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thedreamlessnights · 2 months

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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tetsuskei · 2 months

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dew mornings and the bond of eternity – tartaglia [nsfw]

synopsis: your angel of a boyfriend makes sure that you know just how well loved you are

notes: for my favorite harbinger, idk what this is but breaking my fic virginity for him with this :]

warnings: fem!reader, reader is insecure, russian pet names, mating press, childe has a foul mouth, biting and marking, slight possession, praise, childe is called by his real name, slight oral fixation, implied oral (female receiving), he is extremely lovesick

you never learned to what extent someone could go when being attentive and observant until you met your boyfriend.

you hate how ajax is able to notice the slightest changes in your mood. you would say he knows you like the back of his hand, but it’s something more than that. almost like the two of you are fused at the souls. bonded for eternity.

so in the dew morning hours when you’re just a little bit quieter, a little more somber as he makes you both breakfast on one of his rare days off, he’s able to notice right away.

he notices your eyes don’t quite catch his own as he jokes about some silly thing one of his siblings did weeks ago, how your smile falters instead of shining bright the way that he loves to see, how you pick at your fingers and gnaw on your lip in thought.

“ptichka?” he hovers over you, taking your face in his hands and pulling you from your thoughts. his cerulean eyes scan you thoroughly. “did you not sleep well?”

“it’s nothing, it was just a silly little dream.” you wave off, smiling weakly. not a lie, technically.

ajax clicks his tongue. stubbornly, he leans into you, the smell of pine and mint following him. “it can’t be silly if it has you upset like this and you’re losing sleep.”

there is no way of lying to ajax. you know this well. he’s a big brother to three siblings, and he’s too good of a detective to be deceived. but that’s to be expected of a harbinger.

after a long, apprehensive pause, you sigh.

“…i had a dream that you cheated on me.” you confess, lowering your gaze to the floor. “and that you left me for someone better.”

it’s stupid. absolutely and utterly ridiculous. ajax has shown you enough love to spill over into your next life. and the next one after that. you could die and come back a thousand times, and there’d still be traces of him left on you. so to tell him this brings you great shame.

the question is, what caused the dream? guilt? shame? maybe you feel he does so much for you, that you’re lacking as a partner. that you could do better.

you wait silently for him to yell, for some sort of outburst to come. but you’re only met with surprise when you feel his hand on your chin.

“can you please look at me?” his voice is soft, and eyes softer as he finally is able to make eye contact with you. he’s so gentle. warm. he only looks at you with love and patience. “thank you, lisichka.”

“i may not have done anything wrong, and i would never cheat—“ he continues with a stern expression, “but i still need you to understand where my feelings lie with you.”

you start to shake your head, “i already know, ‘jax, you have never made me feel like i need to doubt you. i know how much you love me. i promise. i have no idea why i had the dream…but it just made me sad when i woke up.”

you don’t mean to lie about your hidden insecurities, but it’s not a conversation you want to have at the moment. you’d rather just enjoy the time you have currently with your boyfriend peacefully.

luckily, ajax overlooks your fib. he hums, kissing your temple, “how about after we eat, i run us a bath? and we do one of those face masks that you like? something to decompress.”

and for the first time today you smile and agree.

unfortunately it appears ajax is taking your earlier sentiments much more seriously than you thought.

as all dreams and nightmares are short term memory, you long forgot about what it was that made you upset, back to your usual self after the bath.

ajax swaddled you up in a clean towel, and just like he said, did face masks with you. it always makes you giggle seeing your boyfriend using one of your spa headbands to push his hair back. soon both your faces were shiny and clean. refreshed and replenished, you felt brand new.

but little did you know you were now in the jaws of a shark.

you didn’t make it to the bedroom. well, you did, but you didn’t pick up on the ginger’s ulterior motive the minute he kissed your cheek as you sat on the bathroom counter. he carried you to the bedroom, and that’s where it all fell apart.

“‘j-jax—“ you hiccup, gripping tightly onto his bicep. your figure is trembling against his, skin damp with sweat and glued impossibly closer to his.

so much for the bath.

“s-slow down…”

your boyfriend has been at it for awhile now, pummeling your poor insides with his fat cock over and over. the room reeks with the smell of sex, wet sounds imprinted into your mind. you can never forget just how great he makes you feel.

“no,” he huffs, fingers digging into your hips, “you’re not leaving this bed until i’m sure of it.”

confusion resides in you. what exactly is ‘it’?

he’s already worshipped you plenty with just his fingers and tongue. but you don’t dare challenge the primal look in his eyes. he’s absolutely greedy, not even letting you move to take care of him in return in anyway.

you yelp once feeling your lover’s teeth nip into your skin. his tongue laves over the offended area before he kisses the skin.

“how could i find someone better, when there’s not a single person more beautiful or amazing than you?” he pants, pulling away to look at you. his thumb traces your cheek tenderly and his cobalt eyes are trained on your fucked out expression.

“especially when your pussy feels this good? that’s just a bonus.” he rambles, groaning. his hips knock into yours more harshly and you wail.

“you’d have to kill me to separate us.” he admits darkly, but something tells you that even death wouldn’t stop him.

“‘dun want that, want you forever.” you say, clinging impossibly tighter to him.

ajax coos, kissing your nose, “and you have me. because you’re enough. you always will be. you’re perfect.”

his answer satisfies you and you’re kissing him again, nearly having tears permeate at the ducts of your eyes.

he laughs, grinning against you mouth, “milaya, you’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

“i-i” your words still fail to completely return to you but you nod rapidly.

understanding, he taps your bottom lip.

“open,” he commands.

falling in line, ajax pushes his fingers in your mouth. you feel your face heat up from how you taste yourself on him.

“good girl,” he praises, “always so sweet for me, hmm?”

you’re drooling on him, nodding and humming around his fingers with a hazy look in your eyes.

there’s a certain light in his own eyes that only appears when he’s with you, and with the way he is looking at you with complete adoration, you feel absolutely special.

“oh, look how much you’re quivering, you’re almost there. come on.” your boyfriend studies your movements, fucking you with slower, deeper thrusts.

the breath from your lungs nearly escapes you, and you feel a burning feeling in your chest. you’re creaming so much on him that it’s impossible not to hear the lewd noises coming from between your legs.

every sound seems to drive the ginger crazier. “one more, just one more for me, angel and i’ll let you be.” he coaxes, fingers moving again.

“i’m…i’m tired.” you sniff.

“i know, but you look so pretty when you cum. just one more? pretty please? can’t get over how you look. so beautiful…”

his constant praise is enough to make you cum once more, so hard that it blinds you. your mouth falls open in silent awe.

ajax groans, watching you come undone and hissing at the way you’re clamping up on his cock. it should be a crime how good you feel, because he could ever get enough of it.

there’s only a moment before he remembers he still needs to cum, and then he’s pawing and begging.

“fuck, let me cum in you…please…” his face is buried in your neck and a small whimper escapes him once he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together.

he’s shivering and hot, and his cock is extremely sensitive. every drag of himself against your walls drives him insane. he’s dizzy, nearly delirious with how much he’s holding back.

“wanna fill you up so badly, please lisichka.” he continues, pressing searing kisses to your shoulder. “want you leaking with all of my cum…want all of it in you.”

you don’t think he’s looking at you while he babbles and pleads to breed you, and you shiver at how predatory he looks at your lower abdomen. you lock your legs tighter around him, ignoring the overstimulation creeping up in you.

“yes, ajax. please. w-want all your cum. want you to fill me up!” you whine, a sound that makes his heart and cock swell all at the same time.

your next words startle him even further.

“i love you.”

and he snaps.

“hah—ah, fuck!” ajax curses, hips stuttering in their pace. he groans loudly, feeling himself spill into you. there’s spots in his vision from how hard he’s cumming and he wonders if this is what celestia is.

you gasp, jerking when warmth spreads throughout all of you. you can feel the throbbing of your boyfriends cock and his heavy load.

coming down from both of your highs, the two of you laugh.

“you surprise me every time.” you tease quietly, eyeing a bite mark on your thigh.

the ginger looks bashful, hiding his face in your shoulder. “sorry…didn’t mean to be so rough…”

“if i wanted you to stop at anytime, i would’ve told you.” you reassure, petting his head.

he plants a kiss on your skin. “good. and for the record, i love you too.” he murmurs. “feel better?”

“i felt better after the delicious breakfast you made, but you took it a couple of steps further like you always do.” you giggle, leaning into his chest.

ajax grins, kissing the crown of your head, “well, i could tell something else was on your mind, but you weren’t telling me.”

“you know me way too well. it’s terrifying.”

he puffs his chest out, “what can i say? i can and will only provide the absolute best for you.”

“i don’t like leaving you alone for as long as i do…i will try to get them to let me take work closer to home.” he adds, playing with your fingers.

and the beam on your face is all worth it. “really?”

“really. i’m not around a lot for you to do things for me, and i get why you may feel that you need to be better. but i adore you just how you are. i’m sorry for not being more present.”

“it’s okay, i understand.” you hum, kissing his chin.

ajax hums with appreciation before leaning down and chasing your lips, hungrily wanting to taste you all over again.

his demanding presence has you melting into him as you mesh together, tongues locking to consume the taste of yourselves.

suddenly he’s dragging you by the hips to the edge of the bed.

