes.

“Why would I lie to you about that? Why would I have ever done that to you?” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes as your frustration was finally getting the best of you.

Finally uncovering the truth behind Hyunjin’s hatred towards you was not as satisfying or relieving as you had always imagined it to be. The growing indignation you felt was overwhelming, you were losing control of your own body and emotions, control slipping between your fingers like grains of sand as another wave of emotions began to make itself known. It pained you to know Hyunjin had thought so poorly of you for so long, your heart aching at the thought of him thinking you’d do something so terrible to him.

The molten lava of anger that flowed through your veins finally met the cool, tumultuous sadness your heart took on, turning into stone as the emotions fought with one another for dominance, but the heavy weight of cobble filled in the cracks of your resolve and urged you to maintain your composure.

You shook your head at Hyunjin, who still remained still in his seat, and without a word, you turned to leave the coffee shop, abandoning this stupid date idea your manager had conjured up from whatever demented reasonings he had. Maybe you should have left earlier, maybe it was best to cut your losses and accept defeat. All you had now was an unquenchable amount of anger that no amount of water would ever be able to fully put out, and this only intensified your dislike for Hyunjin.

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taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon

**taglist will be closed at twenty users

#cinnamostar writes #skz #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids #fanfic #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you

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critterbitter · 4 months

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If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your comic making process? I find it hard to make comics that look eye-pleasing to read and yours are like candy.

Ah, comics! Dig under cut to see some old wips as I attempt to explain my nightmare thought process to you.

For making a comic AESTHETIC and APPROACHABLE:

I've noticed that it's easier for people to be pulled into a comic if I set the environment first and foremost, so people have some vague context for the scene. Of COURSE that's not always necessary ( there are a lot of comics that start out without environmental story telling and it works perfectly) but I've always liked having a lil illustration before digging my rat claws into the meat of the story.

For example! “Emmet and Elesa have a clandestine meeting in the library at 4 am.”

The sketch was sort of the jumping point to where I wanted to go with the comic. I wanted to a. explain wtf is happening and b. draw a nice conclusion about what the f is happening.

You don't need to make the environment available in every panel too! I'd suggest making your first panel tell all the environment detail you need and then like... slowly removing irrelevant detail from there. And then hit folks with the background again at the end. (So basically, you don't see the library in this comic until the beginning and a bit towards the end. I have tricked you! aha!) So that's one tip i have. For Readability: Anyways, to make a comic easy to read, spacing is super important. Dialogue tends to cramp a shot by a WHOLE lot. For example! Remember the "Lamp is told she's beloved (and has a tsundere moment over it"? That used to be TWO panels. Man. Nightmare fuel. Lemme find it. (This is the rough. I Lined It, realized the pacing is off, and then withered. Please don't look at it too hard.)

So here's the thing. This READS. But the sheer amount of dialogue in the beginning is fatiguing for me and the "you are beloved, Lampent" NEEDS that oomph of both characters realizing that over the span of years, their relationship stopped being antagonistic and started being family instead. Some folks are fine with blocks of dialogue, but I have the attention span of a patrat on candy. I will not make it. SO! To match the almost moody atmosphere, I stretched the comic out. I stretched that bad boy out a LOT. And I got this out of it.

Something to keep in mind in comics is there's always going to be one or two iconic lines. Lines that make people FEEL things. Those lines deserve their own panel, their own shot, their whatever. A good story has lulls in its conversation. If you can replicate it, you're winning. Character Blocking:

So basically no, it's not all witchcraft. It's only a bit of witchcraft. Another thing that helps is differentiating characters if they're on the same panel is by solid blocks of color. I have, for the longest time when working on storyboards, blocked characters different tones in order to help differentiate them. Don't be shy! Do that if it helps your comics read! Ingo will always be darker shaded then emmet. The angry nightlight will always have some hint of purple on her (unless I forget). The first goal in a story is to convey information, hehe. Here's an example of color blocking! (This is from a VERY old botw comic I did for linktober in 2021.)

It's, ah, rather rustic compared to what I do. usually. I know! BUT the primary goal here is to convey where the characters are in relation to each other. And the fact they're color coded makes life easier for both reader and artist. Alright! That's all the tips I can think of off the top of my head. Time to get off that soap box, haha. Overall: Basically, my work process is-- draw a story telling image/ write a funny piece of dialogue. Build the comic around that. Pace it so the important lines stand out. Color code the characters for max visibility. And then four to twelve hours of lineart, but that's neither here or there.

Thanks for coming to my unregulated rambling!

#tutorial #but hideous and mostly cobbled from limestone and willpower #ask #mailbox #critterbitter #wip #botw #just some comic stuff!#submas wip #critterbitter screams into the void

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canonicallyobserving911 · 2 months

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Buck & Eddie: "Is she staying in the picture?"... because Buck's not going anywhere!

In a recent article, RG was asked about M and his response was:

His response was similar to all his other answers regarding the status of Eddie's "relationship" with M or the lack thereof which could mean they will not be doing whatever they are or were attempting to do for long.

Also, as I included in a previous post (linked here), the colors of the t-shirt and hoodie Chris wore in 6x18 when Eddie was talking on the phone with M, illustrated something different than what he said about "Why is he so bad at this?" It showed that Chris is not ok with Eddie dating her, probably since he doesn't know her.

When asked what Chris thinks of Eddie's relationships, RG responded...

I've also stated in other posts that whoever Eddie dates, they have to love both him and Chris and so far, the only person who fits that description is Buck!

Let's talk about M shall we?

In season 6, before 6x17 aired, I included in a post (linked here) that Eddie saw the way M looked at her brother in 6x5 with raised eyebrows and he witnessed the same thing the audience did... a sibling relationship that reminded him of that "Folgers TV commercial" from the 1980s. Also, reminder, most viewers didn't even remember who she was and based on several comments that were posted on social media both after the episode aired and recently, a lot of them still don't. Additionally, she doesn't have a last name (neither does Connor and Kameron but I'll elaborate on that in another post) so that illustrates how much the show cares about her character.

In this post, I'm elaborating more on the previous one and I'm taking things one step further by looking at the totality of Eddie's interactions with her in S6 and providing my opinion at the end.

In 6x5, when the 118 arrived at M's home, Eddie didn't really even look at her, so it was interesting to see him do a double take later in the season.

After they freed her brother from her attic, they put him in the ambulance and she rode with them to the hospital. This is the scene where Eddie peeped the fact that she might be in love with her brother and the looks on Eddie's and Chimney's faces were priceless. It's also the scene that prompted many comments from the audience about M's interaction with her brother.

Later, in the same episode, Buck and Eddie returned with some additional firefighters (???) to help her repair her ceiling but please look at Eddie, he's wearing shades but IT WAS CLOUDY, THEREFORE THE SUN WAS NOT SHINING. Why was he wearing them when no one else was? Also, he arrived with Buck and they were looking at each other the same way they always do with Buck looking over his shoulder at Eddie (post linked here).

In 6x17, when he saw her at the hardware store, he was there looking for something for Chris the same way he had been the last two times with SD and AF instead of him looking for something for himself (post linked here).

In 4x13, Carla told him, "BE SURE YOU'RE FOLLOWING YOUR HEART AND NOT CHRISTOPHER'S, OK!" But it was more than two years later and he was still searching for the person who loves both him and Chris even though he was right in front of him. That person is Buck.

In 6x18, when he was thinking about texting her, the scene where he got her number was never shown and viewers were trying to figure out when it happened. Reminder, in 6x5 Buck was there too and if he had gotten her number then, Buck would have said something when they were at the cemetery in 6x15 but he didn't.

Later, when he finally did call, he said, "It's Eddie from the hardware store" and the reason he said it like that was because he told Buck in 6x15 that it never works out with someone they meet on a call. Well, Eddie in fact did meet her on a call which means their relationship or whatever... is/was DOOMED from the start just like Buck's was with N.

Now I have many thoughts about his interactions with M but I'll share the one I believe is the most relevant and the most important. When Eddie first met her, he didn't even notice her and later during the ambulance ride, he SAW the way she interacted with her brother, hence his raised eyebrows. Both him and Chimney were like WTF is this? And the audience felt the same way when we saw it too.

M is not memorable and most people had completely forgotten about her and the episode she first appeared in which I think was the point that was being made by 9-1-1. Nothing had changed about her from 6x5 to 6x17 so what exactly did he SEE months later that he didn't see before?

IMO, when Eddie saw her in 6x17, based solely on what he saw in 6x5 (the way she acted with her brother), he may have thought asking her out wouldn't be a big deal and it wouldn't go anywhere so he didn't have to worry about them getting too serious. And, the double take he did later in 6x17 when he bumped into her at the hardware store kind of proves it. Also, since he told Buck while they were at the cemetery, "Really? Dating someone you rescued? You know that never ends well!"; it appears they both knew that to be true but for whatever reason, they attempted to date M and N anyway (I have thoughts about this too and they're related to their conversation and other things that happened during season 6).

The point of this post is to highlight the possibility that Eddie knew going in with M that it wouldn't get too serious and it would end quickly. Now some people have created a whole life for Eddie and M even though he's only known her for a few weeks or a couple of months tops (depending on the time jump which is practically nonexistent). Please understand Eddie's number one priority is Chris and his number two is Buck, therefore M is so far down on the totem pole that anything she suggests about his son, his Buck, his job or his life would be laughed at by Eddie and viewers too and RG's comment about "if she's in the picture" kind of proves that point.

Let's talk about Buck, the love of Eddie's life shall we?

Eddie's relationship with Buck is a once in a lifetime, love of their lives, soulmate type of love that transcends space and time. I've said it numerous times (linked here) and I'll continue to say and scream it because they're in love with each other and NO ONE (no random love interest or hookup) will ever be able to give them what they've continued to share with each other for the past five years. Buck's definition of love in 5x18 described everything he already has with Eddie and Eddie putting Buck in his will as Chris' legal guardian was the second time he gave him his heart. Buck gave Eddie his heart too in 5x14.

In RG's most recent interview, he confirmed Eddie loves Buck and not only does he love him, he said, "I love you to the core!"

If that's not a soulmate, love of my life type of love then, I don't know what is.

Reminder, not only is M not in the picture, she's also NOT EVEN IN THE HOUSE. Even though AF stayed at Eddie's house during the blackout, he broke up with her after Buck told him he should🤪😜. Then he went home and told AF, "Maybe you should go home first" (I still LOL at that moment to this day). I wonder what he's going to say to M? Something like "Maybe you should go back to the hardware store." I know he won't but if he did, it would be EPIC.

They're in love your honor!

Anyway, please remember Buck's not only been in the house but Eddie's home is his home too because Buck's not a guest there (post linked here).

Buck and Eddie have keys to each other's places (they've had them for years).

Furthermore, Eddie's couch is Buck's couch too and he's slept on it many times.

He's everything Eddie's been searching for in a partner and all he's been waiting for is for Buck to get it.

Will Buck finally realize Eddie gave him his heart years ago or will it be more wash, rinse and repeat scenes with both of them "looking for love in all the wrong places with too many faces?" (It's a song lyric.)

From the way OS talks about how much Buck loves Eddie and the way RG talks about how Eddie loves Buck, maybe, just maybe Season 7 will be the one that they finally go CANON but only the showrunner, writers and producers know if they will.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #911 season 7 #911 season 7 speculation #911 on abc #911 abc #911 meta #911 spoilers #911 speculation #ryan guzman #oliver stark #anti marisol

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violetrainbow412-blog · 7 months

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Day 11: meet cute

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

A special one, I really enjoyed writing it. Reblog if you liked it!

Spencer walked through the gallery in silence, paying attention to all the paintings and trying to give them his own interpretation. For some strange reason, being in those places relaxed him greatly and right now it was what he needed most: a well-deserved respite after a long day of work.

“Good night,” he greeted a young woman, who was attentively looking at a painting.

The woman he saw couldn't have been more than thirty years old and her clothing was... how to put it? Something eccentric. All the clothes were vibrant tones and she wore a woven bag with uneven parts, who knows if it was on purpose or not.

“Good night,” you murmured just as kindly, keeping your hands in the pockets of your colorful jacket.

The painting in front of you was, in short, something grotesque. But it wasn't in a bad way, it had a certain special touch that made it… Spencer couldn't even describe it. It was very good, but to some extent uncomfortable to look at. Almost like a ritualistic crime scene that he was so used to: beautiful, but at the same time terrifying.

"Do you like it?"

“Huh?” the man asked, fearing he had misheard the girl next to him. She nodded toward the exhibit and her brain filled in the blanks. “The painting? Yes, I think it's very good. I'm afraid I'm not a great connoisseur of artistic currents, but from a very point of view this could be part of The Black Paintings, Francisco de Goya's collection”

“I know them,” you said happily. “My favorite is that one about Saturn devouring his son. You know, the one where they're eating a…” you started to say, making signs with your hands that he understood immediately.

“I think art is very subjective, like everything in the world. Some people may consider the Mona Lisa a masterpiece and others may appreciate more the style of Van Gogh or the cubism of Picasso and they are all right. Each person enjoys art things that reflect the content of their soul and I think that is the beautiful thing about paintings, don't you think?

“You know a lot for someone who is not knowledgeable about art” you smiled, feeling captivated by the way the stranger next to you expressed himself.

“Actually I say that I am not a connoisseur because I don’t want to offend those who are. I've only read a couple of books on the subject and... well, I love coming to museums, but that's all”

“Honestly, I think it's very ugly,” you said suddenly, turning your head slightly to observe the painting “It looks a little strange on the bottom, whoever did it should improve their technique a little.”

