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Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach. 

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments. 

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body. 

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare. 

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it. 

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

__

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away. 

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

__

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress. 

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?” 

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle. 

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn’t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears. 

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for. 

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

__

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks. 

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered– 

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent. 

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

__

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours. 

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose… 

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you. 

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion pov #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion feelings realization

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"NIGHT TIME RELIGION"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 2.3k+ → a/n: just a simple, sweet glimpse into what our favorite idiots' nighttime routine is like. probably got a little too poetic with it, as always <3

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

“You fell asleep again.” 

It’s not a question, just a mere observation. Eddie doesn’t even put any emphasis on the key word there, that it had happened again, as he glances up on you sprawled out on his couch. 

“Nuh uh,” you childishly rebuke, ironically squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you let your cheek nuzzle deeper into the page of the textbook you’d been taking notes on, “I’m… I’m wide awake.” 

Every word painfully slurs with your next, voice mostly muffled. If he hadn’t been so close to you from where he was sitting on the floor, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out what you’d just murmured. 

It only makes him laugh softly as he focuses back on whatever piece of equipment he’d brought into the apartment that belongs to his bike, “Sure you are, sweetheart.” 

The coffee table is spread with hand towels and paper towels alike as Eddie fiddles with the hunk of metal. You hadn’t even prodded him about what it was he was fiddling with; you were too busy, knee deep in your studies as you’d made yourself comfortable in his living room. 

It was a normal routine now – something cozy, something domestic. Instead of being holed up in your dorm these days, you found yourself occupying apartment 2C far more frequently than you’d ever admit to anyone else. Half the time, the two of you didn’t even have plans. It wasn’t about elaborate date nights or purposeful hangouts anymore; these days, the two of you simply enjoyed one another’s presence. It was enough to just know he was there with you, in the same room, as the two of you were occupied with your own individual tasks. Sometimes, he would be reading a book as you wrote your essays. Sometimes, he’d steal your laptop to shop for new bike parts and accessories online as you caught up on your favorite TV shows. There had been plenty of phone calls with Nancy in which Eddie had let you simply rest your head in his lap, hands mindlessly carding through the scalp of your hair as he tried to offer assistance to his best friend’s daily troubles and rambles. 

It was nice, and it was normal, and it was something the rest of the world would have to pry from your cold, dead hands. 

The apartment could have easily become something akin to a prison after the bet, but it hadn’t. Instead, somehow and someway, you and Eddie had turned it into a proper sanctuary.

You no longer spent lectures daydreaming about returning to your dorm; your mind much preferred longing to return to Eddie’s room, to picture falling face down in his bed, where the pillow on the right side had begun to smell of your shampoo rather than his cologne. 

“It’s getting late,” he sighs when he hears you go silent again. He’s not annoyed by any means. If he had it his way, he’d probably curl up on the couch with you for the rest of the night, content to fall asleep to the view of your face smoothing out in peaceful rest. But he knows if he leaves you be, you’ll wake up with an aching back and an attitude that makes even Harrington cower. He puts down his project for the night, wiping his hands on a damp paper towel before he reaches blindly behind himself to give you a few taps on your rear, “C’mon, we need to get ready for bed.” 

You swat his hand away, and it only makes him grin, “It’s not that late. Plus, I’m comfy.” 

“It’s half past eleven, baby.” 

And oh, do you shoot straight up at that. 

Your eyes are finally wide open as you look at him wildly, face struck with confusion, “Excuse me?” 

“I said, it’s half past ele-”

“When the Hell did it get so late?” you fumble with yourself as he slowly gets up, making a show out of stretching all his limbs. You don’t even grow distracted when his arms reach well over his head and tug up his shirt, exposing that sliver of stomach that would normally entice you, “I swear to God, it wasn’t even ten like…. Ten minutes ago.” 

“Ten waking minutes ago, maybe,” he teases, holding a hand out for you, “Time flies when you’re napping instead of studying.” 

It’s hard for him to not smile so softly down at you right now, even as he watches the defeat take hold. Your entire outfit is compiled of his clothes, yet another t-shirt you’d snagged from him along with a pair of sweatpants that he can’t even remember the last time he’d worn them. Your hair is messy, falling out of the convenient style you’d fashioned in it hours before when you’d declared you needed to focus. Your shoulders sag, the corners of your mouth inch downward, and all he really cares about right now is getting you in bed so he can wrap himself up around you. 

Your eyes dart between his outstretched hand and your textbook, still open on a page that you’d embarrassingly drooled on, “I know we joked about celebrating when I aced my finals, but can we still get milkshakes when I absolutely flunk them?” 

The way you manage to melt his heart is impeccable. He doesn’t even have it in him to be snarky, or to make another menacing jokes, “Of course we can.”

That seems to make your decision. You finally reach out and take his hand, clearly trying to be dramatic as you pull on him with the entirety of your weight, almost as though your end goal was for him to actually end up beside you on the couch rather than to be standing beside him. 

If your goal is the former, you fail miserably. He doesn’t budge beneath your drag, only leaning forward to grab your other hand and properly haul you off the couch. 

“Oof,” you huff out as you collide with his chest from the force, letting your face smash into him and making no move to pull back, “Can’t you just carry me to bed? Is that an option?” 

He almost says yes. Almost. 

“We won’t even make it down the hall,” he chuckles, taking slow steps back, guiding you right along with him, “I may or may not have also dozed off at some point. Jury’s still out on that one.” 

“Is it?” 

You’re hardly lifting your feet, shuffling your way along, letting him walk you deceiving to the bathroom rather than the bedroom. He has no idea if you’ll be capable of doing your full skincare routine, but at the very least, he has to get you to brush your teeth. If he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it. 

“It is indeed,” he finally stops walking backwards, deciding it might become more dangerous rather than just dragging you along, “Probably won’t get a ruling until morning, so we might as well brush our teeth now, doll.” 

He’s trying to sweeten the deal. Coaxing you with adoring pet names to keep you in motion. 

“Ugh, effort,” you crunch your nose as you say it, and it’s clearly more for show than anything now. You’re fully conscious, capable of getting yourself to the bathroom sink where both your toothbrushes now sit side-by-side in a glass cup, but you don’t let go of his hand just yet. 

His palm is warm, and right now, all you really wanna do is curl up in that heat. 

Eventually, though, you let go. The two of you stand in the mirror as you go through the motions of wetting your toothbrushes, applying the toothpaste – all the boring, mundane actions that are more habit than conscious choices. But interspersed in the habits you’ve gathered over your years of life are new ones, minimal but vital after the amount of time spent together. Proof of the way this nighttime routine had become something of a religion between the two of you, something to be offered and to be shared rather than simply going through the motions. 

The way Eddie carefully rolls the end of the toothpaste tube before passing it to you, simply so it’s easier for you to get your share of it. The way you leave the water running after you’ve wet your own brush just so Eddie can also do so. All the sneaky glances caught in the mirror as the corners of your mouths foam up. Every ridiculous face, every nimble bump of your hip to his, the way he sticks out his very white tongue at you before he spits out into the basin – new things that have all become the normal, but still settle warmth in your chest.

Things that water a garden of vinery and blooms that no longer only belong within the confine of your bones, but his as well. 

A shared garden of memories and comfort. Growing, flourishing, nurturing one another. 

You lean down to spit right before him, and when you take a second too long, he tugs on a strand of your hair, trying to move you. And even as tired as you are, you find it within yourself to be a little shit as he so lovingly mumbles out around his toothbrush, lingering until he’s bumping you with his hip with purpose. 

Passing the floss back and forth (or more like you shoving the floss into his hands before he can try to argue against it), using the same paper cup to sip mouthwash out of – something so bland that you used to do it alone, now something to enjoy with him. 

You kind of love it. You kind of love him. 

“Should I wash my face?” you question, leaning in closer to the mirror and poking at your cheeks, checking your skin for any blemishes you can find. 

Eddie only moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and making the entire ordeal far more difficult as his chin rests on your shoulder, “Not if you don’t feel like it. Besides, it’s gonna make your nose cold, and then you’re gonna press it all over my damn neck and-” 

You cut him off with a joking glare, reaching up to flick at his nose, but he’s quick to pull his face out of your reach. Smiling widely, showing off those fresh and minty pearly whites. 

“If my cold nose bothers you that much, I could just stay on my side of the bed tonight,” you scowl, even though you were already taking his advice and calling it a night, twisting out of his hold to flick the lightswitch and exit the bathroom. 

He’s still stronger as he keeps his arms in place, only twisting himself around to face the door frame right with you, whining in your ear, “No.” 

He drags out the ‘o’, his voice slowly growing more quiet the longer he draws out the vowel. At some point, it’s less than Eddie has ended the protest, and more that he’s just run out of breath. 

His arms only leave your waist for the two of you to get dressed in proper pajamas. Well, what you both consider proper pajamas. 

You, left in only his shirt and underwear, and Eddie simply in his boxers. 

There’s no more sarcastic comments or lazy banter, although you certainly expect it. You’re almost holding your breath for it, right up until Eddie’s lifting his comforter and eagerly motioning for you to climb into bed first. Not one smartass remark about ladies first that could easily backfire on him as you shoved him into the bed before you. 

No, he waits until the two of you are lying on your sides, facing one another, not quite touching when his face breaks into a radiant smile. 

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him, overly suspicious of his random burst of happiness. 

“You call it your side of the bed.” 

At first, you don’t get it, “What?” 

“You called it your side of the bed,” he repeats with the utmost emphasis, finally throwing his hand out in search of your own, pulling it up to eye-level so he can toy slowly with each of your knuckles. 

“Is it not?” you’re whispering like two children at a sleepover, your feet finally drifting to toe at his calves. If they’re too cold for his liking, you don’t know. He doesn’t flinch or complain, only spreads his legs ever so slightly so there’s a space left for you to fill as you intertwine limbs. 

“It is,” he confirms, nodding a little, finally slotting his fingers between your own, “Just nice to hear you say it out loud.” 

And suddenly, you get it.

It’s your side of the bed. It’s your toothbrush resting beside his. Your textbooks and laptops are still on his couch, you have a sticky note with a reminder for yourself to buy more milk  put up on the fridge, there’s now a space for your shoes at the front door right beside his daily boots – slowly but surely, you’ve whittled out spaces for yourself here, with him. 

Even when you’re not here in this apartment with him, your presence remains. Someone could walk in, and they still see traces of you. You exist here, constantly, right along with Eddie. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back, finally scooching closer. He immediately shifts so that you can cuddle into his side, your head resting against his chest and your ear pressed to listen to his thrumming heartbeat. A perfectly carved out space for you even here, between this sheets, against his skin, “It’s nice to say out loud.” 

Not a routine, but a religion. Something to worship in the quiet hours between the sound of quiet snores and a noisy coffee maker you already have plans to replace as a Christmas gift to Eddie. An apartment turned altar, with offerings from both of you, to all that has and could become. 

You whisper your final prayer, just as you do every night, even when you think Eddie might already be fast asleep, “G’night, Eddie. I love you.” 

He’s not already asleep. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#ghost is bad at endings for one shots can you tell #ghost's stories #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #beyond the hours #not edited and you can tell but we persevere

[astrogre]

What gifts to buy for each Venus sign

Christmas is among us, my favourite season and time of the year. Venus is the planet of love, by nature it can display what we like to receive from others but if you don’t know their Venus or the house it’s in you can try to look at the persons Sun sign instead but Venus is ideal.

A gift based on their:

Sun sign will make them feel seen and like you know them well, it will be a gift they may appreciate

Venus sign is all they’ve ever desired it’s the pinnacle of their ideal gift. Especially as Venus represents how we like to receive and experience love

Aries/ 1H Venus

Gym membership, running shoes, thrill seeking experiences like tickets to bungee jumping, rock climbing, a skydiving event, gym outfit, tickets to their favourite artist, tickets to festival, cool lighter, archery classes, tickets to sports games, a shirt with their teams logo or merch from their favourite artists, scissors set, cooking tools, hair styling products like hairspray, hair dye, Fitbit/apple watch, knives set, sports gear, heavy bass headphones, tickets for those room smashing experiences, take them clay pigeon shooting, family destroying board games like Risk or Catan, diy tattoo kit, diy piercing kit, theme park tickets.

Aries Venus are by nature thrill seekers, Aries is ruled by the head and has 1st house influences, they can certainly appreciate something that ignites passion, they are impulsive and quick by nature to pursue what they desire. They need gifts that match their decisive nature and to let out that pent up energy they have in them, I honestly think experiences are the best for them. Or a box of hair dye for their impulsive moments

Taurus/ 2H Venus

Hire a chef or take them to a really good restaurant for a 5 course meal that serves orgasmic food and has impeccable visuals/atmosphere OR you can even arrange a 7 course homemade meal with the finest of recipes! , fine jewellery adorned with a gemstone, culinary experiences, cooking classes, kitchenware, go to fragrantica.com and find a high quality perfume to give, premium home decor, art, antique items, antique furniture, comfortable cosy clothing, hot water bottle, gardening tools, plants, selection of seeds for their garden, diffuser, essential oils, desserts like baklava/ferro rocher, luxury goods, wellness retreat subscription, day at the spa, tea set, comfy velvet winter pillows and bed sheets

Oh my Taurus natives, they know how to break a bank for Christmas and if not they can enjoy luxury on a budget! They enjoy the finer things of life of course Venus ruled, they know how to induge in pleasures and satisfaction. Due to the earthy influence they have a green finger and a natural affinity with plants and gardening, they may love flowers or want to grow plants themselves. Taurus venuses are rather easy to gift, if you know them they usually have a vice, it may be sleep, food or pure laziness, get them something according to their vice and they will treasure it.