“w-what are you—“

“m’not done with you. far from it.” you barely can form another question before ajax is sliding back into you. a crude squelch follows.

the harbinger kisses your bare ring finger. “say, i think we should elope. what do you think about starting a family?”

key: ptichka = ‘little bird’, lisichka = ‘little fox’, milaya = ‘my dear’

#tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x reader #childe x you #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #tartaglia smut #childe smut #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin oneshot #genshin impact oneshot

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ffsg0jo · 13 days

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𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓[𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘] - 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

sukuna is on the verge of being kicked out from uni, and his friends are completely useless (no surprise there, though). if only there was someone who could help him get his grades up before the semester ends....

college au - various x reader (mainly sukuna x reader)

warnings: mean gojo , slight mean suguru , kinda ooc characters , sukuna is his own warning , college/uni au , swearing

w/c: 1000 words + (not proofread)

series masterlist :: general masterlist

join the taglist here to be tagged in future chapters for this series <3

sukuna was fucked.

he messed around last semester a bit too much, spent too many nights partying and getting shit faced. his already mediocre grades got worse and worse, attendance slipping, and now he was faced with the threat of disenrollment if he didn’t get his grades up this term. he might as well kiss his degree goodbye now.

“what about (name)?” gojo suggests, thinking about how you used to tutor suguru. gojo remembered how it was thanks to you he’s gained a real proficiency in the social sciences and even tutors students himself.

“what about her?” he says in response, becoming increasingly annoyed at both the situation and his friends.

“she’s smart right?” gojo shrugs.

“why can’t you or nanami help me?” sukuna groans, ignoring gojo and facing his long haired friend. suguru was sat at his desk, minding his own business, finishing up the references for his essay.

“leave (name) out of this satoru,” suguru sighs, turning to face the two sat in his room and cracking his knuckles. “poor girls suffered enough at your hands.”

it’s true. gojo saw how introverted you were and personally made it his job to constantly mess with you. he revelled in your embarrassment and not knowing how to act, and quite frankly it was mean. everyone knew he wasn’t really interested in you and would get bored with teasing you soon enough, moving onto someone else. but your reactions were quite funny if they were being honest.

suguru was nice enough to you on his own, but never really spoke to you beyond a “hello”, gojo constantly bothered and teased you, whilst sukuna completely ignored you, forgetting you existed. out of the four nanami was the nicest, always respectful and dragging gojo away from you with an apology. the world needed more nanamis.

“you’re no fun suguru. you never cared before” gojo pouts. he suddenly sits up straighter, painting a smirk on his face as he realises something, “are you in loveeeee? does suguru have a crush on plain old (nameeeeee)?” he singsongs.

“you’re insufferable, and don’t be stupid satoru,” suguru fights back, already done with satoru’s nonsense. “she’s not my type anyway.”

sukuna hums, nodding, agreeing with the latter part of suguru’s statement. there was nothing extraordinary about you. your quiet nature somewhat irked him, and he didn’t understand why you were so shy. you were an adult for god’s sake, why didn’t you ever stand up for yourself. the more he thought about you the angrier he became so he made a point to ignore you.

“oi, getou, answer my question.”

suguru really needed to invest in a new lock or even just move dorms altogether so these two idiots wouldn’t bother him. he just wanted to submit his essay and lay down and scroll on his phone, maybe even have a nap.

“kento has a billion jobs and barely has time to study himself, and i don’t want to waste my energy on you,” suguru says, standing up and stretching, his hand dipping under his t-shirt to lightly scratch his stomach. he walks over to his mini fridge and gets a bottle of water out, pointing it at sukuna to emphasise his next words. “you’re hopeless.”

satoru laughs at the scowl on sukuna’s face and decides to take pity on him; uni would be considerably boring without him he supposes. he gets his phone out of his pocket and scrolls for a bit, grabbing sukuna’s phone when he’s found what he’s looking for and unlocks it. he types something into his phone and hands the pink-haired giant his phone back.

“there’s (name)’s number, ask her to help you. she’s too nice and too scared to say no to you anyways.”

sukuna really didn’t want you to be his tutor, he can’t imagine you being able to teach someone like him very well, but he has no other choice. unfortunately, most of the girls (and people in general) in his acquaintance aren’t really the smart and tutoring type. he takes his phone in his hand and stares at your contact details, debating on what to do.

he’ll message you later in the week, he thinks, slipping his phone into his pocket. but for now, he just wanted to take his mind off it.

bonus:

nanami walks up to his and suguru’s shared dorm, tired and so ready to collapse on his bed for a while before he works on finishing his assignment. it seemed like the world’s against him though as he can hear suguru and gojo arguing from outside. great, he thinks to himself. so much for relaxing.

today was not a good day. he was late to work, spilt boiling hot coffee on himself after a customer bumped into him and missed his bus home. his only saving grace was that you rushed to help him, guiding him to the bathroom and holding his arm as the water ran freely on him.

truthfully, he would’ve quit working at the coffee shop long ago, but after finding out you were a regular, he convinced himself to stay. he was busy juggling his second job and lectures and whatnot, so he didn’t get to see you often. plus, the pay wasn’t too bad for part time work, and the customers were generally quite nice.

(if we’re being frank, it was like any other normal job, but nanami needed something other than his infatuation with you to rationalise his behaviour).

nanami was ready to walk away and maybe beg you to let him stay with you for a couple of hours. you’d understand fully having interacted with gojo before, and maybe he’d have a chance to finally ask you out. but the sound of your name leaving gojo’s lips made him stop in his tracks.

his eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion. gojo had your number? why on earth did gojo have your number? and why was he giving it to sukuna out of all people? and why does the thought of either of them texting you make him feel sick to his stomach.

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back2bluesidex · 11 months

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Monitoring Duty - JJK

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook X Managerial staff!Reader

Theme: Fluff, f2l (kinda), coworkers to lovers (kinda)

Summary: You are tasked with monitoring Jungkook's weverse live tonight, which starts with you trying to shove ramyeon down your throat and ends with Jungkook confessing that he likes you too.

Wordcount: 1.7k+

Warnings: None.

A/N: trust me, I had no plans of writing this one but couldn't really get this idea out of my head... so, please suffer with me. thank you very much. and it's really stupid so please forgive me.

Weverse: 🌟JK started a LIVE - I am tired..

Your phone dinged with the notification. You know what it can be and you are prepared but currently you are struggling to chew and swallow the last bit of cup ramyeon, so that you can finally get into your monitoring duty.

Drinking the water in a breath and debunking choking possibilities, you reach for your work laptop. Opening the application while putting down the password doesn't take you more than 10 seconds.

And finally you are in. Now all you have to do is to monitor Jungkook and take appropriate actions when there is an inappropriate situation such as, he falls asleep, or he spoils his upcoming schedule, or he gets repetitive calls from a sasaeng etc.

You melt on the hotel couch. Your limbs feel like jelly due to all the workload you have been through since 4 am in the morning. Being a managerial staff of a Kpop idol is neither fancy nor pleasant. While thousands of fans dream of being at your place, you want nothing more than a year long break. But then again, the pay is good and you are in need of money as well as a strong professional profile.

And another reason for you pursuing this gruesome job is, the man you are currently monitoring.

It has been more than two years since you joined Hybe. For the first year you worked with the entire team and for the last one year, you have been appointed as one of the managerial staff of the maknae.

You don’t know when in this last one year, you started to grow and harbor some kind of fondness towards Jungkook. Not that you don’t know the rules and regulations of the company (most of which don’t apply in terms of BTS), you can recite those better than your phone number, but still… staying immune to Jungkook’s charms, and especially the way he treats you with all the kindness of the world (which makes you wonder at times whether feelings are mutual or not), wasn’t possible for you.

You know it’s foolish, you know there will be no return to your affection but you still like to enjoy this feeling of liking him, adoring him from afar, praying for him in silence. You will move on someday, but as of now, your focus is trained on him and only on him.

“Oh the festival? The festival was crazy! You know it’s the first time I have performed in a festival all alone without the members, so it was scary and I was nervous. But seeing the other artists enjoying themselves and watching you guys cheering for me helped me a lot. Hope you guys liked it.” Jungkook giggles. You mirror his actions while watching him through your laptop screen.

If you put your ear on the wall, you could probably hear his mellow voice piercing through the thin cement of the overpriced hotel room. You are given the room beside him for handling emergencies quickly and he doesn’t even know that. He doesn’t even care, does he?

You shake off your thoughts as you try to focus on the live.

Jungkook restlessly talks and tries to interact with the fans despite being dead tired. You have been with him all day long and you know how hectic things were. He has hardly got any sleep since the day he landed in the US. Interviews, performances, event invitations, everything was lined up one after another. It all ended with the Summerfest performance today. Just this one live and after that he will get to rest for a couple of days before catching a flight back to Korea.

You roll your eyes as Jungkook starts to sing to comply with the request of a fan.

“He just performed for an hour and twelve minutes! And you people still want him to sing? Even when he is clearly tired?” you groan at the screen. Most of the time you respect fans’ love for Bangtan but sometimes their nonchalant demands really piss you off.

Jungkook finishes signing and starts coughing immediately. You follow the live stream as he leaves his chair and starts looking for water in the refrigerator.

He coughs some more and then with a very choked voice, says, “ah! Guys! I’m running out of water. Should I drink water from the faucet then?”

You grab two bottles from the nightstand as soon as possible and run towards his room.

Within a few moments of ringing the bell, Jungkook appears at the door. At first his eyes go wide seeing you standing there wearing an oversized tshirt and a pair of sweats, then his eyes fall on the bottles you have in your hold. He coughs again and you hastily open the cap of one of the bottles and thrust it towards his lips. He grabs it immediately and drinks until he is satisfied.