Spencer felt strange hearing such a cruel comment coming from a person who seemed to be sweet, but he figured you would have your reasons for holding that opinion. He considered leaving there but his attempt was interrupted by another presence, this time a man dressed in an elegant suit who approached you.

“Miss Y/L/N” he greeted you cordially, while you shook his hand “I see you came to appreciate our exhibition, do you like the light we put there? Does it help the colors of the work or do you want us to change it to a warmer one?”

“Oh, don't worry Frank. I like that one, it makes it look gloomy” you answered nonchalantly “You just should put it somewhere else, I'm not very proud of this one in particular”

"What are you talking about? Many people liked it. Isn't it good, gentleman?” he asked, turning to Spencer who was watching the two of them curiously.

“It's beautiful,” he confessed. He actually thought that, he wasn't saying it out of commitment or anything, and his response made you smile sheepishly.

"Stop. Everything is perfect here, thank you for giving it a home in your gallery”

“And there will be more spaces in the future, think about it,” the man murmured, squeezing your shoulder warmly and friendly. “Have a good night, excuse me.”

“Goodbye, Frank.”

The two of you watched the man walk down the hallway until he got lost in a turn and then the agent turned his attention to you.

“So you're an artist?”

“I try that” you laughed. He took a look at you and then at the picture in front of you, as if he had a hard time believing that you were the creator, of course due to the difference in styles that both elements had “But I like that people don't know, so I can hear honest opinions. And I appreciate yours, you are very kind.”

"I only say what I see"

“Would it be very bold of me if I asked you to be my model one day?” you asked cautiously, hoping not to scare him with your request.

"A model?"

“I really like your jaw,” you exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air at the line you were talking about. “And the way your hair falls. They are nice to paint”

“Well, I…I would be flattered,” Spencer said, not knowing how to react to what you had just said. Something like that had never been suggested to him and he felt strange, but excited at the same time.

“Do you want to write me your number?”

“I can give you my card,” he stammered, digging in his briefcase so he could give you the piece of paper. When he extended it to you, you analyzed it with curiosity.

“Dr. Spencer Reid. FBI” you read, quite impressed “So we both got a surprise today, huh?”

"Definitely"

“I'll call you,” you promised, pocketing the card warily and rewarding him with one of yours. They were simpler with hand-painted details and with fewer titles, but it would be useful for him to contact you “And who knows, maybe the next time you come it will be you who is in the gallery.”

Spencer blushed at the thought and smiled at you, wondering how possible that was. You responded to the smile with pleasure, because unintentionally you had just found the one who would permanently become your muse.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2023 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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destroymeinherz · 8 months

Text

The Party

A little while back someone posted about a fantasy of being passed around a stethoscope party, with different people listening to their heart. I don’t remember who did so if it was you, I hope you like this. It sparked creativity,

I could continue if anyone wants another part. But I wanted to do the basic idea.

The Party

I’d just signed with a modeling agency. It wasn’t the most exclusive, sometimes the jobs weren’t exactly what I hoped but college was expensive, so I took what I could. How bad could it be? It’s not like I planned to run for office or something.

My agent called me after classes one afternoon asking if I’d be interested in a gig that was more unconventional. After a few basic questions for my safety, nothing seemed too offensive even if it was secretive, and a rep from the agency would be there in case of trouble, I decided to take it.

Friday night I arrived at a big mansion just outside the city. From the looks of it this was old money, probably descendants of oil barons and railway tycoons. Which meant the paycheck would be huge. They’d promised a large payout for anyone who stayed til midnight.

I was let into a large foyer and usher back to a small hallway to a butlers parlor. A woman checked my ID, checked my name off a list and then looked me over.

“You will be required to wear one of two outfits tonight,” She instructed, pulling two hangers off a rack of clothes. “Black is standard, you are willing to do anything that would be clothes on. Call it PG-13.”

She held up a black Herve Luger bandage dress for emphasis. Then in her other hand, she held up a red one nearly identical to the former.

“Red,” She continued. “You are open to sexual behavior, and by wearing red you are giving consent to sexual advance,”

Well, I was single and I was never a prude, so I took the red. Might as well have a bit of fun. Once I accepted my color choice, she handed me an iPad with a waiver basically stating that I would take proper precautions, assert myself and under no circumstances attempt to contact anyone I met here after the event. I would ask for aid if I felt unsafe and leave without a scene. If I did not make it to midnight, I’d be compensated $200 per hour worked.

I shrugged and signed. She then held back a curtain for me to change in a small closet. I slipped inside, squeezed into the dress and as I was ushered to a door she fit me with a bracelet.

“If you need out, press the red button. Security will extract you.” She informed. “Are you ready?”

I blinked. Extracted? My heart started to pound, suddenly feeling crushed by the tight dress. What did I get myself into. But… the money was clouding my judgement. So I nodded, and the door opened. Once I cleared the threshold, it closed behind me.

Just walk around. Be eye candy. That was my only instruction. So that is what I did.

The room was a parlor, antique and dimly lit. It was full of golds and deep rich red textiles, dark wood and gold finishes. Old leather bound editions of classic literature adorned the bookshelves. I felt like I’d gone back in time. Or I was in a vampire’s house. My heart thudded at the thought.

The room was also full of people, in fine clothes, expensive tuxes and dresses. All of them wore masks like a masquerade. As I started to work through the crowd they watched me, with hungry eyes. Maybe I was in a vampire’s den. I was about to be dinner. There were a few other girls dressed in the red or black, varying heights and hair colors and skin tones.

I swallowed and tried to will my poor heart to stop trying to escape my chest. Until finally, a man approached me.

“Well, aren’t you lovely,” He said, holding out his hand.

I took his hand, and he brought it to his lips. He then moved his fingers down my wrist, stopping to feel my pulse. He offered him a soft smile. Then, he nodded before he motioned a waiter over.

The waiter came with a silver cloche, removing the dome top and extending the tray to the man. But there wasn’t food. It was a line of various stethoscopes. His fingers danced along them as he made his selection, a red tube that matched my dress.

He waved the man off, then examined it before placing the buds in his ears.

“Now, deep breath for me. Like a doctor’s office.” He said as he placed the diaphragm on my chest,

I was surprised, but I did as he asked, breathing in deeply and feeling my heart kick in my chest. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

He must have enjoyed the sound of my heart because he moved the diaphragm around my chest, smiling to himself and eventually he stopped. He listened for a long time, and even behind a mask I could see his eyes were closed.

I blushed. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

Finally, he opened his eyes and moved the diaphragm away. He took the ear pieces out and looked around. Then he must have seen who he needed, because he waved to someone.

“You have a perfect heart, my dear.” He said.

“Uh, thanks…” I replied.

Another man approached, he also had a stethoscope. He looked to the first man oblivious to me and waited for why he’d been called over.

“I think she’s the one. Take a listen.”

The new man finally looked at me. I smiled at him but he simply leaned in with his own stethoscope and listened to my heart. I took a deep breath like I had before.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

“I think you’re right,” He replied. “Take her in, I’ll grab the others.”

The others? I blinked in surprise. Is this all it was? A bunch of cosplayers listening to my heart for a few hours? That didn’t seem so bad. Even if they wanted to listen to it during sex or something. That was actually, kinda hot.

“Come with me,” The first man said.

I nodded as he took my hand again. This time he lead me down another hallway to a different room. He opened the door and brought me in, then closed it behind me. It was more of a sitting room with a beautiful chaise in the center, raised up on a platform.

I recognized some medical equipment from various movies or doctors visits. Nothing seemed too concerning.

“Now, lay down on the chaise,” He instructed. “You may stay clothed for now. But do remove your shoes as to not damage the upholstery.”

I did as he asked. Once I was settled, he returned to my side. He brought the steth out again and gently placed it on my chest. He let out a content sigh as he listened to my heart pound.

As he listened, others started to fill the room. They lined up behind him. I had never expected anything like this. Just lay here and let them hear my heart beat.

“Before we continue, could I get you anything? Water, soda, wine?”

I smiled. “What would you like me to have?”

“Oh you are cheeky.” He grinned. “Perhaps a little caffeine, to stimulate you. What does everyone think?”

There was a nod of agreement from the group and some muttering of approval. The first man smiled and had one of the caterers being me a soda can on a platter with a straw beside it.

“Go ahead and open it, then use the straw to limit your movement to drink.” He instructed.

I did as he asked. Once the can was open and the straw was in, in leaned over to the table where it sat and drank a few gulps. As I did, the man placed the diaphragm on my chest again.

He closed his eyes, listening and seemingly very content with the sound. Finally he opened them, took my hand and kissed the back of it. He stepped aside and the next person in line stepped up.

There was no clock in the room but it felt like time slowed in this room. Each person took their turn stepping up to my seat and just listening to my heartbeat. Some had me drink the soda, some had me lay down, some had me sit and stand quickly. I’d stand there and pant through running in place and jumping jacks in a too tight dress, as they listened to my heart’s reaction and then recovery.

Ba-dumpba-dumpba-dumpba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I had to admit, this was fun.

The last person was a woman, she couldn’t have been much older than me. She seemed more keen then the men had. Her eyes were bright behind her mask. She took a deep breath as her gold and white stethoscope settled on my chest.

“My… your heart… it’s by far one of the loveliest I’ve heard.” She said to me, her voice was lustful. “May I rest my head on your chest? Hear it directly with my ear?”

“Sure. I don’t see why not.” I replied.

“Would you like to hear your heart while I do?” She removed the stethoscope and offered it.

The people in the room all watched, eager to see how I would respond. Well, why not? If it made them happy it was my job tonight. I don’t think I’d ever heard my heartbeat before, not like this anyway.

“Okay. Sure” I replied with a smile.

That was the right answer as she grinned with excitement and placed the ear pieces in my ears. Then she placed the diaphragm down on my skin and rested her ear next to it.

I inhaled as I had before and my head filled with the rhythmic thumping they’d all been indulging in for the last few hours.

Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I closed my own eyes and lost myself in the sound. Maybe I should come to these parties more often. Hearing the steady beat, knowing it was mine… that was intoxicating.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

“Yeah. I think I get the vibe.” I responded.

“Are you ready to try something a little more interesting?” The first man asked, approaching me slowly. “You can refuse any of the requests, we won’t take offense or change your compensation. These would be granting special requests.”

The stethoscope was removed from my ears and I almost whined about it. I liked hearing my heart, understanding what they were hearing. What they enjoyed that brought me here.

“Sure,” I said. “What do you have in mind?”

End?

#cardiophilia #cardiophile #heartbeat #beating heart #female heartbeat #writing #cardiophile story

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inthemytdl · 8 months

Text

Teenage Dream

Summary: Jack prepares for his first date (with a girl)

Note: she/her pronouns

“Are you sure?” Jack brushed down the black shirt and army style jacket Dean gave him.

The sleeves went a couple inches past his hand, so he had to roll them up to fit properly. The shirt, on the other hand, fit well.

“Trust me, chicks dig the bad boy look,” Dean said. “A little dirt, a little grime. Works every time.”

Jack had never been on a date before, but he imagined dressing nicer than this. Wearing his FBI suit, maybe. It was the nicest one he owned and the sleeves fit perfectly.

He turned to Sam. “Is that true?”

“Sometimes,” Sam said, without looking up from his computer.

But Jack had seen a good amount of romance films and couldn’t imagine Sam as the bad boy in any of them. In his mind, he was always the nice guy. The hero.

“Did you think you’d go in your FBI suit?” Dean laughed. “This is a date, kid, not a case.”

“I like that suit. Cass says blue is my color.”

Cass nodded. “It’s true. And that”—he pointed at Jack—“is horrible.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted. “That’s style. Army green, simple tees. That’s in right now. It’s all over the mags.”

“Mags?” Sam said.

“Magazines. God, you guys are old.”

Jack watched the scene unfold. Dean was doing that thing where he pretended to be young again while Sam groaned and Cass filed his nails against the wooden table. Usually, he’d let it go on, but there were just thirty minutes until his date with you and he still didn’t have an outfit.

“I don’t have time for this!” Jack shouted. His skin was hot like when he used his powers.

“Woah. Relax. It’s just a date,” Dean said.

“He’s never been on a date before, Dean,” Sam countered.

“So? Neither has Cass and he’s doing fine.”

“Dating, love, relationships. Those are human things,” Cass said. “Trivial.”

“Trivial?” Dean craned his neck toward him and the pair erupted into yet another argument as Sam approached Jack.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he said. “Just be yourself. Girls can tell when you’re faking.”

“They can?” Jack felt more nervous than before. It was all too human. And he was only half of that. He wasn’t used to having sweaty palms or a butterfly-filled stomach. He thought he was sick the first time he felt their flutter before Sam explained that it was normal.

“Uh, yeah. Sometimes,” Sam coughed. “But you’ll be fine.” He gave him those puppy dog eyes he gave families when working a case: his attempt to take half of their pain. It worked sometimes. Jack was grateful it worked now.

“Okay,” he said, leaving to change.

He hurried to his room and put on a white button up paired with a brown suit. That blue tie he loved. He stopped for a moment to look in the mirror, did an awkward smile, then made his way back to the command center.

The chaos had died down by the time he arrived, and all three of the boys sat around the table listening to Sam. Jack overlooked the scene from the head of the table. This was one of the few times the bunker was quiet: when one of them was talking and the others listened. And that was rare. Most days, they talked over each other.

“Woah. Look at you.” Sam was first to notice him. His dimples pinched his cheeks as he smiled.

“Much better,” Cass rasped.