Gemini/ 3H Venus

Really cool stationary, Spotify subscription, comedy show tickets, books from their favourite genre, a notebook, Grammarly subscription, cards against humanity board game, Duolingo subscription, multiplayer games, home kit recording studio, language learning stuff, calligraphy classes, kindle, portable car charger, Bluetooth speaker, karaoke machine, suitcase, travel accessories, a musical instrument, sealing wax kit, creative hobby supplies, microphone, podcasting equipment, audio editing software, a car, vr headset, Nintendo online subscription, Netflix/HBO/youtube/crunchyroll subscription

Gemini rules communication, short journeys and social engagement. Blessing these natives with tools to enhance their pleasant hobbies will make them swoon in gratitude, if you want to get them something make it engaging and whimsical. These natives are ruled by mercury and always welcome something that requires the mind.

Cancer/ 4H Venus

A cooking set, baking set, comfort food, commission artwork of the family, family photos, some really nice home decor, a keepsake/musical box adorned with velvets and soft materials that will store sentimental objects, a locket necklace, family recipe book make a recipe book of all their favourite foods and some foods you know they’d like, soft fluffy blanket, the family heirloom, hand crafted quilt, hand painted ceramic mug, animal crossing game, sims 4 game, games relating to the home, bring and fly in family that are far away as a surprise and cook their favourite meal together, household utilities, lush bath products, a personal chef for a day, a personal butler for a day, custom family tree art, ancestry DNA kit (please be careful though once you use them they keep your data and if they get hacked your information is out there), home movie night, comfy slippers and pyjamas, family board games, this christmas make them Christmas dinner this time.

Cancer rules the home and there’s nothing more appreciated by a cancer Venus than things that remind them of this. They are by nature expressive and nurturing, this time let them be pampered!

Leo/ 5H Venus

Hair care products, gift card for their favorite store, make them an edit no joke like a TikTok edit that makes them look really cool, one of those light up mirrors or a pretty handheld one if they don’t have one already, book them a photoshoot together if they don’t like the camera maybe post them on your social media and show affection for these bold natives, theatre tickets, bold sunglasses, luxury watch, good jewellery, VIP experiences like backstage passes or reservation to exclusive invite only restaurants, designer clothing that is a prestigious brand they love, commission style artwork, make them a playlist of songs that reminds you of them, fine wine, personalised fragrance creation that allows them to create their own signature fragrance, personalised makeup makeover, hire a stylist for them

A perfect gift for Leo’s need to have an element of self expression, luxury and incorporate their personality that garners attention from peers. They need a gift that makes them feel special, something tailored specifically for them that cannot be gifted to anyone else. Personalised gifts do well either this placement too. When I think of these natives I just think of that Meghan Trainor music video “Me Too” watch that and you’ll get their vibe.

Virgo/ 6H Venus

Skincare products, a blender for smoothies, lots of cleaning products, multi purpose aesthetic storage containers, Quora or chat gpt subscription (these guys like to be well informed), give them scientifically researched bath products that have all that vitamin breakdown qualities, make them a notion template to help them plan, quality office supplies like a desk organiser or chair, practical fitness gear like a yoga mat, a fitness tracker, get them a personal nutritionist, tailored meal prep services, bookshelf organiser system, a stylish briefcase, home office makeover (BUT PLEASE GET THEIR PERMISSION FIRST), online course subscription, digital subscription to news feed, you can never go wrong with practical things, an ikea haul, Costco membership, minimalist decor, multi vitamins, a precision watch, set of labelling and sorting tools, a neat tidy chess board, get them a nice little pet, honestly for some reason whenever I think of Virgos I think of matcha. Get them something matcha based.

Virgo Venus natives need gifts that resemble their routine and organisation, they can be rather difficult to purchase for since they have such a specific taste in mind. Gift cards are practical for them but they really need something that allows them to be more prepared. Take them out for comparison price shopping like say if you want to get them a sofa tell them you’ll take them out to Costco, Amazon, ikea, and compare the best ones. They are also very clean and efficient.

Libra Venus/ 7H Venus

Trending Make up like the fenty hot chocolit heat lip gloss, Korean skincare products, beautiful piece of art, a wedding ring 😏, bouquet of flowers, take them to a beautiful botanical garden, fashionable accessories like a silk scarf, books and courses on design, take them to a couples romantic date, a couples workshop, write them a love letter, museum date, tickets to an art exhibition, fine dining, an astrology synastry reading, if they’re single set up a blind date with someone who you KNOW they would like (make sure they’re handsome/pretty), couples retreat, love coach Patreon subscription, pottery/painting classes, relationship podcast subscription, relationship psychology books, fine fragrance/cologne

Libra is ruled by Venus and 7th house, all things related to love beauty and pleasure align with this native, even if they are single they have a natural gift for delving into relationships. Make sure that whatever gift you give them it is pleasing and sensual

Scorpio/ 8H Venus

Intimate gifts, a psychological crime documentary playlist like Epstein island documentary or YouTubers who speak of renowned cult leaders, personalised astrology reading, a dark seductive fragrance, dark artwork, dominance and submission guide book, shadow work journal with a lock on it, dark poetry and literature, escape room adventure tickets, monopoly game, dungeons and dragons game equipment, bdsm accessories, personalised erotic art, leather/latex clothing, bonding activities, empowering books like 48 Laws of Power, martial arts training, taxidermy, personal development workshops, intense workout equipment like a punching bag, chess, daggers, locks on their door or for their belongings like installing a lock for their drawers, buy them a ring camera and subscription, wine tasting experience

Give them something sultry and deep, it has to be psychological and empowering. They are not impressed by superficial gifts that mean nothing to them. They really like gifts that allow them to explore their nature and the darker aspects of existence.

Sagittarius/ 9H Venus

A scratch off map that allows you to scratch off countries you’ve been to, a surprise holiday where you take them abroad, Duolingo subscription, a wanderlust journal for them to document their experiences, passport accessories, an electric guitar, drums, take them to a fireworks display or do one at home for them, a telescope, a drone, binoculars, philosophical books or religious books based on their own beliefs and religion, running shoes, horse riding in the sunset experience, musical instruments, motivational and positive affirmations book or make some for them yourself, a book collection of all their motivational and positive messages they have said, a compass, pay for their tuition for a course they’ve always wanted, traveling stuff like suitcases, pillow for travelling, a portable flask, a disposable camera, a Polaroid camera, a tent, tickets to a cultural festival, hiking gear, skiing gear, camping gear, sketchbook, a donation in their name

Sagittarius Venus and 9H venuses love the concept of exploration whether it be in the mind or physically, the best gift you could give them is one that allows them to take in so much culture, information and experiences.

Capricorn/ 10H Venus

Customisable credit card (CUCU is a good site for this), a nice power suit like business attire, vintage pocket calculator, cufflinks or a tie, formal shoes, pay for their CV to be analysed by professionals in their industry, elegant timeless clothing and jewellery, make them business cards, get them a corporate slave (an assistant will do), pay for business class flights for their next trip abroad, project management courses, tickets to Ted Talk event, take them to and big them up at networking and entrepreneurial opportunities, a sleek desk, submit their work for trophies and awards, quality furniture, Starbucks or their fave coffee place gift cards, a fountain pen, personalised desk name plate, professional photoshoot, designer accessories like a Swiss watch, leather wallet, cheque book, pay for a professional calligrapher to design their signature, time management software

Our sweet cap Venuses and 10Hers need their professional acknowledgment, give them anything timeless and a way for them to better themselves. They love being the best of the best so give them things that support their ambitions.

Aquarius/ 11H Venus

A 3D printer, high tech phone, a gamer console, smart home device like Alexa, chat gpt subscription, AI art pieces of them, rubix cube, VR headset, bespoke one of a kind art piece, tickets to a science technology conference or musem, networking events, phone case, futuristic home decor, membership to an niche club their interested in, mini indoor garden like a plant terrarium, pay for an astronomy stargazing experience for them, alt clothing, goal setting journal, a camaraderie for their friendships can be a bracelet for an example, tickets to a unique workshop according to their niche interests, video editing software, a unique invention prototype for the industry their interested in say if it were cars then a mini Tesla or something, volunteer together, design software, film festival tickets, social cause merchandise, unique fashion piece, astronomy kit, an AI boyfriend or girlfriend, take them a Ted talk.

Always remember the specific niche interests of these natives they like things that are very niche and so sometimes asking them is actually the best thing to do. But make sure it’s something they’re passionate about not all of these natives live tech but they certainly are innovative.

Pisces/ 12H Venus

Seashell necklace, watercolour paints, fantasy book collection, their favourite mangas, handmade artwork, stained glass window art, dream interpretation book, flowerpedia book, vinyls, yoga mat, contact lenses, tickets to their favourite artist like mitski or the sort, create a playlist for them that’s about fantasy and imagination, they might like Disney consider taking them to Disneyland, windchime, subscription to mindfulness app, astrology book, go to the aquarium together, windchimes, art supplies, a dream journal, sound healing instruments, pay for their spiritual retreat, zen garden decor, a mystical music box, water fountain, take them to a mesmerising body of water, prayer mats, diary, write them a heartfelt letter of how amazing they are, take them to a nature retreat, wearable art

Dreamy imaginative gifts would be perfect for these people, they need gifts that allow them to appreciate their escape world where they have a reality that’s just better than here. Give them things that are as beautiful as their inner world.

#astrology #astro notes #astro placements #astro posts #learning astrology #astro community #astro #aries venus #taurus venus #gemini venus #cancer venus #leo venus #virgo venus #libra venus #scorpio venus #sagittarius venus #capricorn venus #aquarius venus #pisces venus #astrology planets #venus astrology #Christmas astrology #astrology placements #astroblr #Astro note #1st house #2nd house #3rd house #4th house #5th house

[paigebueckersmommy]

familiar - p.b

paige bueckers x reader (uconn student reporter)

warnings: fingering, semi public sex

requested

you were assigned to report the uconn vs jackson state wbb game. you knew why you were dreading this, it’s because Paige Bueckers gave you the best head you had received and never called you back.

you had finished interviewing paige post game, which you done with attitude, still pretty mad about the way paige had treated you.

you were picking yo your microphones, wire and other equipment when you saw a tall blonde approaching you from the corner of your eye. “hey,” paige said. “uh hi.” you say looking back to your equipment, the entire arena had been cleaned out by now. “uh sorry i was just wondering, do i know you? you looked pretty farmilar.” paige said. “um i don’t know does giving me the most sheet gripping head i’ve ever gotten then never texting me count as knowing me?”

“ohh.. uh i’m really sorry about that basketball was getting really tough on me.” i nod sarcastically at her comment. “listen i don’t care anymore but just don’t use the sports card on me.” you say, lying. you knew that you still cared just because it was paige bueckers. you saw paige’s mouth curl into a smile. “i mean i could give u a reason to care?” she says grinning. she waves two fingers in the air signaling and starts walking away tword the locker room.

you quickly follow her, knot the locker room. she presses you against the wall, kissing you messily. she began to hike up your skirt, so it was all by your hips. still kissing you, she moves your panties to the side plunging 3 fingers deep into your needy cunt. “you like that?” she says crooking her neck. you hurriedly nod, already out of breath from moaning making her giggle. the sounds of her fingers plunging into your wetness fill the room as paige watches you breathlessly moan from her fingers.

“shit shit shit,” you moan signaling your close orgasm. which only makes her speed up her pace. your practically screaming by this point when paige says, “u gonna cum baby? c’mon cum on my fingers,” with a smirk seeing the condition her fingers have you in. you finally clench around her lengthy digits, as she watched your cum spill out onto her fingers. “fuck,” she breathes.

she brings her fingers up to her mouth as if she’s just finished a meal. “yea what was that number again?” she says, pulling out her phone as you two begin to leave the locker room.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #paige buckets #nika muhl #paige bueckers x reader #kk arnold #paige bueckers smut #ashlynn shade #paige bueckers headcannons

[mckinlily]

Every time I see one of the “Bruce Wayne collects orphans” or “where does Batman get all these children???” jokes, I get this little ping in my head because, yes, it is a good joke, very funny, bonus points if it’s other characters trying and failing to combine Broody McBroodface with Tired DadTM. But also… 

I just can’t shake the conviction that no one is as baffled and bewildered by his ever increasing number of children than Bruce Wayne himself.

Like, this man clearly never intended to be a dad. He is Vengeance and Justice Committed to The Mission. Kids don’t factor into that. And to that point, it’s worth noting that none of his kids were premeditated. At no point has Bruce ever thought “maybe I want a(nother) kid.” They just sorta…happen. And not even in the usual way! (Mostly)

Like, Dick? Bruce wasn’t going “orphan shopping.” He went to the circus to to relax for once in his godforsaken life and wow, would you look at that, a vivid recreation of his own trauma and, oh, who’s this kid Batman keeps running into on patrol, wait, this is the same kid?! Whoops, I guess I’m raising this kid now, Alfred how do you raise a kid!?!

Jason? Yeah, Bruce was just doing his usual Batman thing when he ran into a homeless kid and somehow got too attached. Tim just showed up one day and said, “hi, I’m your kid now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” (Really. you can’t stop me). Damien basically did the same thing, only with more stabbing. Cass…?? Stephanie????!!

(Bruce googling in the middle of the night: Is it normal to adopt your son’s ex-girlfriend?? Or did she adopt me??? Giving a kid an unlimited credit card and vigilante training counts as adoption, right??)

Point is, these kids just…show up, needing help, and somehow, for reasons that defy all logic, Bruce is the adult best equipped to help them. And yeah, Bruce never intended to adopt a kid (…or seven) and, no, he doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, but these kids need him so he takes them in and does His Best because he’s the one who can. 

Which is all to say, I think we should see far more conversations re: Finding out Batman has approx. 5 million kids that go like this

Someone: What? Do crime-fighting orphans, just like...crawl out of the woodwork around you? Bruce, exasperated and visibly stressed: yeah, BASICALLY. 

