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#taking about how much they love the companion
yoongiofmine · 1 day
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LY: Love You Better | JJK | Five
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Pair: Idol!Jungkook x Playmate!reader
Summary: Jungkook never wanted a playmate of his own before. While living a busy life, touring the world, being one of the top kpop idols alongside his Bangtan hyungs, he had everything he could possibly need. But now that responsibilities call and his brothers are starting to focus on their solo careers before eventually enlisting one by one, Jungkook feels lonely. Maybe hiring a companion to take care of his needs and fill in the empty space in his life isn’t such a bad idea anymore…
Chapter warnings: ………yes, smut again, don’t come for me. Dom Kook, competitive Kook. 
WC: 6.3K
[Membership]
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“Come on, Kook, do this with us!” Jimin pleaded, a drink away from draping himself over the maknae’s lap. 
“I’m not in the mood, hyung, I’m sorry.” the youngest shook his head, more than happy with just sitting where he was, on one of the red couches of the bar Hoseok decided to close down to have his birthday celebration at. 
“But we have a routine!” Taehyung insisted, shoulders down and slumped. 
“Yes, a routine that we don’t need. That we haven’t needed in years.” Jungkook pointed out, bringing the beer bottle to his lips for a sip. 
“Just because we don’t need it, doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” the second to youngest continued. 
Jungkook was never the most outgoing of his members. The idol much preferred small get togethers or dinners at one of the other guys’ homes. But Hoseok hyung, being as friendly as he was, and with his impending military leave happening soon, chose to hire a whole bar in the middle of Itaewon for his close friends and some family members to celebrate with him. 
It was closed enough that he knew none of the guests would post anything about tonight, everyone was enjoying good company and drinks, not worried about their phones. It was nice, really, and Jungkook knew he’d start relaxing after a few beers. 
But for now things still felt a little weird. 
Their group wasn’t complete, Jin hyung didn’t have enough military days to request a leave yet. Joon hyung was already lost somewhere with Soyoon, a singer Hoseok had introduced to him last june, at the Jack in The Box listening party, and Jungkook was pretty sure they were secretly hooking up. The fact that this would be the last birthday he’d celebrate with Hobi hyung was also sitting heavy in his chest. 
“Alright, you two, leave him alone.” speak of the devil, the birthday man was doing his rounds to be a good host, shooing Jimin and Taehyung away with a wave and a laugh. 
“But–” Jimin tried, being shushed by Hoseok. 
“Let him get a couple drinks in, I’m sure he’ll join you in your mischief in a minute.” Hoseok sat next to Jungkook on the yellow, stained, leather couch, hand resting on the younger man’s thigh. 
Jimin and Taehyung were huffing for all of two seconds before linking arms and laughing about anything they planned on doing next. If Jin hyung was there, they’d most likely rope him into their doings.
“How are you feeling tonight?” Hoseok asked him with a squeeze to his knee. 
“I’m great, hyung, this place is cool.” was his answer, which sounded a little airy as it was delivered on the mouth of the beer bottle. 
“Yeah, you look like you’re having the time of your life.” sarcasm laced the hyung’s words, but the laugh that accompanied it softened the blow. “I saved your ass right now, but you won’t be alone here all night.” 
“Where’s Yuna noona? I like you better when she’s around.” Jungkook poked, pout covering the end of the bottle to chug a sip. 
“Yah, I’m just looking out for you while I can!” the older man was laughing again, pointing with his head to the side where his playmate was. “She’s with Yoongi hyung over at the bar.”
Jungkook’s eyes scanned the place, taking in the atmosphere. He had never been to this particular bar before, as it was on the smaller side, so it would most likely be packed with tourists and locals if the hyung hadn’t closed it down for his party tonight. 
The first floor was for the bar, a makeshift dance floor and sitting areas, where the second half-floor apparently had some games like old school video game machines, pool tables and coin karaoke booths. 
The bar itself was near the door and, just like Hoseok said, Yoongi and Yuna were there. The hyung was sitting on a tall bench, legs parted so the woman could fit in between. Yuna was laughing at something Yoongi said, hand on his chest as she pushed him playfully; his pink gums were out as he smiled like a fool in love. 
It was a scene that brought a twist to Jungkook’s stomach, turning back to Hoseok, who was also watching the scene unfold. 
“Shouldn’t she be with you? It’s your birthday.” the maknae asked, slightly worried. 
“She’ll come home with me tonight, that’s what matters.” Hoseok shrugged, bringing his glass to his lips, eyes only leaving his girl and his best friend when he continued: “It’s important for them to get used to each other, so there’s no awkwardness when she starts to work for him.”
“Again, you’re okay with that?” 
“Have to be. She needs the money, and I’d rather she works for Yoongi than someone random.” the hyung sounded worried, no doubt having talked about his enlistment plans with Yuna. After working together for so many years, his absence was something she needed to be aware of. “It’s easy for idols to feel entitled when it comes to playmates, you know? Nolichingu is a good agency, but there are horror stories about places that let their workers get mistreated and abused if it meant bringing more money in.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s eyes were wide, as he never gave the playmate thing much thought before wanting to hire his own, lines forming between his brows as he wondered about your experiences. 