Dean scrunched his face and made his way over to him. Jack wiped sweaty palms down his blazer. Dean was never all that nice to him, but a couple months in the bunker and they had become somewhat of a family.

“You’ve got to learn how to properly tie a tie,” Dean said, and he adjusted it for him. “There. Not as good as before but… decent.” He nodded, then fished in his pocket and produced silver keys. “Here.”

“You’re letting me drive the impala?” Jack said.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam clapped. “Alright, go get ‘em, tiger.”

A rush of energy overcame Jack, though he couldn’t tell why. It might’ve been confidence or nerves or something entirely different—he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. He had grown accustomed to fear and adrenaline. Love, even. But never romantic, and never like this.

This would be the first time he went on a real date, and one where no one tried to kill him. He felt prepared; he knew what to do. Once he got to the restaurant, he would pull your chair out for you, you’d talk, and then you’d fall in love with him.

There was only one thing he was unsure about.

“What should I say when I get there?” he asked.

“I read in a Teen Vogue magazine it’s custom to talk about your interests,” Cass said.

“Zombies?”

“No—no zombies!” Dean said. “For the love of god, no zombies.”

“Just follow her lead, okay?” Sam said.

Jack nodded, making a mental note of all the advice he’d be given. But if he wasn’t allowed to talk about zombies, what would he talk about?

“Uh, kid.” Dean laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not moving.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” Cass said. “You’ve been standing in Dean’s beer puddle for thirty seconds now.”

“Oh.” He felt the liquid squish below his feet.

“Here, I’ll walk you.” Sam placed a hand on his back and led him to the door.

“You’ll call me if you need help?”

Leaving during a case felt wrong—like when he finished a box of cereal and it didn’t have a toy in it or when he waved at someone and they didn’t wave back—but Sam insisted he go.

“Yeah,” Sam said, opening the door for him.

Jack lifted a slow hand and waved goodbye.

Sam smiled and waved back; gave him that look that took half his nerves, half his pain. Then the door shut and it was time for his date.

#jack kline #jack kline blurbs #jack kline x reader #jack kline fics #jack kline x yn #supernatural fics #jack kline oneshot #spn fics #jack winchester #jack kline imagine #supernatural fanfiction

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iambutmortal · 10 months

Text

@elucienweekofficial Day 1: Mates

Summary: When Elain signs the divorce papers she’s sure she’s done with Lucien Vanserra. Until they’re offered the chance to recreate their honeymoon as a part of her job. For free. But reliving all those memories with Lucien proves leaving may be more difficult than she thought.

Word Count: 3k

Authors Note: I would like to thank @foreverinelysian for the amazing prompt and also apologize for holding onto it for a year (sorry @sjmkinkmeme). Also, yes, I did steal the opening scene from Asylum of the Daleks but in my defense that was my 12 year old sexual awakening so allowances must be made.

Read on Ao3

It took everything Elain had not to blow the strand of hair out of her mouth. The fan was pointed directly at her face, whipping her hair back dramatically. Or at least she hooped it looked dramatic, and not like she’d been caught by a cyclone. Because that would not make the magazine editors, or her manager, happy.

And with her luck would probably result in her ending up as a Facebook meme. She could picture the caption me trying to model but the world says no. The grandmothers of the world would be in stitches.

But the photographer seemed happy, kept yelling how the shot was perfect and stunning and you’re amazing darling so Elain was pretty sure it was dramatically.

“Break,” shouted the creative director, already leaning over the photographer’s camera to peer at the camera screen.

Elain resisted the urge to massage her cheeks, aching from the sultry, but not too sultry, smile she’d been forcing herself to hold for the better part of an hour. She was sure there were thousands of pictures at this point, all with her at a slightly different angle, chin up a fraction, down an inch, to the left a hair, all in service of getting one perfect picture the perfume makeup company could slap up on billboards to advertise their new blush.

She felt bad for anyone who actually fell for it, since half the pan had been spread across her face in an effort to make some color appear, and whatever the final result was would still need digital enhancement. Even the makeup artist hadn’t been able to control her laughter at the attempt, shaking her head. “Guess I won’t be adding this to my kit.”

But a job was a job, and Elain needed the work to pay the bills. Bills that were suddenly a lot higher.

No, Elan scolded herself. She wasn’t allowed to think about it at work. That was the rule she’d had for herself two months ago when she’d had to lock herself in the bathroom to cry during a shoot. Despite her attempts to blot the smeared mascara away with toilet paper, the make up artist had been livid. Elain had only been spared by the fact that the photographer had liked it. Thought it was edgy and cool for whatever bland perfume they were selling to middle age house wives.

“Ma’am,” said one of the PAs on set, appearing at her elbow. PAs had a nasty habit of doing that, sliding behind her before she could notice, and nearly scaring her half to death.

“Yes,” Elain asked, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. Her cheeks barked in protest. But she was not going to be known as the model who was hard to work with.

“Your husband is here.”

In spite of herself, Elain couldn’t hide her glare. “I don’t have a husband.”

The PA glanced down at his clipboard, searching for the note he’d scribbled there. “It says here—”

“It’s fine,” Elain said, slipping past him and towards the room they’d turned into a makeshift dressing space. The company had rented an old house for the natural lighting and Victorian chandeliers, and they’d used the front parlor as a space to dump makeup and accessories. “I’ll go talk to him.”

She brushed past the curtain and there he was.

Lucien Vanserra. Her husband, at least on paper.

He looked good, and Elain hated herself for noticing. His red hair was shorter, only down to his shoulders, and slicked back. He’d made himself at home in one of the upholstered chairs scattered around the room, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. It showed off the muscled thighs Elain was well acquainted with, hidden beneath dark was jeans.

“You need to sign these,” Lucien announced, holding up a stack of papers.

Elain snatched them out of his hand.

The words at the top Decree of Divorce stood out in bolded font.

She turned around, grabbing the pen someone had left lying off the wardrobe-turned-desk. She scanned the text briefing, before jotting her signature down on each of the dotted lines.

“Just like that?” she asked, handing them back.

Lucien unfurled himself from the seat, all lanky limbs chorded with muscles, and took them back from her.

“Just like that.”

He tucked them into the breast pocket of the black leather jacket he was wearing. Since when has he had that?

“Do you need a folder?” Elain asked, eyeing his chest suspiciously. “I doubt the judge wants wrinkled papers.”

Lucien snorted. “They’re fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do,” Elain muttered. “Little Mr. Perfect.”

“What was that?” Lucien asked, taking a step closer to her.

“Nothing,” said Elain, smiling up to him with saccharine sweetness. “I just want to make sure after this I don’t have to see you again.”

“Don’t worry, beautiful, after this you never will again.”

Elain remembered a time when Lucien calling her beautiful would have her blushing fiercely, would no doubt result in him getting laid that night. Now it came out dripping with derision.

Elain rolled her eyes, pointing towards the curtain. “There’s the exit.”

“Nice knowing you,” Lucien said, striding toward the curtain and dipping under it.

Elain bit her lip as she watched his retreating back side. She ought to say something nicer, she thought. Before he was gone from her life forever, surely.

“Wait,” she called out after a long moment. But Lucien was already gone.

A part of Elain sighed in relief. What was she going to do if he stayed, explain why he came back from work one day to all his stuff packed in bags on the porch?

She huffed a sigh, blowing one of the strands of hair that had fallen into her face out of her eyes.

It was fine. She was going to finish her job and then go home and eat an entire carton of Halo Top. Maybe two depending on how sad the Hallmark movie on that night made her feel. Nowhere near as good as the real thing, but quantity over quality.

Elain glanced in the mirror behind her, to check that none of her makeup had smudged and that her eyes were crystal clear, not glassy, before following her soon to be ex-husband out.

Only to find him standing in the entryway with her sister.

“Oh perfect, I was about to send Lucien in to find you,” Nesta said, looking up from the email she was furiously typing on her phone.

“Do you have another job?” Elain asked. Nesta, on top of being her overprotective sister, was also Elain’s modeling agent. And a very good one. One wall of Nesta’s office was dedicated to all the magazine covers her models had gotten, right behind the Birkin bag she’d gotten as a gift from Anna Wintor on its shelf of glory.

“One day I’ll have a wall of Vogue,” had always been Nesta’s promise to herself and, at twenty nine, she was already well on her way there.

“Only the best for you,” Nesta said, sliding her phone into the pocket of her cleanly pressed slacks and brushing a kiss across Elain’s cheek. “And Lucien gets to join you on this one.”

“Oh,” Elain said, any excitement she had rapidly deflating.

Because she hadn’t actually told her sister she was getting divorced. It made her the worst kind of coward, something she told herself at every family dinner when she and Lucien sat next to each other and pretended things were going well, but she couldn’t bear to do it. Couldn’t stand to see the crestfallen looks on Feyre and Nesta’s face, the confused horror on her father’s. She was supposed to be the one who succeeded, married the nice boy from down the road and had a nice family.

Never mind that down the road was in a multi-million dollar mansion near Beverly Hills.

And after Elain told her family, she’d have to face the paparazzi. She was moderately well known, enough to get an occasional “who wore it best” shoutout in People (she always won), and Lucien was the son of Hollywood's most beloved silver fox.

A silver fox who’d run away with the wife of the state governor three months ago and was desperately trying to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of the press before his next movie. The media was out for blood, and Helion’s beloved son divorcing his pretty little wife wasn’t what anyone needed right now.

So Elain and Lucien had an unspoken mutual agreement not to tell anyone. When they showed up to Feyre and Rhys’ Sunday night dinners, whoever got there first sat in their car until the other arrived and they could keep up the appearance of arriving together. They sat next to each other and made a good show of acting like they didn’t hate each other’s guts. And then, when it was over, they left without another word and Elain pretended it didn’t feel like her heart was being stabbed over and over.

“You know the company you and Lucien used to book your honeymoon?” Nesta asked, too focused on whatever gig she had planned to notice Elain’s dismay. “They’ve been asked to plan the Greek princess’ honeymoon, which means Cosmopolitan wants to run a profile. And since the Royal wedding hasn’t happened yet, they wanted to feature another famous couple they worked with, and that’s you and Lucien.”

Elain’s eyes darted over to Lucien to see his eyebrows were high enough to touch his hairline.

“You want me to take pictures for a magazine spread?” Lucien asked. “I do have work to do. Not to mention,” Lucien gestured at the left side of his face, and the scars that raked down it, standing in stark contrast to his golden brown skin. A reminder of the car crash he’d been in in high school. “This.”

Elain had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something. She’d always thought the scars only served to make Lucien look more handsome, gave him a slightly dangerous air that lured her in, something that she reminded him of frequently, but her comments always seemed to fall on deaf ears. But it wasn’t her place, not now.

Nesta gave Lucien a scathing look. “The shoot is planned for two weeks after the California state election, so I’m sure you’ll have some time to take a week long, all expense paid vacation to the Bahamas.”

“We honeymooned in the Dominican Republic,” Elain interrupted.

Nesta whipped out her phone and tapped on it rapidly for a few seconds. “Yes, there.”

Elain barely contained her eye roll. She was sure Nesta could point out both countries on a map, and rattle off at least two or three facts about their geopolitical status, but asking her to remember where Elain went for her honeymoon was a step too far for her when she was focused on work.

“And the magazine is well aware of what your face looks like. It’s been enough places for everyone to know,” Nesta finished with finality.

Elain scowled. “We can’t just uproot our lives. We have things to do, I have things to do.” Namely buying the ugliest pink couch she could find to put in Lucien’s old office as one last fuck you.

“All expenses paid?” Lucien asked, speaking over her.

Nesta smiled dangerously. “Flight included.”

Lucien crossed his arms. The leather jacket pulled up at the motion, the cuffs tight around muscled forearms. “And all we have to do is take some magazine photos.”

“And do an interview,” Nesta added.

Somehow, Lucien managed to arch one brow even higher. “And they want me, son of a currently disgraced movie star.”

“And potential senatorial candidate,” Nesta added.

“Rumors,” Elain interrupted. “All just rumors.”

“Which are good in this line of work,” was Nesta’s counter.

“I’m in,” Lucien said.

“We’ll think about it,” Elain corrected, glaring over at Lucien. He smirked at her in challenge.

Nesta sighed, glancing between the two of them, at last picking up the tension. “I need an answer by tomorrow, they want to book flights.”

Elain squirmed under her sister’s stare. This was exactly what she didn’t want, any cracks showing in her picture perfect life before she was ready to sit everyone down with a carefully rehearsed speech.

“Elain?” Nesta asked.

In response, she leaned slightly towards Lucien, who obligingly pulled up his sleeve to show her his watch, a thick silver one she’d given him for his last birthday. At least he hadn’t forgotten that trick, since Elain never had a watch or phone on her at work. “My ten minutes are up,” Elain said, glancing at the time. “Gotta run.”

“I need an answer,” Nesta called as Elain slid backwards, towards where the photographer and director were still leaning over the camera, arguing back and forth over some detail or other.

“I’ll text you,” Elain promised. She almost felt bad leaving Lucien with Nesta. Almost, but not quite.

“I don’t know what to do,” Elain said on the phone later that night. “It would be a whole spread, at least ten pages, and a cover story.”

“Which would be perfect for your career,” Vassa finished for her.

“But then I would have to—”

“Spend a week with Lucien.”

Elain sighed. Vassa and Jurian were the only two people outside of their lawyers who knew Elain and Lucien were separating. It was unavoidable, since Lucien was living in their guest room for the time being. Looking for his own place would raise too many questions, and staying in a hotel for weeks would be an invitation for bored paparazzi.