#batfam #bruce loves his kids dearly #he would never give them up #he just has no idea how he ended up with all of them in the first place #mckinlily writes: batfam fic

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Saturday

I'm not sure if it's friday anywhere anymore so we're fucking it on a Saturday!! I've been super lax on writing this week because I've got a beefy 3k word report on care for transgender/gender diverse parents during pregnancy due on Monday and I am not even halfway done dfkjds. BUT I did get a small trickle of Frostpunk AU beans so I thought I'd share! Snippet below the line bc it's kinda long

Tagged for Friday & Saturday by @smilingbuckley @thekristen999 @dangerpronebuddie @spotsandsocks @bidisasterevankinard

@cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley and @kitteneddiediaz, I will be getting to your snippets tonight!!

Buck’s reading to Christopher when it happens.

Ever since Christopher woke up, Buck has been keeping a near-constant vigil at his bedside, keeping the boy entertained and comfortable where he can. He’d even snuck into the Children’s Shelter to borrow some toys for Christopher - a set of cards, a rainbow puzzle, a small, plastic dinosaur toy, and a fluffy rabbit that Christopher had kept tucked under his arm ever since.

So, it’s not entirely surprising that Buck is there when Edmundo wakes up.

The first indication is the bleeping on Edmundo’s heart monitor begins to increase in speed. Buck stops midsentence and turns in his chair. The first thing he notices is that Edmundo’s eyes are open, wide and fearful as he looks around the room.

In a flash, Buck is on his feet, book clattering to the floor, and he rushes over to Edmundo’s bedside.

“Hen!” he yells, praying his friend is close enough to hear. “Chimney! Someone, come quick!!”

Edmundo’s chest begins to heave as a heavy panic sets in and he raises his arms to claw at the breathing tube down his throat. Buck grabs his wrists and pins them to his size, and is surprised at the strength of the man. It takes no small amount of effort to keep him from ripping the tube out, or scrabbing at the IV lines in his arms.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, Hen and Chimney are coming, just breathe for me,” Buck says hurriedly as he watches Edmundo gag around the tube. He knows the man will be getting oxygen, but that won’t be stopping the feeling of suffocation, the feeling of obstruction in his throat.

Edmundo’s eyes bug out as he looks at Buck, gaze boring into him in a silent plea. Help me. Make it stop.

There’s a clattering of feet on linoleum as Hen, Chimney, and another medic Buck doesn’t know the name of all sprint into the cramped med bay.

“What’s going on, what happened?” Hen asks as she comes screeching to a halt, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. Before Buck can even open his mouth, Chimney is grabbing the extubation equipment and barking orders at Hen and the medic, all three swarming Edmundo’s bedside.

Buck’s in the way, he knows it but he cannot make himself move. Instead, he takes both of Edmundo’s hands and laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly to give Edmundo something to focus on.

“Look at me, Edmundo,” he says as Hen peels off the tape keeping the tube in place. Edmundo’s eyes flick back towards Buck, his eyebrows scrunched together, and Buck’s stomach twists uncomfortably as he sees a tear slide down Edmundo’s cheek.

“That’s it, just keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay, extubating patient now. Hen, have suction at the ready. Jess, get the O2 mask,” Chimney orders, and there’s a fluffy of movement as everyone gets in position.

Buck looks away. He doesn’t want to watch the tube come out. He’s never been the best with medical things at the best of times and this.. well he’s not exactly sure why the thought of Edmundo in particular being in pain makes him so unhappy but it does. So he doesn’t watch, instead keeping his eyes trained firmly on his and Edmundo’s hands. It doesn’t escape his notice the way Edmundo’s knuckles go white as he clings to Buck for dear life.

There’s horrible wet noise followed by the sound of suction and a volley of wet coughs, before Buck hears a deep breath in. He chances a glance upwards and sees Edmundo, eyes open and sans tube for the first time he got to Sector 118. There’s an oxygen mask fitted over his face, fogging up with every breath Edmundo takes.

Instantly, relief flows through Buck like warm honey, filtering through his veins until he’s lighter and warmer than he’s been in days. Edmundo’s awake. Edmundo is breathing on his own. Edmundo’s alive.

Buck grins, unable to contain his joy. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Edmundo.”

“Eddie,” the guy croaks, and Buck blinks.

“Huh?”

“Name’s E-Eddie. Not Edmundo,” he rasps, before breaking out into a coughing fit. Buck rushes to help him upright, takes off the oxygen mask, and holds out a container as Edmundo – Eddie spits into it, his chest heaving from the force of his coughs. Buck rubs his back, murmuring reassuring words until Eddie takes a shaky breath and allows himself to rest back against his pillows.

No pressure tagging (for Friday or Saturday) @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @neverevan @babybibuck @aroeddiediaz

@bibuckbuckgoose @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @wikiangela

@loveyouanyway @exhuastedpigeon @epicbuddieficrecs @hermscat @worriedbisexual

@slightlyobsessedwitheverything @actuallyitsellie @idealuk @dangerpronebuddie @simpingforhotfictionalcharacters

@houseofevanbuckley @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13 @rainbow-nerdss

@steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @jehdogg @ohlookitsthearkhamknight @revenge-of-the-assbutt (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

#james writes #buddie wip #frostpunk au #buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 buddie #911 #911verse #911 fanfic #eddie x buck #HE'S ALIIIIIVE #GOD i'm so glad I can finally write alive eddie #also the fact that I'm at 16k and not even a quarter of the way through... #help

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

Jean’s Basement

Characters:

Scaramouche — Owns the title of “wildest casting story.” During an interview, Scara stated that he threatened the scouting agent of filing a restraining order if they kept chasing him. Scara declined multiple times after interrogating the scouting agent why he should audition in the first place, but they were persistent. He finally agreed but the audition date overlapped with his exam day. So, the casting agents adjusted their audition schedule for him.

Venti — Looks like a cinnamon roll, will murder you. Venti is the scariest member of 5WIRL. No one messes with his group without paying for it. Once argued with the company over having creative reign for their future albums. The meeting went on for 5 hours. In the end, the company never questioned Venti’s decisions ever again.

Heizou — When he was young, his mother explained how she had a dream of watching him perform on stage with 4 other boys. But, Heizou was naughty and obnoxious growing up, who never fancied other people unless they had stories to tell. He brushed his mother’s words off, before running outside to play with his TCG cards. Little did he know, that adult Heizou would be playing those same cards with the 4 boys his mother saw in her dream at his hotel room after a successful concert.

Kazuha — Since debut, Kazuha has always been the mature member of 5WIRL. He has always maintained a relaxed demeanor during stressful situations. Fans have speculated where his supply of patience comes from especially when living with 4 bickering men. When asked, he always responded with, “Noise canceling headphones, yoga equipment, a locked door, and when times are hard, 🍃 works best — it’s a whole new world.”

Xiao — Looks scary, is a cinnamon roll. He never intended to be a part of 5WIRL. In fact he was promised to only become their dance choreographer. But the CEO insisted he train with the others to better “enhance” his dancing. Then, they trained him to sing to “better feel” the music when dancing. After 2 years of training, he made the official line-up. He swore he was scammed into joining.

Aether — Was supposed to be in the final line-up for 5WIRL, but decided to step-down from the group before debut to work as their producer instead. The 5WIRL members respected his decision.

Notes:

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo album. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

scaramouche x fem!reader

masterlist | next

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche #scara x reader #kunikuzushi #wanderer x reader #5wirl #genshin modern au #genshin idol au

[jaded-jezz]

Shutter Speed

Jack Champion x Photographer!Reader

Part 1/?

☁︎ Fluff

Summary: y/n is a photographer for the new scream promo and Jack thinks she belongs in front of the camera rather than behind.

"Y/N did you double check the SD card was empty?" My best friend and work partner, Leah, shouted from down the hall. "Yeah it was the first thing i did this morning,"

Leah and I have been working together ever since college where we met during our photography course. We have been inseparable since both landing a job at a highly praised magazine company.

Today is going to be a great day as we have been given the front cover photoshoot with full creative control too. It has been my childhood dream to have even a small picture but another front page? The feeling never gets old.

Leah and I finish packing all of our equipment into the car and we start the drive down to the studios in LA. As it’s kind of a long drive Leah starts our little road-trip with our favourite song. We scream the lyrics and laugh when the people, in the cars that pass us, give us strange looks.

To save our voices from any extreme damage, we put on some less energetic music and go over the plan for the day. “Wait, have you seen the cast for Scream 6?” Leah suddenly asks.

“Yeh like sorta… no not really” I answer scrambling for my phone. “Well we know Jenna from the Wednesday shoot so that’s less worrying right?” I say as I wait for the list to load.

“Oh yeah I forgot you did that! Do you think she will remember you?”

(Scream VI Groupchat POV)

Jenna- how close is everyone to the studio?

Devyn- I’m parked outside

Melissa- the shoot starts in half an hour

Devyn- I LIKE TO BE EARLY OK?!

Jasmine- YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BRING ME THIS EARLY TOO THO

Liana- wait you guys drove together? You could’ve invited me 🥺

Jasmine- use that emoji again and I will become ghostface

Liana- 🥺sowy🥺

‘Jasmine’ has left the group chat.

Mason- Jenna this is your fault

Jack- What the hell did I just miss?

Jenna- HOW WAS IT MY FAULT?

Mason- YOU ASKED THE QUESTION

Jack- Jenna, Mason is the reason we are running late please don’t kill us.

Jenna- thanks for actually answering jack, mason I’m going to kill you

‘Devyn’ added ‘Jasmine’ to the group.

Devyn- see you guys soon!

(Y/N POV)

“ I doubt she will remember, I didn’t really speak” I answer, as I start to cringe over my previous shoots without Leah. Leah is literally my rock, and she knows this as she looks over to me. “You will be great, I’ll be there if things get too awkward, and you have all your notes on your phone and in your notebook.” I give her a smile as I reach for said notes to calm my nerves.

When we arrive at the studio I already see two of the actors and they wave as we walk past their car. I feel a lot less stressed as I see that everything is clean for us to set up our equipment. Leah and I finish in a record time thanks to my meticulously drawn plan of the placement for lights and tripods.

One of the producers walks in to check if we are ready. He lets us know that two actors are going to be late but it won’t ruin the shoot. As he leaves to alert the cast Leah stands next to me to make sure I don’t run away.

“OMG it is you!” I hear a voice come round the corner. “I thought I recognised your name, guys this is the talent who created all the Wednesday promo!” Jenna exclaims to the group before walking over to hug me.

“It is great to see you again Jenna! And it’s lovely to meet all of you too.” I say to the room. “I’m Y/N, this is Leah and the stylists are in the other room.” I start to explain the plan for the day.

“So any questions?” I ask after I realise I’ve been talking rambling for too long. “Oh last thing, sorry, if at any point you feel uncomfortable or awkward in a pose or something, just let me know and I will sort it as fast as I can.” I let the cast go to their stylists, who they knew from set, and walk towards my camera and laptop to make sure everything is loaded up and ready to go.

“She did remember you.” Leah said in a hushed giggle as my face starts to go red.

(Jack’s POV)

We are late. Mason is late. So I’m late. I hate being late to these things. Especially when it’s people I’ve never worked with before, although I think I remember Jenna saying she’s met one of the photographers before but that doesn’t calm me down one bit.

“Hey man, chill out” Mason interrupts my internal panic. “They won’t mind, you can charm them with your good looks yeh?” He suggests. I widen my eyes to show I don’t agree. “Fine, I’ll apologise in my own way and you do it how you want too.” He sighs, jokingly.

When we finally arrive we are pushed into the changing rooms so fast that I don’t get to apologize for our lack of punctuality. I quickly change into my costume before jumping into the makeup chair, next to Mason. Once the artist has finished I text my mum to tell her I made it and left it on the vanity. I headed out to the studio once Mason was done too.

"Look who decided to show up!"

Part Two will be their meeting! Or should I say meet-cute?

Also (shameless plug) I really want to be a photographer so I would mean a lot if you followed/checked out my Instagram:

@/no.stress_jess

Please do not repost this, reblogs are appreciated.

#actress #actress reader #fluff #im so alone #jack champion #jack champion x reader #jaded jellyfish sting #marry me jack champion #oneshot #x reader #photography #photographerslife #photographer reader

[rinstrumental]

ellie gf headcanons pt. 2

# i’m a headcanon machine i cant be stopped… also she is literally a cheesy ass lose girlfriend this part is actually canon confirmed by naughty dog. modern au

if your native language isn’t english/speak any language other than english she is going to think you’re ten times cooler than you already are. best believe she’s hopping on duolingo first thing she gets home too so she can impress you (i know duolingo isn’t the best but she’s TRYING)

she took spanish in high school though

even though she can’t retain the info for shit she will search up terms of endearment in your language and call you them all the time even if you think its corny she can’t stop

whenever someone asks her what her type is she just says “my girl” with the most stupid grin on her face

she fidgets SO much omg she doesn’t wear rings often but when she does (you said they looked nice one time and all of a sudden she’s wearing rings every time you see her) she’s constantly playing with them. she also plays with the strings of her hoodie/loose threads etc.