If you’ve been in that career for half a decade, you must’ve had as many bad experiences as good ones. 
“You’re a better man than I am, hyung.” the younger man admitted, eyes finding Yuna and Yoongi again. As the woman typed something on her phone, the hyung stared at her with stars in his eyes. Jungkook wondered if Hoseok could see it too. “If that was Yn–”
“You’re a jealous boy, Jungkookie. Always have been.” Hoseok shrugged, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m only telling you this because, like I said, I’m trying to look out for you. Yuna, Yn, any other playmate… They aren’t ours. They work with us, yeah, but don’t let yourself get carried away. They don’t belong to us.”
“I know that, hyung.” Jungkook grumbled, gaze dropping to focus on the green bottle between his fingers, tracing the bumpy patterns on the glass. 
“Good, then.” Hobi hyung didn’t sound all that convinced, but steered the conversation nonetheless. “I take it you’re getting along?”
“Y-you could say that.”
His stuttering only came out when Jungkook grew nervous, cursing himself for his own slip. The man sat beside him gasped and turned around to properly face him. 
“Ohhh, Jungkookieeee.” Hoseok mused, high pitched laugh and eyes wide. “You mean you two…? I wasn’t sure you’d ask for that part of the service, I’ll be honest.”
“I didn’t technically ask for it. It, uh, just happened.” Jungkook shrugged, downplaying it. His neck felt hot, and the smile on his lips was telling. 
If this was Taehyung or Jimin, they would have demanded the sordid details, but Hoseok was kind enough to only ask: “Was it nice?”
“We didn’t have sex yet.” he explained, voice low. “But we kissed. And stuff.”
“And stuff?”
He nodded. “It was nice, yeah, very nice.”
“So that’s why you weren’t interested in wingman-ing with Jimin and Tae?” 
Before he could agree with the hyung’s conclusion, heeled steps approached the two of them, making both men turn to see Yuna and– 
“Heeeey, you made it!” Hoseok was getting up as he saw you standing with his girl, a pretty smile on your glossed lips as you opened your arms to hug him. 
“Happy birthday, Hoseokie-oppa!” 
Jungkook had last seen you this morning, when he dropped you off at the building you lived at, no hopes of seeing you again before Monday morning. He had asked you if you were coming tonight, knowing being friends with Yuna and Hoseok would mean you were invited, but you told him there were things you and your roommate needed to do at your apartment, so you’d be unable to make it. 
You looked really good tonight, with a black mini-skirt with the tiniest red heart prints and a long sleeved, body fitting, black cashmere shirt with buttons at the front; the buttons of your top near your chest were fighting for dear life, sitting snug against your breasts. Layers of necklaces sat on your collarbones and that’s where he pretended to look when he got up to greet you. 
“Hi, Kook!” you hugged him next, your chunky boots making you a couple inches taller than he was used to. 
“Didn’t think you were coming.” he said quietly, breathing in your perfume; soft and floral. 
“Her roommate is an asshole sometimes.” Yuna explained before you could. 
You gave the group a half hearted nod of agreement as your arms unwrapped from Jungkook’s middle, moving to stand beside him. 
“You want a drink?” Jungkook was the one offering, but before he could keep you, Yuna held your hand and pulled you away. 
“You already have her five days of the week, aren’t you tired?” Yuna teased, but you whined a complaint at the underlined insult. “We need some gossip time, I’ll bring her to you in a second.” 
Jungkook couldn’t argue, nor defend himself as you were taken away towards the bar so you and your friend could talk. Him and Hoseok were still standing when the hyung patted him on the back. 
“You, my friend, got it bad.” 
“Excuse me, how can you say that after watching a five second interaction?” Jungkook pointed out with a frown, but he already felt more awake just from the simple fact that you were here. 
“You were sniffing her hair.” the man deadpanned and Jungkook felt his face flush. 
“So?” he chided, one hand inside his pockets to feign nonchalance. “I sniff your hair all the time.” 
“You have known me for twelve years.” 
“She smells good!” was his defense, a very poor one at that, but it’s what he had. 
Jungkook was particular about what kind of smells he liked, he’d always been that way. His mother used to joke that it was because of his big nose that he could smell things a lot more strongly than others. He had no idea if it was accurate, but strong scents made his nostrils burn. 
He never had that problem with you. Your body wash was mellow and the perfumes you liked to wear were always soft and floral, a little on the sweeter side, which seemed to match you. 
Besides, Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit to his hyung just how bad he had it for you. 
Now that Yuna was busy with you, Yoongi joined the two-person group of Hoseok and Jungkook near the yellow couch. Jungkook took his seat again, leaving his empty bottle at the small table in front of him, Hoseok on the other cushion and Yoongi on the armchair right beside it. Not too long after, Namjoon and Soyoon turned them into a five piece group, all of them ignoring how the lips of the newcomers were swollen and slightly red. 
Yoongi spoke of his tour and how he hoped all tickets sold out, going over the venues he'd perform at, wishing the rest of the members would come see him. Jimin definitely would. Hoseok wasn’t sure if he could. 