“What would you do,” Elain asked, taking a bite of her ice cream. She’d splurged on Haagen Dazs, rationalizing that the encounter with Nesta had more than justified it.

“I’m not the one getting an all expense paid vacation.”

“With your ex-husband.”

“Technically he’s still your husband until Monday,” Vassa laughed. Because the court closed early on Friday and Nesta’s appearance had taken up too much time for Lucien to drive over to the court house.

“Not helping,” Elain growled. “And why would Lucien even agree? He loves to poke at Nesta’s buttons.”

“It would be good for him too,” Vassa said. “Future state Senator gets a fluff magazine article about him and his beautiful wife.”

“It’s a rumor,” Elain insisted. “He hasn’t even nominated himself. And anyway, it’s going to look a lot worse when he has to come out and say we’re not together anymore.”

“First of all, you know it’s more than a rumor. No political analyst gets called into a meeting with the head of the DNC for nothing, and second just pretend you’re still married, you’ve already been doing it for six months.”

Elain suppressed her groan. Vassa made it clear at every possible opportunity how much she disapproved of Elain’s current course of action. A “Congrats of Getting Divorced, Coward” Edible Arrangement had shown up on her door the day she moved to start the paperwork, and it had only escalated from there.

Although Elain figured she should be glad Vassa would still talk to her instead of taking Lucien’s side completely. She was distressingly short on friends who weren’t her sisters and it would be so easy for Vassa to blame her when Elain still refused to explain what exactly had caused her to kick Lucien out. But Vassa had just sighed, crawled into the mountain of blankets Elain had made for herself, and said she knew Elain would talk to her when she was ready.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Elain had given an emphatic no and that had been that.

“Ugh,” Elain sighed, flopping back on the couch. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve said that about twelve times already,” Vassa sighed. “We’ve been on this call for two hours.”

“Then maybe you’re not being helpful enough.”

“I’m not helpful? Fine then,” Elain heard a rustling on the other side of the phone as Vassa started thumbing through her room.

“Oh you don’t need to…” Elain protested weakly.

But the sounds of video game weapons were already buzzing in her ear.

“Lucien,” Vassa asked, her voice muffled as she pulled the phone away and put it on speaker. “What are your thoughts on Nesta’s offer?”

There was a long, pregnant pause on the other side of the line.

“I’m in if Elain is.”

“Thank you,” Vassa chirped.

Elain waited until there was once again silence on the other side of the line to speak. “Traitor.”

“I accept you’re welcome, I’m forever in your debts, I could never repay you.”

“I hate you,” Elain snapped. “I hope your favorite tree burns down in the next wildfire.”

“Low blow,” Vassa protested. It was, based on how much time and energy Vassa spent caring for that orange tree.

“I’m hanging up,” Elain said.

“Text your sister.”

“See you at spin tomorrow.”

“Love you bitch,” was Vassa’s sign off, and then the line went dead.

Vassa was too smart for her own good, Elain thought. Because if Lucien was in, so was she. There was no way she was going to look like the coward in front of Lucien, like she wasn’t willing to do something he will.

So she closed the phone app and pulled up her text messages.

Nesta’s was at the top, several unopened messages demanding an answer waiting.

We’re in.

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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kallikrein · 2 years

Text

CAUGHT DOING THE NASTY (Part 3)

— with hanemiya kazutora, inui (inupi) seishu and kokonoi (koko) hajime.

genre. smut and my another attempt at crack. MDNI.

contains. fem!reader, explicit content, definitely ooc and bad as fuck writing.

word count. 1.9k.

note. gahhhh, i’m back with part three. oh sheesh. this was supposed to be for inupi only, but i added koko and tora bcos of @sugokawata. hehe. also koko’s was a bit rushed and meh…

requested.

HANEMIYA KAZUTORA

One thing was painfully certain for Kazutora.

And that was he couldn’t hold his needy moans any much longer.

“Babe,” you heard him gasp. His arms were placed behind the back of the chair, untied but unable to move freely since you commanded him not to do so — how you bargained you would make him cum multiple times if he stayed still.

He thought he could actually do it.

But oh, how wrong he was.

It’s been torture — an hour of sweet yet consistently denied gratification, with you sinking down and grinding your hips against him. Your warm wetness wholly swallowing his proud cock, only to pull back and leave him hanging whenever you feel him near explosion.

“Babe,” he panted against your bruised lips. Heavy puffs of breaths that were low against the opening of your mouth. You couldn’t help but to bite his lip as you naturally tighten yourself around his shaft, and his light-colored eyes visibly rolled back by the sudden action. “Please,” Kazutora begged once more.

“Please what, Tora?” Cooing at him as you gyrated your hips to a gentle rotation, you plant soft kisses all over his face — the corner of his lips, his jaw, his soft cheeks, the mole beneath his eye, all the while snaking your arms around his neck, willing to give him anything that he asks.

“Make me cum… Babe… I wanna cum… so bad...”

Dizzy from his breathy voice, you conceded, “Hmm, your wish is my command, love.”

You lifted yourself up as tender as you could, and caught a glimpse of the sheen born of your arousal veiling his length. Your swollen cunt clenched once more while Kazutora’s hips rose out of instinct, meeting your thrusts head on even though his hands were still in place.

“Oh, Tora,” you breathed against the sweat trickling down his neck, biting the tattoo, as well, that decorated his skin. “You make me feel so good.”

He moaned in an instant, not wasting any chances, given that you knew how much you like hearing them — more so, how he absolutely loves being complimented by you.

You swallowed it all with your eager lips and invasive tongue, sending both of your desires to the peak of pleasure only you two know about, not realizing the blushing form of a black-haired boy who’s watching the scene of you reaching highs unfold right before his very eyes.

“R-right there… Ah, I’m so close…”

“A-ah, Tora… I’m gonna…”

“Oi?!” Chifuyu finally broke his silence. Panicked gaze turned to the side, but to be sure, he also lifted the unbothered cat to his eye level. “Don’t you two live in the same apartment?! Why do you have to do that here?!”

However, Chifuyu’s tantrum wasn’t enough to stop Kazutora from teetering over the edge. He couldn’t give a damn if this wasn’t the place, or how extremely inappropriate it was, or if it would be the sole reason for him losing this job — he was tormented for a fucking good hour, pleasurably so, and that’s why he didn’t give a damn as long as he was reaping his sweet reward.

“Ah, fuck,” he huffed after filling your twitching walls with his heavy load of cum. “Did you…?”

“I did,” shyly hiding your face on the crook of his neck. “Send Chifuyu away, Tora… Good heavens…”

“You heard the lady,” Kazutora pointed out the newcomer. “Go away, you pervert,” he couldn’t help but add the last bit.

INUI “INUPI” SEISHU

For some time, Seishu didn’t like the idea of doing it anywhere outside your house. He was content within the safe space that was your bedroom, and he couldn’t be any more happier than having the convenience to cradle your spent form afterwards.

But seeing how this impromptu date took a sharp turn, your gentle pecks turning into passionate caresses, he couldn’t exactly turn you down when you, yourself, instigated to be fucked inside and out in a cramped photobooth.

“This is what you want?” He murmured against the shell of your ear, hands unzipping his pants. He regarded the way you push back your bottoms against his lap as he kissed the back of your head tenderly, it was borderline adorable. “Naughty girl. You do know there’s a camera in front of us, right?”

Instead of answering his question, you grabbed his large hands to place them on your clothed tits, palming them through his touch. Not a moment later, he willingly dove them under your dress, under your bra to grope them endlessly as if he’s a man stressed out.

“Hurry, Seishu. I want you inside me…”

He made a noise from the back of his throat, burrowing his face in your hair as he raised you up, aligning his hardness to your wet, quivering hole before sitting you back down, completely impaled with his throbbing cock. “So fucking eager.”

Snap.

Together with the photobooth’s shots consistently taking, Seishu guided you up and down, embedding to his mind how every inch of your cunt was deliciously stretching against his tip, how you anchor yourself with his arms only to bounce back down then back up, how you suckle on his fingers as if it’s his cock you were slurping in.

That was until you’ve had enough of his gentle stalling, taking over and riding him backwards vigorously whilst he desperately silenced your rapid movements with a messy kiss when, all of a sudden, a call blared through the constrained silence of the cramped room.

“Don’t answer it,” you warned, slamming yourself still with his heavy cock despite the disturbance.

“It’s Koko.” Grunting, he halted your movements and gave you another kiss as some sort of lame excuse. “Sorry.”

He fumbled for his phone, fingers immediately clicking the answer button after making sure he didn’t sound too much out of breath. “What’s u—”

“Bastard, I can clearly see the two of you fucking. Fucking horndogs. Hurry up before the security arrives!” Without giving him any chance to speak, Koko ended the call.

Seishu turned to his now-black phone screen, flabbergasted, before pointing his incredulity at you, “How in the world?”

“I told you,” he heard you sigh. Although, he knew you were far from being annoyed seeing there’s still a heady glint in your loving gaze. “Rain check?”

KOKONOI “KOKO” HAJIME

The weekend passed by far quicker than usual and before Kokonoi was aware of it, he was already spending a hefty amount of cash on the fanciest room that the hotel was able to offer.

And yet, it was mediocre at best.

“It looks fine to me.”

Of course, this would be acceptable to you. You’ve always not cared much for grandioseness, for extravagance; but that didn’t mean he was looking down on your preferences. He was the one who chose this luxurious lifestyle after all.

That was why he merely shrugged, took off his outer clothing and leaned against the wall, “You deserve better than this.”

His timid response made you grin. You jumped over the bed just to test how soft it was, and beckoned him to come beside you in hopes of comforting him.

Koko begrudgingly did, and if not for the fact you wore quite the sexy outfit, he wouldn’t simply take this atrocity just like that at all.

“Lay down,” you commanded. Again, he followed.

To say he was excited was an understatement. It wasn’t as if you two didn’t go at it all the time, but since he’s an extremely busy person, he couldn’t do much but give you pleasure with the expertise of his tongue until his remaining energy was depleted.

“Arms up.”

This time, he tilted his head to the side, “What are you up to?”

Only a giggle and a wink were sent his way, so throwing all cautions to the wind, he raised his arms and you were swift enough to spread them apart. “Don’t move,” you beamed. “Trust me?”

“Might as well since I’m getting hard with all your shenanigans.”

“Good.”

He watched you move away, going through your small luggage and scouring through it like a madwoman fully determined. Only to pull out a silk scarf — one that he had gifted you for your job well done in giving him head whilst driving — and your furry cuffs.

“Is that—?”

“Tut tut tut. No questions allowed.” Koko closed his mouth shut after that, but the thrill and delight of not knowing what’s going to happen bled its way through his expression.

He was obedient. Letting you chain him up with your own constraints, tugging it even just to see if he could try to get out of it. For him, it seemed like you’re giving him a mini show, considering you were too sultry with your gestures, too arousing; before his vision was totally engulfed with darkness.

Now his other senses were heightened.

He could sense you moving around the room, a flick of metal for a few times which had his skin prickling in excitement, and then the scent of something like bergamot and musk eventually filling his nostrils.

“Do you know how much I’ve always wanted to do this?” You asked, voice laced with so much desire which swelled a heavy ache deep within his gut that he now realized was the same yearning as much as you have.

“I’ve always, always wanted to see you like this,” you purred as you crawled back to the bed. Smooth skin against the pads of your fingers when you gingerly stroked his thighs, a labored breath when you slowly undid his trousers. “You look so pretty like this, Koko…”

He then remembered how he shouldn’t move — to let you have all the fun and pleasure you’ve always been wanting; that, as of that moment, he was nothing but a man who’s going to serve his woman the way she told him to do.

And he did just as you initially asked.

Koko didn’t move when you licked the underside of his cock, gently at first then roughly before enveloping his length within your salivating mouth. Your head bobbing up and down so wantonly that he could feel your eagerness in every slobber you did.

He didn’t move either when you fondled his balls, all the while flicking your warm tongue on his tip until the involuntarily twitching of erected muscle was done before he could even help it — no, he merely settled for pants, gasps and mewls; letting his wanton voice be heard out in the open, mindful of you instinctively delighting in his reactions.

“So good,” he groaned while you hummed in agreement.

That was until a resounding blast went off.

“Wha—?”

“Oh shit, shit, shit, shit.” Upon hearing your curses, he tried to move but his cuffed arms held him still. There were furious blows from your end, and Koko was near point yelling as he repeatedly asked you the same, goddamned question.

“What’s happening?!?”

And then, there were hurried knocks on the door.

He heard the rustling of clothes before the unlocking of the door, followed by a sheepish greeting. “Uh, hi…”

“Ma’am, is there any open fire?”

Wait. What?

“No, no! It isn’t like that!”

“Are you sure—oh!”

“I’m—”

“Uh, I’ll forget I saw anything. Just don’t flame up the candles again.”

“Thank you…” You closed the door after that, only to look back on the bed and see your very naked boyfriend, who was now tense, securely tied up to the headboard.

“Ah, Koko! Please forgive me!”

< Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 (?) >

taglist. @baji-san, @joxuke and @gwynsapphire.

837 notes · View notes

ficbrish · 5 months

Text

"You were my first."

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 2nd - Sexual Frustration, Virginity]

[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood, gore, self-hate, abuse flashback, casual suicide ideation, intense genitalia depiction (imagined), alcohol]]

Summary: Astarion drinks from a person for the first time.

Expansion of the first bite scene in Act 1. The fourth night of their adventure.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Astarion and Vistri trusted each other the least out of everyone else.