*playing basketball* “this one’s for you babe” *completely misses*

such a nerd for collectibles!! has been since she was a kid. she has funko pops, vinyls, pokemon cards, snowglobes, plushies, smiskis, calico critters she’s a slave to capitalism

little social media presence. her only instagram account is basically a photo dump which is private with only her closest friends following it. (spoiler alert, most of the pictures are of the two of you)

in the last post i said she’s have a pet gecko but i also strongly believe joel would have a dog. could be a teeny tiny chihuahua or a fucking great dane idk just give my man a good friend! ellie also loves that dog (whatever it is) dearly

doesn’t have any piercings and doesn’t ever consider it unless you say that they’d look good on her… your word is her law FR 😭😭😂😂

okay no she’s not dependent on you to the point of it being toxic though. HOWEVER it’s a bit hard for her to express when she feels upset sometimes and gets jealous easily but she tries her best to communicate and keep it healthy

she has her tattoos though of course. although this is a modern au so she’d have different ones i guess… forearm one is definitely in the cards but also lots of tiny little ones. a few for her friends and family and a few she got in a drunken stupor

pottery lesbian that’s it

gets SOOO red when she’s drunk i dont care what anyone says her alcohol tolerance is average at best

i think she would play a sport sometimes. like volleyball. she plays competitively if she’s in school and she always wants you to come “watch your girlfriend be cool”. bring a sign - she’ll love it

kisses and hugs u after the game while she’s all sweaty too…ew but aw

she also really likes animated movies, not disney but like how to train your dragon and the spiderverse and puss in boots (im projecting). she went to see barbie and oppenheimer on the same day and she didn’t dress up but the spirit was there!!

she’s not a gymbro per se but joel probably would have workout equipment in the basement which ellie uses from time to time. and she’s just naturally lean because she’s an active person. pls tell her how big and strong and sexy and amazing she is

ok fine i think she likes being praised AND SHE DESERVES ITT like she’s such a wonderful girlfriend ❤️ ugh shes perfect I CANT STAND HER

goodnight and good morning texts are part of her routine

sunburns easily so you have to remind her to wear sunscreen all the time

doesn’t really know how to do makeup but she’ll paint your nails for you and do your hair

whenever the two of you spend the night together she’s usually last to get up. this bitch could sleep through the rapture i’m not kidding but it’s okay because it gives you time to admire her pretty face as she sleeps in peace and quiet for once

takes the aux very seriously you guys HAVE to share it. unless you like the same music and i think she would like radiohead, joy division, deftones and loser sad songs like that…. she also is a big fan of the spiderverse soundtrack and kendrick lamar though and thee stallion 😜 (i have two wolves inside me)

please reblog mwah thank you!!

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie fluff #tlou fic #tlou x reader #tlou ellie #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie headcanons

[shelbystales]

Ceramic Lessons - Part one

Cillian Murphy X Reader - Masterlist

Summary: after much insistence from his sister, Cillian attends a ceramics class with her. To his surprise, he feels a connection to the teacher, you. Will this connection go any further or will it be smashed like a bad ceramic project?

Warning: nothing so far, this is a slow chapter.

A/N: this is my first time writing for Cillian, so a small reminder that this has nothing to do with his real life. I’m not sure where this is goin or if it is going anywhere but here it is. I`ve been going to some ceramic classes myself and let me tell you… it`s sexy as fuuuck.

English is my second language, so I apologize in advance for any grammar mistake

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Cillian never imagined himself stepping into a ceramic studio on a Saturday morning. He was convinced to attend after much insistence from his sister Sile, and it was weariness that eventually persuaded him.

She had been attending the same class for a few months, and according to her, it was the best thing one could ever imagine. The connection with ceramics and the meditative state during the class provided her with some peace that no therapy ever could.

Cillian had gone through a divorce six months ago, leaving him emotionally strained. His siblings, Orla, Sile, and Páide, had been trying to help him cope, as it was a complicated divorce. However, he found solace in focusing on his work and being there for his son, which led him to isolate himself a bit. His siblings have been trying to get him out of that isolation, something that he admired (because it showed they cared) but never asked for.

Almost every Saturday, Cillian and his brother used to play poker, an activity he despised, but was forced to attend by his brother. Spending hours staring at cards and poker-faced men was far from his idea of fun. So, when his sister Sile kept praising the ceramics class, it began to seem not such a bad idea.

The studio was located in a serene corner of the city, surrounded by greenery, and the entrance door was a soft baby pink, contrasting with the white walls. It had no name calling you in, if you passed in front of it, you would never know it was a pottery class studio.

"Ready for the best experience of your life?" Sile asked excitedly as they walked towards the door.

Cillian smiled and replied, "Let's see."

The pink door swung open, revealing a spacious area with a wall adorned with glass doors that led to a small garden filled with large plants and some garden benches and tables. The rectangular space wasn't too wide or too deep, just the perfect size. It felt homy and welcoming.

An incense burned, filling the air with the scent of citronella, a fragrance Cillian wasn't sure he liked yet.

The studio's floor was made of burnished concrete, and the white walls were adorned with numerous shelves overflowing with various ceramic works.

In one corner of the room, Cillian spotted some equipment he recognized as a pottery wheel after watching a video of his sister creating a small vase. In another corner, workbenches were filled with an assortment of tools.

Cillian found himself standing in admiration for a minute, taking in the surroundings. Everything appeared chaotic yet perfectly organized at the same time.

On the veranda, around the tables and chairs, there were women chatting. Other women were scattered throughout the space, and a man was cutting and weighing the clay.

"Come on, let me introduce you," Sile said, pulling her brother's arm, and he went along with it.

The women greeted him and tried to hide their whispers and smiles, but someone who has been in the spotlight for many years could pick up on those nuances. He took a deep breath and decided to ignore the attention while answering a question from one of the women about his latest film.

After, another question followed and then another… Cillian wanted to escape from that place. He looked at his sister, who gave him an apologetic look and tried to change the subject, but it wasn't necessary.

"Alright, shall we?" a sweet and gentle voice interrupted, capturing the women's attention as they began to stand up. Saving Cillian from that interrogation.

Looking back, Cillian saw the woman whose voice it was. You, with your hair tied in a completely messy bun, wore loose, worn-out denim overalls with straps, and they were completely stained, which he assumed was clay. Under the overalls, you had a simple black workout top, and you were pulling pottery wheels to form a semicircle in the center of the room.

You seemed like a reflection of the studio—messy yet perfectly presented.

"This is our teacher," Sile whispered. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Cillian tore his eyes away from you and frowned at his sister, questioning her true intentions for bringing him here. It wouldn't be the first time Sile tried to set him up with someone.

"Come, let me introduce you," she said, pulling him by the arm again. This time, Cillian hesitated at first but allowed himself to be led by his sister.

"Y/n, this is my brother, Cillian," Sile introduced as they reached you.

With a gentle smile, you greeted him with a nod. Sile has been telling you for ages that she’s trying to convince Cillian to attend one of your classes. "Hi, Sile talks about you a lot. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Well, welcome to my class."

"The pleasure is mine," he replied, smiling. "Sile says this class is the best thing in her life right now, so I had to come and see for myself."

"Really? That's good to hear, Sile” you said genuinely happy “Oh, I guess we better protect your clothes from stains. Sile, please go to the kiln room and get an apron for your brother so he won't get his clothes dirty," you said, and Sile nodded leaving you both.

Looking around, Cillian noticed all the women putting on aprons and getting ready.

"Have you worked with clay before?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

“No, i haven’t" he answered

“Hm, I hope you enjoy it. Oh, don't get frustrated if you can't make anything you like today," you smiled "It's harder than it looks, but I’ll help you through it" you chuckled and turned your back, walking over to the man who was cutting the clay.

The man's name is Loui and he uses your studio to produce his art. As he is still a small artist, he doesn't have much financial return, so his way to pay you for the space is by helping you during the classes. He’s also quite a good friend and confidant .

As you talked to Lou, Sile returned with a black apron and handed it to Cillian.

"There was a hot pink one inside, almost took it, but felt sorry for you," she laughed.

"Good sign of character," he joked, putting on the apron.

"Come and get your clay," you said, handing a piece of clay to each person. "Today, we'll work with 300 grams. You can make plates, vases, or jars. So big pieces today guys" you explained to everyone

"Can we split and make two things?" one of the women who bombarded Cillian with questions earlier asked.

"No, Helena. We'll work with the whole piece of clay, stepping out of our comfort zone," you replied, and she nodded, a bit frustrated.

After everyone got their clay, they moved to the workbench, now covered with marble slabs, and began kneading the clay as if they were kneading bread dough.

You turned on your sound box and put on some nice lo-fi music before going to Cillian and explaining to him this step.

"This step is the most important," you said, standing next to him, who observed everything a bit lost. "We knead the clay to remove air bubbles and make it smoother. If there are bubbles, the piece might crack during firing. Let me show you how it's done." You took the ball of clay gently from his hand and guided him to the counter. "To avoid back pain, it's good to put your supporting foot forward and use your whole body to move." You began explaining and kneading the clay. "You make the movement with the palm of your hand pushing, and pulling with your fingers. It will form something like a cow's face." You made two holes in the indents of your palm and two on the side that wasn't kneaded. "See?" You asked with a smile, and he nodded, seeing that it indeed resembled a cow's face. "Now, your turn. Do it for about five minutes and you should be good" you left the clay on the table for him and watched him make his first move.

As usual, for someone who had never done it before, Cillian's movements were a bit off.

So, for him to feel the right movement with his wrists, you approached and pressed your hand on top of his.

"Let's go, without fear. You can press the clay harder. Don’t need to be gentle," you instructed.

Cillian was afraid to admit it, the moment your hands touched his, he felt himself blush. The choice of words were also a bit ambiguous, making him blush more.

With some instructions, you corrected him, and by the end of the five minutes, he was doing the movement almost perfectly.

"With practice, you'll get the hang of it," you said with a smile. "But now, it's good. Choose a pottery wheel and have a seat. I’ll be right with you."

Cillian followed your instructions and chose a pottery wheel to start his work.

“Liking so far?” Sile asked, sitting next to him.

“Better than poker” he answered making Sile smile “a little of an arm workout as well” Sile chuckled

“Yeah, where do you thinking I’ve been gaining all these muscles” she flexed her arms, showing off her biceps

“You are adorable,” Cillian said with a smile, not impressed by her biceps.

You finished helping one of the students set their clay on the wheel and went to give Cillian some attention.

You had to admit that having him in your studio was a bit weird. Yes, Sile has been telling you for ages that she would convince him to come, but to actually have him here, it’s weird.

I mean, he is Tommy fucking Shelby and now fucking Oppenheimer. Why the hell is he here in your tiny and messy studio? It was almost as if you felt intimidated by his presence.

Just treat him like any other student, you told yourself as you walked towards him.

As you approached him, he felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. Making his heart beat a little faster, a feeling that he weirdly enjoyed.

"So, what do you intend to make?" you asked, curious, while adjusting the wheel's position in front of him.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe a vase," he replied, looking at the lump of clay in front of him.

"Going with the classic. Great choice. Alright girls, and Cillian” you chuckled as you were now, talking to everyone “now let's start rolling. Anyone needs anything, I'm here.” You turned to Cillian and sat in front of him on a tiny wooden bench. “You need some more attention. I’ll guide you step by step. Let's begin. First, wet your hands to prevent the clay from sticking," you suggested, showing him how to do it. "Now, place the clay in the center of the wheel and press lightly with your hands to secure it. Press the pedal, you will see it will start spinning. Adjust the speed on your feet as you feel more comfortable with it"

Cillian followed your guidance carefully, feeling the cool texture of the clay between his fingers. Slowly, he started shaping it, giving form to what would be the beginning of a vase.

"That's right, mold it slowly, feel the clay, and let it guide your hands," you encouraged him. “Now here, different from before, you have to be gentle, the clay won’t suport much pressure. Just feel it.” You explained to him.

Cillian followed your instructions, but it was indeed more challenging than he expected. Once he seemed to be doing good, you stepped away from his side, letting him explore the clay on his own.

The clay didn't quite follow Cillian's hand movements, and just when he thought he was getting the hang of it, the clay would break or warp in a way he didn't intend.

"Having a hard time there?" Sile asked, laughing, after Cillian gave a frustrated slap to the clay, trying to reshape it in the pottery wheel.

"I think I wasn't born for this, Sil" Cillian grumbled.

"Patience, bro," Sile said with a smile. "Ask y/n for help. She can assist you."

You were helping another student mold a large bowl, the biggest piece in the room. You applied pressure to the student's hand, which in turn shaped the clay.

The atmosphere in the room shifted between moments of conversation and laughter to moments of absolute silence, where everyone was fully focused on their work. This current moment was one of silence, and you were completely dedicated to assisting the student, appearing almost in tune with her.

Cillian thought about calling you over, but he preferred to keep observing you work.

Your face radiated with a large smile, even though it was now speckled with clay. You looked in your natural habitat, completely confident, happy. You looked like a genuinely happy person to him.

"I'm going to leave you now," you said to the student.

"No, I'm going to ruin everything!" She said, laughing. "Please, help me finish."

"What!? No way. You need to finish it on your own; you can do it," you chuckled.

"What if I mess everything up?" She asked, feeling insecure.

"Then you make another one," you replied. "Remember, with clay, you can always start over," you winked at her and gently removed your hands from the piece in front of you.

Walking around the room, you assisted another student before going over to Cillian, who was struggling to mold a not-so-promising sphere.

"Having difficulties?" You asked, sitting in front of him again.

His extremely blue eyes met yours, and for a second, you felt a flutter in your stomach that took your breath away. Little did you know that he felt the same.

"Yeah, I can't seem to get the clay to obey me," he replied after clearing his throat.

"Okay, do what you were doing. Let me see what we can improve," you said, and he nodded. He began to apply pressure to the clay, shaping it into a vertical cone.

He continued working on it as you observed his moves, analyzing his technique.

“Ok, i know I told you to be gentle, but try applying more pressure to your fingers, you have to maintain a steady motion, your fingers here are weak, they’re not doing much work” you advised, your voice calm and encouraging “here, excuse me. Let me show you” you place your hands over his, providing a subtle help. “Feel the clay respond to your touch, almost as if it’s guiding you, but at the same time you have to guide it, so no weak fingers” you smiled

Cillian couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. There was something about you that just made his blood rush faster through his veins.

It wasn't just the touch itself, but the way you looked at him with those warm and encouraging eyes that sent shivers down his spine.

In that moment, the sensation of your hand on his felt intimate. almost as sexual tension grew between the both of you. He assumed this feeling might have been a projection of his own desires, a reflection of the void left by his recent divorce. But he couldn't deny the way his heart skipped a beat when your hand touched his.

The way his eyes intensely locked onto yours, and the subtle lingering touches exchanged during the process, sent shivers through your body as well.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, helping him shape the clay, but your heart raced with every brush of your fingers against his.

This had never happened before in your classes, and you'd had many male students before.