Soyoon mentioned her collab with Namjoon, who was staring at her mouth the whole time. The woman was sweet. Nerdy too, kinda bossy in a fun way; it was surprising that the hyung would go for someone like that. 
Conversation floated around him, but Jungkook’s eyes were trailed to the bar, where you and Yuna were talking animatedly about something he couldn’t hear. The maknae thought he saw slight annoyance on your features at some point, or something akin to disappointment. Yuna noticed it too, giving you a hug and ordering more shots of whatever you were having.
When both of you had full glasses of colorful drinks, you made your way to the group again, making Jungkook fix his posture a bit more. 
“Relax, kid.” Yoongi was the one to notice, muttering behind his whiskey glass. “Play it cool.” 
Jungkook nodded, back resting against the couch as he draped an arm around the back of it, knees parting in a hopefully-natural manspreading. He pretended not to notice you walk this way, laughing at whatever Hoseok was saying. 
Yuna was the first to reach the seats, taking perch on the arm of the couch beside Hoseok. 
“What did we miss?” Yuna asked, slight slur to her words, which made Hoseok smile fondly and wrap a protective arm around her hips. 
“Nothing much.” he replied, kissing her on the arm under the attentive eyes of Yoongi. 
That was a mess Jungkook didn’t plan on getting involved with, nor would he be able to as you sat by his side on the couch, tucked under his stretched arm, glossy eyes and lips around the plastic straw you were sipping from. 
“Hi.” you greeted again, knocking the air out of his lungs. “You look handsome.” 
“I was about to tell you the same thing.” his lips were pulled up at the sides as his head tilted downwards to study your face. He liked the shimmery makeup on your lids. 
“No one ever told me I’m handsome before.” you giggled, proud of yourself for that little joke. 
“I meant I was about to tell you I’m handsome.” Jungkook played along with a grin, any noise around the two of you getting muffled, as if you were in a bubble. “You’re just pretty.” 
You were laughing sweetly, pastel pink nails a contrast to your red drink and the black  sleeve of your shirt. Jungkook didn’t think he ever saw you in clothes with colors. Not that he minded, his own closet was filled with blacks, grays and the occasional white. It was just something he noticed.
“What are you drinking?” he carried on, watching you slip the straw from your mouth. 
“No idea what it’s called, but it’s strawberry.” you lifted the glass towards him in offering. “Wanna try?” 
Jungkook gave you a small nod, liking the way your eyes followed the movement of his lips as he drank from your straw, tasting your gloss along with the alcohol, feeling the sticky of it on his mouth. 
After the sip, the fingertips from the hand that was behind you on the back of the couch dragged on the side of your neck as he said:
“You like it sweet and gentle, don’t you, doll?” he meant the drink, which was too sweet and not strong enough for him, but Jungkook loved the way you squirmed next to him, a small puff of air leaving your lips. 
Your mouth parted for you to speak, but you were interrupted as your bubble was popped and Taehyung plopped down on the couch on your other side. Hoseok and Yuna were no longer there, but Jungkook would have no clue about when either of them moved. 
“Hey, Yn.” Taehyung smiled brightly and you had to sit a little more angled so you could look at him, which pressed your side to Jungkook’s. 
“What’s up?” you smiled back, sweet tilt to your voice as you greeted his friend. 
In the almost three weeks you had been working for Jungkook, Tae hyung and Jimin hyung made visits to the house to see you; either bringing take out or drinks to be shared. None of those times had Jungkook been embarrassed by his friends, but he was still warry, letting his arm drop down your back to rest around your waist. 
“Do you like being a playmate?” Taehyung asked; leave it to him to choose that topic to make conversation. 
“Yeah, of course, or I wouldn’t be doing it.” you giggled, most likely taken back by the question. “I think it’s fun. Allows me to travel around and meet cool people.” 
“Is that what you want to work with forever?” the hyung continued, just as Jungkook’s fingers lightly squeezed your sides. 
“Why, you have another job for me?” you laughed, still getting used to Tae’s slightly random ways. “I’m not really looking for a change in career for now.”
“For now?” Jungkook surprised even himself by the glimmer of hope he felt at the prospects of a future you didn’t work with this. 
Jungkook would never shame you for what you did, especially now that he knew what being a playmate really entailed. But he couldn’t help but think about the future… The future where your Playmate/Client relationship might blossom into something more. 
“Well, being a playmate doesn’t really give you longevity career wise. While we look young and pretty is all good, but when we get older… Well, let’s just say you don’t get as many clients picking you in the sea of younger girls.” you explained, looking between Jungkook and Taehyung. “I don’t have plans to stop now, but in the future I might have to do something else.”
“Maybe we can do a drama together in the future!” Taehyung offered, knowing you wanted to be an actress. “That would be fun. We could make a cute on-screen couple.” 
“I think it would be more fun to play a villain.” you added, and Jungkook didn’t want to delve in the relief that flooded him. “Maybe with a nice death at the end of the season…” 
You and Taehyung got lost in the subject, where the hyung told you about how fun filming his death scene in Hwarang was, you asked him questions about his experiences on the set and if he planned on doing anything like that again. 
