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babybluebex · 9 months

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rememories | tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: the lee family trashed your betting room, including your most prized possessions, and tommy does everything in his power to soothe you and right the wrongs that the rival gang caused. pairing: tommy shelby (peaky blinders) x fem!reader tags: s1!tommy, tommy being a sweetheart, your daughter's name is thomasine (thanks @lost-in-sokovia for that one), no real warnings for this other than like angst? brief emotional distress? idk author's note: it's come to this lol. i'll be fixing my cillian masterlist later and reblogging it, so y'all can read all of my old tommy fics (and a few other cillian characters lmao) but i hope you enjoy this one!

The backroom was in total disrepair. Chairs were tipped over, things were thrown from tables, coins scattered everywhere and marks of bludgeonings on the walls. The poor little room was merely a shell of itself, its personality and life battered away. You could still hear your husband’s jaded laughter as he made fun of John for wanting to marry Lizzie Stark, but mere minutes ago now seemed like a lifetime away.

Scudboat sat as Arthur poured him whisky, and he explained how the Lees, “the whole lot of ‘em”, came in and destroyed the betting backroom. He was ambushed, he said, or he would have done a better job defending it. You held Tommy’s hands as fear made your own shake, and your husband sighed. “Find what can be salvaged,” he said, narrowly missing John’s angry fit as he kicked a box over. “Anything is better than nothing.”

“This is terrible,” you sniffled, and Tommy extracted his handkerchief for you. It was one that you had bought for him right after you had gotten married and just before he went to war, and you were always amazed that the silky cloth made it as far as it did. You dabbed at your eyes, scowling at your dark makeup that came off, and your heart beat fiercely against your ribcage for a moment. “The children. Was Finn here for this, Scudboat? Or Thomasine?”

“Nah,” he said. “Finn was off in town; Thomasine ain’t come home from school yet.”

“Oh, Tommy, they can’t see the house like this!” you whimpered and clutched your husband’s arm. “It’ll upset Thomasine too much. I’ll fetch her from school and keep her away from the house for a while until this is mostly fixed.”

Tommy nodded wordlessly in agreement, and he began to take off his cap, but he quickly stopped. He was fixated on something on the floor at his feet, and you looked down to match his gaze, only to be greeted with the big leather book that held your most prized possessions: your photographs. You kept the album in the betting room because it was always filled with people, witnesses in case something happened, and, really, who would want to ruin Tommy Shelby’s wife’s photographs?

Your knees crunched on glass as you lowered yourself to the album, and you took it in your shaking hands. The dark green leather was stained black with spilled ink and oil, obscuring your gold-foiled name on the spine, and you opened the book with a creak of the old pages. You didn’t want to have to assess the damage, but the first page already had you weeping pathetically again. The first photograph, the first one ever taken of you and Tommy, sitting and laughing together as Ada tried out her new camera, years and years ago at fifteen and thirteen. It was gone. The page was yellowed all around where the photograph should be, but the picture itself was gone. You wanted to throw the book across the room and scream; you weren’t concerned with material things, many girls from Small Heath were the same way, but those photographs were your pride and joy. The next page was a formal picture taken of Tommy wearing his Army uniform, his lanky seventeen-year-old build a little too small for the uniform that he would grow into. The corner of the photograph was torn but, thankfully, mostly intact.

The third page made you press the book to your chest. Your wedding photographs. You and Tommy had gotten married quickly, two days before he had to go to France, and, in your haste, you hadn’t been able to afford much. You could only afford a single copy of each photograph: one of you in your Sunday best that was your wedding dress, one of Tommy in his uniform, and one of you together. All three photographs were torn to shreds, settled in the spine of the book, waiting for you to find them. Those wedding photographs were the most important thing in the world to you, and now they were gone. Not even pasting glue could fix it. “Tom!” you sobbed, pressing the back of your wrist to your mouth. “O-Our wedding photographs! Th-They’re all ripped up!”

Your husband’s attention went from Scudboat to you, and he walked over to you and knelt down next to you. He took the small bits of photographs in his fingers, examining them intently, and he sighed heavily. “Fuck, love,” he whispered, and your sobs grew heavy. If Tommy was resigned to fate, then there was no chance of them being fixed. “I’m sorry.”

“We-We don’t have any extras, do we?” you stuttered. Your mouth felt dry as your fingers tried to match the ripped edges of photographs up, but they were too far gone. “Tom, d-do we have any others? Th-These aren’t the only ones we have, right?”

Tommy sat down next to you and put an arm around you, and he watched you frantically sob for just a second more before he used his strength to pull you into his chest. The photo album fell out of your hands, and you clutched your husband as you wailed in sorrow. Your wedding photos were gone.

“Mummy?” you heard a little voice call from the doorway, and you turned to see your wee daughter, Miss Thomasine Sophia Shelby, standing at the door. She was holding her school books in her arms, the pink ribbon in her hair coming loose. Thomasine was born just after Tommy come home from France, five years ago, and she looked like a Shelby, dark hair and bright eyes, but she had her father’s smile. “Mummy, why’re you crying?”

You sniffled and wiped at your eyes, not caring that you streaked your makeup to hell and back, and you mumbled, “People came into the house, did us over. I-I’m just sad, that’s all.” You didn’t want to worry your daughter with the real reason why you were so upset, because, truly, you felt silly for being so distraught at fucking photographs. It felt ridiculous for you, as a grown woman, a mother, to be crying over photographs.

Thomasine ran to you and sat her small body in your lap, and she wrapped her small arms around you. “Don’t be sad,” Thomasine told you, and you laughed humorlessly. “It’s okay, Mummy.”

You sniffled and soothed your hand down Thomasine’s hair— the ends of her long hair were turning a little ginger, just the same as her father’s tended to do in the sun— and you kissed her forehead. “Thank you, love,” you whispered. “Hug your father, he’s sad too.”

Thomasine crawled out of your lap and into Tommy’s, and Thomasine started to suck her thumb as Tommy stood up and settled his daughter firmly on his hip. He offered you a hand to stand up, and you sniffled as you gathered the soiled photo album up in your grip and stood up on your own. “If you find any of ‘em,” Tommy called to the room, and he gestured to the album in your arms. “Bring ‘em to her, don’t waste time. Yeah?”

You hardly slept that night. After securing the house and making sure that there wasn’t any other part of it that the Lees had touched, you had tried to go about your life normally, but it was difficult to pretend like you didn’t know that, at any time, rivals could enter your home and slaughter every last one of you. You put Thomasine to bed after dinner, and your girl fell asleep quickly, but you yourself were awake for hours. Tommy had taken your photo album and put it away in his wardrobe; “If you keep it, you’ll fret over it forever.” He was right, of course, because, when the sun came up, you had tugged it out and was trying to sort through the scraps of photographs on your bedroom floor. The room was cold and part of you wished that you could be in bed, holding your husband close, but you needed to do it for yourself. You had managed to salvage a single photograph by the time Tommy was blinking himself awake, and you sniffled as you beckoned him over. “Tommy, look!” you exclaimed. “I-It’s Thomasine!”

“Jesus, woman,” Tommy sighed groggily. “Have you been at this all night?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “Her baby picture, look!”

Tommy reached down for you and he took your hand, and he helped you stand up, his hands going to hold your cheeks. “I know you’re having a hard time with this,” he whispered. “But obsessing over it is only going to make it worse. They’re as good as gone, darling.”

“B-But—” you sniffled, and Tommy shook his head.

“You have to let it go,” He told you firmly. “Come back to bed, you don’t have to be awake for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy,” you sighed, shuffling back up to bed. Your joints hurt from sitting on the floor practically all night, and your vision watered up as you watched Tommy gather up the album and photograph scraps and set them back in his wardrobe. “What am I going to do? All of my favorite memories are lost.”

“You still have the memories in your head, love,” Tommy told you, sitting next to you. You leaned into him and pressed your cheek to his warm chest, and you sniffled as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I just…” you mumbled. “Our wedding pictures is the thing I’m most upset about. We were so young, and that was before everything went to shit, and we were so happy…”

“We’re still happy,” Tommy assured you. “We’re happier now, because we have Thomasine. We’re a complete family now.”

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We were poor kids, and-and looking at those pictures gave me hope that you’d come home when you were in France. They were my lifeline for a long time, and to have them ruined like this…”

Tommy’s lips formed into a thin line, and he rubbed your back comfortingly as you finally laid down and tried to settle into sleep. Your sleep was thin, hardly even deep enough to call proper sleep, but you finally woke up and got out of bed when you heard shouting down in the bottom of the house. You were used to that, but you still felt like you ought to make sure everything was alright, so you pulled yourself from bed and went about groggily getting ready for the day, slipping on a dress and spraying on perfume before descending the stairs.

The noise seemed to be coming from the back room, the ruined betting room, and you carefully pushed back the plush curtains and opened the doors to see a sight. Your eyes first landed on your husband, dressed in his old uniform. It certainly looked too small for him, tugging a little at his chest, but you clenched your teeth together at the sight. How long has it been since you saw him in the pea-soup-green uniform? Five years, at least. “Tommy,” you said softly. You couldn’t help yourself from stepping closer to him as his head snapped to look at you, and his hard gaze softened in the way it always did when he saw you. He never subjected you to his steely gaze, and, whenever you saw it, it always reminded you of what a feared man he was.

“Fuck, love, what’re you doing down here?” Tommy asked. “You’re supposed to be asleep still.”

“Heard shouting,” you said softly. The other men were bustling around the room as you smoothed your hands up Tommy’s chest, and your eyes went all watery again. “This isn’t happening, please, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked. “Talk to me, darling, what’s the matter?”

“How long have you known?” you asked, sniffling. “Leaving us like this, how could you?”

“What?”

“The uniform, Tommy!” you cried. “You’re being called to the war again, why else would you have this shit on?”

Tommy grabbed your cheeks and kissed your forehead, and he angled your head to the side. Arthur stood there, behind a massive camera, angled at a blank space on the wall, and your breath caught in your throat. “What is this?” you asked.

“I’m not being called back,” Tommy explained. “I got to thinking about our wedding pictures, and I went to see the photographer who made them. He said the film was too old and that they couldn’t make you new copies, so the next best thing was to retake them.”

“Oh?” you asked. You sniffled and wiped your nose, and you gently reached out to touch the camera. “We… We’re retaking our wedding pictures?”

“With a few adjustments,” Tommy said. “Back then, I couldn’t afford to even get you so much as a bouquet, but now… Well, I took your measurements to a dress shop, and even though the dress was pre-made and only adjusted to you…”

“Tommy?” you whimpered.

“I got you a wedding dress, love,” Tommy told you. “Better than the flour-bag Sunday best that you had on.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, and you sobbed once before flying to your husband and crushing him in a hug. “Oh, Tommy!” you cried. “Thank you! Can I see it?”

“Pol’s got it in the kitchen,” Tommy told you. “Go put it on, why don’t you let me see it?”

The dress was beautiful. Eggshell-colored silk that fell below your knees with long sleeves and deep neckline, very fashionable and pretty, and it fit you like a glove as Polly helped you into it. She primped you a little, fixing your hair and patting red rouge onto your lips, and she upturned a vase next to the stove and handed you the bouquet of wildflowers that Thomasine had picked a few days earlier. You felt timid and almost nervous as Polly escorted you back to the betting room, and you cleared your throat once you passed the threshold, afraid that, if you spoke, your voice would give up on you.

Tommy looked to you in an instant, and he gave you a small smile as he stepped towards you. “Aren’t you a sight?” he said in his rumbling timbre, putting his hands on your hips, and he kissed your lips for a moment before he added, “Thomasine might get a brother before the day’s over, if you keep looking that beautiful.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggled, and he steered you in front of the camera as you smoothed down your dress. You were suddenly nervous, and you clutched Tommy’s hand as Arthur cranked the camera, preparing it to go off. “Tom?”

“M’right here, pet,” Tommy said, squeezing your hand. “Just smile; everything will be fine.”

By the time night fell, you had a whole slew of new film, new pictures to replace the ruined ones. Recreations of your wedding pictures, an updated picture of a smiling Thomasine, even one of Tommy kissing you when the camera went off on accident. Thomasine was tangled in your skirts then, gazing up at her daddy, and you looked at the film as you sat by the fire that night, smiling and admiring it. That was your favorite memory; you, your husband, and your daughter, smiling, laughing, loving. It was perfect.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillain murphy x you

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thatdeadaquarius · 9 months

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THE SAGAU FANFIC ONE-SHOT WINNER IS...

🎊🎉🌿Eldritch! Reader AU🌿🎉🎊

Just a small annoucement for the winner, though I'm sure we all saw the results lol

Have a snippet, hope you enjoy!

*disclaimer: subject to change, this is a draft, no finalized version yet.

At least, you were pretty sure of where you were now. But that didn't mean it made any more sense. You hadn't recognized it at first, but the Irminsul was unmistakable after a minute of looking at it and the surrounding blue. The lights were incredible, with sparkles and stars floating up from the ground. Strange, nearly mechanical patterns flared out from its branches. The only difference between the Irminsul in-game versus the real one you see now is the rapid swelling and filling out of its trunk. As you had woken up more and more, ignoring the strange state of your body for now, it had let out weirdly nostalgic noises. Like a computer booting up, and a million other digital pings or tunes as it grew. As you tentatively reach a hand out to touch the trunk, a familiar book materializes. The dark blue pages flip to the first page instead of to the middle of the book. ...isn't this usually the really obscure "Archives" animation from the Paimon settings page? What's it doing here?? In gold writing that hovers slightly above the pages, your (presumed) stats display. The eerily familiar Genshin Impact font rapidly types itself out from left to right. /gamemode: admin *Executing... *Executing... *Loading... *Loading... *... *...Success! *Your gamemode has been changed. " Player." [ADMIN.] EXP: 1000000#%$+??? DEF: ?%@****+~?? ATTK: ??*!!%^<=+? POWERS: - ??";*&%[]\/%? - &%#@?<_++}] - ~`*(-_+}|\\!!??^& ...you decide to stop looking at your... stats, for now. Because more importantly, as you pull your hand back from the book (letting it float in place in front of the Irminsul trunk again), you notice something even more off. Your hand. It's... wrong. As you trail your eyes up your arm, you choke back a sense of panic. Sure enough, when you bring the right arm over to poke and try to smear the seemingly black paint that drenches your left arm, it too is covered in black. Your arms are pitch black. And as you attempt to touch your forearm for more answers, only to phase through it... you begin to think maybe this is not, in fact, paint. And as you realize you are hovering, instead of standing in place, you begin to think this is, in fact, the very real world of Genshin Impact. ...you decide to lay back down on the weird blue ground (?) and take a nap.

Maybe start today over.

☆

I'll be working on asks in the mean time!

But this'll be higher priority/posted soon bc I'm worried I'll forget abt it otherwise lmao

Idk if anybody cares that much, but I'll go ahead and ask just in case:

I hope you guys are having a great week, wherever you may be!

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr

@yomilyy / @0rah-s / @idontknowwhatimdoingbutweball / @blackstar-gazer

(^^^ dw you'll still get tagged when the actual piece is out! :)

#hope u guys enjoy the snippet!#i hope u all read that little disclaimer before it like that rlly fast salesperson voice lmao #BTW IF U READ THIS UR OBLIGATED TO SEND A SUBMISSION TO JUST SEND ME A CHAT #ANSWER THIS QUESTION: What was the funniest thing you've done in-game?#get nerfed during a cutscene?#fall off a cliff ass-first onto a boss monsters?#bc i did #3 times #genshin isekai #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin imagines #self aware genshin au #gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #sagau eldritch au #sagau eldritch god au

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libraryofgage · 3 months

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A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three (you’re here!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse (also on the way and also a modern royalty au cuz I got the urge to write one so bad lmao)

This AU was line-jumped on Ko-Fi, which means y'all got it sooner!

If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

I hope y'all enjoy this part! It was a lotta fun to write, actually, since I got to talk about folklore I'm more familiar with lol

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve huffs as he kicks a pebble down the street. It bounces a few times before settling on the sidewalk, doing nothing interesting enough to alleviate his boredom. He turns around, squinting against the sun shining in his eyes, and looks at his parents. His mother is speaking quietly to a woman with a shawl around her shoulders, both of them bent over some book that definitely should have been crumbling by now. His father idly taps at bricks on the building next to them, looking relaxed but alert.

Steve glances at the building his parents are avoiding, the one the woman with the shawl walked out of. It’s a pale, faded yellow, the kind that tells him the building is old, old enough to have seen wars and generations pass it by. Shingles line a low roof, but something that’s either incredibly durable wood or stone so old it’s turned brown makes up the vaguely mountain-shaped top that reaches to the sky. Steve studies the building, his eyes wandering until he sees the door cracked open on the side.

He takes a slow step towards it, checks that neither of his parents noticed, and takes another. This continues until he’s in the shadow of the building, his fingers brushing against the wood. It’s cool against his skin, and the door isn’t nearly as heavy as it looks. He pushes lightly against it, an eager feeling building in the pit of his stomach as he slips inside.

A dimly lit hall made of stone sprawls out in front of him, and Steve hums softly as he passes by the paintings and scraps of scroll that are framed along the wall. He recognizes Hebrew on all the scrolls, but he doesn’t linger long enough to read any of it. Instead, he continues to walk, glancing through an opening that leads into a sanctuary. The opening is to the left of the bema, and he’s momentarily caught by the ark that contains the Torah. He can’t even see the holy scrolls, but something in his spine jerks and he’s overwhelmed by the urge to open the doors so he can gaze upon them.

He’s already going to get in trouble for slipping inside, though. Maybe he shouldn’t make it worse. Steve grasps this thought tightly, holding it in his mind until he’s able to tear his gaze away and continue walking down the hall. Other than that opening, there’s only one door left at the very end. It, too, is made of wood and opens far easier than Steve expected.

Shafts of sunlight stream in through narrow windows, illuminating dust that floats in the still air of an undisturbed staircase. Steve looks down at the first steps, crouches, and drags his finger carefully over the stone. A layer of dust comes off, and Steve comes to the conclusion that nobody has been up these stairs in a long, long time.

With a grin, Steve begins to climb.

The stairs wind up and up, far higher than Steve thinks should be possible given the height of the building itself, but what does he know? He just focuses on climbing, on reaching the top as he passes narrow window after narrow window, breathing in stale air that stirs in his lungs and builds. Strangely enough, he’s not breathless from the climbing, but from something else entirely. He isn’t able to name that feeling until he finally (finally) reaches the top of the stairs.

As he stands on the top step and looks over the loft spread out before him, he realizes it was anticipation. Like the stairs, this attic-loft is covered in dust, untouched by people for a very long time. A large window is opposite the stairs, allowing sunlight to stream into the area. The space holds a desk, a bed, more books than Steve has ever seen before, and a statue.

Steve stares at the statue, licks his lips nervously, and steps into the room. He doesn’t spare the books or anything else a second glance, instead making a beeline for the statue. It’s huge, towering over the twelve-years-old Steve even though it’s sitting. Its legs are crossed, and its hands are held palm-up just above its navel. The statue is round and smooth, not a straight edge in sight. It doesn’t have a neck, and its head is like a little bump on its shoulders, just big enough to hold triangle-shaped divots for eyes. Carefully placed next to the statue is a small clay jar and a paintbrush.

Without thinking, Steve picks up the jar and looks inside. Golden-hued paint shimmers inside, and Steve wonders how it hasn’t caked over or disintegrated after all this time. He tilts the clay pot a few times, watching the paint slide against the edges, and then looks up at the statue again. At second glance, he sees that the statue’s head is big enough for more than just its eyes. He could probably write on it, too.

With that thought, Steve grabs the paintbrush and very carefully pokes his foot against the statue’s leg. It seems strong enough, so he climbs up, following the statue’s calf to its knee. From there, he carefully holds the paintbrush with his teeth so he can steady himself on the statue’s arm. Once he has, Steve pulls himself up onto the statue’s hands, finding himself at the perfect height to reach its forehead.

Steve holds the paintbrush and dips it into the jar. The brush comes out covered in the gold paint, and Steve pauses, looking at the statue’s forehead.

He remembers a story his mother once told him about this very city, this very building. It involved a statue like this one, a golem, that was brought to life to protect his mom’s ancestors. Steve hums softly and carefully paints aleph, mem, tav on the statue’s forehead. His mom will find it funny when he brings her up here to show her the “golem” he found.

As he finishes off the tav, giving it a pretty little flourish just for the fun of it, the ground beneath him jerks. No, not the ground. The hands he’s standing on. Steve yelps, losing his balance and about to fall only to be cradled and carefully set on the ground.

Steve blinks, looking up at the golem to see it leaning down and staring at him expectantly. “Uh. Hi,” he says, breathless as he receives a small nod and wave in return. “Holy shit.”

Before he can say more, he hears a familiar voice in the distance shouting, “Steve! Where are you?”

Keeping his eyes on the golem, Steve sets the jar and paint down, scooting back along the floor until he reaches the top of the stairs. “I’m up here!” he shouts, hearing a muffled curse and the slam of a door far below. He sighs and stands, slowly approaching the golem.

“You’re really real,” he mumbles, stopping in front of the golem as he hears someone running up the steps.

He turns just in time to see his father reach the attic, guns at the ready, and panting from adrenaline and the climb. “What the fuck is that?!” he shouts, aiming the guns at the golem without thinking.

“Don’t shoot it!” Steve yells, barely getting the words out before he’s scooped into the golem’s arms and completely covered by its hands. The world goes dark, and he’s pressed close enough to the golem’s chest that all he can smell is pomegranate and the old ink and paper of Talmud studies.

“It’s holding you captive, and you’re telling me not to shoot it?!” his father asks.

“It’s protecting him!” his mother shouts, her voice shrill and panicked enough about his father shooting a golem to make Steve almost laugh.

Steve wiggles around, tapping the golem’s chest. “Those are my parents,” he says, “Please let me down.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, the golem does, carefully and slowly placing Steve on his feet once more. Its hands stay on either side of him, looking ready to pull him back into its protective embrace. His father looks harried, but his mother looks awed as she steps forward. The golem allows her to approach, and she carefully runs her fingers over the golem’s arms. “This is amazing, Steve,” she says softly.

“Can we please step away from the dangerous statue now?” his father asks, taking a step forward only to stop when the golem suddenly stands and towers over him. “Uh, what’s it doing?”

“You’re not Jewish, Rick,” Steve’s mother says, looking over her shoulder. “The golem is a protective figure in Jewish folklore, among other things. It’s most famous stories are about keeping Jewish towns safe from pogroms. It’s wary of you.”

“I’m your husband!” Steve’s father protests, angrily shoving his guns back into their holsters, “And Steve’s father! We should be on the same team!”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, walking over to his father and taking his hand. “I just have to introduce you.” With that, Steve leads his father over to the golem, placing his father’s hand on its arm, and saying, “This is someone you should protect, too.”

----------

After explaining everything, with plenty of interruptions from the kids after they came running back into the living room to escape Uncle Jonathan’s gin, Steve’s parents demanded to see the lab where it all started.

And now they’re here, standing in one of the lower levels, surrounded by dead vines that still haunt Steve’s nightmares on particularly bad nights. If he’s lucky, he won’t have one of those while his parents are home, but Steve has never really called himself lucky in situations that don’t involve life or death.

The wall that once held a gate to the Upside Down is nothing more than charred cement, reduced to a jagged line of something Steve really hopes is soot and not, like, disintegrated demogorgon. He carefully makes his way through the vines, avoiding them when he can and holding his breath whenever he has to step on one.

“Did you know this was a lab?” Rick asks, his voice echoing in the hall ahead of them.

“Of course, not,” Evelyn replies, and Steve can picture the glare she’s aiming at him. “I wouldn’t have let our son live here if I’d known.”

“Well,” Eddie says, “I, for one, and very relieved Stevie lived here considering several of us would be dead without him.”

“Me, too,” Dustin says.

“Me three,” El says.

“I think Steve and I would’ve found each other even if he wasn’t in Hawkins,” Robin says, nudging Steve’s ribs with her elbow as she grins. “Platonic soulmates can’t he kept apart.”

Steve snorts and stops when he reaches the wall. He looks around and notices the corpse of a demodog a few feet away. Or, well, he thinks it’s a demodog corpse. “Stay here,” he says, tightening his grip on his bat as he takes a step closer to it.