You try not to stare at the way his adam’s apple bobs when he chugs water down or the way he wipes his lips to get rid of the remnants of water, but fail miserably and you guess Jungkook notices that too, otherwise there is no apparent reason for him to smile sheepishly.

“Thanks” he says, closing the bottle, “so… you are on monitoring duty tonight?”

“Yeah. Are you okay though? You have been coughing since morning.” You reply, neglecting the way your skin heats up because of Jungkook’s intense stare at your smaller form.

“I am fine, Y/N. Much better now that you are here…” Jungkook pauses, your eyes widen at his statement, “with the water I mean.” both of you chuckle nervously.

“Umm.. I will wrap it up quickly okay? I don’t want to overwork you. Just give me ten more minutes.”

“Jungkook, it’s alright. Take your time. I like to watch you doing silly stuff anyway.” you smile and he giggles.

“It felt nice… hearing you say that.” Jungkook gives you one of his bunny smiles as his dark orbs find yours. You two stay there staring at each other, without giving a damn about the 10 million people that are currently staring at a chair, until reality finally seeps into your veins again.

“Bye. Good night.” you murmur as Jungkook nods.

He is already back at his seat when you come back to your room and sit on the couch.

“Jungkook-ah, I wish I had a better word than love to explain how much I love you.”

Jungkook reads a comment.

“Umm… better word than love? Is there anything like this?” He thinks for a moment, squirting his eyes, placing his index finger on his chin and pretending to think hard, “I watched a drama where the male lead confesses his love for the girl he likes saying something like ‘the moon is beautiful’ and I think that was really romantic. So, from now on if you want to say that you love me beyond explanation, use ‘the moon is beautiful’ and I will understand right away. Okay?”

You see as the comment section goes wild with “moon is beautiful” comments rapidly. Fans really love him a lot and he too, is so dedicated to his fans that sometimes you get jealous.

Within five more minutes, Jungkook is saying bye and turning the live stream off. You leave a sigh of relief, nothing went wrong under your watch and now you can finally sleep.

You hit the bed with a thud, wrap the duvet around your body and close your eyes only to be startled by the vibration of your phone that is kept on the nightstand.

You grab your phone with an annoyed huff, which vanishes when you see it’s a text from Jungkook.

“Do you wanna grab a beer? If you are not asleep yet?”

And the next moment you are bolting towards Jungkook’s room, fucking your sleep and nighttime rest.

You two settle comfortably at the balcony, talking about nothing and everything at the same time, while staring at the night sky. Gradually you forget that you are tired and you haven’t got any sleep for almost 20 hours now. But who cares. If having no sleep exchanges a bit of quality time alone with Jungkook then you would gladly stay awake night after night.

“Jimin hyung texted me earlier, saying I did a great job.” Jungkook says, sipping on his beer.

“See, you were panicking for nothing. You always do a great job.” You reply, he chuckles and then for a minute or so, you two fall into a comfortable silence. Until Jungkook decides to break it.

“The moon is beautiful.” Jungkook whispers and you hear it loud and clear. Your heart stops beating for a moment. You stare at the said moon blankly. You don’t know if it is what you think it is. Maybe you are wrong, the moon is really beautiful tonight and that pact he made, is between him and his fans, it has nothing to do with you. On the top of that there is no way he feels something for you. You are just a nobody, nothing in front of him and his grandiose life.

So you reply, “yes, it is.”

“Y/N… You have been watching the live and you know what I mean right?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly feels closer to your body. You don’t know if it’s really happening or is it just a fragment of your dream, so you stay silent.

Jungkook grabs your arms and turns your body to face him.

And then within a moment you are caged between his muscular body and the balcony railing.

“Don’t I deserve an answer?” Jungkook breathes on your lips.

“Do- do you really..?”

“Yes, I do. And I wonder why you didn't notice it when I am always giving you heart eyes, when I am trying to be as close to you as possible, when I am always looking for chances to converse with you, to spend a little bit of time with you.”

“But- Jungkook..”

“What’s your answer, Y/N?”

“Jungkook, my answer doesn’t matter. Not when I am one of your employees. It’s prohibited for me.” you try to make him understand.

“You just need to say yes, Y/N. I can manage the rest.”

“I will get fired.”

“You won’t. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do.” “Then let me take care of things okay?”

“Okay.” You smile at him, as he connects his forehead with yours. You breathe in him, his scent, his warmth and his affection for you. You don’t know about the future, you don’t have a clue about the struggles you are about to face. But you know you love him and he loves you back. So maybe things will be alright. You will let Jungkook take care of things as he wants, as for now, when he reaches down to lock his lips with yours, you taste euphoria on him.

A/N: The idea of "Moon is beautiful" instead of "I love you" is derived from the KDrama "Romance is a bonus book.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @soraviie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch

#bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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wonysugar · 6 months

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fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo

synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.

pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader

genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx

tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!

warnings : none!

word count : 1.6k

you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.

you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend.

you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.

she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you.

in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.

the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.

“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.

she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“

a black screen.

she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.

nothing.

she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.

after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.

“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??”

“sorry that i forgot to?”

oh she had to be joking.

“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.

her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.

“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly.

“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”

“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”

“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.

in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??”

“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”

when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like,

a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to,

if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out.

how do best friends make up after a fight?

usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.

this? this was none of that.

since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.

like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.

throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple.

“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,

until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.

frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-”

“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.

you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part?

enjoying it thoroughly.

she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change.

she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see.

“you like being fucked stupid hm?”

and that’s what she did,

seconds,

minutes,

what felt likes hours,

you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity.

you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane.

“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.

“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?”

you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.

the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.

“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”

“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”

she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,

the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?

it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?

she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.

and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.

at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.

while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;

never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.

#smut #kpop gg #female reader #aespa smut #ningning #ningning aespa #ning yizhuo #ningning x female reader #ningning x reader #aespa #aespa ningning #ningning aespa smut #ning yizhuo x female reader

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misscrawfords · 5 months

Text

I was listening to Pride and Prejudice on my drive back from my mother's today and it's been so long since I've actually read the novel as opposed to engaged with one or other adaptation...

Goodness, it's good, isn't it? And Elizabeth is so much more complex a character than she is often presented in adaptations.

The thing that was standing out to me today - I was listening to from when Mr. Collins proposes to Charlotte and I stopped just when Elizabeth was talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings - was the chapter which is just Jane and Elizabeth talking about Bingley. This gets cut from adaptations or so condensed to be meaningless, but it's incredible. It's just a whole chapter of the sisters chewing over why Bingley ghosted Jane (for lack of a better term) and what Caroline's motivations were and the thing that gets me is that they're both right. Jane is right that Bingley can't be blamed for being a friendly young man and that he had no malicious intentions but Elizabeth is also right that young men can be thoughtless in their dealings with women who have less freedom than them and their thoughtlessness can do real hurt. (She's also right about Caroline, of course.) It struck me as such a modern issue. Maybe I've just been thinking about the unwitting hurt that thoughtless young men can cause recently, but everything is so complicated. Bingley is a flake who makes a mistake with regards to Jane but he's also a genuinely lovely young man who makes it right in the end - he's still on his own journey through life which he will continue with Jane. Jane herself lets her desire to see the best in others cause her to see friendship where it isn't, but being deceived in a friend is not so uncommon, is it? And she's not stupid or weak. Heck, she endures her heartbreak being talked about openly by her mother in public for months silently and without rancour. And she does it all without ever resenting Bingley! Jane's the strongest character in the whole novel and an inspiration to the rest of us - FIGHT ME on this!

The other thing I really picked up on was what an important moment in Elizabeth's character development Charlotte's engagement is. It actually kind of breaks my heart - her best friend makes a life choice that she can't support but has to and nothing will ever be the same again between them. It's the first dent into Elizabeth's world view that forces her to see that people are different from her and can make different decisions and this is okay and not just something she can laugh at. It's so relatable in terms of life events - when a close friend marries and then when they have a baby, these things absolutely still do alter friendships. Elizabeth gets over it and even enjoys seeing Charlotte in Hunsford but we are frequently reminded by the narrator that the previous confidences they enjoyed will never be the same again. It's a really big moment for Elizabeth and really the first event in the novel to start to shake her foundations of her comfortable existence. The other two are Bingley's desertion of Jane and Wickham's decision to pursue Mary King over her. By the time she goes to Hunsford, she is prepared in a way for the final massive shock to the foundations of The World According to Lizzy Bennet, not that she knows it. Such is growing up.

And OMG Lady Catherine is SO vulgar and inappropriate! She is a direct parallel to Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the Bennets. Just as Elizabeth feels accute embarrassment at the Netherfield Ball, Mr. Darcy is feeling exactly the same at Rosings. Beautifully done. But their awareness of what is appropriate behaviour is something that unifies Darcy and Elizabeth even if Darcy massively fails to behave like a human around Elizabeth. Pride and Prejudice is such an expose and examination of "how to behave in social situations". There is nobody who doesn't come under scrutiny and pretty much every type of behaviour is gone over with a fine tooth comb.

Sometimes I feel almost ashamed when people ask me what my favourite novel is and I say "Pride and Prejudice" because it's such a damn cliche. I should say something heavier or more obscure or at least I should say it's Persuasion, the "thinking girl"'s favourite Austen. But P&P is so special to me on so many levels and you know what? It is a MASTERFULLY written book.