There wasn’t much that Jungkook could say, as the most acting he’d done was during the filming of VCRs for BTS concerts. But he would still nod and smile whenever you looked back at him, never wanting to feel left out. But Jungkook was more than happy just to hold you like this, gently running his fingers up and down your sides, occasionally kissing your shoulder as if it was the norm. 
A loud yelp coming from the bar interrupted the conversation, Jimin almost slipping from the bench he was sitting at while talking to one of Hoseok’s friends. It made Taehyung laugh at the drunk hyung, but he took his leave with the explanation of ‘someone better keep an eye on him’. 
When it was just the two of you on the couch, everyone else moving around and mingling, you left your empty cup on the table nearby and turned to face Jungkook. Your face was a little flushed from the alcohol, eyes a little unfocused as you studied his face. 
“I like your freckle.” you decided, pointer finger touching the bottom of his lip. “And your face.” 
“I like your face, too.” he chuckled, wondering if maybe your drink was stronger than he thought, or just how many shots you had with Yuna. “Should we get you some water?” 
“Alcoholic water?” you giggled, resting your hand on his thigh, slightly higher than he expected, making him gulp. 
“Water water.” Jungkook told you, making you pout and frown. You shook your head, cute as can be. 
“That’s boring, Kook, this is supposed to be a party.” you pointed out to him, looking around yourself and settling your attention on the stairs on the other side of the room. “What’s upstairs?”
“Some games, I think.” he shrugged, smile growing as your eyes widened. “Wanna check it out?” 
“Will you come with?” you chirped and he nodded, as if it wasn’t intended that he would. 
Jungkook didn’t plan on leaving your side, unless you asked him to. It should be weird, how he already spent his days next to you. But the more he had of you, the more he wanted. It was addicting really, from your personality to the way you looked. It was almost too good to be true. 
You stood up first, offering your hand to Jungkook to take, and led the way on wobbly knees to the stairs. The two of you passed by a winking Jimin and a red eyed Namjoon, receiving a thumbs up from a dancing Hoseok. 
The idol let you walk up first, keeping a hand on your hip to keep you from tripping over your heavy boots. And if he had a nice view of your ass, then that was an unplanned perk. 
“Air hockey!” you squealed as you saw the game table, leaving Jungkook behind as you walked to it. “I used to love this, my brother and I would spend our allowance on the arcade by the mall when we were growing up.”
“Why did you stop growing?” Jungkook asked as he patted your head, making you laugh prettily. 
“Stop that, my whole family is short, okay?” you batted his hand away, not minding his joke. “Wanna play?”
“I only play for a prize.” his arms crossed at his chest as Jungkook rested the side of his hips against the air hockey table. 
“What do you want?” you mirrored him, but as your arms crossed, your shirt became a little tighter and your breasts were just so…
“I win, you lose a button.” his mouth was speaking before his brain could catch up. 
It made you laugh and look down at your chest. “If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.”
“I like to earn it.” Jungkook’s shoulders raised and fell, relieved you weren’t offended by his bluntness. 
“I can think of a way or two you can do that.” your arms uncrossed and you touched his chest with a small hand. 
“Yeah?”
“Start the game, Kook.” 
You suddenly sounded sober, which was bad for his competitiveness, but good for his morals. 
Each of you went to an end of the table and as you took the bright yellow pushers and sent one sliding towards Jungkook, the man pressed the button to make the machine light up and tiny puffs of air covered the surface. The red disk was released on Jungkook’s side of the table, which gave him higher chances of starting the game with a score. 
“Hey, Kook?” you called, making him look at you. He froze on the spot as your fingers popped a button on your shirt, letting him see more of your chest, the black lace of the top of your bra a contrast with your skin. “A head start for you.” 
“Jesus, doll–” 
Your smile was almost innocent as you bent down a little more, so you could better look at the table and move your pusher over it to block any of his movements, but it also meant Jungkook had the perfect view of the plump mounds inside your flimsy top. 
You weren’t playing fair and the two of you knew it, too, but you still batted your eyelashes at him, waiting prettily for him to make the first move. 
At least he could say he tried. 
But it was a game lost from the start. 
Not only were you annoyingly good at the game, with fast moves and even quicker blocks, nothing got past you. Unsure if it was his worst nightmare or sweetest dream, your breasts would jiggle and bounce with your movements, which meant Jungkook was too distracted to block any of your own attacks. 
You made one point after the other and when the score was 6x0, you allowed the disk to slip into your side of the table, giving him a pity point. At your seventh point –an ironic number, if he could say so himself–, the table announced your victory. 
While you squealed and celebrated, Jungkook rolled his eyes and huffed at his loss. 
Jungkook hated losing. 
“Why are you called the golden maknae again?” you teased, licking between your lips. 
“You didn’t play fair and you fucking know it.”  he grumbled, shaking his head and avoiding your eyes. 
His attitude made you laugh harder as you walked toward him. “Damn, you’re a really sore loser.” 
“And you’re an unfair player.” 
“You’re cute like this, you know?” you stated and Jungkook’s cheeks betrayed him as he felt the blush creeping up on him, not getting much better as you took his wrist. “Come. I want my prize.” 