“Hold it right there, young man,” his mother says, her tone bringing him to an immediate halt. “Your father will go towards the monster, and you will stay a safe distance away.”

“Gee, thanks for asking,” Rick mutters, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way over to the demodog corpse. He studies it for a second before just kicking the thing with his foot. Steve nearly jumps in to yank his father back, but stays frozen in place by Robin’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

His father kicks the corpse again, and Eddie suddenly asks, “Why do I feel like this is disrespectful?”

“Because it used to be alive,” El offers.

“It’s definitely not anymore,” Rick says, crouching down and using the barrel of his gun to push back one of the petals on its head. “Shit, what’s it need so many teeth for?”

“The better to eat you with,” Steve says, earning a snort from Robin and Eddie.

“And there were how many of these?” Evelyn asks.

“Dozens. Like, multiple packs, and they were all connected by this hive mind kinda thing,” Dustin explains, walking over to the corpse with no fear. “I mean, they weren’t all bad. Dart was okay.”

“He ate your cat,” Steve says.

“Yeah, and then he didn’t eat us in the tunnel.”

“I can’t believe you were facing these things and didn’t use your guns to spare some girl’s feelings,” Rick says, looking at Steve over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just use the golem,” his mother says, frowning as she turns to Steve. “I mean, you know where it is, dear. You know how to bring it to life.”

“A golem? Like…from Lord of the Rings?” Dustin asks.

“You had a golem? Why didn’t you tell me you had a golem?” Eddie asks.

“How did we not think of the golem? Holy shit, we’re dumb,” Robin says, smacking her forehead with her palm.

“I couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t hurt one of my friends,” Steve says, ignoring Dustin for now. “It would only protect me and Robin. If something happened to one of us, it would abandon the kids without question. What’s the point then?”

“Hello! Confused people over here!” Dustin shouts, getting their attention. “What golem?”

“You know,” Robin says, “like…of Prague.”

“No, still lost,” Dustin says.

Steve sighs, about to explain it when Eddie beats him to it. “The golem is from Jewish folklore,” he says, tilting his head as he looks at Steve, “It was created and brought to life by a rabbi in Prague to protect his congregation from pogroms and acts of antisemitism. There are debates on why he had to disintegrate the golem, though. Some stories say it started killing innocent people, others say it fell in love, and others say the congregation were using it to do chores instead of letting it focus on protecting them.”

“Yes, exactly,” Evelyn says, smiling at Eddie and nodding with approval, “The golem doesn’t speak much, but it can answer basic questions. According to it, Rabbi Loew removed its aleph because it requested to go to sleep.”

“Oh, so it just wanted a nap,” El says, nodding as though this makes perfect sense to her.

“You said you had the golem,” Eddie says. “Where?”

“At the house,” Steve replies, watching as his father stands from the corpse and drags Dustin away from it. “I keep it in the locked room downstairs.”

“You said that was your parents’ room,” Dustin says.

“No, you assumed it was, and I never corrected you.”

“Can I see it?” Eddie asks.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie’s gaze. After a few seconds, he nods once and looks at his parents. “Did you see what you wanted?” he asks, “Can we head back?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, frowning as he nudges a vine with his foot. “I’ll come back later with Ardeth. See if he knows anything that might help.”

“What do we need help with?” Dustin asks. “The portal is closed for good. We closed it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with making sure,” Evelyn tells him, smiling reassuringly before turning back the way they came. “Now that Rick and I are here, we’ll do everything we can to make sure those gates never open again.”

“And if they do,” Rick says, bringing up the rear as the kids follow Evelyn, “we’ll take care of it. You kids don’t need to put yourselves in danger anymore.”

Something in Steve settles at hearing this, his next exhale taking all the stress that had made its home between his shoulders with it. For the first time in a long time, he thinks about something normal. He glances at Eddie and Robin and thinks about going to see a movie with them, drinking at the lake, and just being stupid teens that don’t have to worry about interdimensional monsters.

------

Tag List (there should be room still! So, if you’d like a tag, let me know!)

@trueghostqueen, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @mogami13, @blcksh33p1987, @beawritingbooks, @remus-is-trans, @your-confused-friend, @estrellami-1, @nburkhardt, @vacantwatchers, @yeahhhh-suga, @phantomcat94

@blackpanzy, @ape31, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @plantzzsandpencilzzs, @flustratedcas, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @just-a-tiny-void, @disrespectedgoatman, @fallingleavesinthewind, @nymime, @nectandra, @moomkin77, @nadenia, @resident-disappointment, @copper-arrows, @romanticdestruction, @rowanshadow26

@nadenia, @northernlight-witch, @steddie-as-they-go,

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #the mummy 1999 crossover #rick o'connell #evelyn o'connell #jewish steve harrington #jewish robin buckley #robin buckley #the party stranger things #the golem of prague #steve deserves good parents actually #anyway golem of prague my beloved you didn't deserve to be made into a monster by modern media

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nipuni · 2 months

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Doctor Who report!! We are all caught up with NuWho and in time to watch the new season when it comes out!! mission accomplished, It took us around 6 months total and we loved every minute of it 🥰

Now that we have watched all eras I can share our tastes and opinions nobody asked for under the cut 😌

We can confidently say RTD's era is our favourite and for Doctors 10 (and 14) followed by 12, but honestly there isn't a single Doctor (or Master!) that we didn't love.

We've also started rewatching the first four seasons now with more context and there is just something so special about them. They almost feel like a different show from all the later ones. The silliness and the way the story doesn't take itself seriously at all until all of a sudden it does and then the pain hits you twice as hard because of it. How with just with a line or deed and it's implications the Doctor can be so unbelievably inspiring. The way the narrative seems to place you in the role of a companion trying to catch up with the Doctor and figure him out yet never quite managing to do so creates this distance but also admiration and reverence in you too and you can't help but adore him flaws and all. It has just the right amount of room for every side character and relationship to develop and feel human and the right amount of exposition to keep the pace quick and don't hold your hand. The glimpses behind the doctor's cheerful childish façade into an unsettling calculating alienness and immeasurable trauma but also a weary wisdom. The complete selflessness to the point of martyrdom. The reckless irresponsible acts of devotion from both the companions and the Doctor. The near apotheosis of the companions the closer they get to him. The contagious feeling of awe and wonder and hope for life. The way it's so unabashedly centered around love of every kind 😭 ARGHH I don't know man there is nothing like it!! Ultimate comfort show for us, just.. healing really. There is so much more I can say and gush about but I'd be here typing all day so I'll draw more about it instead!! We would also like to get started on classic Who soon! and try to get our hands on the audio episodes and comic books and all the extra stuff as well 😊

We also watched more David Tennant works since the last report!

Blackpool was hilarious, infuriating and horny, the singing was a choice but overall so fun!! The Escape Artist was great, very sad and tense, would have loved for it to be longer, these miniseries are always so good but so short!! Mad to be Normal is so underrated? we enjoyed it a lot!! RD Laing's portrayal was so compelling, it's beautifully shot and the 60's setting is really immersive and well done. Einstein and Eddington was also really good, incredibly accurate historical setting!! the costuming was fantastic, one of the best I've seen!! These last two films are biographical and sort of no plot just vibes so maybe this is why they are not everyone's cup of tea but we enjoyed them very much. David just never misses, I'm sure we can watch anything with him in it and we will love it no matter what lmao what a guy 😭

Anyway that's all for now! I hope you are all doing well, spring/autumn is almost here! best bits of the year 😊

#DW report #doctor who #personal

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chaoticbardlady99 · 5 months

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She’s My Religion (Part 2: She Needs This Love Just as Much as Me) Astarion x F! Reader

Author note- totally not sure how I feel about this, but here we go! I hope someone enjoys this lmao.

I’m really tired and so this has been edited once and I’ll add the link for part 1 later. If you asked to be on my tag list- I am going to be adding you tomorrow simply because I can barely keep my eyes open right now.

CW: Domestic violence, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of torture, violence, angst.

Picture does not belong to me and is not mine. I cannot for the life of me remember where I got it so I apologize in advance.

“You’ve been doing WHAT!?”

Astarion sits staring at the forest with his head hung with guilt and shame. Shadowheart sounds furious with him and admittedly, Astarion is also raving mad at himself.

Astarion miscalculated terribly- his plan was completely, utterly doomed from the start. Shadowheart is pacing back and forth in front of him- reading him the right act.

Astarion is zoning out as Shadowheart goes on and on saying all the things he’s already said to himself- he begins to drift to the first time he had ever met you about three years ago.

Astarion had been in solitary confinement for what had felt like forever when Cazador let him out. It was probably the only time Cazador had looked somewhat close to nervous with some sick twisted affection behind his eyes. He simply told Astarion he was to accompany you around the grounds and that you needed to be treated with respect. Your step-father did not want you to be present after dinner.

“You are allowed to take her to do what she wants- within reason. Do not let her leave the mansion grounds and make sure she is content,” Cazador said stiffly, “I am trusting you, boy. You know the consequences if you step out of line.”

Later, before you had arrived, Dalyria had made him privy to you and your… temperaments. Astarion relished in knowing you made a fool out of Petras. Someone needed to give the prick a wake up call.

It was also, supposedly, no secret to anyone in your family that you are the one Cazador wishes to marry, but due to your lack of royal blood, it would ruin his alliance with the Von family entirely. So Cazador is stuck with a woman named Daisy Von (who he cannot stand) and Astarion felt like it was the perfect karma for Cazador- the one time he wants something or someone, he absolutely cannot have it.

You were (still are) wildly different from your obnoxious step-sisters and step-brothers.

“Wild.”

“Rebellious.”

“Boorish.”

“Trouble maker.”

It was all this annoying group of people could seem to talk about- how terrible and horrible you were. What a disappointment. What a nuisance.

Dalyria told him beforehand that this was the norm and that it really only gets more embarrassing for them every time. You were kind, headstrong, ambitious, and beautiful according to Dalyria- when she had stepped in for Petras that night at the last minute, you had treated her like a person. You had asked her about herself, engaged in her hobbies by asking questions, and you had made a point of showing her all the medical books in Bridril Von’s library (you even let her take one, Bridril never goes in the library). Astarion had just stared at her in disbelief- she had to be playing a trick on him.

You stood on the farthest end next to the youngest girl and Bridril had scowled so aggressively, Astarion thought his face may cave in on itself. You are far more captivating than any of Bridril’s children could ever wish to be. No wonder Cazador wants you so badly that he’s willing to do anything to make sure you come over with them or that you show up for dinner at your own home- undeterred by the inability to actually make a proposal for your hand.

You looked positively irritated everytime Daisy opened her mouth and he was too. The woman is dense and over-the-top. Dinner had been awkward and you had barely even touched your food, but drank three goblets of wine- every time Bridril leered at you for getting another glass, a sly smirk would cross your lips. Your own silent rebellion.

Your demeanor and attitude resembled that of a bird trapped in a cage- wings clipped and feathers plucked. It made Astarion feel bitter- in what world were you trapped? You get to live in a nice mansion and go to dinner parties in nice clothes- Astarion just woke up in a TOMB after being in there for WEEKS. How dare a pampered princess such as yourself pretend that you are provided with anything less than perfection.

His bitterness (and biases) hadn’t lasted very long- it lasted for about 5 parties. Your relationship started out with a lot of bickering and miscommunication. Both of your words towards each other were passively laced with venom, but you never complained so he kept being assigned to you. It was never an option really either. Cazador insisted you be a part of every dinner despite Bridril’s grumbling.

The 6th meeting had changed everything. You had not arrived for the party your step-father was throwing and Bridril told Cazador that you were sick before hurriedly rushing off to talk to a local Magistrate. Cazador, naturally, wasn’t satisfied with this explanation so he had sent Astarion to find you.

Astarion had found you sleeping- bloody, battered, and bruised in your bedroom. There was a thick black banded bruise on your neck. The walls were empty, there was only a bedroll in the corner, and the book you had been reading the last time he was there was destroyed and in tatters on the floor. You had woken up when he accidentally slammed the door out of rage and you had looked around disoriented, but skittish and alert all the same. Your eyes softened when you realized it was just him.

You told him you had lost a competition because you hadn’t been sleeping well- too many bad dreams. Bridril had been so embarrassed that he had beaten you for the last several hours before- completely forgetting the mass amount of guests that he had invited to his home that evening. You weren’t allowed to leave your room. Astarion had been wrong. You were a trapped bird in a cage.

It was the one and only time Astarion ever willingly went to Cazador and told him what he had witnessed. You never had a scratch on you again at any future gatherings, but you always looked more tired than the time before. Bridril would boast about all the competitions you had won over the last month- Archery, jousting, mock combats, javelin throwing, etc, etc, etc. The list went on and on- you looked closer and closer to vomiting or keeling over from exhaustion with every activity he named. Life returned to your eyes when you and Astarion went off to dick around.

Escorting you around the Crimson Palace or around the Mansion quickly became his favorite part of those stupid dinner parties or any of the events Cazador threw or went to. You are complex and didn’t grow up in nobility. You despised it, but you were stuck because Bridril had enchanted your mother. You told him she breaks sometimes, but you rarely recognize the woman that pretends to be her nowadays.

You admitted to Astarion you thought he was a pompous bastard when you first met, but he is pretty so you let it slide. Astarion told you that he thought you were a spoiled brat, but because YOU were pretty, he also let it slide.

You had smiled at him, “I guess we are both wrong.”

“But not about being pretty.”

“Oh most certainly not.”

One evening, the two of you had had ‘too much’ fun according to Cazador. You had snuck him into the library and you had sat reading for the entire 6 hour affair. You had asked if it was okay if you sat near him and that eventually led to you leaninging against each other. Astarion had felt like he had been physically, painfully ripped from you when it was time to go. You had kissed Astarion on the cheek before he left and he kissed your hand. Cazador had flayed Astarion for that one night.

Astarion had felt some guilt regarding his resentment toward you after the incident. He knew he wasn’t helping his own situation by giving into your whims and your touch.

If Astarion didn’t know any better, he would think Cazador loved you, but he learned quickly that Cazador’s “affection” for you comes from a place of obsession and possessiveness. You looked like a previous lover of his from a lifetime that Astarion knew very little about. You were different from this woman, but it was not unwelcome in Cazador’s eyes- he has always liked a challenge. He could make you submit.

Cazador had wanted to send someone else to be your escort after you had begun to show an interest in Astarion- this was quickly squashed when you looked like you were going to light Cazador and his entire world on fire if he dared to volunteer another person. He had brought Leon, Astarion, and Dalyria and when Cazador volunteered Leon- you simply said, “No, I want Astarion.”

Cazador was infuriated, but he wanted- no needed you to be happy and to like him. Cazador had told Pale Petras that if he could win your favor, he was sure you’d just willingly come to him and ask to be his consort. Daisy could be thrown out entirely and maybe he’ll have negotiating room. The thought had made Astarion’s stomach turn- he wouldn’t be able to bare watching you become a lifeless consort under Cazador.

However, he always pushed those thoughts away when he was around you so he could stay in a good mood. You would flirt back and forth with Astarion, talk about irrelevant bullshit from the week, the gossip around the mansion, and you both mimicked and complained about how pathetic it was to watch Daisy grovel at Cazador’s feet- a lamb to the slaughter. You referred to the slaughter as being marriage, he referred to the slaughter as Cazador.

It had been a wonderful year of Daisy entirely failing at keeping Cazador’s attention, but she was determined and Astarion admittedly hoped that you may remain a consistent part of his life- the tiniest ray of light to look forward to once or twice a month. And if Cazador marries Daisy? Well, Astarion may never have to be that far away from you permanently.

Then, one night at a party, he had been in the Von mansion’s dining room- Cazador had instructed him to find you. He eventually gave up after he couldn’t and figured you would come to him eventually. Astarion was right, but not in the way he had originally hoped.

You had snuck into the second floor dining area and you locked it behind you. Astarion had been relieved to be in your presence again, but the state you were in… His relief was swallowed up when he had seen how bruised and beaten up you looked. Astarion had surprised you by his presence and you surprised him with your plan. You were escaping and instead of stopping you like a very massive part wanted him too- in spite of Cazador’s command to keep you from leaving the property having been shoved down Astarion’s throat, Astarion helped you tie the rope to propel down the side of the building.

Astarion can still remember the earnest look you’d given him- the way you begged him to leave with you. Gods he wanted to. Astarion remembered all the days that followed after where he kicked himself for not being selfish, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want there to be any way for you to be caught. Astarion knew if he went with you, neither one of you would ever get to know what it means to be free. Cazador would be able to find you through Astarion.

Astarion had told you “no”, struggled to get you to understand between tears, but then you promised him that you would be back. You would kill Cazador and he would be free- you just need him to wait for you. You didn’t know Cazador was a Vampire Lord at the time, but he still believed you. You said give you at least four years- you need time to prepare. He agreed.

Astarion never forgot your promise, clinging to it like a divine wish. There were only 2 more years left- then the Mindflayers kidnapped him.

Astarion had never felt more angry or defeated in his whole life. Astarion would have been free, but now he’s going to turn into a Mindflayer of all things.

Except it had been the best stroke of luck he’d ever had. You were there! In front of him after two years! Your softer noble appearance has been replaced with a scar that shows you dodged just in time to not lose an eye, an Oath of Vengeance sigil plastered to your chest, piercings along your ears, and a large beholder tattoo on your neck. Still beautiful, just far more authentic.

Astarion knows his initial plan to seduce you, sleep with you, and manipulate your feelings was a fucked up one-especially because he knew having you in every way would destroy Cazador without thinking of how it would make you feel. Astarion also acknowledged that a part of him had been doing all this for his own selfish pleasure- no one was in the way of keeping you from getting closer and Astarion didn’t want to have to share your affections with others in camp. And besides, he had been there first.

Oh and Astarion took every advantage of having you to himself. Talking to you, making you laugh, kissing you, being entangled with you while you sleep, drinking from you- fucking you until you only smell of him, leaving bite marks to show you are Astarion’s only.

What Astarion hadn’t anticipated was how much he would also want to be yours. He had been pushing down the feeling for a long time and he always brushed off Shadowheart’s puppy love jokes. Astarion was not smitten with you- he merely knows you and that’s why it’s all so easy. You had shown him simple kindness and you had a history together- you were the obvious choice to go to for protection.

Then the fight with Yurgir happened and Astarion watched you die.

The battle had been hard- brutal even for Astarion’s standards- and the constant bombs being dropped wasn’t helping the situation.

You were up top with Karlach, facing Yurgir head on while Shadowheart and himself tried to pick off the other attackers going after you both.

It had felt like hours, but in reality, what happened next lasted mere seconds.

Yurgir had made you and Karlach lose your balance, but Yurgir was focused on you. Astarion watched in despair as you were flung into the wall, crashing to the ground with a pained scream, a sickening crack, then nothing but blood pouring out of your head. Suddenly, a bomb exploded above you, the rocks began to pour down from the ceiling, and buried you.

The screams that had erupted from Karlach and Shadowheart had snapped him into action. Astarion didn’t remember the rest of the battle, just that it had been a bloodthirsty blur and now he, Karlach, and Shadowheart were clearing the rubble. Astarion had been the one to find you and your face was a bit bruised, the back of your head still seeping with blood, but you looked so peaceful and your skin was so so cold.

When you were completely uncovered, it was evident that you were dead- that this was a job for Withers or a scroll of revivify. Your neck was snapped in half, your limbs were broken- some even shattered. Shadowheart was able to heal and reset your neck so that the whole ordeal was slightly less grotesque. After, he had cradled you in his arms until Karlach and Shadowheart were sure there were no enemies between themselves and the exit.

Astarion had refused to let Karlach take you, holding your broken form against him as his silent tears spilled onto your hushed expression.

You had thankfully not been beyond the point of no return, but Astarion had realized that he needed to have a conversation with you. You are more than an upper hand to him, more than someone fun to tumble around with in his tent- you have somehow become his reason for going forward. Astarion had resigned himself to dying if you weren’t able to be revived. The thought had surprised him after wanting to be free for so long, but would his freedom be worth having if he couldn’t spend it with you? Astarion would rather take his chances and hope you end up together in the same afterlife.

That is what has led him and Shadowheart to having this conversation. Astarion wants to ask you to be something real to each other. Shadowheart had initially been confused, stating that you had “always been real?”, then he told her everything.

Whenever you left Astarion behind, he’d pass the time getting drunk with Shadowheart (if she was left behind). The last time, she had to ask Astarion if his entire conversation catalog is just about you because you were brought up every other word- he had felt incredibly embarrassed, so much so that he had gotten up and hid in his tent.

“Astarion- you never shut up about her, you’ve been following her around like a lost dog since day one- Hells you looked halfway to smitten on the DAMN BEACH!” Shadowheart says with a shrill voice, “What do you mean the entire time up until yesterday that it was all a lie!?”

“It wasn't yesterday only, my favorite wine drunk Sharran” Astarion stated matter-of-factly, “I just… didn’t want to acknowledge that I wanted more. After I first met her, I didn’t see her again for two years- it was bearable, but that had come with the promise of her coming back. She almost didn’t yesterday and I realized that, even after this is all said and done, I don't ever want her to go away. In any capacity.”

Shadowheart shook her head at him, “She’s going to be furious. Heartbroken even.”

“I know,” Astarion says thickly, “but I’m hoping she will forgive me or at least let me prove to her that I’m serious about us.”

You weren’t due back for at least another hour so they had begun working on the speech immediately.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Whatever we are,” you are glaring at him, your voice coated in venom, “or whatever you were pretending I was to you- it’s over.”

No. No. No. NO!

Astarion didn’t think it was possible for his heart to feel like it’s been shattered since it barely beats at all.

It’s over?

It can’t be over! It’s barely begun and you only have half of the story. Astarion knows you’ll listen- you’ll see sense. You have to… right?

“Darling, pl-”

“No! I hate you so much!,” you sob into your hands, his whole body hurts looking at you, “I hate you more than I thought I could ever hate anyone- undead, dead, or alive! I trusted you and you used me for your own gain- so unkindly, go fuck yourself!”

Astarion wants to grab you as you turn around and walk away. He wants to get down on his knees and plead to you- pray to you until you don’t leave him- that you take it back. You’ll give him a chance, even if he loses privileges like getting to hold your hand, cuddle with you at night, or even kiss you for a while, that would be far more bearable than losing you altogether.

Astarion falls to his knees, ruptured and humbled.

“Astarion,” Shadowheart says softly, squatting down in front of him, “it will be okay. She’ll forgive you. She just needs a second, okay? You knew and I knew that this was a toss up to begin with.”

Astarion nodded numbly and got to his feet. Shadowheart gives him a squeeze on the shoulder before going into her own tent and Astarion briskly begins to walk back to his. He makes eye contact with you as Wyll enters your tent and the look on your face when you saw him makes this whole nightmare all too real.

Once he secures the tent flaps, Astarion crawls onto his bedroll and lets the sadness consume him while being surrounded by your scent. This may be one of the worst days he’s ever had in the last 200 years- at least from what he can remember.

If Astarion wasn’t so afraid for your safety, he would have packed up all of his things and headed back to Cazador with his tail between his legs, but he can’t because all that does is put you in danger.

Astarion slowly peels himself off the bed roll and hugs his knees to his chest. He lets himself stare off into nowhere as he lets himself be consumed with the agony and vexation- it’s not like there is any wildlife to go take out his pain on.

Astarion gets up and rolls his shoulders. As much as he wants you, you are done with him and he needs to respect that. Astarion decides he’ll leave you alone, but remain in the background. He’ll stay until you tell him to leave and never return. It will hurt so terribly to not be near you like he was, but he’ll just have to be grateful for the time he did have- the time he took for granted.

Astarion begins to get ready for the long night ahead of him when an open letter on one of his books catches his attention.

It’s addressed to you, torn open and stained with tears. Astarion opens the envelope. He reads the note so many times he feels like he may go on a homicidal rampage. Not only was your mother dead, likely at the hands of your step-father, you are officially considered engaged to be married to Cazador fucking Szarr.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had waited until morning to try to talk to you again-giving up on leaving you alone. He knows that you have a very long cool down period when your feelings are hurt (he has made this mistake less severely in the recent past). If there is any hope of you hearing Astarion out- it would be today.