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #i just want to spend my life thinking about Austen

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flemingsfreckles · 19 days

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Physio’s Daughter Pt 7

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Read the other 6 parts here!

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, angst, verbal arguments, verbal insults

WC: 5.0k

A/N: I got nothing to say, we should be on the downhill from the angst for now

“I missed that penalty because of you, it’s your fault.”

You hear her say as you walk away. Her words freeze you mid step.

Your heart sank. You had tried your best to leave her alone, you had barely spoken to her outside of the training room or on the pitch, besides the phone call where she hung up on you. You had done everything to just be a regular staff member to her. And despite your efforts you had fucked this up.

“What?” You turn back to look at Jessie.

“When I kick a penalty, I pick my spot and then when I step back I think of something that calms me. Sometimes it’s my sister, sometimes my parents, sometimes it’s the beach, it’s whatever comes into my head first.” She stands up from the table, starting to walk toward you. “Today, your stupid beautiful face came into my mind and for a second it was good. For a second, the thought of you calmed me. But then her stupid face came into my mind too and all I could picture was the two of you together, on your stupid little dates in the city, how I should be your personal photographer, not her! And I thought about the fact that you’re sharing a room and you were sleeping in her fucking bed the other day, and it pissed me off and I got rattled and fucked up my penalty.”

You realize now, that’s why Jessie had left her eyes closed longer than usual, that’s why her penalty routine was different, it was your fault.

“You mean Olivia?” You say with a small laugh, there was no way Jessie was being serious and no way she actually believed there was something going on between you and Olivia. You were also laughing out of nerves, you had never seen Jessie angry like this, her face turning red as she stood in front of you.

“Yeah her. Unless there’s other girls you’ve been prancing around the city with?” She crosses her arms across her chest, clearly annoyed with you.

“Oh you’re serious?” You look at her and she just looks back at you, her stare cold. “Jessie, Olivia and I, we’re not together.”

“That’s not what it looked like, her following you around with her camera, all the photos of you she’s posting on Instagram, looks like more than friends to me. She had you half naked in her bed, you can’t tell me your just friends.”

You can’t believe the words coming from Jessie’s mouth. “I wasn’t half naked! Get a grip Jessie, she has a boyfriend!”

You had learned that Olivia had a boyfriend when you spent the day together a few days ago. It was something that had yet to come up in your previous conversations. They’d been together just under a year, he was her first long term relationship after she had broken up with her girlfriend

You weren’t surprised someone like her was taken, but what surprised you was that it didn’t make you sad or disappointed like you thought it would. You had the realization while out with her that, while she was attractive and your type, you didn’t find yourself interested in Olivia in a romantic way.

“Well, does her boyfriend know she’s obsessed with you?”

“Oh my god, you’re being delusional.” While maybe not the best word to use, it’s what comes out of your mouth in the heat of the moment.

Jessie’s eyes squinted, her eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you fucking call me delusional!” Her hand comes out from her chest, she points a finger at you.

“Well that’s what you’re being Jessie! She’s in a relationship, there’s nothing between us!” You had no idea how else to explain to Jessie that there was nothing there. Olivia was a friend.

“You know what, maybe I am delusional for thinking maybe we could’ve worked!” She turns back to the table, snatching the tablet still playing her kick, storming out of the conference room.

“Jessie.” You follow her out into the hallway.

“No, we can’t keep doing this, the back and forth, it’s exhausting and childish, you need to stop.” She turns back to you, taking a step closer to you so you’re between her and the wall.

“Don’t fucking tell me that I need to stop. Jessie I’m not the only one making the decision on what’s happening here.” You take a step away from her, your back making contact with the wall behind you. “You’re the one who keeps kissing me and bringing me coffee, and texting me about non-work things. You’re just as much feeding into this, you’re just as guilty as I am!”

You were fully aware a member of the hotel staff was likely to come down the hall any minute to tell you to keep it down. It was 2:49 in the morning and you two were screaming at each other.

“I know, and that’s my fault, I should’ve realized you weren’t worth my time!”

It’s like she had punched you in the gut. Your chest started to feel tight, your eyes burning. Her words hurt. You could handle her shoving you after the game, you could handle her yelling at you, you could handle her accusing you of being interested with someone else even though you weren’t, those weren’t personal attacks. But her standing here, telling you that you weren’t worth her time, burned inside your chest.

You could see the moment Jessie realized what words came out of her mouth. A wave of guilt and shock washed over her face her fingers come up to her lips. She puts her hands out, reaching toward your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean-” she starts to backtrack, trying to take back the fact that she just called you a waste of time.

“Save it.” This time it’s you shoving Jessie out of your way, your hand against her shoulder as you push past her. “I’ll go. Sorry I was a waste of your time.” You manage to choke out before you turn, tears starting to fall from your eyes.

You run back to your room, not caring how loud your footsteps were as you rushed to your room. You hear Jessie yell after you but ignore her pleas for you to come back and let her explain. You quietly open the door and slip into your bed. You choke back your tears, burying your face into the fluffy hotel pillow to not wake up Olivia.

You’re not sure how long you cried, there’s a soft knock at your door but knowing it’s Jessie you ignore it, you didn’t want to see her and you didn’t want her seeing that you were crying over her. You fall asleep a little bit later.

You’re woken from your brief attempt at sleep by a hard knocking on your door. You look over to see Olivia is already out of bed for the morning, probably down at breakfast, maybe she forgot her key and was coming back.

You quickly check your phone, a few emails, three missed calls and a few texts, five from last night and one from this morning.

Jessie Fleming: I am so sorry

Jessie Fleming: please open the door

Jessie Fleming: I shouldn’t have said that

Jessie Fleming: You’re not a waste of my time, you’re worth all my time.

Jessie Fleming: You deserve better

The one from this morning was only from a few minutes ago.

Jessie Fleming: I’d like to talk when you have a chance. I can be available whenever. I’m really sorry.

Still half asleep you wander over to the door, expecting to see an apologetic Canadian when the second round of knocks comes more aggressively. You open it, only to be pushed out of the way by a very angry Canadian, Janine.

“I told you, if you hurt her, we were going to have problems, so now we have problems.”

It takes you a second looking at the woman in front of you, her hands on her hips as she stares back at you. She was talking about Jessie. You blink a few times at her, trying to wake up your brain and body.

“Hmm late night eh?” She says, a hard cold stare still on her face, her tone is degrading.

“What the hell Janine, I didn’t hurt her!” It was the truth, maybe you called her delusional and that was too far, but you didn’t do any worse than she did to you.

“Then why did she come back to our room, crying at three in the morning? She refuses to tell me what you did, but she mentioned your name while I was trying to comfort her, so what the hell did you do?”

Learning that Jessie had also cried over your argument made you feel somewhat better about your own tears. You’re sure Janine could see your eyes were puffy and likely bloodshot.

You throw your hands up “What I did? Janine did you think that maybe she won’t tell you what happened because it was what she was the one who did something to me?”

You watch as Janine’s face drops for a second. She looks unsure if she’s supposed to believe you or not.

“I didn’t hurt her.” You take a breath, sitting back on your bed, debating if it’s even worth explaining your side. This was Jessie’s best friend, of course she won’t believe you. Deciding to tell her anyways, you quickly begin rambling, telling Janine everything.

You start to tell Janine about what happened. You tell her about the first coffee kiss, how you mom had yelled at both of you and how you made the agreement to be professional. You then go on to tell her about the second coffee kiss, the one she almost walked in on. You mention the hand holding on the plane. You then go on to explain how Jessie seemed to think you and Olivia were a thing. You mention the movie and how you were in her bed, you explain it all.

“Oh, so that’s why the coffee shop was weird between you two. I thought maybe you two had finally hooked up or something and you were trying not to be weird about it, I tried to ask Jessie about it but she wouldn’t say anything.” She cracks a small smile.

“No, we haven't slept together, or hooked up or done anything beyond just kissing, and even the kisses, they weren’t like make outs, and oh my god why am I telling you this?” You cover your face for a second, taking a breath to ease your embarrassment.

When you look back Janine has a smug look on her face, probably to your reaction to accidentally admitting the extent of your and Jessie’s physical relationship. You try to push the thought from your mind and get back to telling her the details

“Regardless, Jessie thought I had blown her off to go with Olivia but she was the one who hung up on me. I wanted to go with her, I told her I could go in the morning before I went around with Olivia. She didn’t say yes, she hung up on me.” You finish explaining the situation with Olivia to Janine.

“Then what were you two doing at two in the morning together?” She questioned, knowing you and Jessie had seen each other the night before. You explained that you couldn’t sleep so you went down to the conference room for a break and that Jessie had been there watching her penalty.

“She accused me of being the reason she missed her penalty, telling me I got in her head with me being with Olivia I guess and it upset her and rattled her focus.” You take a breath, knowing you had to admit your own faults to Janine too. “And then I, I called her delusional, which I know was wrong.” You look away from Janine not wanting to make eye contact, knowing what you said to Jessie was terrible. “And then she called me a waste of time.”

Janine just gives a slow nod, her eyes wide as she tries to process the information that is being thrown at her. “Oooookayyy then, I wasn’t expecting that..” She finally says. The room then returns to silence.

“Look, I may be Jessie’s best friend, but she doesn’t get to blame you for missing that penalty, she can’t really blame herself even though she always does, penalties are luck, you pick a spot, you kick it, if it’s the same spot the keeper picked, oh well.”