Jungkook would give you anything you ever wanted, no matter how annoyed he was. Especially as you walked to the furthest side of the barely empty second floor, the sway of your hips and the round of your ass too enticing for the young man to ignore. 
He had been right before and there really was a coin noraebang up there, which is exactly where you were leading Jungkook to. You pulled the flimsy door open and allowed him to walk in first. 
The cabin was a little claustrophobic, but big enough so his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling and the two of you could stand inside without bumping into each other. The walls were dark blue, reflecting the colorful strobe lights that made the interior feel like a club. A default song was playing, something by an old kpop band his parents used to listen to, as the instructions on how to use the karaoke system were displayed on the LED TV. 
“I don’t have any coins on me.” Jungkook patted his pockets even if he knew he didn’t even carry cash on him. 
“That’s okay, we won’t be singing.” 
Jungkook let his back hit the wall behind him, legs parting slightly as he rested against it. The man was smirking softly as he held you by the hips and let you fall into him. 
“What are we doing, then?” one of his eyebrows arched, even if he could read it in your eyes, and in the way you licked your lips, just what you wanted. 
“You’re my prize.” 
You were standing between his legs, hands on his chest, sliding up to link at the back of his neck as you pulled him closer to you. Jungkook squeezed your hips encouragingly, pressing your body just a bit tighter against him. He let you be the one to press your lips together, mouths moving in slow drags against each other. 
He hadn’t kissed you again since that night in his kitchen, when he came in his pants from dry humping you –mostly because he didn’t know how to ask for it–. Even if you did grow closer and your touches grew more constant. It was obvious he missed your mouth, with how eager Jungkook was to deepen the kiss; bold hands dragging down until your short skirt turned into soft skin and his grip turned firm. You gasped against his mouth, allowing his tongue to lick into yours. 
One of your hands slipped into his long hair and you squeezed it between your fingers, the burning on his scalp making Jungkook kiss you harder. His tattooed hand started inching higher, under your skirt, slow enough that you could tell him to stop if you didn’t want his advances, but all you did was push your ass into his hand. 
Jungkook felt his heart on his throat and blood rushing south with each flick of your tongue, each smack of your lips and each pretty little sound you made. He found lace when he squeezed your ass cheek, making you moan into his lips and press your body harder into his. The pressure on his cock, which was already filling up rather quickly, made him hiss and break the sloppy kiss. 
“Aren’t you glad you lost the game?” you whispered against his mouth, but Jungkook couldn’t answer when you took his bottom lip between your teeth, letting the meaty pillow drag as you bit and pulled. 
“It feels like I won.” he finally answered, long fingers flexing on your ass. 
“For a boob-guy, you seem to like my ass a lot.” you giggled, hand leaving his hair to touch his chest, down to his abs, making him flex his muscles. 
“I like all of you.” he admitted easily, but his hand left your ass to hold your waist. Between kisses delivered to your mouth, he murmured: “You’re my perfect little doll.” 
“Your doll, huh?” 
You weren’t denying it, but Hoseok’s words stubbornly made it to the forefront of his drunk thoughts. ‘They aren’t ours. They don’t belong to us’. It made Jungkook swallow the bitter lump that was starting to form, self doubt trying to grow roots in his heart. Thankfully your lips touching his neck was plenty of distraction. 
You licked and nipped at his skin as his hands roamed your body freely. Jungkook could hear voices and yells outside the booth, Hoseok’s friends playing whatever game was available, but instead of making him nervous, the possibility of one of them walking in on you was exciting. 
He was breathing hard, head tilted back as you explored his neck with your mouth, eyes closed shut. The hand that was resting on his stomach started moving south again; lower and lower until you cupped his erection, humming in appreciation as you felt the size and weight of it. 
Jungkook’s hand stopped at the back of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as you palmed him, rubbing your small hand up and down his cock over his dark denim. 
“Doll.” Jungkook whispered with a whine. You kissed his chin and hummed questioningly. “You feel really good.” 
“I can tell.” there was a smile on your lips as you kissed the mole under his bottom one. 
“But I don’t wanna cum in my pants again…” 
Not only wasn’t it the most comfortable, there was no way he’d spend the rest of the night with his own drying cum in his pants. The probability of him making a mess and someone noticing it was also substantially high. 
“Who said you’re going to?” 
You answered him with a question, but it didn’t make a lot of sense; or at least his blood really was rushing so low on his body that his thoughts were a little sluggish. You dropping to your knees between his legs was clear enough, though. 
“Fuck–” he cursed under his breath, looking at you get eye level with his crotch, hand still rubbing his erection on top of his pants. 
“Is this okay?” you asked, fingers reaching for his button. 
“Yes.” Jungkook hissed, biting his lip to stop a louder moan from echoing in the small booth. 
You batted your lashes at him, quickly undoing his button and zipper and pulling his pants down to his knees. Your pretty eyes widened and your lips parted as you could see the bulge inside his black boxers; apparently you didn’t get a good look at him when you caught him jerking one off with the thoughts of you, as you were taken back by his size. 