Except you had already left with Karlach, Gale, and Lae’zel by the time he has finally built up the courage to leave his tent.

Astarion spent the day with Shadowheart and actually attempted to help with camp chores. Astarion bounced ideas off of her, but he didn’t tell her about the note. It felt like that was information for you to share if you wanted and you probably hadn’t intended on him learning about this information in the first place.

Shadowheart looks at him after awhile, a troubled look on her face. Shadowheart turns towards Wyll.

“Hey Wyll, they should have been back by now right?”

Wyll walks over to Shadowheart and Astarion with the same troubled expression.

“Yes, it was just a quick supply run to Last Light Inn before we take a day to recooperate,” Wyll says slowly, “I’m wondering what has held them up this long…”

Their pondering and questions were quickly interrupted by the sound of foot steps racing towards them.

“SHADOWHEART! HALSIN!”

You and Karlach were screaming their names in unison. Karlach is supporting Lae’zel and Gale is slack against you as you fight to keep him upright. The usually wonderful smell of your blood is now making him ill as you come closer to camp.

Across your sides were long, bloody scratch marks- in fact, there are claw marks all along your arms and your armor. One side of your face has a superficial scratch. Karlach appears to be in better shape, but just as scratched up nonetheless.

“We- we were ambushed by an Absolute Cultist,” Karlach exclaims breathily, “a Fist named Marcus. He was trying to bring Isobel back to Ketheric.”

Astarion watches as you help lay Gale down near Halsin and Shadowheart so they can begin to get to work, Lae’zel being laid down next to him. Shadowheart catches your wrist with her hand and gives you a Superior Healing Potion- the soft smile you offer her makes Astarion think he may have a chance.

Astarion walks back towards his tent and toys with the letter on the counter. Does he bring it up? Does he just bring it back to you and not acknowledge it? What would you even want him to do?

The noise outside had diminished as Lae’zel and Gale were recovered enough to be moved and healed in their individual tents- Shadowheart healing Gale and Halsin healing Lae’zel. It must be an early night for everyone. Astarion takes a deep breath and opens his tent flap, ready to confront you- but it looks like he didn’t have to travel very far to confront you.

There you are, cleaned up now, standing in front of Astarion’s tent looking nervous and heartbroken. In his shock, Astarion offers you his hand and gently pulls you inside, closing the flaps behind you.

“What did I do?” you blurt out, tears streaming down your face as fast as words are coming out of your mouth, “I can be useful again. I can do whatever you need me to- be whoever you need me to be.”

You take a jagged, heart wrenching inhale and he can hear you fighting the lump in your throat.

“I can’t do this alone- I just can’t,” you sob and look down at your feet, “I know what I said. I know I’m a fool for crawling back here begging you to keep pretending, but please. I can be what you need me to be, I promise. I’ll be- perfect for you. Please.”

Astarion bridges the gap between the two of you and puts your face between his hands, guiding your melancholy eyes to his.

“Darling, you have always been perfect. I have never needed you to be anything more or less than what you are. You are a Godsend.”

“Then why?” you whisper, “Why would you practice breaking up with me? What did I do?”

Astarion sits there and looks at you with bewilderment- practicing breaking up with you? He was practicing trying to ask to be with you!

He chuckles despite the tears that are slowly spilling from his eyes, “You insult me, my Love. I have no issues with breaking up with people- I think. Never really had the chance and I had no desire to end our relationship yesterday.”

You look at him with regret and guilt in your eyes. You go to move away from him- evidently worried about him rejecting you and hurting you. He moves with you, not letting you go anywhere and he kisses your forehead, one of his hands moving to the small of your back while the other remains on your cheek.

“What I was trying to tell you, my Dear,” Astarion softly whispers, “is that, regardless of my original intentions, my plan failed terribly.”

“How so?” you whisper in return.

“It was all so simple- seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy- instinctive. 200 years of instinct had kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it and all I had to do was not fall for you.”

Astarion traces your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling you into him by pressing into the small of your back. You gasp gently at the contact.

“And that is where my nice simple plan fell apart,” he says woefully, “you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Your eyes search his face for any signs of ingenuity or deception.

“I do too, more than anything,” you say breathlessly, “but what about everything I said yesterday? Everything I said was terrible.”

“It was,” he ponders, then he says teasingly “if my feelings weren’t so hurt and if I wasn’t the one on the receiving end- I dare say I would have been proud of you.”

“Well I learned my dramatics from the best after all.”

“I didn’t know Wyll was such a great teacher- I’ll have to ask him for tips some time,” he quips.

Your laugh lifts the painful fog that has been smothering him in his tent for the last day. Astarion pulls you down with him into his bedroll, you curl up around him and he spreads the blanket out. You lay your head on his chest and he pulls you into him tightly- inhaling your scent and savoring the thrumming of your pulse underneath his finger nails.

“Those nights when we were together,” you ask, peering up at him with worry, “did they not mean anything to you then?”

Astarion freezes before he releases a deep sigh. This may be the part where you change your mind and he is mentally preparing for it- taking account of the way you feel against him just in case this is truly the last time.

“I don’t know what real looks like,” he confesses, “being close to anyone-any kind of intimacy- was something I performed to lure people back for him.”

He feels you flinch at the mention of Cazador.

“Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how to be with someone- no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you deeply- we can be together without having sex for however long you need,” you pause, “you are so much more to me than sex and I adore you for so much more than just your body.”

“Really?” the shock in his voice is blatant.

“Really,” you say with a smile before laying your head back on his chest.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he says giddily, running his hands through your hair, “ but I know that this, this is nice.”

You hum in agreement and he draws circles on your back. Astarion basks in your presence and sits in the relief that you are back in his arms again.

“Astarion,” you break the silence, “I have to tell you something- I got a letter. It’s not… good.”

“I know, Darling,” Astarion says tightly, “you left it in here. Unfortunately I let my noisiness get the best of me.”

You both sit in the heavy silence that fills the air.

“I’m to be married off to him, Astarion,” you choke out.

“I won’t let him have you, “Astarion snarls, his voice coming out much harsher than he intended.

“But what if there isn’t a choice? What if it would protect yo-”

“No.”

He is looming over you, you are now flat on your back staring up at him. Astarion feels like a coil ready to spring. If it’s ever between him and you regarding who goes to Cazador- he’d serve a thousand life sentences before he’d ever let that vile man so much as look in your direction.

“Astarion-”

“No,” he says between clenched teeth, “you will not sacrifice yourself for me. I don’t care if you marrying Cazador and being his consort would make me mortal again. You will not be his- he cannot have you.”

You look up at him with bleary, adoring eyes, “okay.”

Astarion kisses your trembling lips and he tastes the tears staining them. Astarion pulls away and strokes your cheek softly. He lays back down and you turn towards him, tangling your hands into his hair, gently detangling it. Astarion rests his hands on your hips, using his fingers to delicately adjust you until your legs are entangled in his.

“My mom is dead, Star,” you say remorsefully “she’s gone. She was all alone and probably so afraid. I never even said goodbye before I left her to her fate- I was a coward.”

The hurt in your voice is raw and bleeding- it breaks Astarion’s heart all over again.

“I am so incredibly sorry for your mother and your loss, Little Love, “Astarion says softly, “but you are not a coward. You did what you needed to do. You were always planning on coming back.”

“I was,” you whisper, “I was going to get her first and then you.”

“Foolishly enough,” Astarion chuckles, “I never lost faith in you. I felt like if anyone could do it, it would be you- the glimpse of sunlight amongst the secondhand embarrassment that is Daisy Von.”

You giggle and press your face into his chest- the vibrations fills his chest with warmth. Astarion is so incredibly happy you are back where you belong- here with him.

“I am hardly comparable to the sun,” you say, “I think I’m a candle. Ordinary, accessible, there when you need it.”

Astarion turns over your words in his head- he agrees with the statement but disagrees with the reasoning entirely.

“You are a candle,” he says slowly, “but a candle has always been a luxury to me. It allowed me to sew or read- to have a tiny piece of my humanity back. It was nice to have a break from the dark, huddled around the small flame.”

He pauses, “ I suppose that is why I am so drawn to you. You make me feel like a person again and you are a luxury I never thought I’d be lucky enough to afford outside of those monthly visits.”

“Well, then I promise I will remain here,” you say with adoration, “your humble candle- for as long as you need me.”

“Be careful what you promise, Little Love,” Astarion teases, “if you aren’t careful, you may be stuck with me for eternity.”

“Gods, I hope so!” you say with flourish, “everyone else is terribly boring and does not appreciate my predisposition for shenanigans.”

“How ungrateful!”

“Entirely ungrateful!” you agree.

Astarion pulls you in for another kiss, a grin forming as you gasp at the suddenness of his actions. Astarion kisses the tip of your nose, both of your cheeks, and your forehead. You settle into him and he strokes your hair- your breathing evens out and you are slack against him.

Astarion takes in your sleeping figure and feels another surge of protectiveness enveloping his body. He doesn’t know how accessible his thoughts are to Cazador, but he hopes Cazador hears this one.

You cannot have her- she is mine.

_________________________________________________

Author note- should I do a part three and four with the Cazador confrontation? I’m torn- let me know your thoughts pleaseeeeee

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 #karlach #astarion acunin #astarion x f! reader #astarion x female reader

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diagonal-queen · 6 months

Note

hello can i request dazai, kunikida, and fyodor with an insomniac s/o who's really tired after a busy day but can't seem to fall asleep no matter what and gets frustrated bc of it

"Can't sleep?"

♡ pairing: Dazai Osamu, Doppo Kunikida, Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do they help their S/O with insomnia get to sleep?

♡ cw: Reader is an insomniac (I genuinely don't know how that would manifest itself as a trigger but hey! I'm just one person in a sheltered world. Stay safe everyone <3), probably super inaccurate because I myself am not an insomniac and don't really know everything about it, Dazai horny, mentions of taking medication, mentions of alcohol, swearing

note: I feel like garbage cus my writing takes forever and I feel like I'm letting y'all down for taking so long with reqs, but I don't know what to do to fix itttttttt. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Dazai:

Well reader. You're lucky you cuffed yourself a night owl

He'll help you calm down from your frustration and tell you that it's fully normal. Everyone has trouble falling asleep, and you just haven't figured out an effective routine yet. He doesn't really know what he's talking about but if it makes you feel better then meh

His first suggestion would probably be sex, to tire you out. Even better if you go for multiple rounds just to be sure~

Yeah right Dazai, like anyone's gonna wanna fuck every single work night (besides him lmao). Safe to say, the idea is thrown out pretty quickly

He'll throw some similar ideas around (not necessarily sexual but certainly 'if they're tired out then they'll fall asleep faster') but those are all just temporary solutions, so he gives up quickly. What else did you expect from him?

He might also suggest drinking yourself to sleep since alcohol is a depressant and makes you tired. You have to remind him that excessive drinking is actually not good for you and should NOT be used as a substitute for sleep meds

He reckons that it's best for you two to let sleep overtake you naturally, and so you may as well just stay up for now.

From then on Dazai treats every single night like a sleepover. He'll wanna watch movies, eat snacks, and talk all night even if it's a work night and you absolutely shouldn't do that

If you want, he's happy to do something more chill like cuddling while sharing a pair of earphones playing mellow music

Whatever it is that the pair of you decide to do, he'll likely find that it helps him just as much, maybe even more, than it helps you. And he's grateful for that

Kunikida:

I feel like Kunikida also has at least mild insomnia, so he knows just how you feel and is right there to help you out

He's got it all ready. Fans/blankets to balance out the room's temperature, a warm drink (milk, tea, whatever you prefer), basically all the stuff Google would suggest

He would do all of that stuff alongside you even if he's already tired enough to fall asleep on his own because he understands the struggle. He doesn't give up until you're asleep and honestly get you a man who would also do that

He also discourages you from things like caffeine before bed or napping during the day to help you get more sleep at night

He'd make a whole new bedtime routine for the two of you and adjust it based on what works, it'd be like a whole thing that he takes super seriously

He'd suggest reading before bed and recommend/lend you books that he likes, and also read to you if you really pleaded for it. He really enjoys reading and he would be thrilled if the pair of you had a little thing you did together <3

If they don't give any side effects/react poorly with any meds you may already take then he would also give you some of his sleeping pills (because let's be real he's fully stocked with them. this man)

Kunikida would let you cuddle him in your sleep whether or not he likes it or it makes him sweat, because let's face it you need the sleep and he needs the physical touch. It's basically a win-win

He gives you permission to wake him up if you can't sleep and need his help, or if you want company in your waking time.

He honestly does whatever it takes to help you because he cares so much about you. Perfect man fr

Fyodor:

Bold of you to assume that Fyodor sleeps. Like ever. He's too busy being evil or something

When he learns that you're an insomniac he's fully willing to let you stay up late with him while he's working if you're in need of company. He doesn't care whether you're just on your phone or reading a book or whatever

If you ask him he'll also let you sit in his lap and cuddle him (as long as you don't bother him- if you do he's sending you right to bed)

Fyodor knows that calming music is a good way to help people sleep, so if you're down he'd be willing to play something mellow and soft on his cello for you

He probably wouldn't admit it but he kinda likes that you find it hard to get to sleep since it gives him an excuse to spend more time with you

But if you really do wanna get to bed then he'll have some tea made for you and he'll read to you. His voice is very relaxing and nice to fall asleep to and he kinda knows it (he's smug about it too because he's a bastard)

If you find that you actually sleep better in his presence then he's more than happy to move a couch into his office and let you sleep there.

He's also happy to forfeit (SOME) work so he can come to bed earlier and help you sleep. And he's also happy to cuddle you because you're warm

Fyodor will basically just help you get to sleep with methods that he uses to get himself to sleep because it's the only way he knows how. Even if it doesn't work please give him credit for trying because he really is trying super hard T-T

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

Note

I know it's been done quite a bit but

Soft!dom Aemond please? Modern or canon era your choice ❤️ maybe some degradation???

is there really any limit to soft!dom Aemond tho? I hope you enjoy this nonnie xx apologies me writing smut is so shit, I wish you guys could just see what I see (that sounds weird but you get me) !!!

Serve Me.

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x Servant!fem!Reader

WORDS: 3,477.

WARNINGS: soft!dom Aemond, degredation kink, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, fingering, hint of power kink/dynamics.

A/N - I left this in the HOTD universe, but please feel free to request for a modern AU version / HC :) BIG BIG THANK YOU to my soulmate @sahvlren for helping me to jump start this, I was experiencing terrible writer's block and my main girl pulled through. I love you baby <3 sorry if there are mistakes, I'll edit tomorrow LMAO but enjoy this heinous writing for now x

Aemond Targaryen, the notorious one-eyed Prince, was an enigma to many... Including yourself. You had only ever known him as your Lord or Grace, and you as his mere servant. Aemond scarcely spoke to you unless to give orders. Although from much close observation, you'd figured, he hardly spoke to anyone at all, unless to command or vex. His endearing silence, and impenetrable demeanour itself was quite intimidating, let alone the nobility and authority the young Prince possessed, did not help to ease your fears of the man.

Aemond often would use this to his advantage to seek out what he sought for, so you've heard.

You knew from your upbringing and low social standing, not to dare provoke such a man. Being trained the etiquette to serve and obey was all you'd known, and that would remain unchanged. Much to your oblivious nature, however, Aemond had been carefully watching you. He hadn't spotted you initially, amongst the servants that greeted him in the morrow, for it was difficult to decipher who from who, as you all moved about in haste and in identical, ragged uniforms. Yet the moment, you caught his eye, a yearning began to ignite in the pit of his stomach. With each passing day, of your close presence, this feeling began to stir into something more palpable. Whether it was the blatant vulnerability or the innocence in your eyes, [he had yet to determine] something about you had intrigued him to no end.

Not to mention, you were some sight for sore eyes...

In comparison, to most of his servants that he had been raised with, some far older than he and others not suited to his acquired tastes, you, you had captivated him. He had no idea where his mother had found you, and yet he never fathomed to question her decision. Aemond did also often prefer, if given the chance, to gather some background on servants, that had been newly entrusted to serve beneath him. He knew their day-to-day service would mean he'd be exposing himself to vulnerable situations, whether it be to help run a bath, attend to his wound care from training, or even so, if the Prince had fallen into illness [although rarely]... He refused to oblige in trusting others so lightly.

And yet, he made the exception with you. He wanted to directly hear your story from your own words, as he could envision your luscious mouth moving, forming the words as you spoke gently. In actuality, he'd only would’ve granted you the chance to speak so freely, for he knew you were just a helpless maid: he knew could easily overpower you, even if you foolishly attempted something... Aemond felt he could read you like a book, the evidence was blatantly obvious in your frightful, uneasy eyes. The way he gave you orders, he'd paid close attention to how often your eyes would dart and flutter to his voice, your body shuddering when nearby, unable to maintain even a minute of contact. It drove him wild, that he had such a profound affect on a woman. He could understand that perhaps it was an authorative play, and yet, he enjoyed it immensely. His curious mind often pondered over devious thoughts, endless possibilities of what other things he could compel you to do...

Attending to such time consuming, domestic duties, you'd often be accompanied with a few other maids or servants, although after some time, they began to disappear one by one, until only you were the only other being presenting yourself to Aemond in his chambers. It was only after you had questioned your fellow colleagues about there whereabouts after, that they'd openly disclosed, "the Prince has solely requested for you".

Gradually, you began to notice subtle changes in his routine. He would now often, or what you felt, was an attempt to delay your dismissal from his duties as much as possible. Spoling himself longer in your presence, if he had called you in initially for one thing, you'd end up having a thousand other tasks set to do, as he lurked on. During these moments, Aemond remained persistent in not talking, just observing you with a watchful eye, from a reasonable distance, as though not to pounce on his prey just yet...

Unlike his elder brother, Aemond refused to lower himself to such vile behaviours. There was no denying, if he wanted to, he could've easily forced himself onto you. Yet, was adamant to control his urges. Intending to take his sweet time with you, although that primal, almost animalistic part, was weaning less and less in patience. Whether he sat by the fire, immersed in some ancient text, or as he roamed by the windows and balcony of his quarters, he was always there, never ceaselessly leaving you alone. You could always sense his firm gaze subtly lingering over your body.

Now, he got bold...

As you tended to the adjusting the white, soft sheets on his king sized bed, as you did each morning, you’d heard the faint eerie creaking and sudden thud of the door shutting. Your attention snapped towards to see Aemond stood by the door, returning from his familial breakfast feast, watching you unfalteringly, before you refocused your attention to the task at hand.

He had never shut the door before... Always leaving it even just the slightest bit agape, it made it less daunting.

Trying desperately to avoid lurking towards his unnerving direction, you were oblivious to his faint footsteps creeping up behind, as the sheets rustled in your shaky grasp. You felt an instant, light graze against the tight, thick fabric of your waist, an arm snaking its way around, prompting you to straighten your posture up. Feeling his lean body against your frozen state, his firm grip felt incredibly tight around you, although bearable enough to breathe.

"Hmm, tell me who you are...Strange girl."

You remained silent, paralysed in both movement and speech, you felt your courage melt away, if there was even an ounce of it.

His hand that remained free, gently rubbing down the side of your clothed thigh, found its way, firmly clenched around your jaw. Guiding your face slowly towards his menacing gaze, his height over-towering you. Your teary eyes gradually wandered up to find the Prince looking hungrily down at you. You could feel him devouring you, just with his eye.

Qilōni issi ao? [Who are you?] He lowly growled, feeling the warmth of his breath against your tender, flushed cheek.

Pathetically whimpering out your name in a quiet stutter, caused the one-eyed Prince to grin. A wicked grin.

"Gevie hāedar [Beautiful girl]..."

You had no comprehension whatsoever of the meaning to his words, although you were wise enough to know the words he spat belonged to his Mother Tongue, remnants of Old Valyria.

Oddly enough, it sounded poetic to your foreign ear, how eloquently Aemond was able to pronounce the words, the way the words rolled off his tongue.

"You are going to listen to every word I say. If you disobey me, rest assured Y/N, you will be punished."

Again, you struggled to formulate the words nor found the pluck to speak. Simply nodding to his words, as he nudged your body to turn, now completely facing him.

Pathetic, the dreadful thought echoed in your mind... Aemond probably thought the same.

"Take off your rags, you filthy girl," His words spat like venom, and yet the devilish smirk on his face said other wise, as the young Prince found himself comfortably seated on his wooden chair by the fireplace.

Reluctantly your body obeyed, loosening the straps and ties of the run down dress you called uniform. Lost in your thoughts of what was to come next, you hadn't realised that you'd picked up speed, until Aemond uttered "slowly."

You paused for a mere few seconds, registering his words before realising that as the seconds zoned by, you'd given Aemond the faintest idea that you may have been refusing him.

As you hastily resumed, although this time taking extra caution in slowly removing each layer of fabric, you realised you that you did not consider to fight back.

You had heard of rumours, of many servants attempting to fight back against their higher class lieges, only to have either been dismissed, silenced or even some disappearing for good, especially those bestowed upon Aegon as servants. You heard no such accounts of this kind, relating to the Prince that you had served, and yet you so easily succumbed to this. Perhaps you were not as brave, as you had naively convinced yourself to be...

As you finished taking the last of your garments off, nervously standing bare naked in front of Aemond, your eyes reluctantly fell on him. You observed him watching you, relishing himself in the passing time, as he examined each crevice, detail and flaw etched to your body.

Say something, you desperately thought. What is it you wanted the Prince to say, you had not the faintest idea...

"Gevie [Beautiful]."

The foreign tongue yet again, cursed your ears, you remained clueless and at a loss to its meaning. Did he enjoy his view? Was he satisfied with how you were? Did he relish in stripping you bare of not only your rags, though of your dignity?

His stoic expression did nothing to relieve the tension, you could feel your breathing growing heavier, as your bare chest heaved deeply with each long breath.

Instinctively, your arms began to cross, folding over your front, you felt it did minimal help to maintain some last delusional thought of integrity that you'd had. Aemond immediately pounced off his seat, gracefully striding towards you in a few, short steps. There he stood, in all his clothed glory, as his rough, large hands reached over gripping your wrists as he guided your arms back down to your sides.

One hand released its grip over your wrist, reaching up as his palm lightly cupped your breast, his thumb gently stroking, flicking your sensitive nipple.

He was amused at how you winced under his touch, a blatant smirk on his face.

"Hmm-"

Slowly glancing up at Aemond, you could've sworn you saw the young Prince licking his lips lustfully, convinced that there was a slight possibility may-haps, he was satisfied with the sight before him.

"Lay on the bed."

"Yes, your Grace," You softly whipped back, in a timely manner and without much consciousness to your words.

As you were about to turn to kneel yourself into the bed, his grip on your wrist tightened once more, this time tugging you aggressively, as you felt your body pull to face him, in a swift reaction.

"No, 'your Grace'-" He mimicked, in his same, deep tone.

"Just...Āeksio [Master]."

Repeating his words mentally, you were smarter than to dare question Aemond again, not inclined to vex him in the slightest.

Y-Yes... Āeksio" You anxiously stutter. That familiar, devilish grin reappearing on his chiseled face, almost amused by your poor attempt of a pronunciation of his Mother Tongue. He should be insulted, not amused, you figured. Yet you obediently stammered onto the soft bed, sprawling yourself on the newly clean linen, your back towards the mattress, as your hands kept you propped up.

"Spread your legs."

Your breath got caught in your throat at his words, refusing to maintain eye contact, as Aemond unbuckled his coat and leggings. Your legs quivered with reluctance, and he had noticed your delay immediately.

"I said spread-"

Leaning himself forward on the thick mattress, his clenched fists keeping him balanced, his threatening gaze remained fixated on your, showing no signs of mercy or remorse for what he was capable of. He'd exhaled a deep sigh, almost signalling a refusal to jest with commands longer, your legs began to slowly part in distance, exposing your bare cunt to the Prince.

"Do not dare to test my patience ever again, disobedient girl."

You responded, whimpering with a nod, sensing hot tears pooling in corner of your eyes, desperately trying to hold them back. One escaped, streaming down your blushed cheek, as Aemond removed his shirt and leggings completely. Now the Prince, just as bare as you, except for the remaining leather eye patch, his body was as you had imagined it, even more perfect in reality.