You tried to push those feelings aside, reminding yourself to be professional, but you found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised and excited you.

With your guidance the clay finally started to get a nice vase shape and you broke contact with him completely. After breathing deeply you smiled

“I think you’ve got it now” you said and he cleared his throat and nodded

“Yea, thank you” he answered almost in a whisper

You stood and went to the kiln room, to get a glass of water.

You felt like you needed a break after an intense moment like that and wondered if he felt the same, or if it was your simple desire for that hot Hollywood star.

"So, did you like it?" Sile asked her brother after the class ended.

She was placing her vase on the shelf. She had done a much better job than him, her vase was almost perfect. Each student had a designated space on the shelf where their sculptures were left to dry.

"I liked it," he replied, taking off the apron.

"Are you coming back next week?" She asked, with excitement in her eyes, happy at the idea of having her brother with her during the classes.

"I think so," he answered, his gaze fixed on you as you praised one of the students for their work.

Sile did a little dance of joy. "We need to ask y/n to make some space for you on the shelves," she said excitedly and went to talk to you.

After Sile told you that her brother would continue with the classes, you looked at him, smiled and approached.

"I'm glad to know you liked it," you said. "The vase turned out well."

"It was a good challenge... and the vase is mediocre. Leaning to one side and squashed on the other," he laughed.

"It's great for a first project, Cillian," you smiled. "Let me make some space around here," you said, and began to rearrange the shelves.

Upon closer inspection, Cillian noticed that each shelf had a name written on it. Judging by the number of shelves, it seemed like you had many students.

You took the vase from him and showed him where his shelve would be.

“I must say i’m happy to hear we will meet again next week” you told him and he smiled

“So am I” he told you, with his piercing blue eyes locked on yoursl, once again making your body go through weird waves of excitement.

Shit, is that his super power? you asked yourself.

You thanked everyone for their presence and you wished them a happy weekend as you went on helping Loui clean the studio for the next class.

#cillianmurphy #cillian murphy #cillian series #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fluff #cillian fic #cillian x y/n #cillian one shot #cillian x reader #peakyblinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby #oppenheimer

[antianakin]

Okay so I will bring back Mandoclones for JUST A SECOND to present a scenario where those Mando trainers exist and Jango is more active in the clones' training and so when they finally start working with the Jedi, the clones all have the most HORRIFIC sense of mental health the Jedi have ever seen as a result of traditional Mandalorian attitudes towards it and general Kaminoan negligence.

The Jedi meanwhile are obviously the galaxy's most emotionally healthy people, generally, and their entire CULTURE revolves around positive mental health practices, it's almost literally in their blood at this point. They're intergalactic therapists, so when presented with several thousand men to lead who are all just... struggling SO SO MUCH with what's happening to them and around them, they step in.

The clones, obviously, are INCREDIBLY reluctant to admit anything's wrong at all, admitting to being scared or hurt or upset or anxious or worried would've gotten them pretty intense punishments from the Mandalorians which naturally would've led to some unfortunate attention from the Kaminoans. So they're not exactly inclined to talk to the Jedi about these things, either, expecting similar treatment.

But the Jedi pick up on this and figure out what's likely going on and basically try to start leading by example. They open up about THEIR fears and anxieties, they talk about how important their meditation is to them, they discuss Jedi teachings on letting go of fear and accepting change, they openly talk about how they speak to their mind healers after really difficult battles and how much it helps. They let the men see them cry sometimes, let their frustration with the situation be just a little more evident (but always trying to make sure the clones don't think that they're the source of the frustration), they complain about things like how endless paperwork seems and how annoying politicians can be. They bring on things the men can use for entertainment like books and sports equipment and some kind of craft item to keep their hands busy. Card packs start showing up by the dozen so the men can at least play card games in their downtime.

And finally, maybe one trooper speaks up and says something like "That was a really rough battle" within hearing range of the Jedi and everyone waits to see what the Jedi's reaction is going to be and they just sigh a little and say "Yeah, it really was, I'll be glad to get to bed tonight" and the clones all relax just a little more. After that, more and more start vocalizing little things about how they feel, both positive and negative. The Jedi start suggesting using things like sports and creative projects as ways to release stress. One of the troopers asks the Jedi if they've read one of the books that was brought onto the ship and the Jedi says yes so they end up in a short conversation about it that leads to a lot of the men asking the Jedi about books they've read which leads to them speaking to EACH OTHER about the books they've read and sharing their opinions about what they liked best.

Slowly, bit by bit, the Jedi start unraveling the terrible Mandalorian and Kaminoan attitudes about mental health that the clones were forced to endure for so long. Slowly, the clones start letting go of that one piece of their culture the Mandalorians had deigned to share with them, and instead choose to embrace the Jedi's culture instead.

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #clone troopers #mandalorian critical #kaminoan critical #mandoclone critical #anti mandoclone

[project-sekai-facts]

It’s Q&A Friday with your host R.Q anon. This weeks question is…

Anything that you wish was more realistic in terms of how the characters perform/make music?

(Personal example in case question makes no sense: I wish Honomi had a card where she wore wristbands and a headband. When you play the drums you sweat a lot and minimizing it vital areas is important when drumming for long periods of time.)

That’s all for this week’s question. See you next week for another Q&A Friday!

Hi rq anon I’m sorry I’m so late to answering this week orz

I’m not that knowledgeable in music performance unfortunately (i played violin for 6 years but the game doesn’t touch a whole lot on Toya’s experience with it compared to piano and also he was. Significantly better than me so) but I have. Something kinda related?

^ This is an unrealistic depiction of student filmmaking

I will admit, I have not had a chance to read this event yet with how busy I’ve been with college, so don’t take this seriously at all, but from what I’ve gathered, and also just this card, this is the least chaotic student film I have ever seen.

Like, I go to film school. I’ve had to make a few short films. At best we just mess around a bit (a lot) while filming, and at worst some of our team dips and the remaining crew just start playing smash bros instead. And this is with small 3-6 person groups. How the hell are they making this big production with the proper equipment and organisation at a general school and a class of like 30 students akajshs?? Maybe that’s just my own experience but still. Whole class activities are a mess always.

The concept of their film though does seem like the kinda shit you get in a student short film though so I’ll give them that.

Also this popped into my head while writing but something closer to the first point would be that wandasho create the scripts/sets/costumes/etc for their plays very quickly a lot of the time. I appreciate Curtain Call for actually acknowledging that that play specifically took multiple months to produce, because sometimes they do these things in much shorter timeframes and god I wish I could work that fast

#asks #mod talks

[write4tomorrow]

Chapter 1: Zeus

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x CIA Agent!Reader

Summary: During the training with Maverick for the mission, the pilots must also complete “hostile condition” training with a CIA interrogator (reader). Hangman thinks this type of training is a waste of time until the reader exposes him. Enemies to Lovers. 

Genre: Adventure / Fluff

A/N: This is the first in a six part series. I had the idea for this story and immediately wrote the first four chapters. More to come soon!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Epilogue (Complete)

Maverick walked into the briefing room with Cyclone and Warlock, glancing at photos on the projected screen. Looking back at him were the faces of the best pilots in the Navy - including Rooster. 

“Is there a problem, captain?” Cyclone asked. Maverick looked at Rooster’s face.

“You know there is,” Maverick clenched his jaw and turned back to face Cyclone. 

“Bradley Bradshaw,” Cyclone nodded, “You flew with his old man.”

“I’ve known him since he was a kid. Don’t make me choose-” Maverick was silenced with a wave of Cyclone’s hand. He nodded at Warlock. 

“In addition to your flight training,” Warlock explained, “the pilots will be given what the CIA calls, ‘hostile environment’ training. We’re doing everything we can to make sure they’re ready for this mission, captain. Meaning the pilots will be equipped by the best to fly themselves home and to survive enemy interrogation tactics if they are forced to eject.” 

“You say ‘the best’ but who…” Maverick turned back toward the projector screen as a new face appeared. Maverick’s jaw dropped. “No-” Maverick hissed.

“You know her?” Warlock asked. Maverick nodded. Cyclone raised an eyebrow, but Maverick’s gaze was glued to your illuminated face.

“She’s been one of Rooster’s best friends since they were stationed together.” Maverick turned back towards Warlock and Cyclone. “She was doing work for the Navy. She has the best poker face I've ever seen. Nearly swindled me out of a small fortune playing cards. But y/n and Rooster - I’m not going to risk both of them.”

“She isn’t going with them, Captain. She’s just training the pilots.” Warlock said slowly. Maverick noticed the way Warlock kept glancing at Cyclone. 

“She’s the best. She’ll get the pilots ready.” Cyclone said, keeping his eyes on Maverick. 

“You’ve met her?” Maverick asked. 

“She’s my daughter, Captain.” Cyclone answered. 

The bar was so crowded. Even for a weeknight. Still, you were glad to be back at Top Gun and were practically giddy when you saw Penny behind the bar of The Hard Deck. When she noticed you, Penny’s eyes went wide. She slid out from behind the bar and pulled you into a crushing hug. 

“How’s your dad, kiddo?” Penny asked, pulling back to look at your face. Before you can answer, you hear your name from somewhere near the pool tables. 

“Go,” Penny says with a wink, “we’ll talk later.” She pushes you towards the crowd of young pilots and you rush right past the seated Maverick. 

“She didn’t even notice me,” Maverick muttered to Penny. “She still has that same smile, though.”

“What smile,” Penny asked. 

“The one that means trouble.” Maverick said as he watched you give Rooster a hug. Bradley towered over you and something in Maverick’s heart ached when he saw how familiar you two seemed. He was even surprised to see you hug a few of the other pilots. Harvard, Yale, Fritz. How many of these guys did you already know?

“Look who’s in town!” Phoenix passed her pool stick to Rooster to give you a tight hug. You hugged her back, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. 

“What are you doing here?” Rooster asked. You cleared your throat, wondering how much you were allowed to say. You settled for silence and gave Rooster one of your famous grins. 

“I guess the spy master still has her secrets,” Phoenix said, knowing what the look meant. But Rooster wasn’t going to let it go. He asked again and you knew you needed to tell him something. Luckily, someone interrupted you before you could even think of a good excuse. 

“Who do we have here, Phoenix? Don’t tell me you brought a friend to Top Gun.” You saw Phoenix roll her eyes before you turned to find the speaker. He was tall, just as tall as Rooster, with a grin that could rival your own. You marveled at how pristine his uniform, hair, watch, - even the stupid toothpick in his mouth - seemed to be. 

This one has an ego, you told yourself. Years of training and learning how to read people meant that you were very good at making first impressions. You knew what ego’s meant at Top Gun. Sure, they were a dime a dozen, but they were also dangerous. 

You decided to play into the man’s ego. 

“You look like you were made by the greek gods,” you said, giving the newcomer your most awed expression. Hangman’s smile widened as you bashfully glanced away. You heard Rooster groan from behind you. But your eyes briefly slid to Phoenix. The female pilot had a grin on her face, she knew the game you were playing. 

“We call him Hangman,” she said, nodding her head at the guy. You turned your attention back to him. He leaned in a little closer, placing his drink on the pool table by his hip. He leaned in so that his face was close to yours. 

“But you can call me Zeus. Let me buy you a drink,” Hangman said with a wink. “And you know what they said about the god of lightning-”

“Oh, so you’re an inbred kid,” you said, trying not to let your glee show too much, “Don’t worry, I’ll speak very slowly so you can understand me.” You paused for a moment to take in Hangman’s shocked face. Then, you flicked the toothpick out of his mouth before gently patting his cheek. There was laughter around you and you were pretty sure Rooster choked on his drink.

“Well,” you said, taking Hangman’s drink off the pool table, “my name is y/n and I’m about to hand your ass to you in this game of pool.” You winked up at Hangman as you took a sip from his beer. It wasn’t your favorite flavor, but the expression on Hangman’s face was delicious. 

“It didn’t take long for her to find trouble,” Penny said. She and Maverick had been watching you tease Hangman. Maverick found himself smiling, enjoying the way Rooster cheered you on as you began your game of pool. 

Maverick began thinking about the coming weeks and the training that would probably wear down on you and the pilots. 

“Why are you making that face?” Penny asked, turning her full attention to Maverick.

“This might be a long few weeks.” Maverick said with a sigh. 

Indeed, the next morning came too quickly and seemed to be drawn out for far too long. Maverick entered the room with the waiting pilots as Cyclone introduced him. It was by no means a warm welcome. Hangman groaned when he realized that he had physically thrown his new instructor out of a bar the night before. Rooster was staring daggers through Maverick. Even the awkward Bob seemed to pick up on the tension in the room. But Maverick continued to outline his plan for the week to the pilots. 

“So suit up.” Maverick finished, “We’re starting dog fights today.” He moved to leave the room, but Cyclone quickly stepped in. 

“Hang on,” he said, giving Maverick a glance, “You’ll have one more instructor.” Maverick listened to Cyclone explain that hostile interrogation tactics will also be part of the pilot’s training. Maverick couldn’t help but smile as you walked in, letting Cyclone list your credentials. He found his gaze going to Rooster who was giving you a small, understanding nod. Did he not know you were going to be helping the navy with this mission? 

Maverick didn’t have much time to wonder because his attention was quickly pulled to Hangman. The others had seen you by now and quite a few of them were whispering among themselves. Hangman’s shoulders dropped when he saw you. 

Your eyes locked with his and there was no hint of the playfulness you had displayed at the bar last night. Instead, you looked entirely professional, cold, and stared at Hangman with an evaluating once over.

“Today you will focus on flying,” Cyclone finished, “your training with Ms. y/l/n will begin tomorrow after she’s had a chance to observe everyone. For now, go get ready for dog fights with Maverick. You are dismissed.” 

Hangman was the first pilot to leave the room.

Part 2

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think or feel free to give any helpful feedback.

#hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun x reader #top gun imagine

[prof-peach]

ADOPTABLES NOW LOOKING FOR A HOME £25 (British Pound) per mon, Paypal only, First come first serve, DM to proceed with a paypal email for the invoice should you be interested.