Jungkook grew up with six other boys, and boys being boys, they talked, measured and compared. He knew he was well above average, long and also thick. The way you were looking at him, unmoving, as if wondering how you could make it fit, stroked his ego deliciously. 
“Go on, doll.” he encouraged, hips bucking into your hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.” 
“Not shy–” you pouted, fingers hooking on the elastic band of his underwear. “Just highly impressed.” 
His boxers met his pants around his legs and Jungkook’s cock bounced free, leveled with your mouth, making Jungkook dizzy and throbbing. You held him by the base, small hand sliding up and down slowly as you felt the veins and ridges on your palm and fingers that didn’t meet all the way around him, breath heavy as you licked your lips. 
“You’re really big.” you said, face inching closer. 
“Do you not like it?” Jungkook smirked from above you, how you felt about his cock was pretty evident. 
“I like it very much.” you still answered, lifting his cock so you could kiss the underside of it, making him hiss. 
Jungkook’s hands were on his sides, fingers twitching to hold you by the head and push his cock into your mouth. There was no way you didn’t feel it pulsing on your hand, the tip was leaking pre-cum as you kissed up and down his shaft as if you had all the time in the world. 
When you leg go of his cock, your hands rested on his muscular thighs and you looked up at him, mouth open and tongue out. You brought your parted mouth to his cock, letting his tip drag on the flat of your tongue, slight bobbing movements as your wet muscle caught the clear beads leaking from his tip. 
“Close your lips around it, baby.” Jungkook instructed with a horace voice, fingers caressing your pink cheeks as you did so. “Good girl. Now suck on it a little, hm?” 
Your mouth was full, so you didn’t answer him, wrapping your lips tight against his dick and sucking on the head. Your tongue swirling around it inside your mouth was making him sweat and curse obscenities, upper teeth sinking on his bottom lip. The tip of your tongue swiped and poked at his slit, making his hand slip to the back of your head to take hold of your hair. 
“Put some more into your mouth.” Jungkook asked, watching you slide lower, jaw relaxing to fit more of his cock. He loved how obedient you were. “That’s it… Fuck, let it touch the back of your throat–” 
It didn’t take much for him to feel the constriction of your mouth, the tightness of your throat as you pushed him deeper, just barely reaching the middle of his cock. You threatened to pull back, but his hand forced you down. When you looked up to his face, Jungkook searched your eyes for discomfort or uneasiness, but all he found was pleasure and want. 
He watched as you forced him a little deeper, the squeeze around his cock making him groan lowly. Tears rimmed your eyes when he let you pull back; spit connecting your lips to his tip. You spit the excess in your hand and used it to stroke him up and down and you got your breath back. 
“You’re hot like this.” you told him with a raspy voice that made you grimace. “Telling me what to do.” 
“That’s because you’re a doll that likes taking orders, aren’t you?” he teased, collecting your hair in a makeshift ponytail so it’d be out of your way and so that he could better see your face. “And you like being good. Will you be good for me?” 
“Yeah, I’ll be so good.” you whined, pressing your legs together, eyes fluttering as he tightened his grip on your hair. 
“Then open that pretty mouth for me.” he asked, and you did, swollen red lips parting instantly. With his free hand, Jungkook held his own cock and tugged it up, using the hold on your hair to bring you closer. You understood what he wanted, clearly, as you eagerly licked at his balls. “Be gentle, doll… Yeah, just like– oh, fuck.”
You took one of them into your mouth and suckled slowly and carefully while he stroked and pumped his cock, waves and wakes of pleasure washing over him. You mouthed and licked the other one and it was almost too much for Jungkook. 
“Let me have that dirty mouth.” Jungkook sighed, trying to collect himself, but it was almost impossible with the way you looked on your knees for him. 
“You can have anything you want.” 
If only you knew all he wanted to do to you, with you, you might not offer it to him so willingly. 
Jungkook let you take his cock in your hand and you immediately brought it into your warm and wet mouth, slurping and sucking as you were determined to make him reach his end. The idol held onto your hair but didn’t push or pull you, he let you please him however you wanted. 
While your small hand squeezed and stroked what you couldn’t fit into your mouth, your head bobbed with want and need. His tip would constantly hit the back of your throat and you’d swallow around him. Spit was licking from the corners of your lips as you picked up your pace according to the sounds and moans leaving Jungkook. 
You could read his face, notice the spasms of his body, his quickening breath. Jungkook’s balls were drawing up as his stomach tensed, there was a slight tremble to his legs, a little pressure on the back of your head. 
“Gonna cum, doll, fuck–” he admitted what you both already knew. 
It encouraged you to suck him harder, slurping sounds ricochetting on the walls. Your mouth felt so good around him, so tight and warm and messy. You looked like fucking sin; determined, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Your mouth focused on his sensitive head as your hand tugged him up and down, flicking and twisting fast and hard. 
“Yeah, yeah, don’t stop– ahh, fuck–!” 
Jungkook forgot his surroundings when his lower abdomen clenched and he couldn’t hold back the inevitable no more, not even having the strength to warn you before his cock released thich ribbons of white. You were undeterred as you kept going, slower this time, taking all his load like the perfect good girl, swallowing each spurt, humming and moaning around him. 