Chiseled and lean, his muscles prominent from the long days of training had paid off. The appealing sight before you, acted as a distraction to the situation at hand.

"Hmm-" Aemond lowly growled, as he steadily kneeled over the bed now on all fours, his attention spanning from your face to your cunt.

"I own this cunt, just like I own you..Ñuhon [Mine]."

Without a minute to spare, he crawled himself closer, his head hovering above your lower abdomen, as one arm wrapped beneath your tender thigh, tensing under his grip, he pulled your thigh further apart. His other free hand slowly reached towards your entrance, the cold tips of his long fingers, gently tracing over your moist folds. A tingle coursed through between your thigh, his thumb swiping over the skin.

"So you are wet for me? And I haven't even started... My pathetic, innocent girl."

"M-Master- Àeksio-" You squeaked urgently, remembering his command.

"Please, I-I am just here to serve you, b-bid me leave and I shall not tell a living soul."

Immediately, Aemond shot his eyes up at you, and he was far from impressed. Fury streaked across his face, he looked even more forbidding than initially, if it was even possible, his eye slightly squinting as though in shock that you'd even attempt to bargain for freedom.

He exchanged no words, only hastily shoving two, long fingers into your cunt, without even a merciful warning. You could feel his fingers, slowly swirling between your folds, circulating in sensual slow movements, before he began to found some pace, thrusting them in and out.

"A-Aemond-"

"Insolent girl, you were doing so well taking orders. And now that you've given in to me, you've lost all your senses.”

His fingers began to pace faster, although now he added an extra digit, widening your entrance even more, as your wetness began to pool, lubricating your cunt and inner thighs.

As you pleaded for Aemond to stop, refocusing your attention from the stony ceiling, to his handsome face, that wicked smile was once again, struck beaming up at you. This time he even let out a sinister chuckle, amused at how effortlessly your body caved under his touch.

Instantly pulling all three fingers out, his hand had been coated in a viscous clear-white film, eyeing his glazed fingers hungrily, Aemond looked to you menacingly, before lapping your sweetness with his tongue.

"Hmm-" He moaned, closing his eye for a split second as he took the time to savour the taste.

"Just as I thought... Delectable."

Wiping away the last remnants of your taste from his lips, Aemond relished in the moment. His eye fixated on you, he began to crawl himself up closer, your faces now only inches apart, as his fingers reached for your cheek, grazing your soft skin before combing back the mottled strands of your hair.

"Beautiful."

His word nor did his tone feel venomous, you earnestly stared at Aemond, as your eyes scanned over his features in greater depth. You'd never been this close to the Prince, and you'd been working with him for months now. His healed scar now peaked your intrigue, instinctively, your hand reached over cautiously, as though not to startle him, although more as a precaution for you.

Your fingers gently traced over the prominent, scarred line down beneath the patch, careful not to provoke any potential pain, as Aemond had initially winced beneath your touch, only to gradually lean into you.

"Are you frightened by it?" Aemond uttered, almost in a sorrowful tone.

"No, Āeksio."

"Are you disgusted by it?" He once more woefully questioned, his eye yearningly lingered over your lips, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

"No," You softly whispered, still reluctant out of fright to speak.

"Where have you been, you."

Hastily he removed his eye patch, flinging the material to the floor, revealing a mesmerising blue, sapphire gem stone carved perfectly, in place of his lost eye. You were not startled at all, although enthralled. And he had acknowledged your response pleasantly. Without a second to spare, Aemond found himself plummeting his lips down against yours, in a passionate kiss. His heavier mass weighing down ontop of you, caused you to lay back completely on the bed for support. His tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring and swirling inside, as his semi-hard cock weighed atop of your lower abdomen just above your cunt.

His breathing became slower and heavier, unable to take breaths in between, similarly your chest began to heave against his, your breasts caressing, pushing in towards his lean chest, as your back gracefully arched.

Your legs instinctively began to pull apart once more, as he adjusted himself below, feeling his throbbing cock, pulsating against your sensitive spot. His lips finally left yours, as he left a wet trail against your soft skin, trialling down the crook of your neck, to your breasts. His hands gripped to your wrists, as he pulled your arms overhead, pinning you down,one hand freed itself, reaching down below as he gripped at his hard cock, causing him to moan, he positioned himself at your entrance, adjusting himself to plunge in, before taking one final glance at you.

That was his warning.

His cock felt long and girthy, as he shoved himself in, your walls stretching to fit his pleasurable mass and length. It hurt, for this was the first time you had laid with a man, unimaginably, it also happened to be the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, it felt so wildly right. An electrifying jolt coursed through your body, although it was tolerable and became enjoyable the more time you spent immersed to this new sensation.

"A-Aemond-" You breathlessly moan, a satisfied look appearing on Aemond's face, as he watched you intently from above, your reaction to his movements: causing you to arch once more, bucking your hips upwards as your face turned up towards the ceiling in retaliation.

"So needy for me, needy for your Prince. You'd be nothing without me, no one."

"Y-Yes-" You agreed bashfully, although at this point you'd agree to anything Aemond proclaimed, so long as he kept this steady and slow pace up.

"Such a needy whore, Y/N. My needy whore, who takes such good care of her Prince."

"Y-Yes, I forever w-will."

His thrusts became faster and he kept steady at it, his endurance was unfaltering [you'd come to be most thankful to all the years of training he endured]. His groans and growls became louder and more frequent, as your walls clenched tighter, feeling more of your warm cum coating his cock inside, oozing from your entrance coating your thighs and his balls.

"Forever mine. You belong to no one else-" He grunted, struggling speak in coherent sentences as he tried to manage his breath.

"Understood?"

No response. This only infuriated him once more, causing his grip on your wrist and one on your waist, keeping you planted, to tighten, as he squeezed firmly for your attention.

"Yes, Āeksio! Yes!" You delightfully cried out, reaching your climax.

A few long minutes went by, and Aemond felt himself releasing his cum inside of you, a breath of relief escaping his mouth, grunting in pleasure, as his grip still remained firm on you.

"Fuck, now you are definitely mine."

You knew the potential consequences, although in the moment you could not fathom nor consider what may occur. You were concentrating on your breathing, just as Aemond was, relinquishing you from his claim, pulling his cock out carefully, he hastily stood himself up out of bed, reaching for some sheet, to clean himself.

"If the Gods be good, you'll carry my child. Bastard or not, you are mine, regardless."

Your breathing now steady, you felt your sweaty body cooling in the air, as the rush had settled, nodding to Aemond's words, although it still felt more like commands.

"Wh-Whhat will the others think of me? What excuse shall I say? Your Mother, the Queen, what will she say if-" You worryingly stutter, as your consciousness begins to return, seating yourself up, as you shakily wrap the dampened sheet around your naked body, still petrified of Aemond's judgement.

"These matters must not concern you anymore, Y/N. I will see to take care of it myself. Your only duty remains the same, to serve me faithfully."

You simply nod against Aemond's words, as he wipes himself with a wet cloth at the basin set by his table. His leggings now on, he remained but shirtless, walking back over towards you, as he comfortably seated himself down beside you. He brings forth a wet cloth to your forehead, wiping away the sweat beads. Lustfully, he gazes over you, a genuine, heartfelt smile on his face, before he succumbed to planting a small, soft kiss on your clean forehead, before refocusing his attention on you.

"Understand this, you belong to no one, Y/N. You will continue to serve me, as I see fit. In return, I will take care of you... Alas, as I see fit."

524 notes · View notes

taevbears · 8 days

Text

Magic Shop - 12

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 11.2k ⤑ warnings: lol idk what it is about namjoon that makes me so feral but explicit & implied smut (penetrative, 34+35, face-riding, daddy kink), description of body horror, mentions of death & past traumas, pet names (baby). ⤑ note: lmao bc the way i've been working on this chapter since the end of last year, and it's FINALLY being posted. i've been in this weird slump with my writing, so i hope that this is ok lol. enjoy, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! :)

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

“You’re so annoying,” you complain, shutting the door behind you. Your next lecture is in half an hour, but Hoseok will be looking for you soon.

The two of you have about fifteen minutes.

“I’ll be fast,” Namjoon promises, already pulling off his top. His roommates aren’t in. They’re most-likely hanging out in the common rooms and won’t be back for a while.

It’s just you and him.

And the paramour secret that hangs between you two.

Your back is pressed against the door as you eye him. In just his slacks, he looks like sin. Tall and muscular, sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders and long arms. Blessed with the perfect body proportions. The hunger in your eyes grows the longer you stare.

“We shouldn’t keep doing this.”

It’s what you tell him every time, but you lift your skirt. His gaze automatically locks onto your thighs as he unbuckles his belt, and his cock twitches with interest when he catches a peek of your panties.

His voice is husky when he asks, “Should we stop?”

He already knows the answer. It’s the same as it always is.

“No,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. A daring gesture as a coy smile dances on your lips. You slowly loosen the buttons of your blouse one by one. His gaze lifts to your face as you whisper, “Want you, daddy.”

Namjoon wants you more.

Without another second to waste, his long strides close the distance between you two. Strong hands impatiently yanking at the fabric of your clothes as he leans down to kiss you at last.

Namjoon wakes, sticky with sweat.

The bed he’s on is bigger and more comfortable than the cheap bunk at his dorm. The white duvet – kicked to the floor at some point of the night – is thick and weighted; a godsend compared to the thin, itchy blanket he was given when assigned to his room. The bedroom itself, curated to his taste, is woodsy, minimalistic, and bold: favorite art pieces hang on the walls and decorate the space that reflect his current moods, a private library with books that frequently changes to new titles whenever he finishes reading some, and bonsais that he’s been taking care of are starting to bloom flowers.

It takes him a moment, but he realizes he’s no longer a student nor an enchanter at Blackstone Castle.

A sigh falls from his lips as he runs his fingers through his damp hair.

Another dream about you.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. Dreaming of you.

You, sneaking into his bed after lights out and everyone else is asleep. You, taking his hand and leading him into secluded places between classes and when things at the shop are slow. You, climbing over his lap with your hands steady on his shoulders as he holds your waist, loving the way you look on top of him.

Once upon a time, when all this initially started, Namjoon thought it’d never go beyond a physical affair. The two of you were clearly attracted to each other. When the stress of exams, a looming Harrowing, and the competitive streaks between you two became too much, you often sought each other out.

But at some point, Namjoon realized it was starting to mean something more to him.

At some point, Namjoon realized it was because he was falling in love with you.

And somehow, at some point, you started to fall in love with him too.

You, dedicated and hardworking, quiet and serious with your studies, and burning with a hunger for knowledge and an eagerness to test your limits. You, also kind and caring, loyal and protective of the people you love deeply, and who’ve dreamed of opening this shop of comfort to help people. You, who carries the warmth and radiance of the sun, beautiful in the way that starlights compliment the night sky, and yet look to the shadows of the moon at him.

Love to Namjoon is still… a new concept.

There are days where he isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing or what the future holds with you. There are days where he questions why you even love someone like him when the others could be much better lovers.

It’s like fire. Pretty to admire, comforting to feel its warmth; a guidance of light through a dark and harsh world, but never to touch. Never his to claim and hold as the shadows of loneliness and insecurity grow around him. Love burns as fire does, leaving nothing but scalding embers and ash as its remains.

He loved his family, but they had easily given him up after he awakened his magical powers, even though he desperately ran away from towers and fortresses to beg for their forgiveness. He loved his hometown in the countryside, but he still remembers the look of hatred on the villagers’ faces once they found out what he was and deemed him a monster. He loved his friend, Ignis, and his untimely death by the cruel hands of hunters is still a burden Namjoon is forced to carry with him.

But there are days where love just feels… nice.

Where, in the early morning, when he’s getting ready for a run by the river, you’d stumble down the stairs shortly after him with your hair still a bit messy from sleep and your eyes barely open, and simply ask if he wants coffee and breakfast with you now or when he comes back.

Where, more often than he’d like to admit, a spell backfires and instead of changing the temperature of the shop, he ends up casting a sleeping spell on all the patrons, and you end up fighting your drowsiness to set things right, never once berating him or making him feel bad for any harmless accidents.

Where, after a long day, the two of you wind down together, sprawled in his library nook downstairs, not really talking to each other – too caught up in your own readings for conversation – but finding each other’s presence comforting nonetheless as he uses your thighs as a pillow while you absently run your fingers through his hair, or when you’d prop your legs over his lap as he gently massages your calves.

If Namjoon could write a million poems to describe how he feels around you, it still wouldn’t be enough. With you, he feels safe. With you, he feels comfortable. With you, he feels accepted, despite all his flaws and mistakes.

Namjoon loves you more than anyone he’s ever loved before. From the days you two were just students in Blackstone Castle to now. He loves the shop, the family it has brought together, the freedom of being himself – an ordinary man who likes books, nature, and art – without being condemned for his affinity to magic.

But like his family, his hometown, and even Ignis, he’s afraid that one day, you, the home you built with him, and the family you both found will all disappear.

And it’ll be his fault.

With a deep, frustrated sigh, Namjoon forces himself to sit up.

Before, he used to dream a lot about all the things he’s loved and lost. He recalls every detail of it: the day of his awakening, the fires that destroyed his home, how often he ran away to apologize to his parents, the screams of agony when he had to leave his only friend behind.

Now, Namjoon dreams about you.

You’re everything he loves.

You’re everything he’s afraid to lose.

“I’m heading out now!” Seokjin calls out, putting on his shoes by the front door.

“Okay, be safe,” you tell him, coming to the entryway to see him out. Seokjin promises he will and pulls you in for a kiss.

Behind the counter, Namjoon finds himself looking away.

Recently, Seokjin started his own guild with his friends from the Freelancers. After a mission involving mages went awry, they left their old organizations and started calling themselves the Oathkeepers. As a newly-established guild, most of their work comes from notices placed on the town’s community board, or word-by-mouth from people who’ve hired them before.

Things have slowed down a lot compared to how busy they were in their former guild. Seokjin was hardly home, and when he was, he was exhausted. While it’s nice to see the former warden around the shop these days, Namjoon can tell that the thrill of excitement and adventures are sorely missed, as well as the amount of coins he was able to collect after each successful quest they’ve completed.

“Can we go too?” Jungkook asks, already slipping a rucksack over his shoulder.

“Please,” Taehyung tacks on, honey-colored eyes wide and pleading as he stares directly at you.

Your lips part with an almost-spoken answer until you catch yourself, and helplessly look toward Namjoon with a face that’s just about ready to give anything the raven familiar desires.

Namjoon sighs. He can’t blame the two youngest for wanting to go with Seokjin. Whatever adventures he has planned today are far more appealing than being stuck in the shop all day. Even though, at the shop, Taehyung normally follows Hoseok around, and Jungkook quietly admires Namjoon doing mundane work.

“Sure, why not?” He decides with a shrug. “Be careful and listen to Jin-hyung, though.”

“Yes!” Taehyung and Jungkook cheer and high-five each other.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go. The others are waiting for us,” Seokjin urges before turning to you again. He kisses you one more time and adds, “We’ll be back before dinner.”

“Bye, hyung. Bye, kids. Look out for each other,” Hoseok reminds them, standing beside you with Yoongi in his arms. The black cat looks comfortable in Hoseok’s hold, pointed ears twitching as he turns his head to look at the others.

“We will,” Jungkook promises, nearly bouncing on his feet with excitement. A sheepish smile spreads on his face as he caresses your cheek and kisses you sweetly. “We’ll be going now.”

“Don’t miss us too much, darling,” Taehyung teases when it’s his turn, tilting your chin up and diving in for a goodbye kiss as well. He smirks at the flustered look on your face as Seokjin calls for them to hurry up.

As you watch them leave, Hoseok nudges you. There’s a knowing look on his face when he comments, “You look tempted to join them.”

“It does seem fun,” you acknowledge with a small sigh. Seokjin makes his quests sound so thrilling and perilous, even if you know he exaggerates a bit just to impress you most of the time.

Namjoon frowns and speaks up. “I’d rather you stay here.”

You turn to him, a bit defiant, and place a hand on your hip. “Why? Think I can’t do it?”

“Ooh,” Hoseok utters with a smile. He and Yoongi look between you and Namjoon with mild amusement.

“It’s not that,” he retorts, nearly rolling his eyes. He knows that you’re perfectly capable of becoming an adventurer and would be a great asset to the Oathkeepers. “What Jin-hyung and the others do is dangerous.”

“I can handle danger,” you tell him. Hoseok nods his head and agrees you can. Without looking away from Namjoon, you give your best friend a high-five.

“Here is safe,” Namjoon argues with a finality in his voice. He frowns when he looks at you. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It occurs to you and Hoseok that Namjoon is being very serious.

“Namjoon, we’re just kidding,” Hoseok quickly assures him. “Neither of us are going anywhere. The shop is our responsibility.”

“Yeah. And even if I did go on a quest with Jin, you don’t need to worry about me.” You walk up to Namjoon and take his hands in yours. “I can handle myself, Namjoon.”

Words you’ve told him repeatedly, even before the night of your Harrowing back in Blackstone Castle. In the library where he’d always run into you.

“I know you can, baby.” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “If it comes to that, just promise you’ll come back to me, okay?”

Before Jungkook was turned into a toad by an evil witch, he was an adventurer. He joined a guild with some same-age friends, traveled far from home, saw rare sights, fought challenging beasts, and visited beautiful places. Excitement and wonder were at every corner.

But this…

“Your grand task today,” Seokjin informs as he unceremoniously hands a stack of fliers each to Taehyung and Jungkook, “is to pass these out and put them around town.”

This isn’t it.

Jungkook glances down at the posters. Since the Oathkeepers are still new, Seokjin and the others have been trying to promote their guild and ask around for work. The neat calligraphy and the print of their symbol is a way to do just that.

“Actually, I think Hoseok-hyung might need my help at the shop after all,” Taehyung tries to back out. This isn’t the kind of quest he had in mind either.

“You’re already here. Just help out a little,” Seokjin pushes, holding out a flier from his own stack and handing it to someone who curiously grabs it. “This will help attract people to our shop too.”

Taehyung pouts, but relents. “Fine. But I want to go on a real adventure next time.”

“Hyung, I think I can finish my stack faster than you,” Jungkook suddenly challenges.

Taehyung’s golden eyes light up with a competitive streak. “You’re on.”

“Wait,” Seokjin begins, suddenly feeling left out. He starts to shove his fliers in the arms of people passing by. “This isn’t a contest. You guys…”

Without waiting for Seokjin to finish, both Taehyung and Jungkook dart off to opposite directions. His hands work quickly as he slides the fliers under doors, sticks them on the walls, and hands them out to whoever he sees.

“Please come to our shop,” Jungkook says, handing one of the last ones to a guy in a cloak. Most of the people he had passed them to merely glance at them without another thought, but this stranger stops and reads through it.

“Kim Seokjin?” he reads out loud, as if the name is familiar to him.

Jungkook pauses and looks at the mysterious stranger. The cloak covers most of his face and body, but he meets his eyes with a look of curiosity. With a tilt of his head, Jungkook asks, “You know my hyung?”

The stranger nods. “Hey kid. Do you happen to know a guy named Kim Namjoon?”

When Seokjin and the others return to the shop, they aren’t alone.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice says as he steps inside. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his handsome face. “I knew you’d be together, but I never thought I’d find you all here.”

“Jackson?!” Namjoon’s mouth drops, knocking over the chair he was sitting on as he rushes to greet his friend. The two clasps hands and pull each other into a quick hug.

Hoseok laughs in disbelief, welcoming him as well in a similar manner. “Hey, man! It’s good to see you!”

“Likewise,” Jackson replies with a big smile. He looks around the shop, in awe as he takes it in all. “So, this is where you guys have been hiding.”

The walls are painted bright, vivid colors. There’s a mix-mash of furniture, from old antiques and oddities to more modern pieces. The cozy entrance where you all stand divides the parlor and the tavern, and upstairs are the private rooms of the residents.

Perhaps to regular humans, it’s just a quirky shop. But for a mage like Jackson, he can feel the magical energy: the warmth of it on his fingertips, the whimsical lightness that eases his worries away, the safety from the protection spells cast in every room.

A kind of place that’s easy to overlook, yet brings in a strange sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

“Like it?” you ask with a bright smile, shoulders rising with pride. “This is our home.”

“It’s incredible,” he tells you, thoroughly impressed. His voice softens as he adds, “I didn’t think I’d ever run into a place like this.”

“Who is he, babe?” Jimin asks you, curious of the newcomer. Taehyung and Jungkook share the same wonder, coming to stand next to you and Yoongi. All four of them are new faces to Jackson, even though he had already met Yoongi in his cat form.

“He’s a friend,” you explain as Jackson politely introduces himself to them. “We all went to the same school.”

Some time has passed since you’ve all escaped Blackstone Castle and found your place in this town. A lot of things have changed since you last saw Jackson as well. After that night, you haven’t seen or heard from any of the other mages.

Until now.

Jackson stands before you all, travel-worn and exhausted. His face is thinner and more sunken. Dark circles are beneath his tired eyes, as if he hadn’t properly slept in days. There’s a scar on his cheek that hadn’t been there before.

“We ran into him in town,” Seokjin informs, coming to greet you with a quick kiss. Jackson arches an eyebrow when he sees a former warden kiss a mage. “He said he needs to talk to Namjoon.”

“Me?” the man in question asks, surprised.

“That’s right. Although…” Jackson trails off as he turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “Maybe this is something you guys could help with too.”

You and Hoseok exchange glances with each other. Then, curiously, you ask, “What do you mean?”

But Jackson hesitates. His eyes flicker to the others, suggesting that the news he’s about to share must be spoken in private. That its details require the use of magic, and Jackson doesn’t know who among your group already knows the truth about you, Hoseok, and Namjoon.

“Have you eaten yet, Jackson?” Hoseok suddenly asks, easing into a bright smile. “Stay for a while. We have a lot to catch up on.”

It feels like old times.

Jackson and Namjoon share a drink. Their glasses clink together before they chug down the golden liquor.

Hoseok’s loud laughter is carried throughout the room, more amused by Yoongi’s reaction to Seokjin’s joke than the punchline itself. Despite that, Seokjin attempts to make another. His face burns red from the tips of his ears down to his neck as he desperately tries to refrain from laughing at his own joke. And when he fails at the delivery, he smacks Yoongi in the arm as if it’s his fault. Hoseok, somehow, laughs even harder.

Jimin pours another shot, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and barely able to see straight. The clear liquor misses the glass entirely and spills mostly on the table. Some of it drips to Jungkook’s pants, who barely registers it. Instead, his round eyes are locked on you, lovestruck as he watches you and Taehyung drunkenly slow dance together.

Taehyung spins you beneath his arm and catches you when you stumble forward. The both of you are clinging onto each other’s arms, in fits of giggles as he presses his forehead against yours. It’s like no one else is in the room except you two. Not even any of your other lovers, who seamlessly take turns drinking with you and passing you around from one to another throughout the night.

Seeing everyone around him relaxed and having fun reminds Namjoon of the parties back at Blackstone Castle. It isn’t unusual for apprentices to sneak away at night to hook up, drink with friends, and celebrate small achievements and occasions. With the wardens constantly watching them, the heavy burdens of exams and Harrowings on their shoulders, and a strict system followed by the staff to keep magic restricted, it’s sometimes the only way the students could let loose.

Jackson was fond of going to these parties. He’d go to as many as he could, and made lots of friends with his outgoing and funny personality. Your old roommates were too, and they’d drag you along with the promise of Hoseok attending a party as well. And Namjoon – who’d patiently wait and catch your eye when you’re alone – would sneak you out before anyone would notice you’re both gone.

“I knew she’d end up with you or Hoseok,” Jackson comments, drawing Namjoon out of his thoughts. They watch as you end your dance with Taehyung with a curtsy before he guides you to Hoseok, who easily gathers you in his arms. “But it looks like she got both of you and more.”

“She’s our girl,” Namjoon agrees with a fond smile.

Namjoon used to be a little jealous of Hoseok. After all, Hoseok loved you first. He still loves you now.

But when you feel Namjoon’s gaze on you from across the room, you meet his eyes and smile. With the same sincerity you had back then, when you had first said those words to him during your birthday, you mouth the words, “I love you.”