She takes a deep breath looking at you, she clasps her hands in front of her.

“But also as her best friend, I’m going to ask you, if you can, to give her some grace. I know she maybe doesn’t deserve it, especially after what she said. But, Jessie, she’s a good person, but she sometimes tried to be too perfect. She’s a perfectionist. And she has a lot of pressure on her right now, first major tournament as the official captain, she’s got the pressure of Canada, and then she’s got the pressure from herself. She’s hard on herself, too hard and she knows it, but she can’t always help it.”

You nod, you knew being around Jessie at training, when she’d struggle with a skill, she’d stay late mastering it, practicing over and over, exhausting herself to get it right. You knew this whole tournament was likely weighing on her mentally, not to add the feeling of missing her penalty.

“I’m sure the outburst at you, was not what she fully meant. She was probably upset about the penalty and she let it boil over into her personal life. Maybe she was jealous about Olivia too, but once she learned she had a boyfriend then it shouldn’t have mattered. I think she unfortunately was bottling up one too many feelings, the bottle just broke on you.”

You nod, it makes sense.

“She’ll probably kill me if she ever finds out I’m telling you to talk to her, she won’t like me meddling. But if you can, talk to her, now that she’s calmed down a bit.” Janine let’s put a sigh. “Jessie really likes you, it’s annoying to hear about but seriously she does and I want her to be happy, which you seem to make her happy, with the exception of the crying last night. I understand if her behavior was a deal breaker though, I’d just advise you to hear her out, and have her hear you out as well. You two need to have an adult conversation, not a screaming match at three in the morning. You need to talk about all of this, make up your minds about whatever you two are doing.”

“I know.” You nod at her, it was nice having someone else talk some sense into you, you hoped she gave a similar discussion to her roommate.

“Sorry I came in here on a mission to accuse you. Jessie was just incredibly upset last night, I figured something happened, I assumed you did something, sorry about that.”

You shrug at her. “It’s alright, I get it, you're her best friend, you’re just looking out for her.” It’s true you’re not upset at Janine, it was alarming for her to come in yelling, but she had been sensible.

Janine takes steps toward the door, you stand up from the bed to follow her to the door.

“I’m her best friend, but I’m not going to excuse her behavior when she was out of line.” She opens the door and walks out, you’re assuming back to her own room where Jessie likely was getting ready to head to training in the next half hour.

You pack up your backpack, dreading going to work for the first time since you joined this team, you didn’t want to have to see Jessie, you didn’t want to have to see Janine, you didn’t want to see your mom or Olivia, you’d rather be alone.

As you headed down to the lobby your phone vibrates in your pocket. You roll your eyes reading the text.

Jessie Fleming: So you're allowed to tell Janine about our argument and all the other details but I’m not allowed to tell her I kissed you?

You: She came barging into my room this morning demanding to know what I did to hurt you because you refused to say anything so yes, I told her what happened.

You: I was defending myself.

When she doesn’t text you back you slip your phone back into your jacket and take a seat at a table in the lobby.

“Hey kiddo!” Your Mom slips into the seat across from you. “You alright?”

“Yeah good, just didn’t sleep well.” You try and give her your best smile. Your Mom squints at you. You know she knows something’s up. She knew you too well, she always had.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not, I’m good, I’m ready to work, I didn’t sleep well last night and it’s not something I want to talk about.” You didn’t sleep well, that was the truth. It wasn’t exactly lying by just not telling her what was keeping you awake.

“Issues with Miss 17?” She knew, she always knew. You just give her a glare across the table. “Alright, I’m not going to get involved despite my motherly instinct. I’m here if you want to talk, don’t let it affect work because you’re bottling it up.”

You think about the irony of you Mom telling you not to bottle up your feelings, the same thing that Janine had said Jessie typically did.

“I won’t, I’m good.” You say, rather harshly, before you turn in your chair to face away from your Mom.

When the players begin to file down from their rooms and out to the buses you stand up from the table, grabbing your bag. You follow your Mom, Olivia, and the rest of the staff toward the staff bus.

“I need to talk to you.” You feel a gentle hand on your arm. You recognize the voice, it's softer than it was last night when it was yelling at you. Jessie had strayed from the line of players getting on their own bus and was now standing next to you.

“No you don’t, you said what you needed to say yesterday.” You quickly say to her, not wanting to draw additional attention to the two of you.

“Please.” You hated how easily you were about to give into her. All it took was for her to look at you, wide eyed in hope that you’ll hear her out. You look at your watch, she had to be on the bus in three minutes. She notices you checking the time. “I’ll be quick.” She glances at the bus door where the rest of her teammates were waiting to board, likely watching and eavesdropping as she talked to you.

When you don’t say anything she takes it as permission to speak.

“I was terrible, you are not a waste of my time, you are not a waste of anyone’s time. That was a terrible, horrific thing to say to you or to say to anyone, no one is a waste of time.” She reached out to put a hand to your arm, you pull your arm away, giving her the hint you don’t want to touch her.

“I don’t want to be making excuses for myself, I said what I said, I regret it. There is no excuse for what I did and I understand I can’t take that back, I can’t unsay those words to you. But I’m sure you can understand I’m under a lot of pressure here, then with the missed penalty, I snapped. I’m usually good under pressure, yesterday I wasn’t and I panicked. I-” she checks over her shoulder to the bus and let’s out a huff as she sees the last of her teammates board the bus.

“You’re going to be late.” You say, not acknowledging any of the apology she just gave you.

“That’s fine, they can wait a second, I’ll be late. I need to finish.” She waves off the bus, looking back to you. This time when you make eye contact you notice her puffy eyes, a little bloodshot. As her physio you’re concerned for her lack of sleep. You can’t help but wonder if she’s noticed the same look in your own eyes.

“No, go.” You point at the bus door. You had already caused enough issues making her miss the penalty, you weren’t going to be the reason she was late.

“Can we please talk later? I didn’t get to say everything, I have a lot more to say to you.”

You nod at her. You didn’t feel like hearing her out, but you thought back to your conversation with Janine. You had already let her start apologizing, might as well let her finish. Then you two could finally have an adult conversation.

“Meet me after training, we can finish this.” You tell her, she whispers a quick thank you and turns jogging to the bed.

You attend training like normal, trying to pay attention to everyone equally but naturally your eyes constantly found their way to Jessie. You were pissed at her but you couldn’t deny she was so attractive when playing.

The way she was incredibly physical compared to her usually timid demeanor, the way she’d yell to her teammates asking for the ball, the way she’d pull down her shorts. The way she’d wipe the sweat from her face with the bottom of her shirt, lifting it enough to show her toned stomach made your own stomach clench.

Toward the end of training Jessie lifted her shirt again, wiping her forehead, when she pulled her shirt down, she was looking in your direction, making eye contact with you. She bit her lip with a slight smirk seeing you were watching her.

You couldn’t help but give her a small smile back. For a split second you forgot all the terrible things she said, you forgot you were mad, it was just you and her smiling at each other from across the pitch.

But then she turned back to continue her drill and you remembered your argument and her hurtful words and now you were mad at her and yourself. You shouldn’t have looked at her, you shouldn’t have smiled at her.

After training you help the girls with treatment and recovery. You make the ice bath, you hand out heating pads. You help take off the stability taping that you put on just a few hours ago. It was an easy end to your day. Jessie gets herself into the ice bath for 10 minutes before she hops out and moves to the corner of the room waiting.

“What are you waiting on Jessie? I can help you.” You hear your Mom ask, she was one of the last few players in the training room, but she wasn’t actively being treated. Just standing in the corner of the room, bike shorts still soaking wet from her ice bath, making a small puddle at her feet..

You look up from where you were cleaning water bottles to watch as Jessie points at you. Her hand close to her chest to not make the pointing obvious. Your Mom’s head turns to look at you, and then back to Jessie. She just shakes her head at the two of you and mutters something under her breath that you’re not able to understand.

You occupy yourself restocking the first aid kits, cleaning out the ice bath, all the small tasks, you offer to take over all the other physio’s end of shift jobs to get them to leave the facility sooner. Soon it’s just you, Jessie, and your Mom left in the room.

“I’m going to go, let you two have whatever discussion you need to. Do you have a plan to get back to the hotel? Both of you?” You Mom asks before she leaves the room checking that you both weren’t coming on the bus.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You let her know.

When Jessie doesn’t answer, your Mom asks again. “Fleming?”

“I’m good, thank you for checking.” She thanks your Mom with a smile and a wave.

Knowing you both were good, your Mom walks out the door, leaving just you and Jessie in the training room. You push yourself up onto the counter, sitting with your legs dangling. Jessie walks over from the corner she was standing in. She places a towel down before she hops up onto the treatment table across from you. You both sit for a moment, looking at each other.

Jessie breaks the silence first. “It wasn’t fair for me to blame the penalty on you.”

“I know.” You decide this is the time to get out your frustrations with the brown haired, brown eyed, beautiful freckled girl in front of you. You couldn’t help but admire her despite being about to yell at her.

“It wasn’t fair for you to blame me for your kick, it wasn’t fair for you to shove me, it wasn’t fair to your team for you to leave the game without anyone knowing, it wasn’t fair for you to just assume I immediately went to fuck Olivia just because we’re sharing a room, sorry I wanted to have a friend! We were watching a movie, that’s why I was in her bed. She put on a movie and I fell asleep because I don’t speak French! It wasn’t fair to assume just because I was trying to be professional that I no longer was interested in you and moved on to the first girl I could find. None of that was fair to me Jessie!” As you yell your voice gets louder.