You milked him of his last drop, pulling him out of your mouth to kitten lick around his tip to clean him up. When his head tilted forward, half lidded eyes focusing on you, you opened his mouth to let him see you swallowed everything down. 
“Such a good girl for me…” Jungkook cooed, letting go of your hair and caressing your red cheek. “Come up here.” 
You kissed the low of his stomach as you pulled his underwear up, carefully tucking him in, but he handled you to put you back on your feet to smack his lips against yours. You melted into him, arms around his neck as you allowed him to lick around your mouth, tasting himself. 
“I’ll take that water now–” you admitted with a small giggle, sore throat after all your hard work. 
“You can have anything you want.” 
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amjustagirl · 1 day
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title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list
a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.
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Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 
He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 
It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  
“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 
Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 
“That’s cos she’s amazing -”
“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”
“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 
“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 
Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 
“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 
He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 
“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  
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Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 
Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.
Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 
As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 
Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 
Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 
“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 
You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 
Did you say something to him last night? 
It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 
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Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 
“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 
“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 
“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 
He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 
“Tetsuro?” 
He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 
He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.
Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 
Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 
You’re gone. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.
He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 
“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  
His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 
You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -
Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 
It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 
Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 
He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 
“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 
“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 
Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  
He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -
“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 
You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 
“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 
“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 
You don’t seem to hear him. 
“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 
You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    
“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 
The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.
You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   
He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 
“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”
He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  
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Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.
The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 
He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 
“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 
“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 
“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 
“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 
“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 
Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 
“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”
He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 
Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “
“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.
“Guys, I’m fine - ” 
“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 
Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 
Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 
“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 
“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 
“But I didn’t know -” 
“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”
 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 
Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 
Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 
“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”
“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.
“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.
“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 
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Step one. 
He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 
His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 
Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 
“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 
He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 
“The girls?” you ask. 
He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 
You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 
That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 
That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 
“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 
You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 
“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 
That gets your attention. 
“Really?”
He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 
“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 
“I won’t”, he promises. 
It’s time for him to level up.  
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Step two. 
He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 
“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 
He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 
You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 
In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 
“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 
In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 
“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 
You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 
“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 
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Step three. 
To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 
“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 
His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”
“What made you fall in love with her?” 
“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 
“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 
“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 
“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”
“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 
Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,
“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 
His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 
He can do that. 
“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.
That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 
But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 
“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 
“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 
He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 
The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 
His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 
“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 
A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”
“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 
He will. He will. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 
He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 
“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 
You goggle at him. 
“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 
You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 
Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 
“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 
His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 
Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 
“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 
He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 
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“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 
“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 
“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 
His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 
His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 
“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 
He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 
He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 
When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 
“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 
He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 
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His nights are still plagued by nightmares.
Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 
Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 
You’re there, until you aren’t. 
It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 
He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 
“What’s wrong?” you frown. 
He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 
“You’re - you’re still here.” 
You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 
He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 
“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 
The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 
Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 
It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 
“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.
He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 
“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”
He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 
“Tetsuro -” 
He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 
“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”
“You don’t”, you agree. 
He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”
“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 
“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 
“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 
The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 
“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 
He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 
“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 
 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 
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“Is this what flirting is like?” 
He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 
“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 
Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 
“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 
The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 
“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 
He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 
You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 
The girls giggle, but he protests. 
“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 
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Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 
You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 
Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 
You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 
“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”
“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 
It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 
He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 
“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 
“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 
“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 
“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”
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He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 
A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 
Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 
You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 
“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 
He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 
“You kissed me second!” 
“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 
You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.
“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  
Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 
“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 
There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 
“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”
Both of you are doing alright.
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a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?
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darknight3904 · 2 days
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so american
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𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏɴ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴍᴀʟᴀʏꜱɪᴀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ
𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ. ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ɪꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇx ɢᴇɢᴇ ᴡʜʏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴛ ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴀʟᴀʏꜱɪᴀ??
ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ꜱᴏ ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ʙʏ ᴏʟɪᴠɪᴀ ʀᴏᴅʀɪɢᴏ.
ꜱᴏʀʀʏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ….
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ
ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
Kuantan, Malaysia
Vacation Day 5:
"Your English is really great." You compliment
"Thank you, I spent a lot of time in my early twenties practicing." The man next to you says
The hot sun that dances above is blocked by a pretty blue umbrella that your new companion got to stand up correctly. A half-melted drink rests in the sand next to your bag.
You met Nanami on the first day of your vacation while you were struggling to communicate with the woman who was working at the front desk of your hotel. He had smoothly cut in and easily translated your choppy Malay to something more fluent and even got you a room upgrade in the process. Originally, you had just planned to buy him dinner as a thank you but here you were, day five of vacation and you were still hanging out with him.
"You look good like that." He compliments
"Like what?" You laugh thinking of how sunburned you were
"With my shirt on." He explains, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of his soft linen beach shirt. He had let you borrow it after seeing how red your shoulders had become.
"Oh, right, duh." You smile, avoiding his gaze.