They were too much alike, cut from the same cloth and that cloth was absolute bullshit. Something always lurked in their eyes behind carefully crafted smiles. All of their expressions were adornments, masks. Even their movements were costumes. The two of them practically made up their own masquerade ball! Always dancing around flirtatiously, getting under each other's skin, ruffling feathers.

Vistri knew these things, and she refused to let herself trust Astarion because of it.

So why did it feel like a betrayal to find him looming over her bedroll in the dark? Fangs bared, ready to strike. Ready to take. Her heart plummeted before she even had the chance to process what was happening. She opened her eyes and the sight of him dragged her down into a nostalgic pit.

“Shit,” Astarion jumped back the moment she stirred. He’d fucked up, made a bad call, and now Vistri was going to drive a stake through his heart. The glower on her face said it all. He’d been so close to finally tasting a real person, and now he was doomed to die without ever sating his gnawing hunger.

Gods! If she hadn't stopped him...

“The hells!” she raged, shaking off sleep as she stood.

“No, no—It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he protested, thinking, Surely, this is the end. Vistri was going to kill him. Or one of the others if he put up a good enough fight.

Vistri scowled. The fear in Astarion’s tone and posture was a mirror. His was the exact sort of song and dance she’d put on whenever she herself got caught; when she wasn’t really sorry about anything other than the discovery. It set her heart racing, and made it ache for some reason.

She spoke with a lump in her throat, “Kind of looks like your second murder attempt from where I’m standing.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” Astarion explained defensively, “I just needed—Well, blood.”

“Blood? You needed my blood? Who?—Oh…”

Somewhere between Darkvision greys and the orange glow of dim firelight, Vistri saw Astarion draped in new colors. Those red eyes, pale skin, and silver hair of his were not signs of fealty to Lolth as she'd thought, but the markings of another dark god. One, no doubt, more worrying. The scar on his neck wasn’t the shadow of an arrow or fork, but the echo of another mouth. His sharp teeth were... It’s not that Vistri didn’t have her suspicions, it’s just that she’d pushed those thoughts to the edges of her mind. She’d literally been blinded by the sunlight!

It was the first time Astarion ever admitted this to another person, his condition. He couldn't even say the word ‘vampire’ out loud, but based on the various looks shifting in and out of Vistri’s expressions, he wouldn't have to, she’d gotten there on her own.

She hadn’t reached for a weapon, but that was subject to change. Astarion swallowed, her pounding pulse as real in his senses as the smell of hot food wafting through a warm breeze. He watched her observe the hunger as it consumed him, drove him mad. His body shook with the signs.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it…” she muttered, “We even found the boar you snacked on!”

She’d only chosen to go to sleep that night because Astarion had been acting so… so pissy! He'd been equal parts dismissive and condescending that evening whenever they spoke. Vistri thought he didn’t like her much before, but he’d been acting as if he truly hated her—It grated on her nerves! Trance wouldn’t do when its semiconsciousness still left her with a vague awareness of his presence. She needed to get away, and to get away, she slept. Ironic then, how her awareness of him was what roused her now. Gods, she couldn’t get away even when she tried to!

She slapped her forehead, “The pig! Gods I was wondering why you were being such a bitch about the pig!”

Astarion was literally taken aback, “A bitch?—I was not!”

“You just now tried to steal my blood!” she scoffed, “And yes, you have been! All day and evening long!”

“Now, now. Let’s not wake the others.”

Vistri crossed her arms, frowning.

“It’s not what you think—” he said defensively, “I’m not some monster!”

Whether true or not, she could tell he didn’t really believe his own words. Reality was, part of him did and part of him didn’t, and both parts rejected the other. For some reason, it was important to him now that she didn’t believe he was... one of those. For once, Astarion had revealed his dirty secret, and needed Vistri not to let that change anything.

“I feed on animals! Boars, deer, kobolds—” he continued, “Whatever I can get.”

“The latest I recall; I am not a boar or a deer or a kobold.”

Astarion rolled his eyes in desperate frustration, “Yes, exactly! You’re not whatever I can get. You’re what I crave to sink my teeth into!”

Vistri’s breath tripped over her heartbeat and got caught up in its frantic patter.

That wasn’t an unwelcome thought, but… It’s just that he didn’t ask first! It pushed Astarion over into the “unsafe people” category, and she wasn’t allowed to like those people. Shadowheart was right, and Vistri hated him for it as much as she did for finding him ready to prey on her unconscious form.

There was just no going back from that.

“You were looking at me funny last night,” she mused, “This is why you were looking at me like that, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, not breathing.

“Wanted a nibble, did you?” she teased unkindly, holding her fear all the way down in her toes, so as not to risk it slipping into her voice.

“I’m just too slow right now,” he explained with puppy eyes, “Too weak.”

“I’ll say.”

Well, Vistri wasn’t killing him, and now she was starting to act like her usual unserious self. Astarion knew he should really stop there. He was lucky enough to just get where he was now, with her not immediately staking him.

But…

Astarion carefully considered how to phrase his proposal, “If I just had a little blood… I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."

He reminded Vistri of sobering drunks shouting out to bartenders after the pubs had closed. But it was also an ask of her. One that centered on her willingness to give herself away and made her the most important person in his world at that moment. Vistri had an easy answer for those types of inquiries.

She could see the ravenous curse glaring in his eyes. Astarion was all need, and yet he gave her the chance to decide. To be taken, or not?

And what would that be like? If she let him take her? If she just laid back and craned her neck?

No!

Absolutely not! No!

She shut her eyes to think for a moment, almost wishing Shadowheart would stir. Where’s a cleric when you need one most? She could help her say no. Or rather, wouldn’t let Vistri say yes—But she’d be absolutely insufferable about it the whole time!

Vistri fell into Astarion’s eyes the moment she opened hers.

“Gods be damned,” she whined.

“What?”

“Shhhsh! Let me think!”

Astarion’s mind was so consumed by the sight of her throat that he couldn’t come up with a retort. He just swallowed and stared longingly at her.

Gods, he was going to eat her up!

Vistri knew she was already lost, but she still had to fight it. As a last resort, she turned to the tadpoles. Even if she was doomed to give in, she could at least see the moment for what it was. She always considered pushing into someone else’s mind without permission a gross transgression, but if Astarion was willing to take without asking, then the truth was more important than his trust or comfort.

It was as simple as giving in. Vistri reached out to both their tadpoles, blending their minds so she could read his. The door she created only opened one way though. She imagined her mind as an impenetrable abyss. Nothing could breach it. Vistri would peer inside his consciousness without showing him any of her own. She pictured Astarion's mind as a sea, its waters ready to be parted, and dove in.

And as she stole information, memory, the tadpole enacted its own violation, nestling further into her flesh. It touched parts nothing should ever touch and ate things she couldn’t afford to lose. But what would that matter after tonight? Or at the end of their seven days?

“I—What’s this? What’s happening?”

Vistri forced herself to ignore the helplessness in his voice; hold tight onto her regret and push it down. There was no turning back. It already cost too much to catch the faintest glimpse.

She found the most monstrous things inside his head, but Astarion wasn’t the horror. His memories were cracked and quivering, living right at the forefront of his mind. Vistri travelled along their strings and found a hand wrapped around them in the form of dark eyes, commanding him. Feed.

Feed on the rat.

The memory was shame, and it twisted his face. Astarion grimaced as if stabbed, and Vistri hated herself in a way she never had before.

More than a command, that sinister voice was like another brain willing one's body to move. Vistri could feel Astarion's teeth, her teeth, sinking into a struggling rat, body twisting as it shrieked. She choked on the feeling of its fur on her own tongue, as viscerally as if it sat there now. She felt its bones break under her bite. Pangs of disgust and unmet need mixed up together into a particular form of sickness. Astarion was starving, and her rising empathy fueled her rage rather than quelled it. The gnaw at his core was a nightmare Vistri would never forget.

“You ate animals because you were forced to,” she spat bitterly, “Not because you wanted to.”

“I—Yes,” there was no point in denying it after all she’d seen, “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked.”

Astarion spoke with a wave of vengeful revulsion, his glare and tone defensive wounds that made her stomach hurt to witness. Vistri felt like she wanted to bite someone almost as much as he did. Having nowhere to put it made her restless. So she shook her hands to rid them of magical impulses, a nervous habit of hers, “Fuck!”

“Once again, if we could lower our voices.”

“That’s horrible, Astarion!”

What sort of cruel joke was she playing at? Vistri looked sincere enough, Astarion would give her that, but why on Toril would she care? His brows knotted suspiciously.

He seemed a little confused, but Vistri thought that was understandable. Maybe he didn’t know it was horrible and was hearing it out loud for the first time. She’d been there before herself.

“Believe me, I’m well-acquainted with how horrible it all was.”

Vistri froze. Astarion couldn’t be reading her mind, could he? She pulled out her go-to check for such a spell and conjured a graphic image in her mind’s eye. In as much detail as she could manage, Vistri pictured the biggest, bulgiest, veiniest, drippiest penis she could think of. Nothing pretty about it, just vaguely unsettling and truly shocking. As she held that image, she squinted at Astarion and picked apart every aspect of his expression.

She found only sadness there. Invisible bruises, hit again and again, covered his face once she knew to look for them. There was no hint indicating he shared her conjured horror; only an agonized recollection. It didn’t just absolve him, it made Vistri feel quite terrible for thinking of a horrible penis just then.

And if he was really reading her mind… Well… I’m so sorry.

Without acknowledging her mental apology, Astarion spoke again, “So you can see why I’m slow to trust you.”

Especially if she was going to keep poking around his mind without asking. Astarion had been so ready to be rid of her just to hide the whole vampire thing, and now both that and Cazador were out of the bag in the space of one mistake. His own memories played through her head, and for some reason he couldn’t touch hers at all.

“But I do trust you,” he lied, “And you can trust me.”

Vistri paused, gathered herself, and met his deception with one of her own, “I do. I believe you.”

The grins on their faces hissed like snakes. Neither called it out, willingly entering a folie à deux. Both were desperate to believe the lies they told, each other's and their own. In a fucked up way only the two of them could manage, it turned into its own type of trust. It wasn’t real, but it was there.

For as long as they both agreed on its existence.

“Thank you,” Astarion sounded genuine and even tipped his head.

Vistri nodded back, you’re welcome.

But Astarion wasn’t done yet. The ache still rumbled through him, making his mouth water.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asked carefully with a flourish of his hand.

Vistri raised her brows.

“I only need a taste,” he cajoled, “I swear.”

The pounding in her ears started up again. He offered a thrill she’d never tried before. A vampire. People usually didn’t come back from one of those bites, did they? It was never only just a taste, was it?

“Fine. But not a drop more than you need,” she agreed despite her best intentions.

Astarion sounded a bit shocked, “Really? I—Of course.”

The fact that even he was surprised Vistri said yes was a red flag she was fully aware of. She was very aware. If magic whispered under her skin, self-destructive impulses shouted through it.

“Not one drop more,” he promised, elation breaking through his measured voice. He still couldn’t believe she said yes; that it had been that easy. No one had ever known him for what he was and offered themselves anyway. Maybe he didn’t have to get rid of her after all.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

For Vistri, it was the ultimate moment of truth. She was either someone important enough to spare, or this would be her final night. Astarion would either take only as much as she gave, or use her up completely. It was a true test of value; who they were to each other, and who they were as people.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” Astarion offered smoothly, inviting her back to her bedroll with a gesture. If she came to him willing, there was no reason the moment couldn't be a nice one for the both of them. He had no idea what he was doing and found a certain comfort in the familiar role of hospitality.

Vistri glared at him, reading his genuine attempt at kindness as a sort of gloating insincerity. She mumbled as she settled down, “Could have started out this way if you weren’t such a bitch about that boar.”

“I was not!—You’re ruining the atmosphere now, darling.”

“Atmosphere? We’re in the dirt trying not to wake our companions who are also in the dirt.”

Astarion raised a brow, more amused at her antics than vexed, “Bit more premium than the mud, at least. Now lie back.”

They were going to try this again, with her permission this time. Vistri laid back in her bedroll fully prepared for death. She knew her worth and was ready to surrender to it.

Dirt.

Vistri was dirt. Whatever was about to happen would validate that, and it excited her enough to feel something as much as it choked her.

“I’ll haunt you,” she said.

“What?”

“If you kill me. I’ll haunt you.”

“Right.”

As Astarion crawled over Vistri, all he could think was, finally. The pulse in her throat called to him, reaching towards his like a siren diva. A completely brand-new ecstasy was his to savor, and he kept waiting for someone to snatch it away before he could have a taste. Like always.

Still, he waited. Unwilling to cross a line that would make him lose his prize. He let out a low groan, almost a growl, in anticipation of her signal.

Vistri tried to blink away the warmth that spread over her as he hovered above her. It wouldn’t go away.

She gave up and closed her eyes, making a silent bet with herself, “Go on.”

Astarion lunged forward and pierced her neck so fast it was like the punctuation to her sentence.

Vistri anticipated teeth, not mouth. Turns out his fangs were only there for puncture. The rest of it was all lips and tongue and throat. She knew there would be pain, but it was quick and sharp before throbbing into numbness. It was a strange sensation, but not overall unpleasant.

Their life forces seemed to merge at his bite. He flowed into her and through her as he took, like two rivers meeting at a frothing current. Vistri's breath would be rough and laborious if she wasn’t working so intently to be still and quiet.

Good, little prey.