“I know.” She looks ashamed, Jessie is looking at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with you anymore.

“It’s not my fucking fault you thought about me during your kick, I had no control over that!” You take a second to notice the tone of your voice and decide the two of you have had one too many screaming matches recently. You lower your voice, letting your sadness from the night before overtake your anger with her. “It feels really shitty to be blamed for something you had no control over Jess.”

“I know.” Jessie repeats herself. Her voice is quiet, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her eyes looking glossy as if she’s about to cry. “I know none of that was fair.”

“Then why did you do it?” You start to feel your own eyes water.

“Because you were there.” Her hands clap down onto her knees. “That’s it, and I know that that’s not fair to you either but I had already spent the previous five hours blaming myself, ripping myself apart for missing that kick, so when you walked in, I was able to put the blame on you and I felt like I could breathe again. I think I would’ve ripped off anyone’s head who walked in.”

“You’re saying had Janine walked in instead you would’ve screamed at her? I find that hard to believe.” You hop off the counter, walking around the room. You pick up a lacrosse ball the girls use to roll out with, tossing it between your hands.

“I don’t know, maybe. It also didn’t help that I was already having feelings thinking you were with Olivia now, I got jealous.” She turns around on the treatment table to keep watch on you. “So I think my anger with you was a little different than it would’ve been with someone else. But I probably still would’ve ended up yelling at Janine or anyone, just it would’ve been a little different words. I’m just, I’m really sorry.”

You’re not sure how to react to her apology, so instead you start your own. You’re occupying your body, bouncing the ball on the ground while you speak with her.

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have called you delusional, I shouldn’t have ever started anything with you, it’s inappropriate and unprofessional, I’m supposed to be someone you can come to for help. I’m sorry I aided in our little back and forth from flirting to coworkers to friends, I didn’t do anything to stop it and I should have.”

“We both failed at being professional, it’s not just you.”

“Yep.” You quietly say to her. It’s quiet again between the two of you. An uncomfortable silence falling over the room with the rhythmic bouncing of the ball against the ground.

You bounce the ball all the way across the room and back before you look at Jessie. “Okay so what now?”

“Nothing.” She just looks at you. Her expression blank.

“Nothing?” You stop bouncing the ball, turning to look at her.

She hops off the table and comes to stand in front of you. “I only wanted to apologize. I messed up in an awful way, I was awful to you. I’m not here to beg for you to be my friend, let alone ask for you to be anything more, I just needed to apologize. I don’t expect you to have any interest in anything happening between us anymore.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

You look at Jessie, taking in her appearance, her cheeks still rosy from playing. Her eyes are no longer puffy like they were this morning, she’s chewing on her bottom lip, her hands are fidgeting. She’s nervous.

You then realize you're nervous. You hadn’t previously been aware of how hard your heart was beating, how you could feel it through your chest. The room was warm, your skin crawling. You didn’t know what her reaction was going to be to your next question.

“What if I did still have interest in us?”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

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writers-potion · 1 month

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How do I accurately include diversity, and not make it look like I’m just putting it in there for the sake of it?

Writing Diverse Characters - Things to Remember

Honestly, there's no definitive answer to this.

Your characters are people with clear goals, desires and a role to play in the plot. As long as they aren't just sitting there with little else but their race/gender/disability, etc. as their ONLY personality trait, at least you're on the right path.

As for representing a diverse character realistically, here are some things you can consider to get started.

Do's

RESEARCH. There are plenty of blogs/YT vids/websites that exist to help you! Meet people!

Get beta readers.

It doesn't have to be explicit. Racial identities become quite clear early on through the setting, name, and initial description(hair, eye/skin color, body shape, etc) without having to drum it into the readers each time. Gender diversity can be conveyed through the use of certain pronouns without awkward declarations.

Character first, diversity second. Please don't intentionally create a diverse character and then think about how you can push them into the cast. Have a working character, who happens to belong to a particular group.

Read works that have represented a group well. There are plenty of non-fiction works, movies and documentaries that capture the lives of people around the world with a good eye.

Use the correct terms/language

Include different types of diversity

Don'ts

Race/gender/diability is NOT a personality trait. Please. Telling me that you have a Korean girl tells me next to nothing about the character herself.

Using sterotypes. Now, it's all right if your character has a few sterotypical traits, but definitely not if sterotypes are the only thing they have.

Diversity is not a "shock factor". Suddenly revealing that a character is actually gay and has been in the closet all this time as a refresher so that it draws readers' attention? Not a good idea.

One diverse character does all. This can often be seen in female characters of slightly dated works where one woman will play the role of supportive mother, sister, femme fetale and sexy Barbie at the same time. Don't write a diverse character who basically does everything a diverse character can possibly be. All that it proves is that the writer is lazy.

Things I personally hate seeing:

Weird pronunciation of languages. As a Korean person, I always get turned off by works (mostly badly written fanfics, yes, I read those...) that try to transfer Korean dialogue directly onto the page without even checking for the correct way to spell them out. A similar example would be pinyin for Mandarin. Please, this makes the character sound stupid throughout...

Character sticking out almost painfully. If your character isn't from the region but have lived in it for a long time, what reason do they have not to blend in?

Relying on variety shows/dramas as reference. Media representation of diverse characters that are meant for entertainment is not the best source for authentic research. I die every time someone lists a number of Korean rom-coms they've watched for "research". IT DOES NOT COUNT.

As a last note, remember that there's no limit to the kind of characters a writer can writer. Accept that our job as writers is to step into other people's heads, not seeing things from one (our) perspective - and it is not going to be easy.

Hope this helps :)

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blingblong55 · 2 months

Text

This town -Simon "Ghost" Riley

pic credits: @ave661 (middle and right)

Based on a request: (Its a long as so I'll link it so you can read the anons idea) Link here ---- F!Reader, childhood!friends, hidden feelings, angst, friends to strangers ---- A/N: Songs that also fit: Too Young- Louis Tomlinson, This Town- Niall Horan, Back to the Old House- The Smiths, Always you-Louis Tomlinson

It's a story to tell over at the old pub you and he used to hang around on the weekends. But how can a man begin to tell the sorrowful story? How can he explain in his bruised hands he holds the locket you gave him when you two were kids? He will maybe ask if this was a curse, the only curse an old soul like his has.

It could've been something, it would've been something, it should've been beautiful.

In this world, it was always he and you. Scraping your knees when jumping off the rocks near his home. Playing tag in the street until the moon greeted you and his mother would call his name. It's the kind of beginning all beautiful loves start with. Friends since childhood, went through life together and by 28, he would have proposed to the girl he had loved his whole life, 40s would be of dropping the kids at school, 50s of early retirement and 60s were for the potential grandkids, 70s would've been the stories shared of their early lives.

Would've...what a shit word that became in his life.

In the teenage years, after you had some glow-up, you became the girl everyone knew. The pretty, popular and funny girl the school knew of. He was the friend of the popular girl, the one people barely noticed or cared for. Simon was the same kid who always had a scar or bruise on his face, compliments from his father. One thing Simon hated more than the bastard of his father was the guy you were with. Bloke knows nothing but how to wank and fuck any living thing, he recalls.

Why were you with such a guy? It was a must. Like those cheesy movies where the pretty girl stays with the popular guy, all for the status of each other. Your feelings weren't real for that guy. He wasn't funny, wasn't smart and he wasn't Simon. The boy you shared a kiss with at age 7 because of an accidental bump whilst running through the grass.

It was during a small break between classes that you found him drinking water. You smile. He always did look good, even the stupid bruise on his jaw made him look so good.

"Y/N," he straightens up. "Simon," you smile cheekily. "Oh no, what's that smile for?" He crosses his arms over his chest and you can't help but get lost in his honey eyes. "Well...I was wondering if maybe we can...talk?" You say, unsure of how to word this confession. "Did my mum put you up to this?"

"No, this is...me just wanting to talk."

"Go on," his voice softens. Does he always do this for you?

You hesitate, but what is life without words? You breathe in and say, "I like you...there I said it and... don't stay quiet because you know I get nervous and I will continue to just talk and talk and talk and-"

He cuts you off by saying, "I'm sorry, Y/N, I... don't..think..this..well I just don't feel that way for you. We're friends, nothing more," he ends his part of the conversation, pats your back as he walks away and you are left in the corridor of the school alone.

As Simon walks to his classroom, his heart and mind fight the words that he had just said to you. Why was that mean? Did I even mean to say them? He thinks.

Graduation happens. You and he never talked after that day. Not even a congrats or a hug, life went on without him in your life. Throughout those last months in school, he felt a feeling of regret when he'd see you with that guys arm around you. He would occasionally walk around the old park just to see if you would still go on your daily walks.

By the time he was about to leave town, he found himself at the old house. He heard your parents moved to a new part of town, so if this was the last time he heard of you, it better be on his terms. And as he walks through the pavement, he finds himself looking at your window. He leans over a car, lights a cigarette and just waits to see if maybe you or some ghost roamed the home.

Was it the feeling of losing a friend that hurt or losing his one chance to feel something other than pain and hatred? Maybe it's just nervous, after all, he leaves tomorrow.

You were both just 16, it was puppy love, nothing would've lasted if he reciprocated those feelings, right?