HOUNDOURXPOOCHYENA -------- SOLD MECH RATTATA --------------------- SOLD ODDISH (CRETA) -------------------- SOLD MAGIKARPXCARVANHA ----------- SOLD

------------------------------Bio's below-------------------------------

As you approach the adoption booth nestled beside a smoothie stand, and a small shack renting wetsuits for the ocean close by, a woman with dark hair tied back smiles in your direction. The staff member dons the token Dōtaku green shirt, whispering to the cluster of pokemon at her feet, and the one in the tank on the table behind her, all watching on, ever hopeful.

"Welcome to Dōtaku Island's adoption day, we have three sweet mons looking for their forever homes, each with unique personalities, which im sure I can shed some light on for you, if you like?"

As you move along the line, she begins to talk to you about each.

You start on the small pup, a dark furred pokemon that stares up at you with big open eyes, standing just under 2ft in height. "This one was rescued from Magma grunts, a Houndour and Poochyena cross. She was quite agressive at the start of her rehabilitation, but now has passed all saftey measures with flying colours, and enjoys a good scratch on the belly these days. The professors have worked wonders on her, she'd make an excellent companion for anyone who struggles with the cold, but probably not the best for serious battle, as she's a little shy when under direct observation by many people. Her typing is Dark currently, and we dont expect her to gain more than mild fire attacks shoudl she choose to evolve. Warm cuddles are something she specialises in, an ember no doubt may be possible with time, but a mighty flamethrower might not be in her cards. Focus her exercise on agility, she sure can run, and LOVES to chase things, so balls and frisbees are great fun!" Next in the line is a rather old looking Rattata, one hand prostetic, but seemingly dexterous and functional.

"This little fella is affectionatly known as Clank, he walks around and you can hear his little paw on the tiles in the labs, so it kind of stuck. He unfortunatly found his way into some farming equipment that got turned on, and was brought to us as a last chance about three years ago now. He survived against all odds, sadly other professors and medical experts didnt want to give him the chance her deserved due to his common species type. Clank however defeated all odds, recovered, despite losing tail and hand, he was gifted a new one by Professor Grey, and now lives a very busy little life. He loves bananas and peanuts, and has a sharp mind, so needs a lot of enrichment like complex toys and one on one time with a trainer. He's not too good with larger mons, so we advise he have his own space, or go to a home with other smaller pokemon."

The third is a rather large oddish, standing double the size of the average specimine of its kind.

"This lovley lady has been nicknamed Monroe, she's a bit of a diva now, but wasn't always so confident. Professor Peach spent a couple years one on one with her to build up her moral. She came to us with a pretty heavy viral infection that caused dieback in the leaves, and her unusual complexion, the lumps however are superficial, and cause no discomfort, issue, or long term effects other than originally causing her emotional distress. She use to feel less than pretty, we'd had a few trainers pass her up due to hew apperance, they were less than friendly about their opinions of her, as you can imagine they got chewed out pretty badly by Peach and all teh staff who were there to overhear. She felt down, so the one on one time was all about making her feel amazing again! When her leaves started to grow back in we realised she was an unusual species, resembling Aglaonema Creta, a very pretty plant. She is jolly and sweet and kind, and just wants to shine, potentially a great candidate for contests or more flamboyant battles if you were so inclined."

The last in sat in a large tank on teh stall behind her, a grumpy looking water type.

"Mr.Grumpy here isnt all that mean, dont let his expression fool you, he's been looking for a home for a while now, but he just gets passed off as intimidating or scary, so it's been a long journey for him to find that perfect partner. A Magikarp and Carvanha cross, he can be tempermental, a little rough at times, not so easy to handle, but more than capable in a fight. he likes his fin held, and the staff have taken to putting movies on a laptop for him when hes not out in the rivers and waterways. His check ups go swimmingly, pardon the pun, thanks to media distraction. He hardly bites anyone these days, unless youre rude and done ask him before handling him. He's all about polite manners, so if you do that, nothign can go wrong! We're not sure what he'll evolve into if he chooses to, though we have a sneaking suspicion he'd be a water/dark type due to his moveset."

#adoptables #dotaku island #pokemon #pokemon hybrids #prof.peach #prof.grey

[ladamedusoif]

Provenance

A Gentleman Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader Story

Part of the HCU (Heritage Crimes Universe) - click for masterlist

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: Two months after their reunion, the museum curator finds herself on an unexpected Parisian adventure. 

Content warnings: Smut; Oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; discussion of contraception; alcohol consumption; angst; discussion of illegal acquisition of stolen objects during WW2; (ethical) heritage crimes; theft; sort-of fluff; no physical description of Reader beyond her professional attire, though she has a nickname (chérie).

Rating: E (18+ MDNI)

Word count: ~7,500

A/N: They're back! The Thief is just too charming to resist. A follow-up to My Kiss, Only For You and Reunions.

I am no longer using a taglist: please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my work.

The package is, unmistakably, a book. Wrapped in brown paper, a neatly-typed address label affixed to the front. No return address. 

It’s pretty explicitly addressed to you, though. Right down to the department. You rack your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ordered something and forgotten. Or maybe it’s a gift?

You slip it out of the wrapping carefully. The dust jacket design suggests it’s from the 1950s, 1960s at the latest, but it’s in impeccable condition. 

The Museums of Paris: A Guide

The front cover features a photo of the Louvre, the facades still soot-blackened before their cleaning in the later part of the twentieth century, with beautifully-dressed tourists milling around the old entrance to the museum. 

Before you can leaf through the book, seeking a receipt or gift card or invoice of some kind, your desk phone rings. The museum director. And they want to speak to you: now. 

***

“We’ve had an…unusual request.”

You slip into the old leather chair opposite the director’s desk, covered in papers and catalogues. “An unusual request?”

She takes off her dark-framed glasses and smiles. “One of our major donors. They’re potentially about to buy some important art objects from a private Parisian collector, and we are hoping that - in time - they might donate them to us.”

“Okay…”

“But they don’t feel entirely confident appraising the collection without expert guidance.”

You nod slowly. 

The director looks at you as if she’s waiting for the penny to drop. 

“They want you to go to Paris with them, as an expert consultant. They will pay for all your expenses, travel, per diems - the lot.”

You just about manage to stop your jaw falling open. 

“Um…why me? I’m not one of the senior curators or object specialists, maybe they…”

She holds up a perfectly-manicured hand. “Stop there. The donor has explicitly requested you. They believe you are the best equipped to manage their needs on this job.”

“Uh… okay. So, when do I leave?”

She grins. “Two days’ time. And bring some decent clothes - you know how formal some of the French collectors can be.”

As you return to the office, a sensual memory flashes through your brain. Velvet, the colour of good Burgundy wine. Soft lips, coarse beard. Warm bodies pressed together. The most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, maybe ever.

It couldn’t be, surely. It was almost two months since that night and there’d been no missive, no note, nothing. The director said “them”, didn’t she? Not “he”. 

Besides, she’d said the donor was buying the objects. Not, you chuckle to yourself as you sit at your desk, stealing them. However ethical his motives may be. 

Still. No harm in packing some nice lingerie. Just in case.

***

It is still dark when your phone buzzes to let you know that the car - paid for and sent by the client - is waiting outside, ready to bring you to the airport for your transatlantic flight to Paris. 

You’d expected an Uber, not the gleaming black vehicle pulled up outside your building. Suitcase securely stowed, the driver points out the bottled water and snacks located in the back of the car as he sets off through deserted city streets. 

The surprises keep coming. You are in business class, not coach, for the long flight, resisting the urge to kick your feet and squeal with delight at the unexpected luxury. A smartly-dressed man holds a sign with your name on at Arrivals, and for a moment you wonder if this is the client. He’s another driver, of course - a charming and funny young Frenchman called Youssef, who speaks English with a vague American accent he says he picked up from TV and movies. 

Youssef whisks you into the city, pointing out landmarks along the way. The Eiffel Tower comes into view on the other side of the river as the black car negotiates elegant, narrow streets lined with perfectly-maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings. 

“Et voilà!” Youssef stops the car and hops out to retrieve your suitcase. You step out, expecting to see the entrance to a hotel - but instead it’s just another residential building, sealed off from the city by two huge, heavy, dark green doors. 

With a bright smile, Youssef taps a little tag off a keypad and one of the doors swings open, revealing a passage leading to a gorgeous courtyard beyond. He refuses your tip - “it’s all good, madame!” - and instead picks up your bag and leads the way, opening another door to reveal the entrance hall proper. The marble floor is polished to perfection; dark red carpet covers the staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft; and there is not a sound to be heard.

”Sixth floor, madame. They’re waiting for you there.” He slides back the door of the elevator, slots your case in beside you, and presses the button. “Have a nice day!”

The elevator is old - possibly pre-World War One, you muse, unable to turn off the specialist’s mind - and slow. As it ascends, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and process this strange little adventure. 

If this was a movie, you’d be walking into a meeting of a criminal gang - or maybe to your death, you suddenly think, panic taking over for a second as the lift comes to a shuddering stop and you step out onto the sixth floor landing.

There is only one apartment entrance up here, as far as you can see. Dark red double doors, perfectly polished brass doorknobs and fittings adorning them, and a tiny doorbell discreetly tucked alongside the doorframe on one side. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hover your finger over the button. 

The door to the apartment swings open just as your fingertip makes contact with the doorbell, setting off a loud, sonorous bell somewhere within and making you jump.

”Bienvenue, chérie. Come in, won’t you? I do hope I haven’t frightened you.”

***

“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”

He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room. 

“Do you think I’m a normal person?”

You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”

He smiles in satisfaction, eyes taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.

”It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs. 

Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him. 

“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”

He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”

The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?

“So my invitation here was just an excuse to see me, is that it? Because you weren’t back in the city yet?”

He looks at you in surprise. “Of course not! I mean, I’m very happy to see you again.” A little smile, eyes twinkling. “But no, I need your expertise. And your company is…a nice bonus.”

“My expertise?”

He sits back and crosses his legs, holding your gaze. “You are a specialist in the kinds of decorative arts and objects in Madame Deseine’s collection, I believe. And you are fluent in French. Year abroad in Lyon, correct?”

Your mouth falls open and you quirk your head. “How did… have you been… were you digging for information on me? That’s a violation of trust, and -“

He interrupts your fury with a chuckle. “Chérie, it’s all on your museum staff page profile. Qualifications, time abroad, special areas of expertise.”

You blush, embarrassed, and stare down into the dark swirl of your coffee as an awkward silence takes hold in the apartment’s tasteful interior. 

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, you are exactly the right person for the job.” 

He extends a hand towards yours, long fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. When you look up, his dark eyes are warm and genuinely apologetic. 

“I guess I’m not used to being…pursued, like this.”

He arches an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

You smirk and stand up. “In every sense, Thief. Now: are you going to explain this ‘job’ to me or not?”

His gaze - taking you in, a smile on his lips - is enough to set you aflame. 

“I am. But over dinner, I think.”

***

The waiter perfectly pours a little more white wine into each of your glasses before returning the bottle to the stainless steel ice bucket and leaving the two of you to your meals. 

He raises his glass to you, and you return the gesture.

You were not surprised when the car had pulled up outside an elegant, discreet restaurant tucked away in the Seventh Arrondissement. It was exactly his style: subtle, timeless, and exuding quality even before he held the door open and you stepped inside.

“So.” He swallows a bite of his monkfish and takes a sip of wine. “Madame Deseine.”

“Madame Deseine.”

You start to eat your meal as he explains. A genuine and respected art collector, Madame Deseine lived outside Paris in her family’s country estate, surrounded by an exceptional array of mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century paintings, decorative arts, sculpture and furniture. As she grew older, she had begun to sell some parts of the collection - but remained extremely guarded about its exact contents.

“There are some…questions about the provenance of some of the items in the collection, or at least items we think are in the collection. Mostly late nineteenth-century decorative arts - clocks, vases, that sort of thing - but also some small art nouveau sculptures and figurines.”

You take a sip of your wine and narrow your eyes. “And this is where you come in?”

He nods. 

“You’re planning to steal some of her collection?”

He shakes his head, pauses, then nods before shaking his head again.

“Kind of, not really. Didn’t you hear what I said about provenance?”

“You think she’s not being entirely honest about her methods, about how she came by the collection?” In a world increasingly attuned to the repatriation of looted and stolen objects to their rightful place, you were deeply familiar with the importance of the provenance paper trail. 

He dabs at the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “Some of the collection. I believe that some of the collection came into her family as a result of looting and theft, that these items were not restored to their rightful owners, and that she is well aware of this fact.”

“You know that some of the most important art collectors in France before the war were Jewish families, no doubt.” You nod and he continues. “And that many of those families, even if they were in the minority lucky enough to escape the round-ups and the camps, had to leave behind those collections.”

”And when they were gone, the collections were…dispersed.”

He shakes his head. “Not dispersed. Stolen. Some of the surviving members of those families had their possessions located and restored, but not all. And I have been reliably informed that some of those missing items are currently in the hands of Madame Claudine Deseine.”

You swallow a bite of your salmon and size him up. “Aha. And this is why an ethical gentleman thief is required, I suppose?”

He gives you a knowing smile. The way the candlelight catches the coppery flecks in his brown eyes makes your breath catch for an instant. 

“I have been asked by a number of individuals to retrieve the objects stolen from their families over eighty years ago, and which have made their way into Madame Deseine’s collection without regard for their provenance.” He chews thoughtfully on a steamed green bean. 

“So where, exactly, do I come in, Thief?”

”I am going to buy some of the collection. But in order to be sure that the missing objects are in the Deseine chateau and to cross-check the gaps in the provenance records…I need to gain her trust. Or rather - you need to gain her trust.”

You raise your eyebrows and take another sip of wine. You might need something stronger by the end of the night.

”You aren’t seriously asking me to steal art, are you?” you hiss. He shakes his head furiously.