It’s not words you often say to each other – even though you clearly do, and he loves you just the same – but it still takes his breath every time. You love him. Someone as precious and beautiful as you chooses to love a guy like him.

“Who would’ve thought?” Jackson muses, sipping on his drink.

It feels like old times, but things have changed.

Namjoon certainly has. Without the vigilant gaze of the wardens and the suffocating confinements of the fortresses, he is a free man in this town. He can run along the river every morning, read books beneath the shade of a tree at the park, and go out with you and the other guys when the shop is closed. No one knows that he’s a mage here; no one looks at him like an abomination or something Wicked.

Here, he is just Namjoon. And as himself, he’s learned to enjoy his life a bit more. He’s learned to cherish those he holds so dearly, and savor those precious moments with gratitude. He’s learned to love, even when sometimes, he wonders if he deserves it.

For Jackson, however, his experiences after Blackstone are entirely different.

Since that night, he’s been on the run. He barely had time to grieve and process what had happened for a while, running before the nightmares caught up to him. He never stays in a town too long, never reveals too much about what he is or where he came from. In Blackstone, the threats were contained within the castle: power-hungry wardens, missued spells, Harrowings, and the nightmarish realm of the Veil. Out here, anything could happen. Anyone could become a potential threat.

“You’re always welcome to stay here, Jackson,” Namjoon offers after a few more drinks, just as Taehyung and Jungkook help carry a drunk Jimin upstairs into the spare bedroom. He grimaces, unable to take back what he said.

The eighth room doesn’t belong to Jackson anyway.

“I appreciate it, but it looks like you have a full house,” Jackson replies as he looks around the shop again.

Everyone seemed to have passed their limit. Hoseok is zoning out, sitting quietly with a blank expression on his face. Yoongi was the opposite, cheering loudly and running around when he won a card game you were all playing, but now his energy has died down as he patiently waits for you to go to bed with him. Seokjin is sober enough to clean up, putting away the empty bottles and picking up the cards that were thrown on the floor. Neither Taehyung nor Jungkook have come back down after they took Jimin upstairs, so they must have fallen asleep as well. No one is paying attention to them.

Now is as good a time as any to reveal why he’s here.

“What’s that?” Namjoon asks, seeing Jackson pull out a couple fliers. One of them is one he received from Jungkook earlier that day. The other one has a bit more wear and tear, creases showing that it’s been folded and re-opened over and over.

“I think I might have a job you and your friends would be interested in,” he tells him, showing the flier that the Oathkeepers were passing out. “I ran into a couple mages you guys helped out a few towns over. It’s rare to run into others like us, let alone a group of mages and humans who are willing to help each other out. When they described you guys, I had a feeling I knew exactly who they were talking about. Turns out, I was right.”

Namjoon remembers them. Seokjin’s former guild wanted to bring in mages to the frontlines of their quests, but at the expense of abusive power and enslavement to control them. It was a controversial stance that eventually divided the guild and led to Seokjin and his friends separating from them altogether after all of you helped the captured mages escape.

“That’s why you were looking for me?” Namjoon asks, remembering Seokjin had mentioned that Jackson wanted to speak with him.

“I was looking for everybody. You. Hoseok. Your girl. My old roommates. Any of our old friends,” he lists with a frown. It doesn’t seem like he had much luck finding anyone else. Jackson then pushes the second paper – the worn and torn one – toward him. “While looking around, I found this.”

Without reading it, Namjoon asks, “What is it?”

“It’s the job,” Jackson reminds him, carefully watching as Namjoon picks it up and unfolds the paper.

“Help wanted,” Namjoon reads out loud. “Every night, the undead wakes from their eternal slumber and attacks our small village. No one knows why or where they are coming from, but our farmers suspect a necromancer is to blame.”

Necromancy?

Magic, as beautiful and wonderful as it could be, is also dangerous and deadly. Certain magic is forbidden for a reason. Messing with the afterlife is considered one of them.

“Keep going,” Jackson urges.

“Each night, our numbers dwindle as the undead grows. Soon, there will be nothing left of our village,” Namjoon continues with a frown. “In a desperate plea for help, we are sending our notices far and wide in hopes to find anyone brave enough to take this urgent quest. We will do whatever it takes to save our home. Please, to anyone who finds this, help us.”

Namjoon doesn’t get it. Dark magic is explicitly banned from the fortresses. It’s why they’ve been built and why they contain mages in the first place. Jackson knows this. He’s lived in these towers too.

“Check the location,” Jackson quietly presses before Namjoon could turn it down.

He does, glancing down at the paper again. He nearly drops it when he sees where the quest is coming from.

Hawthorn Village. His hometown.

He’s tried and failed several times to return to that place ever since he was sent away on the day of his magical awakening. Ignis died helping Namjoon on his last attempt to return, and Namjoon swore he would never try again after that haunting day.

Suddenly, it feels like it’s hard for him to breathe. To swallow. He blinks back the sting of tears as he looks at his friend. “That place…”

“We can come with you,” Seokjin suddenly offers, holding some empty bottles and glasses that he is taking to the sink. “The Oathkeepers and I. We have the documents that prove that we’re a legitimate guild.”

No one would question them on the road. Some would be more willing to help and provide information when they see they’re a group on a mission and not just ordinary travelers as well.

“What do you say?” Jackson asks, sounding hopeful. “I won’t be able to do this on my own. They’ll need us, Namjoon. We can help them. All of us can.”

And Namjoon realizes why Jackson mentioned you and Hoseok could help with this quest as well.

His gaze immediately turns to you.

Your arm is around Yoongi’s neck as he helps you stand. You look flushed, cheeks hot and limbs loose from the alcohol. A bashful giggle escapes your lips at your own predicament, and how you feel like a fawn learning to walk as you use Yoongi to keep your balance. And you only laugh harder when you catch a glimpse of Hoseok’s face as he blinks slowly at you, and his mouth lifts into a slight chuckle of his own.

After everything you’ve all been through at Blackstone Castle, Namjoon swore he’d do whatever it takes to protect you.

“She’ll get hurt,” Namjoon points out.

“She’s the best spellcaster we know,” Jackson counters. “And Hoseok makes the best potions. You all have familiars too, and a formidable guild that will have our backs if anyone questions what we are.”

“He has a point, Namjoon,” Seokjin agrees, but in a way that lets Namjoon know that it’s his call. Whatever he decides, Seokjin will support him.

“Jin, last time I… Last time…”

“It’ll be different this time,” he assures him with a small but confident smile. “You’ll have us.”

“What do you say, Namjoon?” Jackson asks, pouring both of them another glass.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. He looks over at you again: your pretty smile and the way it reaches your eyes, how the sound of your laughter reminds Namjoon of how precious you are to him, and the endeared look from those around you as how affectionate you are when you’re tipsy.

It feels like old times, as Namjoon admires you from afar.

He knows you. Even if he had no connection to the village, you’d still want to help. Because that’s the kind of person you are. Namjoon is the same way.

But things have changed. Namjoon has changed.

Before, he would stop at nothing to return to his village and see his parents again. Before, he would take on this mission in a heartbeat, no matter what the risks are. But now, doubt starts to fill his mind.

This could be dangerous. Impossible, even.

But this is his home. His family might still be there. He has to try. Right?

“Okay,” he decides as he takes the glass Jackson pours him. The sudden burden in his heart makes it harder to swallow this time.

Namjoon can’t sleep.

He lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind restlessly jumps back and forth between a few things.

First, his hometown. What will it be like, stepping into that place for the first time in years? How much has changed? Would anyone recognize him? Are his parents still there? Are they doing well?

Then, there’s the necromancer. He knows very little about necromancy, and he doubts that you and Hoseok know more than he does about it. Where did they come from? What is their goal? What do they want with his hometown? Would he and the others be able to face them? Or are they dealing with something far too dark and dangerous?

Then, of course, there’s you and the others. He knows you’ve braved dangers before: in your Harrowing, the night Blackstone Castle fell, and even recently when you’ve helped Seokjin against his former guild. He knows you and the others are perfectly capable and skilled individuals, and as a team, you’d be an unstoppable force.

But Namjoon still worries. His mind starts to think about the worst. What if something goes wrong? What if you get hurt? He’ll have no one to blame but himself. Maybe this is too risky. Maybe he should tell Jackson and Seokjin he’s changed his mind.

The door to his room slowly opens. “Joon?”

Startled, he shoots up and faces the door. His heart calms a bit when he sees that it’s you. “What is it, baby?”

You shut the door behind you.

It’s just you and Namjoon. Like old times.

“I just wanted to check on you,” you tell him, sobered up after drinking earlier. Even in your drunken stupor, you can tell something has been bothering him. Your voice is a gentle whisper, calm and comforting. It’s a stark difference to the whirlwind of thoughts storming in his head.

He reaches out to you as you step closer, until you’re right in front of him.

When he dreams of you, he always wakes up just when he has you in his grasp. Just when you’re his to hold. As your fingers delicately wrap around his, he’s almost afraid he’d wake up and you’d be gone again.

“I could be better,” he replies to you honestly. His gaze is still on your hand as his thumb brushes against the top of your knuckles. “I have a lot in my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He meant to ask you to stay. To let him hold you for tonight, and keep the fears of potentially losing you at bay as you fall asleep in his arms.

“I love you.”

The words that fall from his lips instead surprises both of you. He sees your eyes widen, the way you catch your breath, the uncertainty on your face, as if you aren’t sure if you heard him right.

But his hand tightens around yours, pulling you closer.

Namjoon loves you. Truly, he does. He sees you in his dreams all the time.

Everything he loves. Everything he’s afraid to lose.

You’re on his bed now, your eyes falling on his broad shoulders and his bare chest. There’s a look in your eyes that he’s become all too familiar with.

He doesn’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly, you’re all over each other. He kisses you with everything he’s got, meeting your lips and tongue with his, as if tonight could be his last time to hold you, to make you his. He grunts when he feels you gently tug on his bottom lip with your teeth. And you whimper when his hand yanks the white fabric of your nightdress, thumb brushing against your nipple.

The second you’re out of your torn clothes, his mouth latches onto your other breast, tongue flicking the hardened bud. “F-Fuck, Joon.”

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers slowly trail down your abdomen and slot between your legs. You close your eyes, rolling your hips slightly as his long fingers slip past your wet folds. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Namjoon praises, his voice so deep and low, it makes you shiver. “Come here. Wanna taste you.”

You obey, following his lead as he lies back on the bed again and makes himself situated. He guides you over him, and you’re careful of your weight on him as he holds your waist and thighs and eats you out.

He feels your muscles tensing and your hips bucking as the pleasure builds. But he keeps a tight hold on you, preventing you from squirming away as he works you open with his tongue. Your grip tightens around the headboard and your other hand tugs on his hair as his thumb rubs against your clit. “J-Joon, I’m s-so—”

Even without your warning, he knows. He gets you there, drinking you in, reaping his spoils as you start to come down from your high.

But it isn’t over.

Once his grip around you loosens, you turn over. Namjoon props himself up slightly, watching what you’re doing and groaning when he feels your hands and mouth on his cock. His fingers easily tease your entrance before slipping into you again, stretching you out, feeling you clench around them, before he decides to pull your hips closer for another taste.

It starts to feel like a competition. Like you’re trying to get him off first before he makes you climax a second time.

But Namjoon knows your body well, and you feel his tongue and fingers prodding, teasing, and hitting your sweet spot mercilessly. Your muffled moans with your mouth against him are driving him insane, and he barely edges you out – your legs quivering slightly from the intense pleasure – before he shoots his release in your throat.

Namjoon catches his breath as you roll onto your back, breathing just as hard as he is. He sits up to look at you, his mouth and chest wet with your arousal, and as you peer up at him with lust-filled eyes, he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

More than what he deserves.

He caresses your thigh and smiles gently. “Tired?”

You scoff, breathless, but stubborn. As if admitting that you are means defeat. “I’m just getting started.”

Namjoon chuckles and then grabs your leg, pulling you closer. He aligns himself to enter you, moving slowly so you could adjust to his size. Your back arches slightly, face contorting at the pressure as your nails dig into his arms. You feel so good to him, he could never get enough of you.

He leans over to kiss you once he’s fully inside of you. “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll always be your girl,” you tell him softly, kissing his cheek.

Namjoon laughs, almost bashful with the way his heart flutters at that moment. You smile back at him, wrapping your arm around his neck as he begins to move.

His lips are on your throat, hands squeezing your breast and hips, whispered curses and grunts against your skin. It feels like wildfire every time. Heated, passionate, all consuming, like every touch and kiss sears his skin. Like every little moan and whine he hears from you compels him to make that fire grow. Then, only in the afterglow, he realizes it’s not the embers and ashes that remain. It’s warmth that fills his chest when he’s around you. It’s light that makes his heart glow with love. And he wants nothing more but to bask in it.

When he dreams, it’s always of you. Seductive, enticing, and tempting. But nothing compares to the real thing. Not even close.

Namjoon’s fingers absently trace patterns along your bare back. Your labored breaths have calmed down, slowly and evenly. Your lashes touch the top of your cheeks as you rest your eyes, and your tongue darts briefly to wet your pretty lips.

He can’t stop looking at you.

“You always do this,” you comment softly without opening your eyes.

His hand stills. “Do what?”

“You always watch over me,” you answer, opening one eye to peek at him. There’s a small, playful smile on our lips. “Even when we first started seeing each other, you always look at me so endearingly.”

Namjoon laughs, a bit embarrassed. He never thought you’d notice the tender, forlorn look on his face after spending a night together. “Stay with me tonight?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re falling in love with me, Kim Namjoon.”

He smiles at that, dimples appearing deep in his cheeks. “I already love you, baby.”

You snuggle a little closer to him, the teasing in your voice replaced with sincerity as you tell him, “I love you too.”

It isn’t often that you two say those words to each other, but it still makes him catch his breath every time you do. His arm wraps around you protectively as he kisses your hairline, and he sighs happily as you tuck yourself under his chin.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs quietly, closing his eyes. It feels nice to have you in his arms. It feels nice to have you so close. He feels like he can relax like this.

Then, you ask, “What did Jackson say to you?”

His eyes snap open, and he sees the concern on your face. You hold his gaze, curious, but also as if you’re not certain if you want to push for the answers.

“He showed me a quest, and asked if we can help him,” he explains, his grip tightening around you a little. “It’s in my hometown.”

You’re quiet as Namjoon tells you everything. From all the details pertaining to the mission to Jackson heavily implying he won’t be able to do it without you. If there really is a necromancer terrorizing the village, you have the best chance of stopping them. Your skill at spell-casting is unmatched compared to the others.

Part of him hopes you’d refuse it – that you’d realize the odds are against you with this type of Wicked magic, and how stupid and dangerous this could be.

But he knows you won’t.

You know that Namjoon couldn’t pass up on it. This mission is too important to him. He could lose his parents and his hometown for good.

And Namjoon knows, if nothing else, you’d want to do it for him. You’d do anything for him. He’d do the same for you.

When he’s done, he feels you wrap your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “It’s okay, Namjoon. I know you want to help. I’ll do my best to keep your village safe, too.”

Namjoon frowns. His heart doesn’t feel any lighter as he holds you close. He feels so vulnerable as he softly confesses, “I’m afraid to lose you.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not an easy person to take down,” you quip confidently. You push yourself up to look at him, and your hand cups his face. Your thumb gently wipes away the frown on his lips. “I can handle myself, Joon. You know I can.”

Namjoon wants to believe you. But his heart still feels heavy with worry.

The next morning, Namjoon gathers the residents of the shop and tells them the news. As expected, there’s a mixed reaction.

“A necromancer?” Yoongi repeats, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Sounds fun!” Taehyung exclaims, eyes brightening with the promise of adventure.

“Sounds dangerous,” Hoseok corrects with a frown and crosses his arms. “We don’t really know anything about dark magic or necromancy. How would we know what we’re truly up against?”

“We won’t know until we try,” you reason, glancing over at Namjoon. “As far as we know, there’s only one necromancer, and there are several of us. The people in that village need our help, and we might be their last hope.”

“If we’re not already too late,” Hoseok grimly states.

Taehyung suddenly stands. “What are we waiting for? We need to start packing now!”

“Taehyung, calm down. We should think this through first,” Yoongi points out, but the raven familiar is already taking flight. He transforms into a raven and goes straight to his loft above the library nook.

“I’ll need to start brewing some potions and antidotes,” Hoseok mutters, also standing and walking straight to the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he asks, “Do you think we can stop by the market for ingredients?”

“Can we get snacks too?” Jungkook timidly asks.

You laugh and rub his back. “We can’t have you hungry on our trip.”

“I’ll talk to the others and tell them about the quest.” Seokjin informs, heading upstairs to change out of his pajamas.

“Then, I’ll wake up Jimin. He’s still sleeping in the spare room,” you tell the ones left in the parlor. You glance over at Yoongi, who is already standing up to follow you. “Wanna help me bother him, Yoongi?”

He nods his head, a twitch of a smile on the corner of his lip, as he walks with you up the stairs.

That just leaves Namjoon and Jungkook. The mage sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Everyone took the news better than he thought.

Your party will consist of Jackson, the Oathkeepers, and the shop’s residents. There’s safety in numbers when traveling in such a large group. All of you are diligently preparing to face whatever dangers the roads and this necromancer can throw at you. And Namjoon is certain that you’ll all look out for each other, as you always do.

The only glaring thing is the necromancer. Hoseok is right when he said none of you know what you’re going to be up against. And that makes Namjoon nervous.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asks when he sees Namjoon start to head to the other side of the parlor.

“I’m going to see if the library will have anything about necromancy,” he answers, though he doubts he’ll find anything useful. Even his magical nook of books might not hold what he’s seeking for. “We’ve never had to deal with this kind of magic before. I want us to be prepared.”

More importantly, he needs to know how he can protect you. It’s inevitable that you’ll have to face a powerful mage that controls the dead, but if he can find something – anything – to give you an upper-hand…

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment. His dark eyes stare at Namjoon in an almost penetrating gaze that starts to make him nervous. Then, quietly, he mentions, “You have to take their bells.”

“What?”

“They use bells to summon the dead and have them do their bidding,” he explains, just when he hears Hoseok calling for him in the kitchen. “Take their bells, and they can’t control the dead.”

With that said, he stands and heads to the kitchen, leaving Namjoon to stare after him.

He knows that Jungkook was previously with a mage that specializes in dark magic. He also knows that Jungkook doesn't talk much about that part of his past, if at all.

But as Jungkook disappears from the parlor, Namjoon can’t help but wonder if he knows more about dark magic than he lets on.

At dawn, you and the other shop residents meet up with Jackson and the Oathkeepers. It’s a long way to Namjoon’s hometown in Hawthorn Village, and Jimin agreed to keep an eye on the shop until you return.

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time.” Jimin holds you and peppers kisses all over your face. He wishes he could, but he has his own duties tying him to New Haven this time. “Take care and come home soon, okay?”

“I’ll miss you,” you reply sincerely, wishing he could come as well. Due to the nature of this quest, however, you couldn’t tell him the real reason you’re leaving town.

Instead, you simply tell him that you’re all visiting Namjoon’s family, and that Seokjin and his friends are escorting you all there while they have a job nearby.

It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Taehyung and Jungkook are excited about going on a real adventure this time. They both look eager to get started, rucksacks on their backs and anticipation in their eyes. It doesn’t matter to either of them what they’re facing, as going on a quest with their hyungs sounds more fun than anything.

Hoseok looks like he’s seconds away from a mental breakdown. He’s constantly checking and rechecking that you guys have everything you’ll need for this adventure. His wand is ready, tucked within reach. His rucksack is full of potions and ingredients. He checks with Yoongi to make sure they aren’t forgetting anything, and Yoongi shrugs and drawls that if it’s something they’ve forgotten, it probably wasn’t that important to bring along anyway.

Namjoon and Jackson stand apart from the others, seeming to be in a deep discussion about something. Since Jackson requested his help, Namjoon has been nervous about returning to Hawthorn Village, even if he tries not to show it. You often feel his worried gaze on you when he thinks you don’t notice.

Seokjin is with his friends, going over the map and figuring out the best routes to take. You see a side of Seokjin where he’s more serious than you’re used to, and perhaps on the surface, this is just another quest for him. But when you see him glance over at Namjoon, you know he’s in it for the same reason you all are.

You’re doing this for Namjoon.

Your heart feels conflicted when you catch Jimin staring at the others. It’s hard to keep things hidden from him – to keep him in the dark about everything – and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that you aren’t being completely honest with him. That you’re leaving him behind with purpose, and that you’re shutting him out from such an important part of yourself.

Maybe he doesn’t even believe your half-truth about simply visiting Namjoon’s family.

You wish you could tell him. You wish you could confide about your own worries about the mission. You wish you could’ve told him stories about Blackstone Castle when you had introduced him to Jackson.

Jimin turns his attention to you, and his eyes lingers on your face, seeing past the neutral mask you’re trying to keep on. “Is everything okay?”

You wish you could tell him the truth about you.

“There’s something I should tell you, Jimin…”

At that moment, Namjoon calls out to you. He has your pack over his shoulder, and a sheepish smile on his face when he realizes he’s interrupting you and Jimin. “We need to get going.”

“What did you want to tell me?” Jimin asks, curious now.

There’s so much you want to say. One day, you’ll tell him about how you and the others aren’t ordinary humans, that the building you all live in isn’t an ordinary shop.

But that day isn’t today.

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” you decide, touching his cheek. You kiss his lips and murmur, “I love you.”

A small, sad smile tugs on his lips before he kisses you again. “I’ll miss you.”

Reluctantly, you part ways with him and join the others. There is a lot of ground to cover between New Haven and Hawthorn Village, and each passing night will just make things harder for the surviving villagers.

“Ready to go?” Seokjin asks, looking at everyone. A unanimous sound of agreement is answered back. The party gathers into the horse-drawn wagons, and thus, the journey officially begins.

Your hand reaches for Yoongi’s – who automatically intertwines his fingers with yours – and you look over at Jimin one more time. He leans against a fence, watching as Yoongi helps you get onboard. When he sees you looking at him, he straightens up and mouths to come home soon before he waves goodbye.

“What were you and Jimin talking about?” Yoongi asks you, still holding your hand.

“I think I’m going to tell him about what I am,” you confess, a little nervous of what he might say. That he might convince you that this is a bad idea.

“You should,” Namjoon agrees, sitting on your other side. He rests his arm behind you, squeezing in so that everyone can fit. “It’s about time he knows about all of us, no?”

Yoongi glances at you with uncertainty, but mumbles, “If that’s what you want.”

A weight lifts off your shoulders as you smile. “Yeah, it’s been hard to keep things hidden from him all the time, you know?”

Namjoon nods and then, lowering his voice and leaning closer to you, he slowly asks, “Was it hard to keep us a secret? Back when we were at the castle?”

“A little,” you admit just as quietly. “Hoseok already knew. He said we were too obvious. My roommates were starting to get suspicious too, and I’m sure Jackson and our other friends would’ve figured out something was going on between us. I think it would’ve all come out eventually.”

“Would you have been mad if it did?”

“Not at all. It would’ve made things less confusing for me if we had been honest with each other from the start.”

In hindsight, neither of you had anything to hide. You both liked each other a lot, and even then, none of the guys were put off with the idea of sharing you. But magic comes with so much secrecy, it seemed natural to keep things hidden. To expect that your enamored feelings won’t be accepted because love is taboo for mages.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, frowning at the things he could’ve done differently.

“I’m not blaming you, Joon,” you assure him, using your free hand to touch his cheek. “What matters is where we are now. Not all the things we could’ve changed.”

His lips quirks into a small grin as he takes in your words. “You’re right.”

The two of you share a brief kiss as the horses continue to pull the wagon you’re all on. It’ll take you as far as the roads will lead, but there’s a shortcut through the forest that will cut your traveling in half. That route, however, will have to be on foot.

Conversations between the others overlap as the excitement of the journey is still high. But to your surprise, you see one person is quiet and lost in his thoughts.

Jackson doesn’t say a word during the whole ride.

Traveling down the familiar roads that lead to his hometown in Hawthorn Village brings Namjoon back to unpleasant memories.