And if it was, why does he feel some kind of hurt as he packs his bags? Why does he want to run to your new home and call your name? Is there a reason why? It's not love, it can't be love, he thinks. I'm not worthy of that, you've heard my dad, he says out loud. "Simon?" Tommy opens the door. "Tommy, not today," he looks back at his bag. "...Fuck" he whispers.

It's been a long nineteen years since he last saw you and heard your precious voice laugh at a cheesy joke of his. Nineteen years and the feeling in his chest is still there when he arrives home. Manchester was always home for him, it was the only place he knew best when he came back.

One day, as he was cleaning his closet, looking for his dog's leash, something fell and hit his head. "What the fu-" he looked down and there it was.

"Why give me this?" A thirteen-year-old Simon asked you. You smile, "You said you wish you could always be near me so you can feel safe...and since I'm going to my nans for the week, have this locket on you, and I swear I'll be there. Keep it safe, okay?" you kiss his forehead before entering the car. He nods and waves, "Call me, Y/N, please!" he calls out and you nod. "Every day!" you scream out as the car drives further away.

A smile falls on his silent lips, "...Y/N..." his thumb caresses the design. Once he opens it, he feels as if he is that young again. "Are you still there, Y/N?" He whispers and then, realisation hits. It was never nerves or whatever bullshit he told himself back then, it was love, always has.

All the dots are connecting. For the past nineteen years, he always had some love or whatever all those hookups and awful relationships were, but never did they stick around. Never did he feel more for them than what he has always felt for you. His cold heart still beating warm when he thinks of you. You are all he has ever known, the smiles, the late-night confessions, stories, the silly inside jokes, the feeling in his chest today.

He hasn't seen you in years, what if you don't remember him? What if when you see him, your heart doesn't call his name when he screams yours? Will you ever even forgive him? Will you wrap your arms around him and call him home like he has called you?

He must find you, so he calls and looks for you in every corner of this place. He finds nothing, just more lost hope at every corner he looks into. His heart and mind excited each other at the thought this would be some sappy romance moment. His mind creating a script, all truths, just finding better words to tell you he loves you, loved you the moment you kissed the similar scar on the knee at the park when he cried over the pain. He's loved you from the day he learned to say your name.

Why does he miss you so much today?

Why must you be the drug his body needs? God does he miss you and your addictive heart.

He has been around the world, where he could've found a good woman who made him happy but no, his heart has always belonged to one girl. You.

By the time he gets the street right, he finds you sitting down and as he smiles and nearly runs to you, he stops when he sees this image of you.

Sitting by the fountain, he sees you and a man. His arms wrap around your body, giving you darling kisses as you chuckle. It was then that Simon Riley knew this was it. He will spend his entire life wandering earth, looking for another soul like yours. You didn't see him of course, your fiance capturing all your attention. Simon was close to not caring and pulling you away from that man, but that would be cruel. And as he tries to make up excuses for this man being near you, he sees the ring.

Oh...oh you fool, he thinks.

His heart is near death. It screams your name, trying to find you so it can keep beating but when you don't whisper, Simon nods and lets his heart die. Let it rot, so it can learn its lesson, he thinks.

It would've never bloomed, Simon and you...right?

It's no use to even go and say hi. The locket that contained your picture was still in his fist. It'll be the last reminder of what was meant to be a life romancing in dark streets through town.

In his head, the home you dreamed of will forever be just a dream. No four kids, no library, no big kitchen so you and he can dance around at midnight. No you...no him...it'll all be stuck and dead in this town.

He crossed rivers, mountains, and enemies and survived wounds soldiers like him get, all to come home to you. And all this was for nothing. In his world, he would've married you, given you chubby babies and late Saturday mornings. No gun, no bomb and no other man would've kept him away from you.

In his mind, he is with you. In his dead heart, he sits by and watches that chubby baby learn to walk. He would've adored seeing you in a white dress, walking to him as he wiped tears away when he d his dream of a perfect life was minutes away from being real.

What a mess he is as he asks for another drink. A mess he never should have been if he had told you that your name is carved all over his body.

It was this town that saw him live and it'll be this town that sees him die because if he can't have you, at least he has this place.

A/N: Remember, I collect tears for potions, so please drop them by for collection, thank you. - The place of tears co.

Tags: @liyanahelena @mangowafflesss @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95

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todorokies · 7 months

Text

A LONG WALK - satoru gojo & suguru geto

✩࿐ a midnight summer stroll with your companions stirs certain emotions regarding self doubts & nostalgia . . .

contents: sfw, polygamous satosugu x reader (can be perceived as platonic or romantic), gn!reader, fluff & angst with some comfort, 1.3k words

a/n: based off of this fanart … pls support me by reblogging my work !!

the chilled summer breeze flows melodically through the air and finds its way swirling into your skin, arising small goosebumps on your exposed arms. you should’ve taken suguru’s advice into consideration by wearing a light cardigan for your midnight outing instead of leaving with a simple tank top.

albeit taken back by the breeze, you couldn’t be truly bothered by it, allowing the gentle wind to cascade your face caressing you softly like an embrace. with closed eyes, enjoyable fragments of your childhood flashes before your eyes with each rippling gust of currency.

your mother taking you to your first hanabi festival, getting your face painted with unique spiral patterns, the colourful loud sparks of light illuminating the sky as children’s laughs and adults’ excited clamours follows along with each firework.

your chest begins to rapidly ache by the supposedly fond memory, causing palpitations on your fragile heart. your innocence got unrightfully taken away at such a young age being forced to slave the rest of your life away to the occupation of a sorcerer, something you still haven’t come to terms with.

despite the roaring traffic in the centre of the city, a particular voice is able to pull your mind out of self imprisonment.

“a penny for your thoughts?” satoru appears standing by your side with two popsicles in one hand —one that is wrapped and the other unwrapped, presumably his.

you playfully scoff, reaching for the wrapped popsicle and satoru takes a seat next to you on the bench; your face must’ve been in clear discomfort for him to ask. “keep the penny, it’s nothing serious.” you attempt to wave off his concerns.

he nudges at your elbow, “if it’s causing you to look like you’re going through a midlife crisis on a park bench then it’s definitely serious, cmon spill it.” his words are lighthearted but voice is woven with sympathy.

“where’s suguru?” you dodge his inquiry “and you got me the shittiest flavour, really? nobody likes grape, you should know by now i’m a cherry type of person.”

satoru throws a complex glance your way but decides to not push it any farther, “he went to the convenience store to pick up some ingredients. i think he wanted to cook us beef stir-fry this time? not sure though.”

you hum in acknowledgment finding it a bit strange how he doesn’t press you for more information or your popsicle flavour statement. comfortable silence soon falls amongst you two, the frequent honking of cars and chatting of civilians keeps the streets lively. it’s a nice reminder that you’re never truly alone in such a big city as tokyo.

but alas, the warmth the eccentric city provided could never be enough to rebuild the wall of blissful ignorance you once had as a child. having to lick over the fresh wounds that reopen every time something triggers the painful truth of your inevitable death that will come from this line of work.

you must’ve been zoned out for quite some time because the grape popsicle began to melt and trickle down your hand landing in droplets on your pants.

“‘toru—” you begin but bite your tongue unaware of where to even start in your pursuit to find answers to calm your erratic mind.

“what does nostalgia feel like to you?” a stupid question indeed, as you watched satoru’s face twist and turn trying to either make sense of it or formulate his answer.

he soon replies, “it usually hits me in the face at the weirdest times, but when it does, it’s a bittersweet feeling that makes me glad i was able to experience it when i did.” he shrugs, licking at his almost-done blue popsicle.

“oh.”

“was that not the answer you were looking for?” he frowns, peering at you through his sunglasses.

“no, it’s not that, whenever i feel nostalgic it’s a gross gut wrenching feeling that seriously makes me ill. i hate it.” you truthfully express yourself.

“well, there’s no right or wrong way of feeling nostalgic, it just stems from how intense you feel about that specific memory.” his words flow casually as if this topic was second nature to him.

you huff, “since when did you become so insightful and wise?” you attempt at a joke to lighten the dull mood.

he laughs. the type of laugh where his snowy white hair bounces rhythmically with each chuckle that emerges from his throat “oh stop that! i’ve always been big brained with knowledge.”

another fit of comfortable silence washes over until you felt the urge to break it, “y’know, sometimes i wish i could live in the past forever… the present is too painful at times.”

satoru demeanour falters as an unfamiliar emotion glistens in his eyes then disappears shortly after. his eyebrows furrow causing creases in the middle, he nibbles at his bottom lip with a visible hurt expression distorting his face, “are me and suguru not enough for you?” he immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

satoru isn’t religious by any means, but he’d like to thank whoever is higher above for making it possible that you and suguru have crossed paths with him. you both complete him and give him a sense of purpose to continue what he deems he does best at; protecting. satoru prefers to live in the present with his loved ones, not the past. hearing those string of words from you caused a small pit in his stomach to erupt.

your eyes widen, “no! that’s not what i meant—”

“sorry for the long wait, i had trouble deciding if i should buy teriyaki sauce or we should just make it ourselves.” suguru comes into view from the sidewalk with a grocery bag in hand and a popsicle in the other. his eyes dart between you and satoru, already sensing unspoken tension, “everything okay?” he quirks an eyebrow up.

“yup!” satoru responds with obvious faux glee. he stretches his legs then proceeds to get off the bench taking a quick peak in the grocery bag, “took you long enough though, we were gonna turn into skeletons soon.” he flicks suguru’s forehead then scurries off like a mouse farther down the sidewalk to avoid getting his foot stomped on.

you join suguru by his side to journey back to campus. he briefly recalls his sightings that included a newly opened karaoke bar and hydrangeas are finally in bloom having seen them on his way to the store.