”Absolutely not. But I know Claudine Deseine’s reputation, and I know she won’t just let a potential buyer see the whole of her collection. She will, however, be a little more welcoming to a specialist who has kindly agreed to evaluate the items properly. Oh, and to look through the provenance records, to save us all time.”

”So what, I just turn up with you and hope she lets me into her secret stash of stolen stuff?”

He chuckles at the alliteration. “Not quite. But you may need to butter her up, tell her you’ve heard extraordinary things about the rare items she has, ask if she might let you see these things you’ve only read about in catalogues. And when you’re in, you can use your expertise to confirm that these are the items we are looking for, and then look for any gaps or obvious forgeries in the accompanying paperwork.”

”And how, exactly, do you propose to liberate the items from this chateau?”

He taps his nose. “Chérie, telling you that would make you completely complicit. I will handle it, you will wait in the apartment.”

You purse your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Deseine has knowingly sat on these things too long - why else would she hide these valuable items from any public descriptions of her collection? The government ignores the claims from the descendants because, for the most part, they live in the US.” He finishes the remaining wine in his glass. “And I, personally, cannot resist a challenge.”

“I have one condition. Apart from not becoming more implicated in this than I already am.”

“Name it.”

”That. That’s my condition. I want your name.”

He chuckles and looks down at his empty dinner plate. “Chérie, I cannot.”

”You’re asking me to help you steal back some very valuable art, and you can’t give me your name?”

”If you know my name you will know too much. And I don’t know why you need to know, anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “I like to know who I’m working with. And, on occasion, who I’m sleeping with, or who’s eating me out on my desk.”

To your satisfaction, he splutters on his sparkling water. 

”I still can’t tell you,” he says, recovering his composure.

”Nothing stopping me guessing, though,” you whisper mischievously. “Let’s see. Giacomo.”

He gives you a withering glance.

”Not that, then…Pietro.”

An eye-roll. 

“Dave.”

”Do I look like a ‘Dave’ to you?”

You giggle as the waiter takes away your empty plates. “No, that’s true. Pierre?”

He groans and shakes his head, but his smile is unmistakable. “Don’t make me regret this, chérie.”

***

Back in the apartment, he rummages in a sideboard filled with bottles of various liqueurs and spirits, before producing a bottle of Courvoisier and two cognac glasses.

“A little digestif, if you’d like?” 

You accept your glass gratefully and inhale the complex, fruity aroma of the alcohol, swirling it gently before taking a sip. Its warmth radiates through your body and you close your eyes and savour the sensation, tucking your feet under you as you cosy up on the couch.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

He smiles, looking around the spacious living room, its nineteenth century interior fixtures somehow matching perfectly with the array of impeccably-chosen twentieth-century furniture. 

“My great-great-grandfather bought it, not long after this building was constructed - late nineteenth century, I think. The family business frequently brought him to Paris, and he needed a base.”

“And the family business is…?”

He huffs a laugh. “You are persistent, chérie. Wine. The family business was - is - wine.” 

You raise your eyebrows and nod as if extremely impressed, and he chuckles, revealing the laughter lines around his eyes that lend his handsome face such character. 

“Well, I can’t pretend to be an expert - what do they call it? An…oenophile, is that it? - so I’m not going to ask for any more details, fear not. My wine knowledge extends no further than ‘that’s quite nice, isn’t it.’”

He feigns horror, recoiling back into the cushions of the sofa. “Chérie, I am going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You giggle and take another sip of the cognac. “I’m willing to learn, though.”

“That so? Well, I can be your guide, if you’d like.” He finishes his cognac and licks his lips as he looks at you. 

“I…I would like.”

He smiles, takes your glass, and stands up. You follow his lead, wandering behind him into the kitchen where he deposits the empty glasses on a pristine countertop. Every fibre of your being wants to reach for him, to pull him to you, to have him there and then.

“Chérie, I…didn’t want to presume anything.” He swallows hard and turns to face you, eyes a little wary. “About, uh, sleeping arrangements. Hence the guest bedroom.”

You had changed there earlier - a bright, pretty bedroom at one end of the corridor running along the apartment, complete with its own small en suite bathroom. 

“Oh. Of course.” You flush. “A busy day tomorrow.”

His hand finds yours, long fingers caressing yours before he brings it to his lips for a soft, sustained kiss that does nothing to quench the flames of your desire.

“Indeed. That said, if you want company…”

You see the spark in his eyes: teasing, playful, almost daring you to act first. Instead, you meet his gaze with an enigmatic smile.

He pulls away slightly and arches an eyebrow. “If you want company, I am just down the hall. Bonne nuit, chérie.”

***

In the quiet of the guest room you slip out of your clothes and into a wine-coloured silk robe you’d found hanging on the back of the door, freshly pressed. You retrieve your washbag and toiletries and set about your nightly routine. 

You hoped it would be a distraction from the ache between your legs, from the memory of his hand on yours, from the way he looked at you, from his offer of company. From the wet patch you’d noticed on your panties as you undressed. 

“Fuck.”

You close your eyes and lean on the sink for a moment as you take a deep breath before reaching for your moisturiser.

***

He’s sitting on his bed, stripped to his boxers and clad in his own, navy blue silk robe. It hangs open around his body, the colour a perfect complement for his golden skin. 

A knock. He lifts his head from his papers.

“Come in, chérie.”

She peeks playfully around the door. “I was wondering if that offer was still valid. I think I do want some…company.”

“It’s still valid.” He tidies away the paperwork and pats the space beside him on the large bed. “What kind of company did you have in mind?”

She crosses the room, hands reaching for the sash of her guest robe. It falls open as she reaches the bed, revealing the lacy bra and matching French knickers underneath. He inhales sharply, cock twitching at the sight. 

“Up to you. This is your turf, after all.” 

“Ah, but you’re the guest, chérie. Your preference is what counts.”

She shucks off the robe and climbs onto the bed, swiftly straddling him. With a slow roll of her hips, she drags her pussy over his hardening cock, the outline visible under his dark boxers.

“This is my preference. Does it work for you, too, Thief?”

He answers with a hungry kiss as he pulls her tight to him.

***

He tastes of mint and cinnamon and the faintest trace of Courvoisier. You had missed his mouth.

His fingers unhook the clasps of your bra and he tugs it off you, discarding it to a corner of the room. He breaks the kiss, lips pink and wet, and turns his attention to your tits: cupping them, fondling them, squeezing them with his broad hands before he starts to suck on each nipple in turn.

You toss back your head and bite your lip, stifling a loud moan. He releases your breast with a pop of his mouth.

“This apartment is the entire top floor, chérie. You can be as loud as you wish.”

Two fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties and find the warm wetness that’s been building between your legs all day. He looks up at you and grins. 

“On your back, amor.”

French knickers off, he gently pushes your thighs back before resting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face against your pussy with a delighted groan, the delicious timbre of his voice rumbling against your core. 

He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, a hand pressing against your belly as your hips instinctively buck upwards with pleasure and need. His tongue swirls lasciviously across your folds, lapping up the wetness, before he begins to suck on your clit. Slow at first, a gorgeous torment; then faster, more insistent, the tip of his tongue flicking over and back over the swollen nub rhythmically in time with your needy moans and whimpers. 

He keeps it up as he slips first one, then two fingers inside you and hooks them just so, chuckling when you cry out.

“Fuck…I’m close, I -“

You let go. You come hard against his face, ecstasy coursing through your body as he keeps on fucking you through it with his fingers, gently pulling out when he senses your overstimulation. 

He moves up and lies beside you, face to face. 

“You enjoyed that.”

You try to slow your breathing. “You think?”

He chuckles, tracing the curve of your hip with his hand. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“And no jewel theft involved this time. So far, anyway.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, humming contentedly as he reaches for your breast, idly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. 

You study his features for a moment, noting the handful of freckles on his face, the way his dark lashes look against his cheeks, the gloss of your own slick shimmering across his pink lips, his chin, his moustache. 

This time, when your tongue swipes against his mouth, he tastes of you. 

You gather some of your own wetness on your fingers by way of lubrication, before tugging down his boxers and taking his cock in your hand. He closes his eyes as you stroke him slowly, steadily, feeling him growing harder under your careful touch.

With your free hand you caress the side of his face, thumb rubbing gently against the grey patches in his beard. 

“I want you, Thief.” 

He opens his eyes and smiles before gently moving your hand away from his cock. He shucks off his robe and shifts into position above you, arms caging your body on either side. 

“You know, I’m on birth control,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you were the last person I was with, and before that…well, it had been a while.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Same. Well, not the birth control, evidently…but the rest. No one but you, not for some time. So…?”

You trail your fingers over his chest, dappled here and there with freckles, and he leans down to kiss you. Different, this time - softer, less desperate, more…tender.

“So you can have me bare, if you want.” 

“Oh fuck, chérie. Yes. Please.” He gestures with his head. “Turn, get on all fours.”

You do as you are told, teasingly wiggling your ass at him once you’re in position. He gives it a light slap and you squeal approvingly until the feeling of his cock opening you up makes you catch your breath.

He sinks slowly inside you, pausing when he’s fully sheathed in your warm pussy. You can hear his breathing becoming a little ragged, hitching as he adjusts to the feeling.

”Feel good, Thief?”

”Incredible, amor. You?” 

“Fucking amazing.”

He takes you slowly at first, a long drag out, a quicker thrust back inside, and builds up a rhythm quickly. The angle is nothing short of perfect and you bury your face against the covers, whining with pleasure. He reaches down and grabs one of your breasts, fingers pressing into the flesh as he fucks you harder and faster. 

“Such a beautiful body, amor. So soft and warm and fuck, such a tight little pussy for me. You feel so perfect on my cock.”

He’s hitting you just right now, another orgasm building rapidly until you come for the second time, muffling your cries in the blankets. You turn to look at him: broad body glistening with perspiration, errant curls falling over his forehead and darkened with sweat, that gorgeous head thrown back as he gets closer and closer.

”Come on, Thief.” You purr your encouragement, never taking your eyes off him. “Come on. Come. Fill me up.”

He comes hard, with a loud cry, hands gently caressing your hips as he finishes deep inside you. 

”I think you missed me.” 

He flops back on the bed and turns to face you as you nestle against him. A mischievous grin plays around his lips. “What on earth makes you say that, chérie?”

You kiss his forehead, tasting the salty sweetness of his damp skin. “Just a hunch. By the way, I have an even better reason why I need to know your name.”

He groans and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Well?”

”Well…if I knew your name, I could scream it out loud the next time you make me come like that.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “You could, I suppose.”

”So? What’s your name…Pablo.”

He fixes you with a teasing glare. “Not Pablo.”

”James. Jimmy. Jimbob?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing this time. “Fine. Fine. Let’s make a deal. If we succeed with Madame Deseine, I’ll give you a name.”

”A name?” The distinction is striking.

”A name. It may or may not be my name. But it will be a name. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

The morning mist hangs low over the French countryside as you drive through the enormous gateway that divides the Deseine estate from the rest of the world, and follow the long drive up to the chateau proper.

You had expected that Youssef would be on driving duty. But it was your gentleman thief at the wheel of the understated hire car, confidently navigating the autoroutes and trunk roads that led to your destination. For a moment you imagine a parallel universe where you are just a normal couple on a normal holiday, not a nameless thief and a museum curator plotting to relieve a woman of her family’s ill-gotten gains.

He had slept well, it seemed. You? Not so much. In the wee small hours of the morning, you lay awake, listening to his steady breaths and ruminating over what, exactly, you were doing here - and why.

He isn’t your partner. Not your boyfriend. Hell, you don’t know if you could call this “dating”. You don’t even know who he is. He stole from your employer because you let your pussy override your brain. He brought you to Paris to aid and abet in another theft. And, instead of turning on your heel and trying to protect your professional reputation, you’d not only agreed to his scheme - you’d fucked him. Again. 

You’d tossed and turned on the pillows as you tried to quiet your mind enough for sleep. Was this really just about sex? Or was something else pulling you into each other’s orbits?

The Deseine chateau emerges at the end of the driveway. It appears at first glance to date from the eighteenth century, with some later additions and extensions. He pulls up near the main door and hops out of the car, quickly bounding over to the passenger side so he can hold the door for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you whisper, straightening the smart blazer and palazzo pants you’d worn for the occasion. 

“At your service,” he replies with a subtle wink. “Just as I was when you needed…company. How are you feeling this morning, by the way? Satisfied, I hope.”

Before you can answer, the enormous main doors of the chateau swing open and a petite woman with snow-white hair emerges, clad in a vintage bouclé Chanel skirt and matching jacket. He moves swiftly up the steps to shake her hand, speaking too quietly for you to pick up on whatever name he’s using today.

“And this is my expert, my advisor, my guiding light!” He gestures towards you, motioning for you to join them. You introduce yourself with a bright smile, trying to read the older woman’s expression, to get a sense of how you might gain her trust.

“It is an honour to be here, Madame. I’m so excited to see the collection.”

Claudine Deseine casts an appraising glance over you from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied, she extends her hand in greeting and addresses you in clipped, precise English. 

“It is very special, I think you’ll agree. Now, do come in - I’ll have my housekeeper Maryam bring us some coffee, and then we can take a look at the objects we’ve discussed.”

***

He is gentlemanly charm personified, you think, watching him follow Madame Deseine around the house. He flirts just enough to have the older woman like putty in his hands, listens attentively, laughs at her jokes, and looks at her with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. 

The recognition gives you pause, but you push it to the back of your mind. You have a plan to stick to today.

She leads the two of you into a bright room at the back of the chateau, overlooking a gorgeous French-style formal garden. “Well, here they are.” She gestures towards a large oak table in the middle of the room, where a variety of figurines and decorative objects are set out. You’d known what to expect: mostly art nouveau, dating from decades either side of 1900; some bronze figures; some beautifully-decorated ceramics, glazes still bright and vibrant; and what you immediately recognise as a small, early Lalique crystal vase.