Her heart beat out such a rapid, panicked tune; fighting helplessly in her chest as she gave herself to him with nothing less than a death wish. Astarion longed painfully for a moment like this for two terrible centuries, and it was so much better than he ever dared to dream. Her dragon blood was cool on his tongue, like frosted cream. The silver scales on her face had piqued his curiosity, he’d wondered before how she tasted. Now he was blessed with the knowledge, he was lost in it. Astarion didn’t exist anymore. Just the need.

He swallowed her down.

Vistri began to think that maybe she should probably stop him.

Probably.

Or she could let him continue. Give in entirely until she was all gone…

Astarion never wanted to stop. All performance was cast aside, abandoned with no grace. The only thing left in control was his cursed nature. His tongue eagerly lapped up the blood against her neck with no sign of stopping.

She let him do as he pleased. Wanted to disappear between his lips. Vistri couldn’t tell if there was something narcotic in his bite, or if that was just…

Gods, please don’t let that just be him. She felt her knees shiver, and almost let Astarion have his way.

Then another thought suddenly shouted above all the others. Maybe he couldn’t control himself. He’d said he trusted her, and if that wasn’t a lie, then perhaps he meant for her to stop him before he lost them both.

“That’s enough,” she reluctantly sighed.

Her voice reached Astarion through the dreamy fog.

“Mhh?” he moaned, yes?

He was still lapping her up as he answered, and his question broke over her skin. Vistri twitched and he mistook it for pain.

Excusing himself, he tore away from the bliss of her neck with a courteous, “Oh, of course.”

A chill came over her as his body left hers. The continued pounding of Vistri's heart grounded her in the reality that she was still alive. She’d survived Astarion's favor. Pressing her hand against the wound to stop the bleeding, she felt a sort of glee wash over her.

Standing across from each other, their chests rose and fell. Wanting more.

“That—” his words faltered, overcome by a mixture of ecstatic satisfaction and lingering bloodlust.

Vistri’s stomach flipped. Renewed vigor was palpable in his very energy, and a genuine smile spread over his gloomy face.

“That was…”

She watched him appreciatively smell the mess left on his lips. Then again delight in her taste, sucking his fingers clean of all remnants, one by one.

“Amazing.”

He wore an even wider smile. Everything Vistri was swirled inside her like strong wind.

“My mind is finally clear,” he continued, “I feel strong. I feel…" He took a deep, smiling breath, "Happy!”

That was the first time Vistri ever saw Astarion take such a complete deep breath. She learned that his shoulders sat naturally lower than she previously thought.

And this was her effect on him. Her blood in his veins.

Something about that made her want to taste him right back.

But she refused to give that urge any attention, and spoke to shake it off, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

He was grateful to her for rooting the moment in something they could actually discuss. Even if he wanted to share every detail that went into the descriptor of amazing, Astarion wasn’t sure he could put into words what this meant to him.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked, “So many people need killing.”

And Vistri wasn’t one of them.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed, “You’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

It was true, Astarion was plagued with a lingering hunger, having abided by the bounds of Vistri's consent and stopping before he was satisfied. But what really set his feet jittering was the real weight of all these brand-new feelings. No wonder Cazador kept his spawn apart from thinking prey. Even a little taste of all that life brought back so much of what he’d stolen.

“Wait!” Vistri called out as he turned to strut away into the forest.

They bumped into each other as he twirled back around.

“Sorry,” they both said.

Astarion stepped back. She didn’t.

“Um,” she gestured at her face, “You have…”

He could feel her breasts brushing against his chest, and blinked as if that would help him to ignore it.

“What?” he asked quite shortly.

With an unsure gesture, Vistri reached up to his mouth. Even though she went slowly, questioningly, it was faster than explaining. At least in her current, near-speechless state. She asked with her eyes if she could get closer, and he answered with his own to inch closer, even though they were narrowed and suspicious.

Astarion jumped slightly at her touch but allowed Vistri to wipe her finger along the corner of his grin.

“Little bit of blood,” she murmured, and cleared her throat.

She held up her smeared finger in demonstration, and Astarion had to stop himself from grabbing it and licking it clean.

“Oh,” he said, “My, my! I have made a mess, haven’t I?”

Vistri didn’t know what to say, so she mirrored his smirk. But she didn’t want to just stand there smiling like someone thick, so she rushed herself to say something clever. Which came out thick, “Nothing that takes more than a little wipe.”

He had no idea what she was talking about and just needed to leave, “Right. Well—”

She was standing so close. He could still sense her pulse, smell the blood clotting on her neck. The demons inside him were screaming to tear her apart. Astarion had to get away, but he was held in place.

Vistri was looking at him with such a mix of emotion that it made her a riddle.

Why didn’t she stake him? Why did she let him sup? Trust him at the risk of her life?

Astarion’s eyes travelled from her neck to her lips. Now that he’d had a taste of her throat, he found himself desperately curious about all her other parts.

His stare made Vistri tremble even more than she had in the gods’ damned mind flayer pod! Which was ridiculous! She’d long ago sworn off aristocratic types. The fourth night into an illithid transformation was not the right time to fall of that wagon!

“Off you go!” she playfully pushed Astarion towards the trees, needing him out of sight. She'd normally leave herself, but had nowhere else to go besides her bedroll a few paces from where they now stood.

He obliged, but suddenly turned once more to thank her. Which crashed them into each other again.

This time, they both took a big leap back. Instead of apologizing, they shared a brief look and let out a pressure value-laugh.

Astarion became serious for a moment. His voice sounded softer and stronger than she knew it could be.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

If she answered with more sincerity, they'd both choke.

“Wouldn’t dare let you,” she smirked.

He returned it, then left Vistri alone to nurse her aching neck.

She could still feel his mouth on her skin, and her breathing hadn’t yet stilled. Shit. Now that Astarion was out of sight, she felt her bones calling him back. Vistri shut her eyes tight, willing the wanting to go away.

If it was kind, it would just go away.

There was something bittersweet about how the raw power Astarion now harnessed depended on Vistri’s kindness. A proper hunt would surely be more satisfying. The woods were full of treasure, but they felt empty. So many bodies slumbered in the shadows, but the one he truly sought was in the other direction.

It didn’t matter that she was the first person he ever drank from and had nothing to compare her to. Perhaps it was instinct, but he already knew that nothing else out there could match the fine, exquisite vintage that was her.

Astarion explained it away as just the dragon blood. It wasn’t tied to that drow at all.

It couldn’t be.

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

#vistarion #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober list #prompt fill #vistri #astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #full fic #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #you were my first fic #BrishFics #angst #smut #lime

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mads-weasley · 2 years

Text

Something Special

Bradley Bradshaw x Medic!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Hi anon! Thanks for the request! Sorry it's taken so long!

Request: The reader is a doctor who treats him after the final scene in the movie when he and Mav had just landed. Little did she know that Rooster has actually been harboring feelings for her, so he gets all shy and embarrassed as she examined his injuries because he's never been able to get this close to her before. As she checked for any concussion, he was staring into her eyes, and *zing* they share an intimate moment.

Warnings: mentions of death, injuries, fluff

(y/n) - your name

(y/l/n) - your last name

(y/h/c) - your hair color

(y/e/c) - your eye color

Bradley Bradshaw, also known as the Miramar heart-throb, was immensely popular among the ladies in the area. When he'd walk in the Hard Deck with his Hawaiian shirts and aviators, heading straight to the piano, all heads turned his way.

(Y/n) peered at the man over her drink from her table as he strutted to the bar, asking Penny for a beer. Catching herself staring at his tall figure for too long, she turned her attention back to her friends. Little did she know that the second she looked away, he turned to glance at her behind his aviators.

Coming into the bar, he could always find the corpsman in the same booth, laughing with her friends. Something about her caught his attention. He didn't know if it was how she gracefully handled each medical situation she encountered, the way her (y/h/c) hair fell around her shoulders, how she'd light up a room, or the infectious laugh that always brought a smile to his face. Penny cleared her throat softly, holding out the beer.

"You should go talk to her, Bradley."

His head whipped to face her, cheeks red. "What time do you close tonight?" He said, trying to change the subject.

"Every time you come in here, you always give the girl puppy dog eyes. Just go talk to her."

Sighing, he gave up the act. "I don't know, Pen. She's just special."

The older woman smiled, remembering having the same feeling about Maverick when she was his age. "Do you know her name, at least?"

"(Y/n) (y/l/n), corpsman on base. I see her all the time at work, and she's always got this smile that can turn my day around. The way she's so gentle and kind with her patients is... I don't know."

"You've got it bad, kid, and you haven't even talked to her."

His light-hearted demeanor changed as he took off his aviators. "We've got this big mission coming up, and I don't want to start something only for me to-"

Penny held up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence."

"I'm just being realistic."

Sighing, she glanced over to the (y/h/c) in the booth. "That means there's even more of a reason for you to go talk to her."

"Penny."

"Her friends just ordered a few drinks. You should bring it to them!" She exclaimed, pushing the drinks towards him.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees you take a sip from your drink, and he could feel his face heat up instantly. "No, I can't do this." He told her, shaking his head.

Penny was confused. She'd never seen Bradley act this way around a woman before. He was normally this confident, hotshot pilot who would flirt without a second thought. She knew she had to take drastic action.

"Do it or I'm gonna ring the bell on you, Roost. Do it now."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he grabbed the drinks and took a deep breath. With a nervous smile, he approached the table, thinking of what to say.

"Here are your drinks, ladies," he said, sliding them on the table. His heart was beating out of his chest, and before he knew it, he was back in front of Penny at the bar, facepalming.

"Well, seeing as you didn't even speak to the girl, I'd say that mission was a failure," she sighed, using a towel to wipe off the bar.

"I know, I know."

Fanboy yelled his name from behind him, calling him over to the piano. Shaking off his failed attempt at talking to (y/n), the cool, laid-back Rooster once again made his appearance. Phoenix unplugged the jukebox and the whole bar knew what was coming.

When (y/n) heard the jukebox go out, she smiled, knowing what was about to happen.

"It's showtime, girls," she announced to her friends, getting up and moving closer to the piano. Leaning against the bar, the medic had a perfect view of Rooster playing "Great Balls of Fire," which was her personal favorite. As his hands flew across the keys and he belted the beloved song, she felt warmth spread to her cheeks.

"He's good, isn't he?" a voice asked from behind her.

Keeping her eyes on Bradley, (y/n) sighed. "Yes ma'am, he is."

Chuckling to herself, Penny continued wiping the bar, thinking of a way to get the two together. Soon, one of (y/n)'s friends came over and joined her at the bar, watching the scene in front of them. At that point, the pair began overdramatically singing the lyrics to each other.

"Kiss me, baby. Ooh, that feels good, baby." they sang, wide smiles painting their faces.

Continuing to play and sing, Bradley's muscle memory kicked in as he looked over to the bar. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her laughing and having a good time with her friend. As he sang the next verse, she looked over at him, making eye contact. He quickly looked away, trying to hide the blush that crept up his neck.

"You broke my will, oh what a thrill. Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"

Calling it a night, (y/n) and her friends paid their tab and began leaving the bar. They had to pass the piano on their way towards the door, and she decided to take a slight risk. On her way out, (y/n) laid a $5 bill on the piano, smirking at a wide-eyed Rooster.

"Server's tip."

She didn't give him time to respond, walking out the door quickly. Meeting her friends in the car, she took a deep breath, leaning her head against the headrest in front of her. "I can't believe I just did that."

The group died laughing at the exchange, knowing their friend had a crush on the pilot.

The subtle looks and interactions from afar lasted weeks, and Penny had given up on the two actually sharing a conversation. The Hard Deck seemed empty as half of its patrons were off on the mission Penny had already heard too much about from Pete. She knew it was dangerous and that there was a good chance someone wasn't coming home.

On the carrier, (y/n) was sick to her stomach just thinking about the nature of the mission. Just like Penny, she knew someone might not come back, and she prayed it wouldn't be Bradley. Even though they hadn't said much to each other, she developed feelings for the man. Little did she know that he was head over heels for her.

Hearing the jets take off from the deck, (y/n) took a deep breath, trying to stay focused on getting the infirmary stocked and ready if it would be needed.

"(Y/l/n), do you copy?" Cyclone's voice rang through her comms system.

"Copy."

"We have two planes down. Crash victims incoming. Conditions unknown."

"I'll prepare the infirmary, sir."

The conversation ended just as fast as it started, and (y/n) began gathering supplies for a worst-case scenario. Minutes later, a cough at her door caught her attention, spinning around to see who it was.

"I was told..um..that I needed to be checked out."

'Of course, he was one of the ones,' she thought.

Pushing her feelings aside, she motioned for him to come and sit on the bed. Bradley was mentally cursing. It had to be her, of all people. The redness that tinted his cheeks in her company appeared once again.

"So, you're one of the ones who crashed, right?" she asked, gathering the tools she needed for the examination.

"Yes, ma'am."

Glancing over her shoulder, she sweetly smiled at him. "Call me (y/n)."

If he wasn't already sitting, the pilot would've sat down at the knee-weakening smile she gave him. "Then y-you can call me Bradley. Or Rooster. Whichever you like, ma'am."

She shot him a look.

"Whichever you like, (y/n)." he repeated, heart pounding.

Having all she needed, (y/n) made her way to the bed, holding a clipboard of questions she needed to ask. Going down the list, his answers were normal, meaning he was probably fine, but she still had to do a physical examination to be sure...and she was definitely going to enjoy it.

"Alright, Bradley. Take off the top of your flight suit."

Eyes widening, his voice raised in pitch involuntarily. "What?"

"For the physical examination," she stated, hiding her smirk.