He remembers the terror the night promises, as if it’s still fresh in his mind. The low, warning growl of predators and their glowing eyes in the shadows. The way his body shivers from the cold, and how his feet ache from walking. The exhaustion that tolls his small body, but he can’t afford to stop and rest or the wardens will catch up to him, as they always seem to do.

It felt like a hopeless task then. But Namjoon was stubborn.

He wanted to return home no matter what.

And now, years later, he finally will.

Seokjin is right about how things are different this time. Now, he has all of you beside him, instead of having to trek these roads alone. And that makes Namjoon worry.

“Watch out,” Namjoon warns, pulling you away from a green plant growing along the trunk of a tree. “Those plants are poisonous.”

“He’s right,” Hoseok agrees, examining them a little closer. You would’ve had an awful, itchy rash if you had accidentally touched them. He rummages through his pack and happily adds, “Luckily, I have an ointment for this kind of thing!”

“Careful, baby,” Namjoon says with caution a little later on. He holds onto you as he helps you down a slippery slope. “You might fall.”

Nearby, Jungkook is giggling when he sees Seokjin slip on the mud, staining his clothes with the wet dirt.

“Yah, Jungkook!” Seokjin snaps as he grabs the younger male by the ankle and drags him into the mud with him.

All day, Namjoon has been overly protective of you. Whether it’s a branch of a tree that’s hanging too low and blocking your path, a hole on the ground that you could easily trip over, or a mama bear and her cubs just passing through, Namjoon is there to guard you. Even if it means hurting himself.

“Joon, you don’t need to be so worried about me,” you assure him, sitting him down on a log and examining the cut on his arm. It’s bleeding, but it doesn’t look too deep.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Namjoon answers, wincing as you apply a bit of healing magic on the wound. Warmth spreads from your fingertips as it starts to close.

“I’m not the one with the cut,” you counter, gesturing at his arm. Thankfully, it just looks like a scratch now.

Being on the road isn’t too bad. After getting dropped off at the starting point of the forest, the excited chatter between you and the others lasts a good while, making the morale stay up. You all take breaks when you need to, make sure food and water is passed around, and keep an eye out for bandits, wild animals, and other dangers like low branches, poisonous plants, and pit holes.

After a while, the conversations die down to a mutual, tired silence. Everyone’s paces slow down significantly, and the breaks become more and more frequent. Jungkook quietly mentions that he’s getting hungry – the small snacks between stops aren’t enough for a meal – and Namjoon is certain he isn’t the only one.

No one protests when Namjoon suggests making camp at a clearing he finds. There’s unanimous relief as everyone begins to pitch their tents, make a campfire, and gather resources and ingredients to make supper.

Which leads to you and Namjoon, sitting together as you check the wound he gave himself when trying to protect you. He sighs and thanks you for treating him, barely feeling the sting of pain anymore. Part of him expects you to leave, but you still sit with him, watching as some of the guys play rock-paper-scissors to decide the order of night shifts.

Although you don’t admit it, you’ve been worrying about Namjoon too.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you can handle yourself. It’s just…” Namjoon begins, rubbing his neck. “After everything that happened in Blackstone, I’m afraid to lose you. To lose everything again. Even now, I’m worried that you guys are putting your lives in danger because of me.”

“We’re here because we want to be, Namjoon,” you tell him with a small smile. “If it was Seokjin’s hometown under attack, or Jungkook’s, or anyone else’s at the shop, I know you’d want to do all you can to help too.”

“You’re right,” he says with another sigh. Maybe he’s worrying over nothing.

Your smile widens as you nudge him. “Are you nervous about going home?”

He chuckles dryly. That, certainly, is an understatement.

“I don’t think I know what to expect anymore. It’s been so long…” He lets himself trail off as his gaze turns to everyone else in camp. Taehyung is demanding a rematch as Hoseok throws his fist in the air and shouts in victory. Their rowdiness catches the attention of the others, who grin a bit at them as they decide to do another round. “My parents might still be in Hawthorn. If we have the chance, I’d like to talk to them. Tell them I’m sorry for burning down our old house, and that I miss them.”

“You could,” you assure him, giving him a comforting smile. “I don’t think the others would mind since we’re already there.”

He smiles a bit at that. Then, his heart flutters nervously as he proposes, “Would you come with me? When I go see them, I mean.”

You look a bit surprised. “I could if you want me to.”

“I do,” he quickly replies, a bit flustered. “It would be easier, I think. If you’re by my side at the time.”

“Then, of course I will.”

His smile widens and relief lifts from his shoulders, grateful you’ll accompany him. “Do you think they’ll forgive me? After all these years? It wouldn’t be too weird if I just showed up, would it? What would I even say to them?”

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart stutter. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t love you, Kim Namjoon.”

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, dimples popping at the shy grin. “For everything.”

Suddenly, the guys shout in disbelief and burst into laughter at the results of their game. You and Namjoon smile fondly at them.

“I don’t remember where I was born,” you confide to Namjoon. “I don’t know who my parents are, or if I have family that knows about me. So, when Blackstone fell, I felt like I lost the only place I knew was home as well.”

“Oh…” Namjoon frowns. He never considered any of the fortresses a home. It always felt more like a prison. But perhaps, to mages like you and Hoseok, who’ve been locked away in those towers all your lives, it’s different.

“But you know,” you continue. “I can’t say I’d ever want to go back to it. If we hadn’t run away – if we hadn’t made it to the shop – we wouldn’t have met Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Seokjin wouldn’t be happy as a warden. And I might’ve never even had the courage to tell you and Hoseok that I love you.”

“Really?”

“Blackstone was my home. It was the only world I’ve ever known,” you say, your eyes still fixed on the others before you. “But I don’t ever regret leaving that place behind to be where I am now. With you and the others.”

In his dreams, Namjoon sees you again.

Your hand is in his, leading him away from camp while the others are asleep. Taking him to a secluded place in the woods.

It’s just you and him. Like old times.

Your back is pressed against the trunk of a tree. A seductive smile touches your lips as you wrap your arm around his neck. You pull him in for a kiss, and his hands glide up your body in a lustful hunger. He hears you panting as his hand slips between your legs, your lip biting back a needy moan, and your flirty eyes glancing up at him beneath your lashes.

His trousers fall down to his ankles, and he lifts one of your legs. You lean against the side of the tree, shifting your weight against the trunk, and look over your shoulder at him with a tiny nod.

A whistle of an arrow flies toward him, but it hits you. Right in the heart.

The flirty gaze turns to a look of horror and accusation. This is his fault.

You slump on the ground, cold and unmoving. Hunters gather around, pointing their weapons at him. Wearing similar faces of anger, disgust, and terror like the villagers from his hometown the night of his awakening.

Among them are the rest of the guys: Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jungkook, and even Jimin. There’s disappointment and sadness in their eyes when they see your body. It turns to looks of hatred and distrust when they look at Namjoon.

It’s his fault you got hurt. It’s his fault things ended up like this.

Everything is his fault.

Namjoon feels so small again, like he’s a kid. Everyone gathers around him, wanting an explanation. Why is he born with magic? What wickedness has he done to be cursed with that power?

Your eyes are lifeless. Your skin is cold.

But with a distant twinkle of a bell, your head snaps toward him. Your jaw falls open too widely as an agonizing scream comes from your throat.

Namjoon wakes with a start.

Another dream about you, but this one is different. This one is a nightmare.

His heart races when he finds himself somewhere he doesn’t recognize. And it takes him a moment to place himself in a tent he’s sharing with you and the others.

Seokjin is at the far end, lying on his back with his face turned toward you. One arm is curled out beside him as his other hand rests on his stomach where Yoongi, in his cat form, has chosen to sleep. Hoseok has his arms wrapped around you and is curled up against your back. Taehyung has stolen his pillow, using it as a nest, as he tucks his head beneath his black feathers. Namjoon doesn’t see Jungkook right away, but he hears his low, steady croaks by his head, settled on the opposite end.

All of you are sleeping safe and sound, huddled together like a pile of puppies.

Namjoon smiles fondly at the sight, relieved to see that you’re unharmed. But the nightmare is still too fresh in his mind. Quietly, he decides to sneak out and get some fresh air.

A couple of the Oathkeepers and Jackson are keeping watch this time. His old friend looks surprised to see him, but doesn’t send him away when Namjoon takes a seat next to him by the fire.

“Aren’t you tired?” Jackson asks.

“I’ll go back in a bit,” he promises, frowning up at the sky. The night feels too long. Dawn doesn’t seem like it’ll break through soon.

For a while, the two sit together quietly by the campfire, lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Jackson asks, “Do you still think about that night? At Blackstone?”

The night of the rebellion. When Adriel summoned something Wicked from the depths of the Veil and made a contract with it. Power in exchange for his physical form.

“It’s not really Blackstone I think about,” Namjoon admits. The burdens he carries are longer and heavier than what happened the night you all escaped.

“I think about it all the time. Everything that went wrong. Everything that I could’ve done differently,” he sighs as he stares at the burning fire before him. “Adriel was my friend. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve realized what he was doing was wrong.”

“Adriel just wanted us to be free,” Namjoon reminds him. There isn’t anything wrong with wanting that.

“And look where that got us,” Jackson bitterly retorts. “Adriel is dead. Most of us have probably been recaptured and sent back to a fortress somewhere. The rest of us are on the run, hiding our magic so we don’t get caught.”

Namjoon frowns. Jackson has a point. Even outside the castle walls, freedom still has its limits.

“None of us could’ve known what would’ve happened,” Namjoon reasons. “I don’t think Adriel even knew when he made contact with that Wicked.”

“But we could’ve done better!” Jackson snaps. There’s an anger in his eyes that Namjoon is all-too familiar with. A spiteful resentment that he, himself, has carried for years. “We were his friends. We could’ve checked up on him. We could’ve talked him out of doing something so goddamn dangerous. We could’ve saved him too.”

His voice shakes, eyes wild with accusation and guilt. You were all at the tower. You’ve all seen what Adriel had become. You’ve seen how Jackson desperately pleaded to his friend to recognize him, and how the Warden Commander ran a sword through Adriel when he did. It’s a scene that’s been haunting Jackson ever since he left the tower.

“Jackson…” he begins, but honestly, he isn’t sure what to say. Namjoon feels pity. He understands how Jackson feels. He’s been in his place, burdening shame and guilt over things he couldn’t control.

Namjoon is lucky to have you and the others to be there for him when the shadows of doubt and resentment become too much.

But Jackson… he doesn’t have anyone to rely on.

“What if that necromancer in Hawthorn is one of us?” Jackson asks, his gaze now steady at the fire again. “What if they’re someone from Blackstone? What if they’re just another Adriel that lost their way, and dipped into forbidden magic they’re no longer in control of?”

Namjoon hadn’t thought of that possibility. He always saw the necromancer as a vague, hooded figure in his mind. Someone that summons the dead and commands them to attack his hometown.

What if that person under the hood was a friend? An apprentice he had a class with? Someone he recognizes from the halls of Blackstone Castle?

“Then we stop them,” Namjoon answers, placing his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “And we try to do better this time.”

“I hope we can, Namjoon. I can’t have another mage fall like Adriel did.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon x you #bts namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts fantasy au #bts magic au #bts witch au #bts fanfic #bts au #bts smut

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primojade · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | three times the wanderer tried balancing the books, and the one time he accepted something, free of charge.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | gn!reader x wanderer; reader is some sort of healer; tooth-rotting fluff; non-graphic depiction of injuries; slight suggestive at the end; let me know if I missed anything!

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | This was actually inspired by Nahida's small dialogue in the Interlude Archon Quest where she told Wanderer that not all relationships are about "balancing the books". It gives a lot of insight about the Wanderer's character and possible development in the future so here we are HAHAHA.

Also, this monstrosity of a fic had reached 3k words 💀 I hope you enjoyed! Lmao.

masterlist

Your first meeting with the elusive Wanderer isn't exactly one to be called pleasantly memorable. Though it was one that you would remember for the rest of your 'pitiful mortal' life—as he mockingly tried to put it numerous times.

One bright morning that you expect to go as mundane as any other day, you were met with an injured man near your doorsteps. He was unlike any other you have met before, as beautiful as a porcelain doll, he has the presence that commands both respect and intimidation, though his crude remarks leaves something to be desired.

Wanderer, as he strictly called himself as, irritatedly told you that he had no need for your help patching him up. All he need was a proper rest for a few hours, a quiet place away where your rants and lectures won't reach his ears, so his stupid injuries will heal itself. You have to fight tooth and nail (read: stubbornly convince him to stay) just to ensure that he will not exhaust himself further and possibly make his injuries worse than they were.

"—shut up, mortal."

"Wow. Is that how you should talk to your doctor, now, Wanderer?" Sarcasm bled to your tone as you tried cornering him in the nearby wall where he situated himself away from you. Glaring at you, there was a prominent scowl on his face that you start to think of as a permanent side effect of his crude personality.

"I have told you I don't need your help. Especially offering it for free?" He scoffed. "Such selflessness does not exist in this world. Tell me, what do you want from me?"

"Are you seriously this pessimistic?" You groaned in exasperation. "It's only natural to help others in need, you know."

"Heh, so you don't need anything in return?" There was a mocking grin on his face that started to grate on your nerves, but you forced yourself to calm it down. It's not the first time you have to deal with stubborn patients after all.

"Yes," you said earnestly, hoping that he would finally get the hint.

"Well, no. First, I don't trust you. Second, I don't believe in such a sweet tale of sickening selflessness and third, I do not want to be in your debt. It would be an eyesore if you demand absurd compensation later on."

"You…"

Archon's forbid. You could only facepalm at his haughty words as he looked like he's fully convinced to himself that you were up to no good for him.

It took you a few more hours of convincing his stubborn arse to finally, finally, let you help him. You have a feeling that he wouldn't budge no matter what, but at your wits end, you manage to bargain with him. In return for your help, you told him that he could just clear out the monster camps near your place since you have no time to do so with your busy schedule. That should be enough to not make him feel indebted to you, no?

With a little reluctance, the Wanderer agreed at last. Though his potty mouth is still grating your nerves and testing your thinning patience, he would now give you permission to help him heal his injuries faster than 'letting it heal itself'. You noticed he tends to shy away whenever your skin brushes against each other as if you had burned his flesh, or he would scoot away if he deemed you too close to his comfort.

He wasn't doing it consciously though, and it appears that he himself didn't realise he was doing it either. From your perspective, it seems that the Wanderer was agitated at the prospect of touching others. Now, you wondered silently, why is he so averse in physical touch?

When you thought you wouldn't see him again after he was completely healed, the Wanderer made his appearance once again. Repeatedly, in fact. One time, you were relaxing in your garden, enjoying the fleeting tranquility when he stormed through your abode, dropping a heavy bundle of tea set on the wooden table in front of you.

With an arrogant cock of his head to the side, the Wanderer told you that an 'annoying acquaintance' gave it to him and since he had no need for it, he would offer them to you for he's feeling rather gracious today. In exchange, you owe him a cup of tea—with demands that it had no sugar and milk.

That same day, you found out he's not fond of sweets, especially of dango, and he very much prefers bitter foods and tea.

The other time, you offer him a place in your home to stay for the night. It was raining down hard, and you doubt any travellers—or wanderer, in his case—who have a working brain wouldn't be stupid enough to brave it by themself.

Though a part of you knew that he would demand to balance his debts tomorrow, even for something as small as giving him a towel to dry himself, it was rather endearing to watch him awkwardly stand by the fireplace whilst waiting for you to do anything and break the offensive silence.

"Dry your hair properly, or you might set yourself for a headache—or worse, a cold—later." You started to scold him when he made no move to dry himself with the towel you gave him earlier. He was just staring at it with obvious disdain, before rolling his eyes at you.

"Don't bother yourself with that." He sneered and tossed the towel back to you. "I don't get cold anyway."

"You stubborn little…" You sighed and before he could say anything villainous that would pissed you off that you would want to kick him out in the rain, you marched towards him and forced him to sit down on your couch.

"Hey! What do you think you were doing?!"

"Sheesh. Just sit still until I'm done with you."

"How dare you order me around—"

Standing behind him, you chunked the towel to his head and started to dry his surprisingly soft locks. Your hands slowly and carefully worked their way to massage his scalp, ruffling his hair to ensure that it was dry enough, before your fingers ran through the tangled tresses carefully to avoid hurting him.

The Wanderer let out an approving hum, so quiet and low that you almost missed it.

"Does it feel good?" You grinned behind him, and you saw him jostle a bit as if he snapped out from whatever reverie he found himself in.

"Hmp. Don't get too cocky on me, mortal. But I will tolerate this for now." He harrumphed arrogantly as if to cover his initial embarrassment of being caught off guard that made you laugh. "If you aren't exercising that mouth of yours over something so trivial, you have some uses after all."

"I will pretend I didn't hear you antagonising my person again and believe what you mean by that is a 'thank you'."

"Did I tell you to stop?" He ignored your complaints and motioned you to continue playing—drying—with his hair like you were some sort of servant at his beck and call. "Do it again until I tell you otherwise, and don't you worry, I will return the favour soon. I hate being in debt to you, of all people."

Just as he told you the night prior, the Wanderer returned the 'favour' to you by procuring rare flowers and herbs that you need in making medicine. You didn't know how he knew you needed such things, and when did he get the chance to get them because they were just that rare, but the satisfied quirk of his lips when you told express your surprise and gratitude was, in a sense, enough to say that, yes, the debts have been balanced once again.

Though you were no stranger to bargaining in the market, the steady continuation of your relationship with this peculiar wanderer just tends to grow a bit more stranger—and incredulous—as time passes by.

Sometimes, you would ask the Wanderer about the wonders of his travels around the world. If he's in a gracious mood, he would indulge in your curiosities in exchange for a bitter tea. With a seemingly detached nonchalance, he would tell you about the lush rainforest and the rich desert of Sumeru, the bustling streets of Liyue Harbour, and even the regaling tales of Mondstadt.

He never talks about himself once, nor his hometown, and you never asked him about, well, him either. You have a feeling that asking that would only put him in a foul mood, or worse, he wouldn't show himself to you for months. Besides, maybe he would tell you something about himself soon, when he deemed you 'trustworthy' enough—whenever that was. You are more than willing to wait for him to open up.

Over time, you come to respect his boundaries and the fine line he drew between you and himself, one that he was reluctant to cross, and even if you silently wished that he would at least take a single act of kindness for free, without negotiating and demanding a full price in exchange, the wanderer was too stubborn and hardheaded to reason with that you decided to simply bargain these little moments with him.

You noticed that the Wanderer seemed to be in a daze lately, and judging from the noticeable black circles underneath his eyes, it also appears that he isn't resting well enough either. You didn't know what kind of job he was doing, nor did you have any heart to ask such a personal question, but knowing him for quite some time now, you knew that he's probably overworking just to reach his impossibly high standards he set for himself.

It hurts to see him this way.

But you didn't know what to do to make him feel better without being intrusive and nosy to his business. The least you could do now is to silently stay by his side, offering him bitter tea and a cosy place he could always return to when the world outside becomes too much for him to bear.

You just wished he would actually let you in, see some vulnerable parts of himself for you to hold and cradle at night. But that was too much to ask for such an arrogant gremlin.

"—you should be asleep, dimwit."

You wisely ignored his insult and sat yourself next to him on the couch. "You should sleep, too, you know."

"My body is able to withstand at least a week without sleep. I could manage myself just fine." He rolled his eyes, stubbornly crossing his arms on his chest.

"Maybe you don't need them physically, but that doesn't mean you can't be exhausted mentally and emotionally, you know." You smartly replied, patting your lap. "Come. You can lay here if the bed is too uncomfortable for you."

You were only half-joking, really, didn't think too much of what you were doing but with the way he sported a complicated expression, a little hopeful, but you knew him well enough that he was thinking of a way to balance his debts once again.

"Name your price, then." The Wanderer replied, narrowing his deep purple eyes at you.

"That's new," you raised a brow, interested. "Usually, you would already know how much lying on my lap is worth?"

"We're using your body as a place of negotiation, it's only natural that you name your own price, dimwit." The Wanderer said in a matter of fact tone.

You pretend to not heat his insults. "Your choice of wording leaves something to be desired as usual. I feel like I'm selling my body to you or something."

He snorted at your scowling expression. "Hurry up and decide already. I'm not feeling very patient today."

"Geez, you and your obnoxious demands." You sighed, before your scowl melted into a grin as you thought of an idea. "—How about giving me a hug?"

"A what now?"

"A hug! You know, like wrapping your arms around my shoulders or my waist, and I snuggle to your che—"

"I know what a hug is, you stupid human!" There was a scarlet tint on his ears that you find truly adorable as he glowers at you in confusion. "But why do you suddenly want a hug now, of all times?"

"You ask for a price," you shrugged, smiling mischievously at him. "I gave you my price. Take it or leave it."

It's not as if you were that oblivious to his buried knee-deep intentions. In fact, you knew him well enough to realise early on that you were being courted in the most clumsiest, ambiguous, and awkward of ways known to man.

Perhaps his life-long philosophy of 'balancing the books' and transaction relationship had played a great part in this entire charade. Whereas if he gave you something, you would give him something in return. If he didn't leave you, you wouldn't leave him in return.

As much as it was endearing at first, the strange exchange system going on for who-knows-how-long now had to stop. You have to make him realise that any other relationship—whether it was friendship, familial, or being a lover—wasn't all about give and take. It will take time, but you are more than willing to wait for him.

It was in the far future, where the fine line between being strangers to friends and then being more than that begins to blur. Where the lips that drank bitter teas tasted like sweet cherries and apples as it carefully clashes into your own. A pair of porcelain hands cradled your cheeks awkwardly in the face of gentle caresses reserved only for you, as if he's afraid he'll crush you like a piece of glass if he wasn't being careful enough.

The Wanderer's looming figure above you made you feel more at ease and safe rather than being afraid, as one would normally feel. But with the way his doe-like eyes stared at you with unmasked adoration made your heart flutters in your chest, twisting and constricting in his ever demanding gazes.

Why is it much easier to deal with him when he's being a bratty little bastard than when he's being so…adorably loving?

"...Let's make a deal," the Wanderer said, reluctantly detaching himself from your lips that made you groan in frustration, much to his amusement.

"Are you seriously asking that now?" You sulked, glaring at him. "You freaking ruined the romantic atmosphere. Ugh."

"I am being serious, dimwit." He rolled his eyes but before he could say anything more, you interjected with a grounded tone.

"I am not charging you with anything anymore, Wanderer. I already give you anything I could give for free, and I won't accept any payments if it's not yourself you were paying me."

When you thought he had more snark to say, his soft voice made you do a double take. "Even your heart?"

You blinked, and that same heart he was asking you skipped a beat at his hopeful gaze. He was looking at you like you were the cure to his fears. The unobtainable paradise just beyond his reach, and yet, he dared to hope that this time, maybe this time, you will stay.

You felt your throat run dry, but you forced yourself to say the words, anything, that could stabilise him to yourself. "...Why are you asking for something that has been in your hands this entire time?"

"And I have no heart to give to you," there was a slight bitterness in his tone that vanished as fast as it came. "But I could offer my undisguised, honest self to you, if you are willing to have an incomplete puppet like me."

"If that was the case," you tried blinking the tears away, feeling his never ending sadness and insecurities behind the grandiose curtain of his colourful words. "I'd like to gift-wrap you with a blue ribbon and a name card with my name on it. So, deal?"

"Not the blue ribbon part, no, otherwise yes, we could reach a compromise, I guess." There was a childish wonder in his gaze, a slight twinkle of unmasked happiness in his eyes, as he dived in to claim your lips into his own once again.

And you let him. You freely let his tender caress do the talking, a year's worth of pining and hoping and dreaming condensed into a crystallised moment.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added in my future works!): @samarill , @maehemthemisfit , @chocogi , @rvoulte , @luvwukong ...

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #genshin fluff #twilight theatre #jaded moments—!#scaramouche #wanderer #gender neutral reader

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proverbsss · 9 months

Text

reading you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao

notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet

"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.

You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.

"I can't help it-"

"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."

“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.

Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.

"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.

"You're laughing at me."

"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.

"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."

The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.

"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.

“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.

You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"

You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress.

“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind.

"I do need you."

You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again.

“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.

"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty.

He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"

"I wanna fuck again..."

"What else is new?"

"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?

“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.

You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.

This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.

Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"

“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.

"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."

"Yes..."

"Yes, 'what'?"

"Yes it's all your fault, Father."

“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”

You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.

“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving.

“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:

“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”

You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”

Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response.

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

#midnight mass #john pruitt #father paul hill #thirsting hours #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #father paul #fic tag #midnight mass fic #father paul x reader #hamfam smut #my blabber #tfw you can't even write your smut drabble well bc you're feral for the man you're writing about

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yelenasdiary · 9 months

Note

Little!reader request! CG/sisters Nat and Yelena

Just a bunch of fluff of reader and her cgs who happen to be her sisters from the red room watching bluey together

Family Time

Pairing: Caregivers! Natasha Romanoff & Yelena Belova x Little! Reader

Summary: After finally getting you to settle down after a sugar high, your older sisters sit and watch your favourite cartoon together.

Comfort | No Warnings | 0.7K |

AC: I’m Australian and I’ve never seen bluey, lmao. But I hope you enjoy this x also, please note, I am not a little and I write this purely based of research. If I have said anything incorrect, please don’t hesitate to message me via DM or asks.

It was Yelena who had given you some soda in your sippy cup, maybe a mistake when she noticed how hyper you had gotten but it was hard for her to say no to her younger sister when you gave her your signature puppy eyes. She tried everything to get you to settle down before Natasha would return from the store, but nothing worked to keep your attention. Sitting down in the living room, surrounded by your toys and favorite plushies, she offered to do some arts and crafts with you.

"But can't find crayons!" you pouted as Yelena placed your coloring book on the table. "Well, when was the last time you had them?" Yelena asked, unsure of where they'd be.

"Sissy took them!" you replied, crossing your arms across your chest.

To Yelena's relief, Natasha walks through the door with a welcoming smile. "Sissy! Where's crayons?" you asked as you sat down at the coffee table and opened up your coloring book. "If you're going to ask like that, you won't get them" Nat replies with a raised brow, reminding you to use your manners.

"Sorry" you pouted, "can I please have my crayons?" you asked once more.

Natasha whispered to Yelena that they were on top of the refrigerator. She had placed them there to stop you from chewing on them, snapping them in half or drawing on the walls. Yelena grabbed them and placed them in front of you before grabbing another one of your coloring books to join you.

"Thank you Sis!" you smiled before grabbing an orange crayon.

Natasha made peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, cutting off the crusts for you otherwise you wouldn't eat it. She filled your sippy cup with apple juice and placed it on your small plastic table.

Since your older sisters saved you from Red Room, they've learnt a lot about you, things they didn't know before and together, they work as one to help give you everything you need. They love you more than life itself, you're their baby sister so anything you need, they'll do it.

Given the events that took place in Red Room it was no surprise that your Psychologist informed your sisters that you age regress as a form of dealing with the trauma of Red Room. Both sisters did their research and they best to make sure you always felt comfortable and safe when you were feeling little, some days were harder than others.

"Are you ready for lunch?" Nat came into the living room with another soft smile, you nodded before you realized how hungry you were then raced to your table. Natasha chuckled, "somebody is hungry!" she commented as she and Yelena followed you into the dining room.

It was important to them that when you were feeling little that they help create a whole different childhood for you, everything mattered, even to the tiniest details. Mealtimes were to be eaten in the dining room as a family and there was a routine, they followed that they learned you loved and reacted well too.

"After lunch wanna watch bluey" you spoke after taking a bite of your sandwich.

"I'm sure we can watch bluey before your nap" Yelena replied, Natasha nodding in agreement, "do you want to change into your bluey shirt beforehand?" Nat asked. You nodded with excitement.

For your birthday, Yelena had a shirt made just for you of your favorite Bluey character. The shirt brought you plenty of comfort and joy and you always wore it when you would watch the show.

After lunch, Nat helped you change into your Bluey shirt before you both joined Yelena on the sofa who had already got Bluey ready. You made yourself comfortable between your two sisters, resting your head on Natasha's shoulder as you began to suckle your thumb. Yelena pressed play and watched as your eyes instantly lit up.

Plenty of chuckles were shared between the three of you as you grew more and more tired as it came closer to your nap time. Yelena reached for a throw blanket before throwing it over the three of you. After a handful of episodes, you were softly snoring with your head still resting comfortably on Natasha's shoulder.

The two older sisters smiled softly at one another, finally able to have family time like they had always dreamt of.

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #natasha romanoff #natahsa romanoff x reader #black widow #marvel #fanfiction #little!reader

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starlostseungmin · 1 year

Text

— MIDNIGHT RAIN IN PARIS, HHJ.

pairing: idol!hyunjin x gn!reader

genre: angst with happy ending, fluff & exes to lovers trope

warnings: profanity, mentions of alcohol, kissing and break-ups, lmk if i missed something, not proofread.

word count: 6.4k +

notes: i happen to change the title, i had it fit on taylor swift's midnight rain. lmao, hope you guys love it! please don’t send in requests because i’m not taking any right now and if you wish to see more of this posts please reblog, leave your feedbacks and put tags alright? thank you very much love ♡

Him.

Certain words could describe what he’s like.

A fresh clean white canvas that was slowly enamored with paint. A combination of red and black, sometimes they’re just two different colors but when they’re mixed, it’s going to be dark red. Can be burgundies, like the color of the wine and that lipstick some people use. An attractive color for a lot. It screams passion and love, just the way how his views reflect on them.

He can be that one book from the bookstore which belongs to the new arrivals and romance as its genre. His pages are neat as the words used by the author are aesthetically pleasing and good to read. The smell of it is addicting which makes a bookworm satisfied. A scent that could bring joy and temptation to claim it as theirs.

Maybe that one pair of suits from that one famous shop in Paris that was neatly designed and tailored, exclusively to be used on a special occasion.

Or that one song you hear from a famous singer that describes how loving him feels like.

You just look at him that way. A lot of things remind you of him, but he never knew you. He is famous in his career and you were just another writer who wanted to claim their dream to reality. Here you are in Paris, looking for inspiration, and might as well take it as your holiday from work. You know it doesn’t happen every day, but you were hoping to see just a glimpse of him when you knew he’ll be there too.

Love and a short history would let fate decide what will happen. You rarely believed that luck is on your side, that, it always gives you good things to look forward to when something significant has been painted on your pathway. The things you wanted to happen don’t always happen. Probably had yourself considered as unlucky but things might turn upside down when it comes to certain points in life.

Definitions, descriptions, comparisons, personifications, metaphors, and similes, a few more figures of speech to make it longer. Or is it just him who can make you write words that are simply out of this world? When in love, probably yes, he is your favorite person after all.

The city lights illuminated the place as the sounds of people from everywhere bustled around the area. His camera clicks whenever he spots something beautiful in his eyes. It was another merry night in Paris, lots of tourists were hanging out beneath the Eiffel tower at night. Others tend to eat inside the restaurants and the rest just go, enjoying the view while taking pictures. The usual sight with couples everywhere, a marriage proposal perhaps, or just those who came alone, hoping to find their significant other in a such romantic place. But Hyunjin begs to differ.

His camera falls gently to his stomach with its strap supporting it around his neck. It was getting late and still, there were a lot of people who wanted to stay. Felix left him for baguettes down the street with only his camera and a small bag, hanging on his shoulder. He started to walk away, he thought he had captured enough to fill his new film rolls. The amount of excitement that was painted on his smile is pure, but he is sure something is missing.

Clicking a button, Hyujin fixated his gaze on the imagines being plastered on the small screen. The scenery, the subtle imagines of the crowd, the tower itself, and the city lights were all beautiful. He tried to take a picture again and had the focus on a certain object when you accidentally walked past by. A beige coat, black trousers, and a white turtleneck are a trend. It’s not hard to recognize you, that sparkle in your eyes and perfectly crafted smile, how could he forget? Hyunjin had to put his camera down again, he wanted to make sure… it is you. There you stood upon noticing and recognizing him, the famous idol you once loved. And the person you broke up with a year ago.

He was stunned seeing you for the first time after a while. Memories flooding back, the things you did together, the pain and heartbreak, the happiness and joy, they were all worth it when you were still together. Yet, everything doesn’t last forever. There’s nothing in this world that doesn’t have a due date, unless you wanted more, you could always get a new one. But it won’t replace the thing you had for the very first time.

“Y/n…” He called as his voice sounded like a whisper.

He caught your attention the moment you saw that familiar camera he always brings. The one he used to take pictures of sceneries and other things he find beautiful. He could have clicked the snap button when he realized you were standing a few meters away, but to his shock, he couldn’t. Hyunjin didn’t know how to act. You didn’t say anything and smiled, it made his heartbeat go at a faster pace. He didn’t know what to do, he could hate Felix for leaving him behind for some freaking baguettes but he is also thankful he won’t be able to ruin a reminiscing moment he is having right now.

“Yo! They’re having a sale at the bakery!” Felix exclaimed out of nowhere, checking everything he got in his paper bag, not bothering to pay attention to the tension you and Hyunjin have. “I got you baguettes and一oh,” He said, stopping in his tracks. “Hi, Y/n!”

“Hey,” You smiled timidly.

“It is unexpected to see you around here! How have you been?” Felix said, eyes full of smile as he came towards you for a hug.

“I’m doing good,” You chuckled, hugging him back. “How are you guys? I heard you were preparing for a comeback?”

“Yeah,” Felix grinned, pulling away. “We’re just here for a break and a few activities, Hyunjin loves Paris, you know?” He smirked as you smiled at him.

“Felix,” Hyunjin called as he remained standing there, Felix had stolen the spotlight but that was his fault for being frozen on his spot.

“What? Can’t I speak to your ex about you?” But Hyunjin rolled his eyes and walked away. A sigh escaped from your lips when Felix gave you an apologetic smile, bowed a little out of respect, and went to fetch his friend. “Bro, why did you leave? That was your chance to have a closure with Y/n!”

“Not today,” He shrugged, as he continued to walk.

You stared at a blank document on your laptop for a few hours now. Hyunjin can’t seem to get out of your head after what happened earlier this evening. It was past midnight, and the view from your window of the city is still beautiful, but some lights were already turned off. You were supposed to stay in Paris for a couple of weeks as per business matters. Being a writer in a famous book publishing company isn’t a joke and you wanted to impress your boss with your writing. Still, Hyunjin has been a distraction.

The cursor just kept on blinking, waiting for you to write something that should be the start of another chapter of your novel. You were unsure what to write though the storyline has already started. Maybe because of the back pain you’ve been suffering every time you sit for hours, writing romance or it was just Hyunjin who ignored you after a short while of a meeting? The pajamas were comfortable and the headband kept your hair from falling on your face. The anti-radiation glasses help too yet you keep focusing on the random details you have in your hotel room. Not the story.

“Hyunjin,” You said. “Hwang Hyunjin,”

A harsh sigh escaped your lips, groaning at the fact you have seen him again a year after your breakup. You wanted to talk to him, really, but how he acted after Felix came hurt you. It felt like you were pierced through the heart and were left without aid. But it was so much more than that when you two broke up. He is an idol, and you were just you, a person who wanted to live their dream like him. You wanted him to be part of your dream. A writer who wanted to be known like him as he was making his name in the industry along with his member. But things grew apart, love became a heartbreak. You were the stars that shine bright in the night and he was the raindrops that caused the cold, soaking the papers wet making the ink smudges on them and words unable to be read.

You were hurt, but his dream is more important than your relationship. All the good things you wanted for him, happened. You wanted him to be happy and so, you let him go.

After a year of not seeing him, you thought everything is good, with no feelings or sadness. You might have heard his name on several news and read articles about how famous they are, but you ignored it. Not even expecting him and Hyunjin to be in the same place as you are. Maybe fate did it on purpose.

Coughing on the thoughts of it, they were followed by hiccups. How dare he showed up and Felix acted as if there was nothing to talk about?

You shake your head, it doesn’t matter anyway.

You closed your laptop gently and stared out the window, admiring the view of the city after midnight. No words were being produced by your brain and you have to take a while to process them into paragraphs. And maybe an evening stroll a few hours ago wasn’t enough to take the motivation to write something. But there’s only one messing with your head, Hwang Hyunjin.

That was the first night.

The next morning, Hyunjin was busy looking at the photos he captured last night. Felix was busy munching his waffles but still took a few glances at his distracted friend, unable to take a bite of his breakfast. His mouth was full as he watch him with a serious face and brows knitted together. Felix could only sigh and continued to eat but still, Hyunjin didn’t even bother to shift his attention to anything.

“If you’re not eating, I’ll take your food,” Felix said.

“I’m not hungry, go ahead,” Hyunjin replied as Felix looked at him in disbelief, taking his plate onto his mat.

“What’s wrong with you though? Can’t take her out of your mind?” He asked. “You didn’t talk to me ever since we came back to the hotel,” Hyunjin sighed, taking away his gaze from the small screen of his camera.

“Look, I was too occupied with the pictures I’ve taken,” Hyunjin reasoned.

“Yeah but it’s not a bad thing to touch your food for a bit and go back to your hobby yeah?” Felix argued. “Don’t tell me you suddenly took a picture of Y/n last night that’s why you’re not paying attention to me,”

“I didn’t,” Hyunjin said.

“The truth?” Felix retorted, raising a brow at him.

“I swear, you were on the way,” Hyunjin replied, rolling his eyes.

“Gosh, I can’t believe you,” Felix muttered.

Hyunjin sighed heavily as he watch Felix devour his food. It lead him to order another one and waited. His manager planned to eat breakfast in the restaurant down by the street which was a block away from their hotel. It wasn’t crowded first thing in the morning but the joy he felt was when he could see a few people enjoying their coffee and some were walking their dogs. A lovely morning for him to consume. But it was only him and Felix again. The two has been never separated when they first got into the city and by that, he already has plans to spend a week’s vacation.

“Don’t forget we’re invited to attend YSL’s event later alright?” Felix said, finishing his meal.

“Yeah, we’ll get back to the hotel by lunch,” Hyunjin answered.

“Where are you off to?”

“Sightseeing I g一” He shrugged and was about to say something in addition to his answer when he saw you walk into the restaurant, going straight to the counter. Felix noticed him frozen onto his seat after wiping his lips and followed his gaze. It was you, alright.

“Should I call her?” Felix smirked.

“I’m going to kill you, I swear,” Hyunjin growled and Felix just shakes his head in disbelief. But Hyunjin watched you.

Beige trousers, a purple crop top, and a white cardigan, you always look good. Never in a day, Hyunjin would say how beautiful you are. Compliments he missed on telling you every day. He admits, he wasn’t the best version of himself when you broke up. There is always the facade he keeps to the public but behind closed doors, he knew he was miserable. It wasn’t easy to get over you, it wasn’t easy to forget, it was the same as how you felt, and nothing was easy during the post-breakup. None of his friends talked to you, even his parents. Nobody reached out, just straight broke up conversations and the rest were already ghosts.

The lady from the counter handed you a paper bag with your breakfast in it, thanked her, and left, without even checking who was there, sitting on the tables. Felix shakes his head again and Hyunjin licked his lips, sighing in defeat. But that wasn’t Felix’s problem to think about, it was Hyunjin’s anyway. His eyes never left your figure until you disappeared from the block, taking the alley to the left while Felix looks at him, being done and dumbfounded.

“We’ll have to schedule your arrival at the event first. It will be at exactly 4 pm, so I’ll expect you’ll be done with your hair, make-up, and suits,” Their manager spoke, later that day. Felix was having his hair done in their spacious hotel room as Hyunjin had his gaze down the street while sitting by the window seat, watching the city get soaked in the rain, and hands halted from his half-done sketch of a landscape. “Hyunjin are you even listening?”

“I was,” Hyunjin sighed in response. “Shall we leave at 4 pm?” He added, standing up from his spot一tossing his sketchbook on his bed.

“No,” His manager argued making him roll his eyes.

“Don’t be tough on him, he saw his ex today,” Felix smirked as their manager gasped.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Felix said. “Don’t worry, they never talked,”

“Ya, Yongbok-ah,” Hyunjin said, feeling like a threat as Felix shrugged, admiring his new hairstyle.

“Anyway, Y/n’s not important right now, I need you to get ready,” His manager said. Hyunjin sighed in disbelief and went to his stylist. “By the way, Felix will be the first one to leave,”

“Yeah? Why though, I thought the head organizer wants to see us both?” Felix asked.

“Hyunjin has another agenda before attending the event, right?” His manager said, looking at Hyunjin.

“I’m getting flowers,” He bluntly replied.

“Flowers for what? Are you suddenly seeing someone?” Felix asked, shocked.

“No, I just don’t want to go early,” Hyunjin said, getting his make-up done.

“Suit yourself,” His manager said while Felix whined about being unfair.

Hyunjin didn’t say anything after Felix’s complaints, but he is sure his best buddy was just joking around and letting him do whatever the hell he wants as long as he’ll be mindful of his time. Night fell, and his hands held the steering wheel, glancing at the cars passing by the highway. The lights ran from the average speed to high, some kept it to their speed limit. It was fresh from the afternoon rain, the water puddle by the sidewalk have the reflection of the streetlights being lit up and the people who just happened to walk by. His convertible made its way through the wet bricks, enjoying the mist of the cold evening air.

A smile formed on his face when he saw the lights illuminating the Eiffel tower一 a part of Paris he always wanted to visit though he already did a few times ever since he became a famous member of his group. It always feels like where he belongs for some reason, the food, the fashion, flowers, and other stuff, everything is aesthetic in his eyes. And most importantly, the art museums and exhibits French and foreign artists execute around the area. There is always a reason to come back.

The flowers he brought, sat on the passenger’s seat, enjoying the evening air as well as they travel back to the hotel. He fell in love with the bouquet that consists of pink tulips, red roses, and white baby’s breath. The muse of his new painting perhaps? It is calming and beautiful to paint live flowers一one that makes his painting realistic and unique. But it wasn’t for him to keep一maybe it can be someone at the event he is going to or just going to keep it himself and put it on their vase back into their hotel room to paint.

Flowers are supposed to be given to someone that a person loves, maybe for congratulatory and some other reasons. But mostly because of love, he used to bring you flowers back then. He was so in love, like a puppy that wanted to be with his owner for the rest of its time. Not everyone believes in love, but by the time someone falls into the pits of attachment and intimacy, it can be avoidable and hard to let go. There are different perceptions of it, they’re like genres that a person views and carry feelings about different people. His love is similar, but unfortunately, it ended with you a year ago.

He walked by the lobby, earning gazes of astonishment and amusement from the people hovering around the area. Slicked back hair with a few strands of side bangs on his forehead, a whole black suit and rings adorning his long fingers, a bouquet in one hand, and his gentle smile, plastered on his face as he smells the flowers he just bought. Walking through the crowds of people doesn’t bother him, not one of them caught his attention. Murmurs and silent voices say he is a handsome young man which makes everyone drawn to him. His tall figure and dashing fashion add up to being one center of attention.

“There you are,” Felix said, the moment he saw him. “Wow, are these for me?”

“No,” Hyunjin said as his smile faded and made his friend pout in disbelief.

“Tch,” Felix said, rolling his eyes.

“Good evening! I’m here to take you to your respective seats, this way please,” The lady attendant said as he and Felix happily obliged. Their manager went to talk to some people around and waited for the instructions for the next set of events. They were given perfume samples to try but Hyunjin got occupied the moment he sat down, hands in his pockets and eyes fixated on the person who just entered the premises.

It was you again.

Black dress and heels, styled hair, and light make-up, how could she stand there and look beautiful? He thought, mesmerized again. And why is she here? I thought she was on a vacation. Several thoughts flooded his mind after he saw you. He couldn’t put himself to calm down, why does my heart beat faster than earlier?

You smiled at someone as they went to have a conversation. The lady from earlier had to cut it off and assist you at the same table where Felix and Hyunjin were. It is a lovely evening after all, and you were thankful that your boss had to drag you with her when she knew you weren’t doing anything for the day.

“You’re staying here in a couple of weeks, instead of sitting in front of your desk to produce ideas, why not come with me to the event?” She said the moment she arrived at the airport as you welcomed her after knowing you were spending some time in Paris. You couldn’t refuse, you were bored after all and had too much of your writer’s block ever since last night. The first evening you saw Hyunjin, and, this will be the second evening when you realized where the attendant is leading you to.

“Please enjoy the evening,” The lady said and left.

“Good evening Y/n!” Felix greeted and Hyunjin remained silent.

“Good evening Felix, and,” You paused as you looked at him. “Hyunjin.” Felix had to nudge his friend on the side to wake him up to reality instead of staring at you, saying nothing. Hyunjin winced in pain, nudging him back to his arm, Felix chuckled in response but was already glaring at him. You didn’t get a response after that, instead, you just placed your attention on anyone else.

The host has been taking their time to introduce, and recite the speech and explanations about the event while you take a sip of their prepared wine. The food is a luxury, Hyunjin was paying no attention but you. Felix listened to them and clapped his hands when everyone else did. Don’t mind about the people, just the food. Hyunjin tried to take his small sketchbook out of his pocket when your boss head back to your table and stole you for a conversation. He was about to protest when he was dragged with Felix for the photo opportunity at the event. Had to smell the scents of their perfume, and take pictures with other big names in the industry, Hyunjin had to endure them for a while. Felix didn’t seem to mind, unlike the older one who seems to be distracted all the time.

He wanted to not let you out of his sight, but the pictures are taking a while, and conversations had to be precise and shared. You were just there, being a chaperone of your boss as she introduced you to some people she knew or tried to give you a date for tonight. You weren’t convinced and tried to decline, as you hated social events like this when you were supposed to be in your hotel room or at a restaurant, enjoying dinner alone. Meanwhile, Hyunjin was already growing impatient with all the interactions he got. Forget about Felix, he wanted to get away for a while.

Someone was about to approach him but Hyunjin politely excused himself and rushed through the crowd. The people passing by keep on delaying his purpose of direction but it didn’t stop him from getting to you. He wanted closure, he wanted to talk, and forget about the hurtful things he did during your relationship, he just wanted to give himself a chance to be forgiven by you. But you didn’t want that anymore, you knew Hyunjin has been happy even though it wasn’t easy to overcome the heartbreak both of you felt. He reached miles away with his dreams, while you stood there, watching him. I don’t deserve someone as perfect as him anyway, that was what you always think about. But maybe you did deserve him after all.

“Y/n,” He said as he stood behind you.

“Hyunjin,” You called, turning around to face him. “Is everything alright?” You asked.

“Can we talk?” He said. They said to never trust that sentence, but you wanted to risk it. It might help you wake up to the reality you’ve been longing for.

“Sure, about what?” You asked when he suddenly took your hand.

“I’ll tell you later, come with me, please?” He said as you took a glance at your boss but she was too occupied to even bother. Felix and his manager were just watching from afar, with nothing to object to.

“Where are we going?” You asked but he didn’t answer, instead, he just grabbed your hand and went to where he parked his car.

The outside scenery is still fresh from the afternoon rain, but there were no stars above the dark sky, a sign that it will rain again anytime soon. You sat quietly on the passenger’s seat as Hyunjin jogged around to enter the car, driving away into the night. You remained quiet the whole ride, not bothering to ask any questions, you didn’t even know what to say to him after the whole year. The flowers he bought sat in front of you, good thing he dragged it with himself on the way out. Was it for another person?

“Those are for you,” He said, taking them into his right hand and handing it to you. It was an impromptu move. Those flowers were supposed to be his muse for his painting when he gets back to the hotel later but he found you instead.

“Thanks,” You smiled gently, smelling the before placing it on your lap. “Where are we going?”

“I have nothing in mind actually, but away from the crowd, I just wanted to talk to you, it’s been a year, ever since…” He said, pausing mid-sentence.

“The break-up?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He answered, parking in front of the Louvre Pyramid. Hyunjin walked out and jogged around to open the door for you. The flowers lie on your seat as you followed him a few meters away from the car. He looked restless all of a sudden, his composed look disappeared and shifted into something that was bothering him. Hyunjin stood away with his back against you, he was staring at the pyramid, confused and uncomfortable. You tapped his shoulder to see what was going on, and when he turned around, it was the soft Hyunjin you once admired.

“I don’t know where to start,” He said. “I’m sorry about the breakup, I was a jerk and ghosted you after that,” He added, as he started to have tears visible in his eyes.