“you should talk to him when we get back, let him cool off for a bit,” he refers back to satoru. his minty breath fanning against the shell of your ear, “i will, don’t worry.” you send a tight-lipped smile his way.

the walk back is peaceful. the breeze from before turned into clouds of humidity, grasshoppers chirped loudly replacing the buzzing traffic that has now quieted down, assuming everyone else is calling it a night as well.

suguru takes out his phone to check the time mumbling curses under his breath once he reads three-thirty-five am, “we should hurry back before yaga kills us.”

his words trigger something in you.

“do you think we’ll be able to survive in the long run?” you suddenly blurt out. your voice shakes as you attempt to shove the forming lump in your throat down.

context isn’t provided but suguru has a hunch of what you could be referring to. the air around gets thick and the world stills as he carefully thinks over many ways to respond to the difficult question with a simplified answer.

“i think—” he pauses, and glances over at you to see your glossy eyes reflect in the moonlight and his heart crumbles at the sight.

at the end of the day, you were all still children forced into a wretched society that measures self value to strength and was either discarded by the horrors that walked among this earth or the adults in charge of the hierarchy.

“i think we should just protect who we can and cherish our possibly limited time together.”

tags: @tokyeoi @satocidal @yunymphs

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated <33

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nena-la-fresa · 3 months

Text

The Dragon and The Wolf |Part 1|

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Part 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f! Stark Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage | Steamy Themes | Angst |

Word Count: 1807

A/N: Hasn't been proof read so bear with me I'll fix it later. Aemond is also aged up to the actors age cuz that’s the age he looks.

You could overhear the whispers, the pity in their voices. The young wolf being sent off to marry a dragon.

All due to the stupidity of your house. How infuriating that they accepted an audience with Rhaenyra's son. It was most definitely seen as an act of treason to the Crown. No matter how much you pleaded with your father not to accept the meeting. You had the sight, you had seen what would happen if they had sided with her. You never disliked Rhaenyra, she was absolutely beautiful, you had always admired her since you were a child. But knowing that the safety of your family was now jeopardized you could not stay silent. But your family was permitted to stay on good terms with the Crown under the condition that you marry Prince Aemond.

The whispers of how you were kissed by visions from the gods had reached Otto. He was the reason your family was given a second chance. What better way to win wars and make sure his blood stayed on the throne than to marry his grandson to a Greenseer. The wedding would take place in a month's time. Plans had been formed to begin as soon as you had left for Kings Landing.

The road was long and no amount of sleep could calm your nerves.

“Mother please not now.”

Aemond pushes the door to his chambers, unable to close it as Alicent was close behind.

“I understand you are upset. But you know it is your duty. Your brother is sick, he’s practically on his deathbed. So your grandfather thought it was best to find you a wife in preparation.”

“The Stark girl who comes from a traitor family? How is that any good?” His voice hinted with malice.

“Because she is a great asset to our family. You know how your father always spoke of Targayens and their prophecies. How they escaped Old Valyria. This could be good for us, Aemond. We wouldn’t have to lose anyone else.” She moved forward and touched his arm as he stared into the fire. “Aemond please.”

“It’s not as if I have a choice mother.” He sighed and placed his hand on hers. No matter how frustrating a situation he could never be upset with her. “When will the wedding take place?”

“Two days after she arrives.”

Much to your dismay you had arrived at King's Landing. Your wedding was in two days time, nothing could prepare you for it. You hadn’t even seen your betrothed since the moment you got there. You had met the Queen and she had asked for your forgiveness at her sons, ‘Shyness’. You expected as much. You heard rumors, the whispers of how cold Aemond was. In fact you preferred that he didn’t see you. But contrary to what people believe you were not always within the favor of the gods.

“I know what people say of my son. And I am sorry you have to hear that. But I can assure you he is at the very least a gentleman. If my son ever does you harm please do let me know and I will do my best to correct his behavior. “

“Thank you. I very much- '' You were cut off by the sounds of the doors opening loudly combined with heavy footsteps.

“Mother, Aegon has been begging for you. Please shut hi-'' He paused as he saw you sitting there. Before you turned to him could only describe you as cold looking and distant, with a hint of poise. He thought your look was very fitting for a Northerner. And had he known his mother requested an audience with you he wouldn’t have come barging in.

“Good you're here.” Alicent got up from her seat and headed towards him. “I’ll deal with your brother. But the two of you need to converse.”

Alicent closes the door behind her, “Make sure he doesn’t leave just yet.” She tells the guard on post.

You turned away from him and focused your attention on the fire as you began to fidget with your hands. Aemond takes notice of it, and he sees the same movement his mother does when she gets nervous. Then he hears you wince, and the sight of blood can be seen on your thumb.

“Stop that.” He took three steps before he was in front of you and grabbed your hands. You had looked up at him in surprise, looking at him now you couldn’t believe the rumors you heard of him looking hideous. Your eyes softened a bit at his touch and by the look of concern he gave you. He had an ethereal beauty to him, even with the eyepatch and scar.

As he looked down at you he took notice of your eyes, doe like. And that coldness he saw was gone for the moment. He then remembered the blood on your hand, not having anything to wipe away the blood he brought your hand up to his lips and sucked the blood.

You should be weirded out. But the sensation of his tongue and lips against your finger sent a shiver down your spine that made its way to your nether regions.

“Aemond.” You whispered his name. Yet it seemed as if he didn’t hear you. You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, “I think the blood has stopped now.”

He let go of your hand “Forgive me.” In a panic he turns and heads straight for the door. As he opens the door the guards stop him.

“Forgive me Prince Aemond but your mother said not to let you leave just yet.” Aemond gave the guard a look.

“You must be joking.”

“Sorry my Prince.” The guard shut the door leaving Aemond trapped.

“Unbelievable.” Aemond made his way over to sit by the fireplace. You both sat in silence for what felt like hours. You watched him as the fire casted a shadow on one side of his face and illuminated the other.

“Are you always so quick to run away?” You playfully joked.

He turned his head quickly to you and was quick to respond, “Maybe if you had not picked at your skin I would not have run away.”

You were taken aback by his response, almost getting whiplash by his change in tone. Just a minute ago he was gentle with you. “Me? Then maybe you should not have kissed my finger.”

“You dare argue with me?” He scoffed.

“Yes and what of it.” You stood up and made your way over to him. “Are you going to have me killed?”

He laughed and stood up, he towered over you. “No.” He smirked and leaned down at eye level, “I could just do it myself.”

“And risk another war?”

“Oh please, your father begged my grandsire for forgiveness. You really think they’d go to war for a daughter?”

“You must know very well considering they call you kinslayer.”

“Hold your tongue.” He hissed and grabbed your face firmly.

“You must know what love for one’s child could make anyone do. What your sister did for her son, and what your mother did for hers.”

“Do you always speak when you’re told not to?” His voice no longer hinted with any concern he had for you earlier. You felt his breathing become heavy, and his grip tightened.

“Do I upset you?” You smirked slightly, “Were you expecting someone quiet? Someone who won’t put up a fight?”

“Like how you put up a fight when I cleaned your blood?” His face moves closer to your ear as he whispers. “You don’t think I could feel you shaking? Or hear your breathing hitch?”

“What are you doing?” You try to pull away as you feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Not much of a fight you’re putting up is it.” He kissed your neck, and sucked for just a second. Just enough to make you let out a small whimper.

“Aemond stop.” You pleaded as he kept teasing you. You felt the heat rising in your body and I’m sure that he felt it too.

His lips were moving down your neck to your collarbone. He sucked a bit harder, enough to leave a mark, you winced and pushed him away. Without even thinking you slapped him.

His face turned only slightly, it was almost as if it hadn’t even hurt him. You kept looking at him and noticed the light tint of red on his cheek. Not only that but the corner of his lip began to bleed, the sight of it had distracted you from the stinging pain coming from your palm.

You hurt him, but he kept pushing. But maybe it was your fault for teasing him. But he practically defiled you before you were even married. He went too far. Yes you were to be married but, what of this mark. What will others think? Will they think you were a whore? Will they question your virtue and think another man has touched you? Will this get your family and you killed? You hadn’t seen this, in fact you hadn’t seen anything regarding Aemond in your dreams or visions. Your thoughts ran wild and you couldn’t stand to be here anymore. It was all overwhelming. What were you doing here? How could your father be so stupid. How could he do this to you? You weren’t some common whore.

“Forgive me, my Lady. I went to fa-” Before he could even finish what he wanted you were gone. His head turned to hear the doors fling open and your scurrying footsteps. He began to run after you but ran into his mother in the corridor. Alicent had looked back at you and then at her son. She could see his tinted check and the blood.

“Aemond what did you do?” She wiped the blood off his lip.

The next two days were spent with you avoiding Aemond at all cost. You had practically locked yourself in your chambers. Thankfully Alicent had permitted it, but that didn’t help much as tomorrow was the day. The day you would be binded to him forever. The whole day was nothing but making sure that your dress still fit and that you were prepped for consummating the marriage. It has plagued your mind. Not even sleep could help with this.

The sounds of the bells had brought you out of your trance. You don’t even remember how you got up here. But here you were next to Aemond hand in hand about to be trapped.

As both your hands were tied together the man spoke, “Let it be known that Y/n of House Stark and Aemond of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

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