Internally panicking, he unzipped his flight suit just above his hips, exposing his bare chest. (Y/n) had to suppress the urge to drool as she glanced at his tanned and toned abs from behind her clipboard. Taking the stethoscope from around her neck and putting it up to her ears, she approached him, chuckling.

"This is going to be cold, so prepare yourself."

He fidgeted on the bed, and (y/n) could tell he was nervous. Of what, though. She didn't know. Putting one hand on his shoulder, she moved the stethoscope in different positions on his chest, listening to his heart.

Electricity spread through his body from the spot she touched his shoulder. He's never been this close to her before and it was getting to him. (Y/n) was merely inches away from him and he couldn't help but look up at her, studying her face up close. He noticed the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the curve of her jaw, and the shape of her lips. He couldn't help but imagine the feel of them against hi-

"Well, your heart rate's a little fast, but it's probably due to the adrenaline," she stated, pulling away to grab the small flashlight pen used to check for concussions. "I want you to follow this light, okay."

He nodded, following the light as she moved it from side to side and when she was checking their dilations.

"I've got th-" the thought died in her throat as she looked up, meeting his eyes once again.

This time, he did not break eye contact with her. Being that close, he could see the way the fluorescent light brought out the (y/e/c) in her eyes. She was staring right back into his, the flashlight idle in her hand. The electricity could be felt in the air when Rooster broke the silence.

"You have the most beautiful eyes, (y/n)."

It was now her turn to blush, looking down slowly before glancing back up at his soft brown irises. She could see flecks of green in them for the first time. "I'm glad you're okay," she said quietly, taking his hand in hers.

His eyes flicked down to her lips as he leaned in slowly. Just as their lips were about to meet, a knock was heard at the door. Clearing her throat, (y/n) backed away and opened the door, revealing Cyclone.

"How's our crash survivor doing, (y/l/n)?" he asked, looking in at Bradley.

"He's in perfect health, sir. I'm just doing a physical examination just to be sure."

"Good work," he stated, walking away and disappearing around a corner.

She quickly closed the door, turning around to face her patient. To her surprise, he was within inches of him, their noses touching slightly. He brought up his hand to gently cup her cheek before placing his lips on hers. Deepening the kiss, (y/n) circled her arms around his neck, bringing him closer. Pulling apart out of breath, they leaned their foreheads together.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." he panted lightly.

"Trust me. I do, Bradshaw. I do."

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maehemthemisfit · 2 years

Note

During the earlier times of being in KM, you're quite distant with Mikey since he's very hard to talk to unless it's like gang business. However, you know other shortcuts to the base which has tons of street food stalls like dorayaki, taiyaki, crepes, etc so you ended up buying taiyaki for Mikey saying that you passed by multiple stalls otw to the base, might as well buy some. Both of you start bonding when you offer to take Mikey on a ✨street snacks tour✨. Just vibing with your boss.

ANOTHER IMAGINE~!!! LETS GOOO^^

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 Manjiro Sano 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

"So... this is where you get all your snacks from?" Mikey looked around in awe at all the venders surrounding the two of you. It was truly a hidden gem that you happened to stumble on during one of your trips to the base, in your attempts of finding a shortcut, you became lost and ended up here.

"Yeah, it's amazing, right?" You cheesed, satisfied by his reaction as he basked in the nighttime atmosphere, gaping at how everything seemed much more surreal when the lanterns lit the stands in a golden hue. "It's more boring and crowded during the day, but in the night it's almost magical."

Mikey chose to follow close behind you, trusting in your familiarity with the place so you could guide him to all the best stands. You couldn't help but marvel at his captivated expression as he took in all the sweet and savory smells, the mystical lights and scattered stars didn't hold a candle to the sparkles you seen glow in his onyx eyes, a rarity you didn't hesitate to indulge in for as long as this small moment you had with him lasted.

It was only a matter of time before he ran off at the sight of taiyaki, gasping at the assortment of colors they came in. "Y/N, look! They have pink taiyaki!" He laughed, pointing at the treats like a kid begging for toys or candy. The gentle breeze combed through his hair perfectly, melodic chimes clinging together in the background as the ambience became oddly nostalgic, reminding you of a time of unfiltered joy and happiness... and reminding you of a time where Mikey wasn't plagued by darkness and death, a glimpse into his life gracing you, though you were never part of his childhood.

You burned his untainted smile into your memories before it became a ghost in the past, picking up a blue charm and souvenir to gift him later. You would give anything to protect the slither of hope and last bit of childish joy he harbored, no matter how difficult the task may be. Even if it meant your life.

The both of you couldn't stop smiling when you got back to the base, stomachs filled along with the bags of dango, pocky, mochi, and others snacks the both of you bought. Promises of going together next time were exchanged before the two of you parted for the night, leaving most of the members who witnessed the scene dumbfounded and confused.

"...Well, that's a sight," Koko commented, astounded at what was happening. He didn't know whether to grimace or grin.

"I don't know if I should be relived or worried," Ran mused, offering a sly smile to the whole ordeal as he leaned his fist to the side of his face. Though the sight in front of him was undeniably intriguing, his lilac eyes darted over to another member spectating the entire thing, a scowl present on his face as he paced away, pink hair swaying behind him as he did. "On second thought, I think I should be worried."

"Let's just hope nothing bad happens from this," Koko sighed, rubbing over his temples in pure distress. He could already see ten ways this could all go wrong.

Ran snorted, walking away in search of his brother to gossip the new discovery while waving off a concerned Kokonoi.

"I wouldn't bet on it."

I had fun writing this <3

Want more like this? Go check out my other drabbles

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astralissas · 2 months

Text

Sacrifice (2)

Series Summary: Daughter of notorious Death Eater, Corban Yaxley, and best friend to the Weasley twins, you find yourself dragged into the Second Wizarding War pledged to a side you'd vowed never to support. But all will be justifiable if it means you can protect the ones you love -- at any and all costs.

Pairing: George Weasley x Yaxley Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Lucius Malfoy being a bigot

Series Masterlist

You hadn’t been laying in bed three minutes before Ginny blurted, “So, when are you and my brother going to admit you’re in love with each other?”

“Ginny,” You groaned, rolling away from her and pulling your pillow over your face.

“I’m serious!” Ginny pelted your back with a small pillow, causing you to turn and glare at her.

“I’m never telling you anything ever again.” You swore. Her accusations weren’t new -- last summer, in fact, she’d caught you sneaking back from working on new inventions in Fred and George’s room at night. She’d pestered you for nearly an hour until you broke down and told her that, although you thought George was attractive, there was only friendship between the two of you.

“You two are being stupid,” Ginny persisted, “The both of you are both clearly obsessed with each other.”

“We are not!” You exclaimed in a whisper, minding to keep your voice down lest you attract the attention of Mrs. Weasley. “I said he was attractive once, Gin! There are plenty of guys I find attractive! It doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

“Like who?” Hermione asked curiously, a smile toying on her lips, as she returned from the washroom.

“Ugh, I don’t know,” You grumbled, “Cedric Diggory is handsome, and Adrian Pucey is good-looking.”

“Diggory’s a pretty boy and Pucey is just a prat.” Ginny replied.

“They’re not bad!” You argued. You’d had a handful of classes with Cedric, and he was always very kind and polite to you. Pucey may have been a bit of a prat, you’d admit, but he wasn’t horrible. Much like the other pure-blood children, you’d grown up with him -- your family’s circles overlapped. Sure, he had an air of entitlement about him, but he was witty and maybe even a little flirtatious when you’d seen him over the summer. And perhaps you’d responded with some flirtation of your own, which may have led to a bit of snogging. Look, it was a boring summer, you’d accepted that you were doomed to the friend zone with your own crush, and Pucey was attractive. But there was no way you’d share that tidbit with Ginny and Hermione.

“Whatever,” Ginny dismissed, “It doesn’t change the fact that George was downright miserable all summer without you around.”

“He was practically wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing when I got here early this morning.” Hermione chimed in.

“We’re friends.” You insisted, completely disregarding what they’d said.

“Mhm.” Hermione hummed as she bit back a smirk.

“Right.” Ginny said, stifling a laugh.

“You two are insufferable.” You said, shutting off the lamp and rolling towards the wall.

***

It was much too early that Mrs. Weasley was gently shaking your shoulder, rousing you with a wake-up call. You were reluctant to move from the comfort of your blankets, and, like Hermione and Ginny, were slow getting dressed and making your way downstairs.

You’d hardly taken your seat at the table when Mrs. Weasley barked out George’s name, causing him to startle next to you. “What is that in your pocket?” She demanded.

You glanced at Fred out of the corner of your eye, but he was vigorously avoiding eye contact. “Nothing.” George tried fruitlessly to lie. It was a chaotic scene as Mrs. Weasley began her summoning charms, leading to the brightly colored toffees you’d smuggled in your trunk the day prior flying from Fred and George’s clothes to her hands. You had to admit, the twins had attempted some creative hiding places. Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t acknowledge that, though. Her eyes were alight with a fire even worse than you’d witnessed the previous day as she snatched more and more of the candies from midair.

Fred finally spoke up in protest as Mrs. Weasley tossed the toffees in the trash, “We spent six months developing those!”

“Oh a fine way to spend six months!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed to the pair, “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.L.s!”

The tense atmosphere hung heavy in the air for the next few minutes as everyone readied for their departure. The twins hadn’t bothered with a goodbye, storming out of the kitchen and not even turning back as their mother warned them to behave. You hurried after them, catching up a few steps across the lawn.

Both Fred and George were fuming -- understandably upset their innovative product you’d all spent months developing was back at ground zero. Between the three of you, you’d be able to get a rough re-creation started, but it’d taken months of trial, error, and painful testing to get the candies perfected.

You eavesdropped on Mr. Weasley explaining to Harry the logistics of arriving at the World Cup behind you for a while, but the group was silent as the climb to Stoatshead Hill began. The twins, with their long legs and athletic build, led the group in hiking smoothly up the hill. You began internally cursing them after a mere few minutes as your muscles began to burn.

You watched the ground carefully to avoid stumbling -- not that you could make out much in the early morning dawn anyway. You did stumble once, though. Your toe caught on a tuft of grass, and you began to fall forward before George grabbed your arms, steadying you. You muttered a thanks and pulled away quickly, face burning with embarrassment and arms tingling. You focused harder then on keeping your footing, not noticing the way George slowed his pace, falling behind Fred, to be nearer to you, or the way he watched you intently, arms shooting out anytime you appeared unsteady.

Once everyone had crested the hill, you all spread out, searching for the portkey. It wasn’t long, however, before a voice called that they had found it. Mr. Weasley introduced everyone to Amos Diggory, Cedric’s father. Mr. Weasley considerately excluded your last name in your introduction, but you could’ve sworn Amos’s eyes spent a few seconds longer eyeing you. Cedric, polite as always, said hi to the group, which the twins fervently ignored.

The atmosphere didn’t get lighter when Harry was introduced to Amos. Amos ogled over Harry, rambling about Cedric’s legendary Quidditch victory the year prior against the Harry Potter. The mention of the game sent the twins into, if it were possible, a worse mood, making for a very awkward time as you found yourself squished tightly between Ginny and Cedric while you all crowded around the portkey, a finger each on the mangy boot.

You didn’t like traveling by Floo Powder but, you discovered, a portkey wasn’t much more preferable. You were jerked forward, legs flying from the ground and body jostling into Ginny and Cedric’s on either side of you, held in your flight solely by the finger laid on the boot. Just as suddenly as it started, it ceased, your feet slamming into the ground below you. The unexpected, forceful stop sent you stumbling, losing your balance and toppling into Ginny.

Cedric -- of course, he managed to land gracefully on his feet -- offered a hand to help you up, which you accepted before turning to offer the same to Ginny. At the direction of a Ministry worker, you all began the trek to the campsite, still in silence. You bid the Diggory’s adieu as your group reached the first campsite, and you watched as Mr. Weasley stumbled his way through his interaction with the Muggle campsite manager, who needed to be obliviated midway through the transaction.

Your group trudged across the campsite, taking in the surrounding tents. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you passed a tent that bore a resemblance to a mansion, complete with live peacocks at the entrance. Classic pure-blood flaunting.

Although you didn’t expect a tent to that caliber, you were slightly taken aback when Mr. Weasley began constructing his own modest tents sans magic. Knowing that you’d be a hindrance much more than a help, you stood back with the remainder of the Weasley’s, the twins still stewing silently in their anger.

Between Harry, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley, they did manage to erect the tents. You were sharing the smaller, one-bedroom tent with Hermione and Ginny. Mr. Weasley sent Ron, Harry, and Hermione off to get water while the rest of you began gathering wood for a fire…by hand. You agreed with Ron’s protests -- surely a small bit of magic wouldn’t hurt, right -- but kept your opinion to yourself nonetheless.

Between the four of you, the wood was gathered rather quickly, but none of it proved necessary when Mr. Weasley began to attempt to start the fire the Muggle way. And, with the two people familiar with Muggle inventions away getting water, the remainder of you were no help and instead let Mr. Weasley enjoy himself playing with the matches.

By the time the group was together and the fire was hot enough to cook food, Bill, Charlie, and Percy had arrived. Percy was pompous about his apparition, of course, leading to Fred muttering a “prat” below his breath which, thankfully, went unheard by anyone else.

The twins were still quiet -- whether sulking in their bad mood or brainstorming ways to remake the toffees you were unsure -- so you busied yourself with watching the various passersby. The Cup was such a phenomenon that it had attracted a variety of witches and wizards alike, and it was interesting to see those who had come to witness the match.