“Hyunjin, no, we’re alright, okay? It’s already behind us, don’t apologize, none of those was your fault. I didn’t blame you for it,” You said, cupping his cheeks to wipe his tears away. He just looked at you, wanting to go on a breakdown, but there you are, in front of him, still sweet as ever.

“No,” He said pulling away from you.

“Hyunjin, I just thought it would make things easier for you, I understand how hard it was for you. I didn’t want to be a nuisance in your career, I don’t want to cause trouble,” You sighed. “If breaking up with you was the answer, then I have no choice,”

“But I didn’t want to!” He said.

“I didn’t want to either!” You retorted. “I was trouble, I was the problem okay? You said it yourself back then, you don’t want to cause drama and be hunted down by the media that you’re in a relationship! Did you think I wanted this for the both of us? I was hurt when you decided to cut it off, I was hurt when you didn’t even show up the next day, and now we’re here, talking about this bullshit that I thought it’s already done.”

It made Hyunjin feel bad, as he had always been.

“Y/n, I don’t care about those anymore,” He said. “I don’t care about the media, I don’t care about the risks anymore. This bullshit you’re talking about is our relationship,”

“That you broke off,” You said.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,”

“Now that’s bullshit,” You chuckled in response. “Yeah let’s say it was fine because I chose your career to be saved instead of hanging out with me. Let’s just stop this okay? You’re good on your way, I’m already doing good by myself, I don’t need this drama anymore Hyunjin. Do you still want me?”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a few seconds, there was dead air, but his eyes were into yours while you wait for his answer.

“I do,” He said. “I always have and will always do,”

“You don’t know what you’re doing, are you? Can’t you hear yourself?” You asked which made him take his steps forward.

“I do, just please,” He said, as he held your cheeks. “Let’s start over,” Closing your eyes, you felt the warmth of his hands on your bare cheeks, one of his touches that you missed the most. “We were young, and I was too quick to jump into the pit, not thinking thoroughly about it. Please give me another chance, I won’t mess it up again,”

You pulled him into a hug, Hyunjin was caught off guard at first but he gave in immediately and melted inside your arms. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you tighter. The scent of your perfume is still the same, the one the kept on missing for the whole year, he always seeks it but the scent would never be the same if someone else wears it. He came to think how miserable he was when you were gone.

It was those nights when he sits down and think about the things he should’ve done instead of risking your relationship over his career or maybe those days when he would just space out during a group meeting or the lives he did with his group. He keeps on staring at his phone waiting for your texts or browse on his photos trying to find your couple's pictures and reminisce. It was also how he kept the things you gave him during your anniversary and his birthdays. But during the past year, it feels empty, and he had to fake everything until it was convincing.

His fans don’t know how he feels, they just assume them. They didn’t know how hurt he was, and they will never know everything about him. Even the boys who are living with him, he probably is showy sometimes but it’s hard to share something so deep. Just like how it went on your side. For them, it wasn’t a big deal, but to you, it was. You treasure Hyunjin so much that it pierced your heart that he had to break up with you. The things you did for each other just disappeared in one night. And had to wait a year to fix it.

You don’t know exactly. Now that Hyunjin has gotten the fame, the overwhelming fame, you don’t want to risk it again.

“Please,” He said.

“I’m sorry Hyunjin,” You smiled, pulling away from the hug. “It won’t be worth it,”

“What?” He asked, shocked, as his vision started to blur.

“I don’t think this will work anymore,” You sniffed, wiping your tears. “You will forget me, eventually,”

“What? No!” He protested. “Let’s make it work this time, please?” He begged. “Don’t think that our relationship was up for nothing, I loved you. I still love you!”

“And I love you too! I did love you, but with all those things happening around you and me, there’s already a barrier, Hyunjin. I don’t want you to get hurt just because you are pursuing me. I don’t want you to convert your attention to me when you have something big ahead of you. I’m not worth it anymore,” You said, tears falling down your cheeks. Hyunjin stood there, looking at you in disbelief, the words struck him like lightning. It was so painful to hear it from you.

“Are you afraid to try again?” He asked, voice shaking in the middle of his sentence.

“I’m just scared that we will have to be separated again, I don’t want to try again and end up being away from you. For one year, I tried not to care about your bullshit for being famous, you’ve been happy, you always get what you want, you don’t need—”

“It was so hard for me to get over you Y/n! It was so hard to be inside my room, getting all exhausted from work with no one around to hug me and give me a shoulder to cry on. I’m sick of it, I got used to you being around me whenever I needed you or not, I was alone. No one to hug, no one to kiss, no one to laugh with, no one to cuddle with. You don’t understand!” He argued.

“You just want me because you need me right?” You cried.

“No,” Hyunjin sighed harshly. “I want you because I love you! But you know what, forget about it, I’m sorry I just dragged you out here. Let me get you back to your hotel,”

“Hyunjin, I—” You halted when he shake his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“No, please, forget about it, I won’t beg, I understand,” He smiled despite being hurt. “Let’s go,”

Hyunjin opened the door of the car for you but you hesitated to step in. Disappointment and sorrow are still painted on his face. The pain and the ruined confidence drove him to be this way. He admit he was at fault, being a famous idol wasn’t easy for him to reach and you didn’t want to be a nuisance to someone as big as him.

The ride from the Lourve Pyramid to your designated hotel fell into complete silence. No one dared to talk, except when he asked for the location and set it up on his GPS and you fell into your deep train of thoughts. A quick reminiscing about how the break up went; It was one of those nights where Hyunjin would get home late, exhausted from practice but he never fails to show you how happy he is the moment you welcome him home. It always gives him the excitement and blood rush, the comfort of home and love. But that night was twisted, he wanted to break up, he said his name is on the line, and he didn’t want distractions. Though it has already been said a million times, you just couldn’t let go of it.

To be honest, you still love him, it never faded. You didn’t understand why it has to be you out of all to be put at risk, maybe the company forced him to or it was just him who thought about cutting things off. He is hopelessly romantic, you knew that and so you were.

“Why don’t you come in for a minute?” You asked as you stood by the porch.

“I’m in a hurry, it’s almost midnight,” He smiled quietly.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” You said, looking up to the sky. “Here,” You added, handing him a folded umbrella you used to carry around.

“Should you keep it?” He smiled, taking the tiny thing off your hand.

“It might rain,” You insisted.

“Isn’t it funny if I’m driving a convertible with an umbrella?” He chuckled. “No, I’ll take it, good night Y/n—oh shit, there’s the rain alright.” He said, looking at the street. “My car!”

It was funny indeed, his panicked face had drawn a picture that was sincere—ignoring the pain and all. Midnights should be a change of day, but it is still connected to what happened earlier this evening. You watched him run towards his car across the street. There were no people around, just the two of you and the rain which is pouring heavily at first fall. He was in the rush, pushing a button to have the roof back but was too slow that his frustrated face made it funnier. You weren’t supposed to laugh but that one Hyunjin you knew.

Taking your steps forward, you didn’t bother about the rain anymore as the umbrella was ignored as well. One reason you fell in love with him was because of what you were seeing now, it may be different from the first time when you saw him fall onto his face in front of you during high school, the boy who apologized consistently while blushing out of embarrassment. Sounds weird but falling in love with weird is not weird. You knew you shouldn’t be getting back with him, the words you’ve said to him and everything, but the feelings never lie. You do love him, and you couldn’t understand why you are walking towards a panicking Hyunjin, calling his name, and when he converted his attention to you, your lips suddenly meet.

Hyunjin then again, was caught off guard, it was a gentle kiss but he pulled you by the waist to be closer to him. Clothes were getting soaked from the midnight rain, and his hair was damped causing a few drops of water tracing down on your cheeks. It tasted like wine, and that chocolate fondue Hyunjin, the intoxicating smell of his perfume that made your knees weak, and the cinematic moment of you being shared in the empty streets of Paris at midnight, sharing a kiss. His hand lays on your cheek while the other one remained on your waist as your arms were wrapped around his neck. The usual scene you see in romantic movies. People would say it’s overrated, but who cares anyway, it’s Hyunjin. The Hwang Hyunjin.

“I’m sorry,” You said whispering to him, after drifting away, but he never let you go and kissed your forehead. “I don’t want to feel the same pain when we broke up, trust me it wasn’t good,” You added, burying your face into his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” He said, hugging you tightly as he rubs your shoulder with his thumb. “I’m sorry I hurt you,”

“It wasn’t your fault,” You smiled, shaking your head.

“Still, I lost you,” He responded, taking your cheeks in his palms, and looking directly into your eyes. “Fuck the fame, Y/n, you know how much I love you. And I always will,”

“I know, Hyunjin,” You said, still not taking that smile being painted on your face. Hyunjin painted a smile on his face as well as he caressed your bare skin, leaning down again for a kiss. Your eyes started to close down一the heat that was felt at each other’s lips caused the warmth that could endure from the cold weather. His lips molded with yours perfectly, and the intimacy remained the same, even if it took a whole year to have it again. You were definitely his sunshine, one that will take away the darkness of the sky and the clouds to open up. He was like midnight who changed and evolved, but never his feelings.

“Does this mean you’re taking me back?” He asked, pulling away as he kissed the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, but let’s keep it lowkey this time,” You smiled as he chuckled in response, kissing you again but swiftly before taking you into another hug.

taglist : @wolfchanchan @inseonqt @soobin-chois @1-800-lixie @luvhyun3 @hanjiesgf @lix-ables @zoe8stay @gwynsapphire @cherryhanji @hwangsify @lixesque @seungly @sleepyleeji @comet-falls @kim-seung-mo @ppiri-bahng @myjisung @snow-pegasus @milkybonya @l3visbby @wilczachannn @asters-abditory @tangylemonade @hwan-g @awkwardnesshabitat @chrispychans @therealhyunjingf @jeonginwrld @starseungs

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foli-vora · 1 year

Text

one step at a time: ch 4.

pero tovar x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: sorry for the delay - easter was a busy time with the fam. i still haven't found time to update my taglist so i'm super sorry about that - i know i've got a few new additions, but i'll try and organise it all over the weekend. hope you enjoy the new chapter x

word count: 3k

warnings: swearing, mentions of food and tovar’s appetite, my new favourite oc's, smidgens of fluff and working into some feelings but this burn be slow-ish, he finds your book porn lmao

! please note that this story is for 18+ only due to future explicit scenes !

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving—”

“You are moving.”

He grumbles quietly to himself and shifts under the towel you placed around his shoulders, an obvious tension radiating from them. Your tongue peaks out from between your lips as you comb through a lock of his wet hair and make a somewhat straight cut with your kitchen scissors, tilting your head in focus when you ruffle out and study the freshly trimmed tresses.

“I mean, it could be worse.”

“Very reassuring, loquita, thank you,” he mutters sarcastically, shaking his head and raking his fingers through the damp strands.

“Keep up with the attitude and I’ll cut it all off,” you warn sweetly, chuckling when he throws you a frown over his shoulder. “Well, there’s no bald patches so I think I did okay. Can I dry it?”

“If you like.”

You reach for the hairdryer and turn it on, jumping in shock when he suddenly launches up from the chair and whirls on you in surprise, his fingers grasping at the towel like a damn lifeline. He stares at the contraption in distrust, and you click it off slowly, fighting the grin desperately tugging at your cheeks and holding it up in surrender.

“It’s fine, Tovar,” you reassure, “it’s just a hairdryer—it blows out hot air. Just trust me, okay? It won’t hurt you.”

After a moment of studying your face and the hairdryer, he eventually sinks back into the chair and stiffens when you turn it back on, before relaxing somewhat when you gently start to dry his hair. You smile when he starts to lean into your touch, appreciating the firm drag of your nails against his scalp with a calm hum.

You probably spend a bit too long merely playing with his hair, content to just give him a bit of peace but also finding yourself enjoying the way he softens at your touch, the tension slowly seeping away until he’s practically jelly against the back of the chair.

His hair is long dried by the time you step back with a quiet clearing of your throat, clicking off the hairdryer and slowly sliding the towel from his shoulders.

“All done,” you murmur, wondering why your heart suddenly felt like it was going to launch itself out of your chest.

It’s not him, obviously. You barely know the man. Maybe it’s just nice to be close to someone again, especially with it being so long since your last relationship. You’d lost interest in finding a partner a while ago, over the mere ‘hump and dump' culture taking over the dating scene and instead just focusing on work.

Yeah, that’s all it is.

It’s not him.

“Thank you,” he rumbles quietly, ruffling his soft hair with a rough hand and standing from the chair.

He turns, intending to take the chair back to your small dining table but you’re already halfway there to do it yourself, and your hands clash. It doesn’t help calm the wild beat of your heart. His skin is warm, the back of his hand surprisingly soft despite how calloused his palms are—

You pull away immediately, weakening from the horrific feel of heat washing along your skin, “Oh, I’m sorry—”

“No, the fault is mine—”

He clears his throat, dark eyes finding a sudden interest in the flooring while you desperately try to step around his frame. He unknowingly steps in your way, causing your front to bump into his, and his hands quickly come up to curl around your arms to steady you in surprise. You inhale sharply at his sudden proximity, eyes wide as they dart up to meet and bounce between his.

“God, sorry. I’ll um… yeah, sorry,” you breathe, desperately ignoring the heat of his palms radiating through the thin sleeves of your tee and how it stirs something to life in the pit of your stomach. It’s not him—you’re just horny. Fuck. “I didn’t mean—sorry—”

“Say sorry one more time, loquita,” he mutters in amusement, lips tugging up into a barely there smirk that does nothing to help your little internal freakout, “I don’t think I heard you the first hundred times.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder softly, “Sorry. I uh… I’ve got a bit of hair on me, so I’m gonna take a quick shower, and then we can think about lunch. No point asking if you’re hungry because I know you are.”

He hums as you step past him, pleased with the idea of food, despite only just finishing a party bag size of barbecue crisps only moments before you had wrangled him down for a haircut. And a box of pop tarts before those. And two bowls of cereal before that.

You’d have to take out a damn loan if he keeps eating the way he does. Your modest savings had taken a noticeable hit due to the new appearance that your carefully crafted budget didn’t plan for. It’s not like you expect a bloody time travelling hitch hiker to be one of your expected expenses.

It’ll be fine—he wouldn’t be hanging around for too long, and you can always make up for your losses with extra projects down the track. You just needed to focus on getting him home. You’re still at a complete loss with it all, unsure of what exactly to type into Google. There’s not a wikiHow on how to return someone to the past… or an alternate timeline… or wherever the fuck he came from.

Most of your time in the shower is spent frowning at the tile wall, lost in your thoughts and the potential whys and what ifs. Answers would have to be somewhere, you just needed to be patient. Determined.

He’s lounging on the couch when you eventually emerge from the shower, your favourite big fluffy bath towel tucked firmly around your body as you make a quick detour to the fridge to grab a drink. He doesn’t bother looking up at you as you pass, too busy engrossed in the book spread open in his hands.

You pause as you reach the kitchen, a frown starting to develop between your brows as you vaguely recall the cover. Wait, is he…? No, no, no—

Spinning around, you hastily make your way over to the couch and reach to snatch the book out of his hands in a slight panic. He dives out of the way by rolling from the couch, a roguish grin working its way along his lips as he looks gleefully up at you.

“What is this?”

“Tovar, put the book down—”

“Loquita, this… this is obscene. Is this what literature is now?”

He’s fucking delighted.

What a monster.

“That’s a big word for you, caveman, and I’m surprised you even know what a book is—” you snap, hoping a little insult will throw him off track for just a few seconds for you to make a move for the book.

Heat grows along your chest and rises to your cheeks as he starts to read aloud a rather descriptive paragraph, his smile growing and growing as you desperately step around the couch and try to rip it out of his hands. He evades your reach again, the rough rasp of his laughter filling the room.

“This is a hungry woman… three men at once? What a handful. You are not at all what I had first thought, loquita. What kind of filthy, depraved thoughts reside in that head of yours?”

Dick.

“Wouldn’t you like to know! And I will not be shamed for reading and enjoying erotica in my own damn apartment,” you argue with a vicious point of your finger before giving up on trying to retrieve the book and instead standing with your arms crossed tightly across your chest, “there’s nothing wrong with it. Besides, it’s a good book.”

He grins deviously, “I’m sure it is.”

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation. I’m going to my room to be alone because you’re annoying me—”

“Don’t forget your book, loquita. A trusty companion to keep you company when alone, no?”

He’s teasing—you see the shine of it in his eyes. You swallow, ignoring the angry heat biting at the tip of your ears and the way your heart jumps at the sparkle of mischief creeping into his expression. You can play, too.

Shrugging, you step up to him and snatch the book from his grasp, holding it defensively to your chest. “It is actually—I enjoy how hot and bothered it makes me. Drives me crazy sometimes.”

A tinge of pink fills his cheeks and you grin, taking it as a victory and leaving him, for once, with nothing to say. You wait until you’re in the comfort of your bedroom, the door shut firmly against your back, to take a deep breath in an attempt to gain some control back over your wild heart.

—

It’s not food waiting for you when you answer the knock on your door. Arthur stands somewhat defensively on your welcome mat, eyes narrowed in guarded suspicion but giving way to relief when they find you well and unharmed.

“Oh,” you mutter, “it’s you.”

“I just wanted to see how you’re going,” he says stiffly, eyes flicking over your shoulder no doubt in search of Tovar.

“Well I’m alive,” you drawl sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest. “If I was dead, you’ve left it a little too late to check. I’d be leaking fluids all over my floor by now.”

“Oh, you two,” comes an impatient voice from behind him, and soon Arthur’s getting shoved gently out of the way.

You soften at the appearance of Charlie, fixing his blue paisley ascot tucked beneath his chin and draped in his favourite Burberry coat. He rolls his eyes at the both of you, briefly pausing to press a soft kiss to your cheek before pushing past and letting himself into your apartment with a fresh wave of expensive cologne, dumping the paper bags of take out onto your cluttered coffee table.

“Enough snark. Artie has come to apologise, and you—being the kind, sweet soul you are—obviously forgive him. Now, where is he?” Charlie smiles, looking around for your new, temporary roommate in excitement.

“He’s washing up—he’ll be out in a sec. What have you told him?” You ask Arthur as he steps in after brushing his shoes off on the mat.

Arthur shrugs, “Everything you told me. He’s very excited—you know how much he loves Outlander.”

“At least he believes me.”

He throws you a small look of annoyance tinged with regret, and sighs. “I’m sorry, it just—it's hard to believe, alright? But I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, and I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Especially alone.”

Nodding, you roll your jaw and study the blank, nameless bags Charlie starts to fuss with.

“What’s in the bags?”

“Enchiladas.”

“Okay,” you grin after a moment, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist and squeezing softly, “you’re forgiven.”

Arthur returns the half hug with a quiet chuckle and presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head, “I thought they might help.”

You’re settling on the floor with a grateful smile directed at Charlie when the bathroom door suddenly is wrenched open, and you notice Arthur come to stand a little straighter in the corner of your vision. Charlie looks up in interest from organising the food, a grin slowly curling his lips.

“Well, look at you,” he coos, eyeing Tovar appreciatively as he falters in the doorway of the bathroom, unsure of the new company. Charlie steps forward and around the couch eagerly, brandishing a hand with a charming grin. “I’m Charles, you’ve already met Arthur.”

Tovar eyes the hand warily before stepping forward and giving it a firm shake. He stays quiet, cautious eyes flicking to Arthur where he leans back against the kitchen counter. You see the fight or flight in his eyes, feeling slightly sorry for bombarding him with a new face and another that wasn’t too kind to him previously.

He’ll be alright. You’re sure he’s been faced with worse in his life than your two adopted gay uncles.

You glance up from the food and give him a look. “Tovar, don’t be rude—say hello.”

His frown deepens before he finally gives a quiet, begrudging, “Hello.”

“Trained him well, I see,” Arthur grumbles, quieting when you direct your soft glare to him.

“They’ve come to see how you’re settling in,” you say, bringing Tovar’s attention your way and you give him a small nod of encouragement. “They also bought you some food—are you still hungry?”

It’s a stupid question, but at least it brings him out from where he hovers in the doorway. You notice he sticks close to you, much closer than usual, sinking down beside you on the floor when half of the couch and the armchair is free. He stays quiet, yet incredibly vigilant, eyes constantly bouncing between the men and assessing the threat level as he eats.

“It’s okay, Tovar,” you murmur while Charlie is midway through one of his spiels, and his dark eyes flash to you immediately, “they’re family. You can relax—I won’t leave you alone with them.”

You say it playfully, teasingly, but a flash of appreciation rolls through his gaze before it disappears, and his attention falls back to his food. You watch him for a moment longer, unaware of the little smile that sticks tugging at your lips and the small look Charlie shares with Arthur.

Four pairs of eyes flash to the door when a knock sounds off on it, and you huff sharply, slapping your hands on the floor beside you as you push up to stand.

“About time! Guaranteed delivery under thirty minutes my ass.”

—

Tovar doesn’t warm up easily, you find, which comes as a little shock as he seems quite at ease with you. Sure, he answers any questions thrown at him, but they are always curt, simple answers, never giving away too much information or leading into stories of his memories or how he got here.

It doesn’t bother Charlie in the least, and he rambles enough to keep the conversation going long into the evening. It’s nice to have a small sense of normality after the few confusing and mentally draining days you’ve had. You could pretend, for a little while at least, that you didn’t run over a mysterious time travelling mercenary and that you have his armour and weapons taking up space on the floor in your closet.

You don’t think about wormholes or alternate timelines, or magic, or gods. You just be, and Tovar eventually starts to mimic your calm energy, sinking back into the cushions of the couch and kicking up his sock clad feet onto the coffee table as he watches the conversation from the sidelines.

He still stays as far from your uncles as he could, ensuring you take up the space between him and Arthur on the couch, but at least the look of wary, careful defence gives way to an ease and comfortability. He even stands with you to see Charlie and Arthur out, standing just behind your shoulder and nodding his goodbyes as they disappear down the hall.

“Look at you,” you grin, bumping his shoulder with yours as you return to your places on the couch after the door shuts firmly behind you, “such a ray of sunshine and a major conversationalist. God, I couldn’t get you to stop talking. Who are you?”

He huffs at your gentle teasing, following you quietly with a barely there smile creeping along his lips, “They’re nice.”

You soften, smiling widely up at him from where you lounge on the couch, “They are. They’re very important to me. Charlie can be a bit much, but you handled him wonderfully. I think he’s rather smitten with you.”

Tovar snorts, knocking your feet from where they take up his spot beside you and letting himself fall back into the cushions with a tired sigh. He taps his lap, and you frown questioningly at him before he rolls his eyes in slight impatience and hooks a hand around your ankles, dragging your feet back up and to rest over his lap.

“Arthur does not like me,” he grumbles, turning to focus on the TV and watching the moving pictures eagerly, “not that I care. I do not like him.”

You swallow, suddenly unable to get a single fucking word out from your dry throat, still caught up on the ease of what had just transpired. It’s not a romantic act—hell, you’d used your friends as footstools too many times to count in the past, but it felt odd with Tovar. It was new.

He must be beginning to feel comfortable with you, and the thought brings a wash of something electric to your system. You feel proud, pleased that you hadn’t scared him further in an already disarming situation, and instead had built an agreeable atmosphere for him with you, that he could feel safe and discover this scary new world in his own time.

There was that feeling again, behind the pride and the warmth of your slowly but surely developing friendship. The one you had felt earlier when gently carding your fingers through his hair. You refuse to label it as anything of substance. You’re simply lonely, suddenly in the full time company of an attractive man with a hidden personality you’re steadily uncovering bit by bit.

That’s all.

A small inkling of doubt sticks in the pit of your stomach, merely intensifying when you watch him from your peripheral. You feel the jump of your heart in your chest, the almost nervous twist of your stomach… maybe it wasn’t just loneliness bringing forward these little reactions, but it wouldn’t—couldn’t—change anything.

Tovar was not a man of your world. He had a life elsewhere—friends, family… he needed to return to it. You’d taken on the responsibility of finding a way home for him, and you’d be damned if you failed him, growing feelings or not.

He sighs, bringing you out from your train of thought.

“I’m hungry.”

“Fucking hell, Tovar.”

taglist 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar #pedro pascal x reader

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