He claps his hands together in what looks like genuine delight, eyes widening as he moves closer to the table. “May I?”

Madame Deseine beams and nods. He carefully picks up one of the vases, inspecting the swirling, sinuous curves of its painted decoration before checking the makers’ marks on the bottom of the piece. 

“Extraordinary,” he says in a rapt whisper.

“Madame?” She turns to face you. “Would it be possible for me to see the paperwork while he - while my client is inspecting the objects? It would save your valuable time, and you’ve already been so kind to accommodate us.”

She beams. “Of course. Follow me, won’t you?” She opens another door leading off the room and pauses for a moment. 

“I’ll be back tout de suite, monsieur,” she purrs at him as he peers at a bronze figurine. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“You really are most kind, Madame.” He winks, and the esteemed Claudine Deseine titters like a schoolgirl.

***

She flicks a switch and illuminates a large, windowless room located at the rear of the house, in what you suspect might be the former servants’ quarters. “Et voilà. The archive.”

The walls are lined with shelving, filled with hundreds of archive boxes and files. You begin to scan the shelves, trying to work out a pattern in the filing system. 

“They are labelled according to date of acquisition,” she explains. “Achats, purchases, by year.”

You look at her with an expression that you hope conveys innocent confusion. “Gosh, it’s all such a lot. Could you give me dates for the items being sold? Ballpark, if necessary - I just know he’s a stickler for the paperwork but he’s impatient and he won’t take kindly to me taking a long time in here…”

She smiles and nods sympathetically, and for a moment you feel incredibly guilty. “Ah. Men. I understand, my dear.” She pulls out an unmarked, unlabelled box file from the top shelf and retrieves a spiral-bound book.

“This is strictly entre-nous, my dear. My personal catalogue. Everything by date. Let this be your guide. And now, I must return to monsieur.” She looks at you conspiratorially. “If he becomes - how do they say it, antsy? - then he can simply take a walk in my beautiful gardens, hmmm?”

***

He strolls past the elegantly-trimmed box hedges as he makes his way to the elaborate water feature at the centre of the gardens. He couldn’t quite believe how well it had all worked out, so far - your complaint about his impatience had, as planned, won you her sympathy and with it an order from the lady of the house to go and see the gardens while you worked through the papers. 

If necessary, he’d have feigned illness, claimed he needed some air. But it’s always better when they play right into your hands, with something they believe is their idea. 

The gardens are perfectly positioned to give him a view of the back of the house: the doors leading to a terrace, the smaller windows and discreet servants’ entrance. His dark eyes survey the building closely, making a mental map he’ll refer to when he finalises the plan. He has his suspicions, but he needs you to confirm exactly where the collections are hidden. For now, he just hopes you can unlock the final part of the puzzle. 

***

A knock on the door announces the return of Claudine Deseine. 

“Well, have you found what you needed? I do hope the catalogue was useful.”

Little do you know, Madame. 

You replace the lid on a box of papers and nod at a stack of receipts and records of authenticity relevant to the items he was perusing for purchase. 

“Very useful, thank you, Madame.” 

You swallow hard and slow your breathing as you follow her out of the room. 

“Madame, may I - may I make a somewhat bold request?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You may. What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the entries for some of Lalique’s cire perdue work when I was looking at the catalogue. Pieces so rare that we only know they exist because of René Lalique’s own records…”

“Yes. And?” 

“My masters dissertation was on Lalique, Madame. Is there…would you…could I…?”

She stares at you before her features soften into a smile. 

“You want to see them, don’t you?”

***

“Well?”

He waited until you were out of the estate before asking the question, not seeming to notice how quiet you’d been since getting back in the car.

“They’re there. The three Lalique pieces, that rare Sevres vase. She was only too happy to show me.”

“Did you check the makers’ marks?”

You nod, gazing out of the window. “I did. They’re the right pieces. Those Laliques are one of a kind. In different circumstances, it would have been a joy to see them.”

“And the papers?”

He takes the turn to merge onto the autoroute back to Paris, and you wish the nagging doubts about this whole sorry enterprise - about him - would dissipate.

“The private catalogue clearly states when they were acquired, but with no corresponding archival code numbers. I checked the boxes for those years carefully, just to be sure…but there’s no paper trail. Just a note in each catalogue entry recording the dealer they came from - all from the same man.”

He nods, satisfied. “And the room itself? What’s access like?”

“I sent you some photos earlier.” While Madame Deseine had been taking the priceless objects out of their storage boxes, you had snapped some surreptitious pictures. “Access may not be straightforward, though, given the absence of a window.”

He chuckles. “Leave that to me.”

“Won’t she know that you’ve taken the pieces, by the way?”

“F is for Fake, chérie. Nothing some good forgeries cannot fix.”

***

You spend the rest of the journey in silence, while he rambles about various subjects: French motorways, private chateaux, Lalique’s cire perdue process, in which a vase is formed within a one-off wax mould that was discarded afterwards, rendering the pieces unique - and extremely valuable.

“The descendants of the original owners still have, in some cases, the provenance records for these items,” he explains as he parks the car and taps the sensor to open the door into the building. “And now, soon, they’ll have their rightful inheritance.”

You don’t know whether to snap at him or burst into tears.

He takes your coat and saunters into the apartment’s small kitchen, still talking to you as he audibly potters around, opening cupboards and taking out dishes and glassware. You are not really listening, still caught up in your own thoughts. Why the fuck were you here? Were you really willing to risk your entire reputation for a crush and some sex? You’d been lucky to escape any questioning or punishment after the theft of the ruby, after all. 

And what if, as you wondered in the chateau when he was so flirtatious and charming with Madame Deseine, he was just using you? Your knowledge and your veneer of professional respectability helped him steal. Your desire and your body got him off. Win-win for him, but a potentially devastating loss for you.

“Chérie? Didn’t you hear me?”

He’s standing at the narrow door into the kitchen that adjoins the living room, sweater sleeves rolled up.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What is it?”

“I asked the housekeeper to leave a light dinner for us, as it’s been a long day. It’s nothing fancy - some salads, crudités, cold cuts and cheeses - but I do have a very nice Sancerre chilled in the fridge…”

You force a smile. “That does sound good. I’ll set the table, if you show me where everything is.”

He cheerily opens the various cartons and tubs of food as you ferry the tableware into the open-plan dining area. Behind his usual charming patter, though, is a man increasingly worried about how quiet you’ve been since you left Madame Deseine and her collections earlier that day.

***

“You know you can talk to me, chérie. What’s on your mind?”

Of course he’s noticed. Why wouldn’t he? His perceptiveness is what makes him such an artful, successful thief.

You drain your glass of Sancerre and look him square in the eye.

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine?”

He looks confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine? In your eyes, I mean. Are you using me, like you’re using her?”

“I’m not using Madame Deseine. I’m buying some of her collection so I can liberate the really valuable pieces and get them back where they belong. That’s stealing, not using.”

You exhale, long and slow. “I saw you today. Handling her just like you do me. The charm offensive, the twinkling eyes, the flirting. She, at least, hasn’t slept with you - though I wouldn’t put it past you to try if you thought it would have helped.”

The words leave your lips, and you instantly regret it. So much for rational calm. Now you just sound like a jealous lover.

He looks at you, jaw ticking, and a blend of fury and hurt burning in his dark eyes. 

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“I had to win her over. Just like you did. Or did you forget your part in this?”

“Why am I here, Thief? What do you want from me? There must be hundreds of other experts out there you could have enlisted to help you gain access to the collection, theft or no theft. And if it’s just about sex, well - I suspect there’s no shortage of people who’d be very glad to fuck you. So why me? Or do you just want to ruin me, finish what you started when you tricked and took advantage of me?”

His voice is low and carefully controlled. “You know that’s not what this is, chérie. You know that.”

You push away from the table and stand to face him, flinging down your linen napkin. “So what, then, is it?”

He stares at you and his expression shifts, from glowering to openness. Mouth slightly ajar, he seems to be struggling to find the words.

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Coward.

“I see. Good night, Thief.”

***

Your return flight is booked for the day after tomorrow, and there’s no way you could afford a last-minute ticket for an earlier departure. As you complete your nighttime routine and slip into the guest bed, you resolve to make the most of an unexpected solo day in Paris, looking up current exhibitions and shows at the city’s various museums and galleries. 

You take a herbal sleeping tablet, just in case, and turn off the light.

When you wake in the morning, you find that your pillow is damp from the tears you wept in the night.

His bedroom door is still firmly closed as you pad down the hallway and to the main door. Exploiting you or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t need you for today, the final stage in his plan. There’s a spare keyfob in the drawer of the small hall console table. You slip it in your bag and head out of the apartment and into the city.

***

Museums afford a kind of sanctuary: a quiet space for meditation, reflection, imagination, escape. On a day like today, they enclose you in a safe, comforting cocoon of art and beauty, helping to shield you from the world outside - and from the raging storm of your own thoughts and worries.

You flash your work ID at the entrance to the Petit Palais and are waved through, past the lines of tourists, by virtue of the international reciprocal entry schemes for museum staff. The current temporary show, on Paris in the first decades of the twentieth century, is just what you need by way of distraction, and you lose yourself in artwork after artwork, in no hurry to return to the apartment. 

At the museum’s garden café, you take your time over coffee and cake, occasionally joined by a tiny songbird who seems hell-bent on helping himself to your snack. His daring raids on your slice of carrot cake help to stop your mind from wandering back to the apartment, to him, and to his journey back to the chateau.

***

He’s gone when you get back. Just an envelope on the counter, addressed to you. Normal service, you think, resumed at last.

Chérie,

As planned, I’ve returned to the Deseine estate to finish what we started. I intend to return later tonight, or in the early hours, but promise me that if I do not return, you will take the flight tomorrow evening. 

You must not look for me. Promise me that.

I hope that I might see you before you leave, one way or the other. 

Know that I care for you, chérie. 

Midnight comes and goes with no sight or sound of him.

One. Two. Three. Nothing.

You close your eyes and force yourself to sleep.

***

He whispers to you in your dreams, over and over. He calls out to you. 

“Chérie?”

You open your eyes. In the half-light, you see him. Hair mussed, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt, stripped to the waist. 

He feels real to the touch: warm, solid, the softness of his middle, the strength of his arms and shoulders. His beard bristles so realistically under your lips that you could almost believe he was there.

“Chérie, I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, wordlessly peppering his face with kisses before he wriggles down and nestles his head against your chest, holding you tight to him.

He seems unsettled, distressed, even. Perhaps it had been a narrow escape. Perhaps something had gone wrong. 

No matter. You envelop him with warmth and protection. The way he clings to you, needs you, starts to provide an answer to your questions about the nature of his feelings.

You kiss the top of his head and stroke the scruff on the side of his jaw. He pulls away for a moment to look up at you, all softness and awe and warmth. He motions as if to say something, then stops, pensive, and reaches up to kiss your mouth.

“My name is Alejandro.”

Find out more about the Lalique cire perdue technique here!

If you'd like to read more about the great Jewish art collecting families of pre-war France, I strongly recommend James McAuley's The House of Fragile Things and Edmund de Waal's Letters to Camondo.

#the thief x f!reader #the thief fanfiction #the thief smut #the thief casillero del diablo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #gentleman thief #the heritage crimes universe

[twinksintrees]

I can’t get over Fabian getting everyone gifts. Like, that shows how much he truly does care. By him not telling everyone and keeping it hidden, he proved it wasn’t an ego trip thing, he proved it wasn’t a show of his wealth, he proved how much he listens and understands all of the other bad kids. He gets Fig an engraved ruby guitar pick, not a cheap pick with silly little writing on it, he got that shit fucking ENGRAVED. With the saying Gorthalax’s girl, knowing how much that would mean to Fig even if he doesn’t personally get it. He gets Gorgug a magic axe holster, which is already fucking cool, but then he goes and gets a flower printed in the side, a sign of Gorgug’s more soft nature despite being a fucking dope ass barbarian and a wrecking ball in battle. Adaine,,,Adaine. More than anything she wants a makeover, she wants a shred of individuality her parents didn’t pick for her, she wants to look like a normal kid for once and have a normal life. The best Fabian can provide is a large sum of money for her use and a recommendation to the best tailor in town. Oh and Kristen’s. Kristen’s gift is so. meaningful. they all are, but Fabian’s gift to Kristen, and especially after realizing that is Fabian who hand picked this out for her, truly just gets to me in a way the others can’t even reach. He meets her and she’s this kind of weird, but nice, but weird church kid who is trying to branch out from her religion but still invites them to the prayer chain. He watches as she defeats corn cuties with divine light, she dies and she meets her god, Helio himself. and he watches as her faith begins to crumble. He’s never been religious, he doesn’t know what to say that will help her through this. so he provides a book, something that may contain answers to her questions that he himself will never have. And RIZ. Oh Riz. He gets Riz a briefcase, a beautiful, gorgeous, leather bound briefcase with Riz’s nickname, The Ball, on the front. Inside contain the most elegantly decorated business cards, etched with the most gorgeous penmanship you’ve ever seen. Fabian knows Riz, and he knows Riz needs a good briefcase, so he makes it a bag of holding, a briefcase of holding. He knows he needs business cards, so he makes them himself. After bad times and good times, battles and ice cream, Fabian comes to understand his friends. And they are, truly, his friends. He knows they want to belong, he will give them a title worth bearing. He knows they are unsure of how to carry themself, he will give them a symbol of reassurance. He knows they just want to truly call their own and he will give them all the means to buy it themself. He knows they want to grow and understand more, he may not have the answers personally but he will provide an outlet that might. He knows they are a detective, he knows they have a case. A good detective must have good equipment, he will provide what he can. He wants his friends to know he understands. He sees what they’re all going through. He provides gifts to help them on their journey. He only hopes they work.

#I wrote this at 3:17 in the morning before absolutely crashing and going to sleep #so insane about him #fabian seacaster #fantasy high #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #fig faeth #kristen applebees #riz gukgak