It wasn’t until your name was called a few feet from your site that you zoned in on any singular person. You found the voice in the form of a handsome, dark-hard wizard waving at you. “Adrian, hi!” You jumped up, leaving the site behind to meet Adrian Pucey where he stood.

“I didn’t know you’d be at the Cup.” Adrian said, pulling you in for a brief hug in greeting, “Are your parents here too?” He asked, although, with his pointed glance at the red-headed crew you sat with, you guessed he already knew the answer.

“No, no,” You waved your hand behind you dismissively, “I finally convinced my parents to stop holding me hostage. I’m here with the Weasley’s.”

“Your boyfriend?” Adrian asked quickly.

You felt your face flush as you responded, “What? No, no. You know the twins from school. My friends?”

Adrian hummed in intrigue, “Then why is one of them looking like he’s about to hex me if he could?”

Your head snapped around and caught George, who was indeed glaring at Adrian, eyes narrowed and brows creased. Fred too was observing the interaction rather closely though he, at least, was doing a better job of hiding his staring. As you watched, Fred nudged George on the shoulder who, reluctantly, pulled his eyes away from the two of you. “They’re, uh, not in the best mood this morning.” You said as a poor excuse to Adrian.

“Well, if they’re still in a foul mood by the start of the match, you’re welcome to come watch with me.” Adrian offered. You thanked him, knowing that, regardless of the twins’ mood, you wouldn’t abandon them. It was a nice gesture nonetheless, though.

It wasn’t until you bid Adrian goodbye and began to return to the Weasley’s that he grabbed your forearm, pulling you back toward him -- nearly chest to chest -- as he glanced around furtively, “Did your parents leave you with any warnings about tonight?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes searching Adrian’s face which was, oddly enough, slightly panicked. “Well, just, watch yourself tonight, alright?”

“What are you saying?” You whispered.

Adrian spoke slowly, as though he were carefully selecting each word, “With all the…people that are here tonight, you should be… cautious. All of you.” He added with a nod to your site.

So there was something planned then. You nodded quickly at him, muttering a thanks, just as George reached the two of you. George wound his hand carefully around your waist, pulling you away from Adrian and toward him as he spoke your name, “Everything alright here?”

“Yeah,” You assured George quickly, your skin alight with sparks where his hand lingered still on your back. “Yeah, Adrian was just saying hello.”

Taking the hint, Adrian bid you goodbye with a slightly ominous, “Take care of yourself.”

You and George turned to head back to the campsite, Adrian’s words still heavy on your mind. Though not heavy enough for you not to notice the way George kept his arm around your middle as you strode back towards the others. “What was that about?” George asked hastily as soon as Adrian was out of earshot. You opened your mouth to relay Adrian’s warning, but were cut off by the arrival of Ludo Bagman to the campsite.

Fred’s pointed look and snicker at George’s arm, still around you, caused him to drop it, cheeks flushing. You briefly considered what that could mean, but -- no, he just really didn’t like Adrian. Besides, the twins were protective; they always had been. Even back when their pranks began, the two of them always insisted, when caught, that you had no doing in them. It was sweet, sure, but didn’t stop you from ending up in detention with them nonetheless.

As the twins bet with Ludo, you were marginally surprised that the they had wagered their savings on what you thought was an unlikely outcome of the match -- Krum to catch the Snitch but Ireland to win -- but they seemed confident in their choice and their mood lightened considerably at Mr. Bagman’s amusement with their fake wand.

Barty Crouch arrived not long after -- Percy falling over himself to impress the man who called him “Weatherby”. The twins muffled their laughs behind their cups and you had no doubt that they’d never allow Percy to live that down.

Ludo and Mr. Crouch alluded to something happening at Hogwarts, pulling your mind away from Adrian’s warning, and back to your father’s convoluted words about an “event” going on at school. Try as they might, the twins were not able to pull the secret from Mr. Weasley.

Between the looming “event” in the forefront of your mind, the anticipatory excitement of the match, and the salespeople coming by with merchandise, Adrian’s words floated to the back of your head -- forgotten as you purchased a green rosette, attempting the buy the twins one too, though they vehemently refused.

***

Mr. Weasley wasn’t lying when he said he managed to get great seats for the match. The best seats, you noted, as Lucius Malfoy joined the box, gaze lingering on Hermione, throwing an insult Mr. Weasley’s way, and honoring you with an infamous sneer as he observed who you were sitting with. “To think the Yaxley name has sunk so low.” He muttered as he passed by your seat. It was said quietly enough to go over the heads of most of the group, but Fred and George caught wind of it, both faces flushing with anger; George’s hands curling into fists at his side.

“It’s fine.” You assured him -- as far as comments went, that was hardly a jab from the eldest Malfoy.

The match began shortly after and the mascots of the teams arrived. Both Harry and Ron looked ready to leap from the box as the Veela danced and, although not as affected as the younger boys, you swore that you could’ve wiped drool from Fred’s chin as he watched them in a trance. They all learned from their mistake, though, shoving their fingers in their ears anytime the Veela began their dancing again during the match.

The game was fast-paced and exciting. You felt as though you could barely keep up, whipping your head from side to side as you attempted to follow the action. Several times, one of the boys or Ginny had to catch you up, animatedly explaining the finer logistics of the game to you. In a shocking turn of events, Fred and George were right -- Krum did catch the Snitch, ending the game quickly, but the Irish won.

Absolutely giddy from the energy of the game and their massive win with Bagman, the twins began muttering to you about the expansion of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and what innovative projects they could fund with their newfound gold. You, of course, had offered numerous times to fund projects but the twins refused, insisting that it would be wrong to take that from you. Even Mr. Weasley resisted asking about their plans for the money -- more likely than not, he didn’t want to be held liable should Mrs. Weasley catch wind of these plans of theirs.

It wasn’t just the twins that were riding a high, though, and everyone converged in the boys tent for a cup of hot cocoa before bed. Surrounded by the infectious energy of the Weasley’s, chattering on either side of you, and the warmth of the cocoa in your hands, you didn’t think you’d ever been so content.

When Ginny fell asleep at the table, and Mr. Weasley shooed you girls into the tent next door, you bid the twins goodnight, Adrian’s words brushed into a nearly forgotten corner of your mind as you settled into the bunk above Ginny, who was so tired she didn’t even pester you about her brother.

#george weasley x reader

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aldbooks · 4 months

Text

A Strange Melody - Chapter 7

@sunshinebingo

Read on AO3

Gwyn woke the next morning singing to herself as she all but floated about the room while the bemused servants attempted to once again bathe and dress her. She opted for a dusky pink dress this time with skirts that billowed around her when she moved and sleeves that draped off her shoulders, held onto her body with what the twins called a ‘corset’. It was surprisingly comfortable given its rigid structure, though it did force her to stand taller and straighter, which she supposed was not a bad thing.

Half of her hair had been pulled back, away from her face and tied with a piece of matching pink silk that made her feel very pretty and feminine. Like the pictures of princesses she had always seen in books.

Smiling as she opened the door, Azriel was once again waiting for her, taking a moment to look her over before pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to approach her. “You needn’t have waited for me,” she said as she took his arm, despite how terribly giddy she felt that he had. “I know my way to and from the dining room well enough.”

He shrugged. “Your room is next to mine and I did not wait long. It was no trouble.”

“Are you going flying again today?” she asked as they made their way down the stairs.

Azriel smiled slightly. “You enjoyed that did you? I told you it was exciting.”

“It was,” she admitted, grinning. “I’d love to see the mainland…”

The look Azriel gave her was apologetic. “Perhaps I can take you another day. Unfortunately business will take away for most of today.”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her heart sinking. She had less than 24 hours left, assuming the magic would last as long as Rhysand had guessed. Possibly less. She felt they had made some progress yesterday, but how much of that progress might be lost before she was forced to leave?

Had the Bargainer known he would be gone for most of her stay here? She couldn’t help but feel tricked.

“Just for a few hours,” he said. “A- matter has arisen that warrants my personal investigation and time is of the essence, I’m afraid.”

Gwyn’s shoulders slumped, her lips turning down in a pout. Azriel’s warm, rough hand covered hers, drawing her attention. “If you really wish to go flying, I’m sure Cassian would be happy to take you. Or, like Rhys said, we’re stabling some of Helion’s pegasus who will need the exercise. You don’t need to wait for me if you wish to explore.”

Gwyn nodded absently. She did wish to fly again, but that hadn’t been her reason for asking. She’d hoped to spend more one on one time with him. However, if he were planning to be absent for so long, then it was perhaps prudent to revisit the idea of securing an invitation through befriending the queen and her sister.

She would join them for whatever their plans may be for the day, she decided as they approached the dining room.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she asked, turning to look at Azriel. Spy work could be dangerous, she knew. She had no notion of what had occurred to warrant the Spymaster’s personal attention, but if it was urgent, surely it was dangerous. The thought was unsettling.

Smiling, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Always.”

As it turned out, Gwyn had learned the queen was a talented artist and avid painter and had spent a good part of her day in Feyre’s studio, watching her work. It had been fascinating to watch her bring scenes to life with the stroke of her brush on canvas. The way she mixed color to show light and shadow. Most of the artwork under the surface consisted of sculptures as it was one of the only mediums that could survive the waters, and even then some materials had to be enchanted with magic to prevent erosion.

She had seen a few paintings that had perished in shipwrecks. Occasionally those that were salvageable would be preserved and hung in the nymphs’ homes or offered to the sea god as a gift. But to see such beautiful art, undamaged, was a treat.

Nesta had rolled her eyes at Gwyn’s enthusiasm and had retreated to the library, which was where she had found her once she’d felt she’d stayed long enough in the queen’s studio to wear out her welcome, and there they remained for most of the afternoon discussing the book that Gwyn had finally finished reading the night before.

Azriel, to her knowledge, had still not returned by the time she returned to her rooms to change, and as she glanced out the window at the storm that was brewing, she began to worry.

Attempting to shake off her moody thoughts, Gwyn busied herself selecting a gown she thought Azriel might like and ended up choosing a deep navy one that matched well with the scarf he had bought her, which the twins tied around her waist, knotting it at the back into a bow. The effect was quite beautiful, giving her waist an exaggerated curve and offsetting the dark dress with a splash of color.

Azriel was not waiting for her when she finished dressing, to her disappointment, so she made her way down on her own. As she passed through a hallway lined with windows, she could see the dark waters of the sea churning below and could hear the wind picking up as lightning arched across the sky. Before she could truly begin to worry about Azriel possibly flying in such conditions, she heard Cassian’s booming laugh and hurried towards the parlor where they had all gathered for dinner the night before. To her relief, Azriel was there, standing amongst his friends.

Breathing a sigh, she watched a shadow brush against his ear, causing him to turn in her direction. The shadow that had been following her around all day (much to her amusement) darted back over to its master, hiding behind his wings when he narrowed his eyes as though it were a naughty child. She suppressed a grin as she approached him.

Azriel’s eyes swept over her with an appreciation that made her shiver. His gaze caught on the scarf and she twirled when she stopped a few feet from him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a soft smile.

Beaming, she took a step closer, about to ask how his day had been when a throaty, feminine voice floated in from the doorway. “Did you miss me?”

Spinning, Gwyn found herself looking at quite possibly the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Tall and lithe with delicate curves encased in a red dress, she looked like the personification of sunlight with her golden hair and skin. The others grinned as she sauntered in, arms outstretched to meet Feyre with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Beside her, she felt Azriel go very still. Glancing over at him, she was dismayed to see him staring intently at the blond as the others greeted her and Gwyn realized who she was.

Morrigan had returned. And Azriel was utterly besotted.

Gwyn looked like a dream in the dark blue dress, the green and gold scarf he’d bought her at the market tied around her waist like a sash. Her bright smile and the way she’d twirled for him to show it off was so innocently adorable, it solidified his decision to pursue her.

After learning nothing new during his investigations that day, Azriel had spent the flight back home and the hour in his study afterward, contemplating whether it really mattered. Rhys had already decided she was trustworthy, and his own instincts told him she was not a threat. Quite the opposite in fact.

Did it really matter if he did not have all of the information about her beforehand? Was that not half the joy of courting- getting to know someone? He would find a way to get the answers he sought from her eventually. For now, he just needed to figure out what to do about this aching need to be near her. The rest he could figure out later.

He’d only just made this conclusion when the previous object of his infatuation for the last five centuries walked through the door, catching him off guard. He’d been so busy thinking about Gwyn all day, he’d forgotten that Morrigan was to return that evening. Which was uncharacteristic of him enough in itself.

Azriel stilled as she approached, struck as he always was by her beauty. Yet, it did not seem to affect him quite as strongly as it usually did. There were the usual feelings of lust, longing, jealousy, but they did not feel as potent. There was no allconsuming need to possess, just a general acknowledgement of attraction. Curious.

He could not help but think it was due to the woman standing beside him whom Mor had finally noticed wearing one of her own gowns and greeted warmly, complimenting her on the way it flattered her and insisting she keep it.

But what did it mean? Why did he suddenly feel so free from the choking yearning that had had its claws in him for so many centuries? Surely it wasn’t just because she’d been gone for so long. Mor was always running off to some place or another, ostensibly on business for the court as Rhysand’s second, but more likely to escape his own unwanted feelings for her which had never truly been acknowledged between them.

Could it really be as simple as a transfer of his attention to a more willing subject? That didn’t quite seem correct either, and he didn’t care for the implication that Gwyn was merely a distraction.

Azriel blinked, staring and staring at Mor as he puzzled through this revelation, entirely unaware of the way Gwyn had grown quiet and rigid at his side.

#gwynriel

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