Was he even aware of how flirtatious he had been the past few days? You swore his pretty face and warm compliments would turn you into a puddle of love-sick embarrassment before you left this country. He reminded you of one of those men you only hear about in books or in cheesy one lined poems about love.
"It's getting late. Would you like to go to get dinner? I know a great market nearby, it has delicious street vendors." He asks
"Sure!" You smile jumping up off your towel to pack up your things while Nanami pulls the umbrella out of the sand.
You struggle to slip out of his shirt, your shoulders are burning from the sunburn.
"Keep it. I've got another in the car." He says pulling it back up over you, " You look pretty in it anyway."
You're mesmerized by the blonde as he drives down the road. Warm air from the open windows pushes your hair from your eyes as you eye the way his arms flex slightly when he takes a turn.
"You're quiet today. Normally you're full of jokes." He says
Crap. You can't admit that you've been ogling him all day!
"I...my back has been hurting."
What the hell was that?!
"Ah. You should've told me earlier, we could've rented those chairs." He says, referring to the overpriced chairs that were for rent on the beach.
"It's alright. Those are just tourist traps anyway." You dismiss
"We're both tourists." He reminds you
"I know..." You roll your eyes
"Put your feet up, I heard that can help with pain."
Your face heats up when he stops the car at an intersection and gently pulls your feet up so they rest on the dashboard. So touchy, you swear he's doing all this on purpose!
"Better?" He asks
"Yup!" You smile
Silence settles around you as you try not to treat the man next to you like eye candy. In defense, it's not your fault. Who knew driving could be so attractive? It didn't help that he hadn't put that extra shirt on yet...
"Tell me a joke." He prompts
Who did he think you were, a stand-up comedian?
"Umm...Why did Darth Vader go to the dermatologist?" You ask
"Why?" Nanami responds, a hint of amusement in his voice
"He had Start Warts." You say
You hear him let out a snicker of laughter and you feel your face heat up out of embarrassment.
"It was the best I could do cold turkey okay!" You groan
Nanami had been right about the market and the street vendors. You had never seen so much delicious-looking food at once. How did he know so much about this place? According to him, he had only been in Kuantan two days before he met you.
"So," You smile as you pop a delicious bite of food into your mouth "Do you always look like this or is this a special version of Nanami?"
You're referring to his relaxed appearance. Long blonde hair slightly hides his eyes and the top view buttons of his shirt are undone. His skin is tanned from all the time spent on the beach at your side and a pair of sunglasses sit in the pocket that's sewn onto his shirt.
"I actually wear suits most of the time when I'm back home." He says
Seriously? He hides this muscular build under suits every day? The poor women of Japan, they don't know what they're missing!
"No way!" You laugh
"I'm serious." He says, and he takes his phone out and pulls up a few pictures of him and a kid with pink hair at his side.
"Wow. You uh, look..." You don't want to tell him he looks like he has a stick up his ass...
"Stoic, I know." He says "I like to think Itadori brightens this picture up though."
You look at the pink-haired boy, Itadori, who is holding up double peace signs and looks like a ray of sun next to the stoic Nanami.
"He definitely makes up for your lack of smile." You tease, poking at his cheek as he brushes your hand off his face
"Well, I had good reason to not smile. The person taking this picture is the most- speak of the devil."
A chime interrupts his sentence and you look down at the phone to see a push notification.
Satoru Gojo
Shoko is going through old pics, check this one out, you were so cute, Nanamin!
Another ding sounds and your eyes widen to see a picture appear at the top of the screen.
Nanami tries to snatch his phone off the table but you get there first and open the message from this Satoru Gojo.
"Is this you in high school?!" You gasp seeing the picture in all its glory as you tap on it
You take the blushing and silence as a yes.
"Your bangs!" You laugh
"I know, it's bad. I don't know what I was thinking." He admits sheepishly
"I think it's kinda cute." You admit, "It kinda reminds me of an emo haircut."
"I wasn't emo." He says
"You sure? Those bangs aren't very convincing..." You laugh "Not to metnion you're not smiling here either...kinda seems emo to me!"
"I wasn't!" He groans, finally reaching successfully for his phone "I wasn't emo...I'm not emo."
You laugh at the way he texts this Satoru Gojo back with a scowl on his face.
"You should tell this person my opinions of your hair." You say
"So he can call me an emo when I get back? I don't think so. Nice try though." Nanami says gently tapping his shoe against yours under the table
Vacation Day 6:
You agree to Nanami's suggestion of a nice stroll through the lit-up city. City lights twinkle against the dark sky as you see the shops and karts selling different goods. You pick up the goofiest-looking plushies and make up different voices for each of them as Nanami watches and laughs.
"Wait, stop for a second." He says suddenly
"Hmm? Do you want one of those weird charms? They don't really seem like they're your style." You say, distracted by the store he's stopped you in front of.
A soft tickle on your leg brings your attention downward and you see something you're not expecting. Nanami is down on one of his knees tying the laces on your left sneaker. His blonde hair is brushing your knee as he finishes up.
"I didn't want you to trip." He says gently patting the back of your calf as he straightens back up
"Oh, thank you." You say, trying to ignore how warm his hands felt against your leg.
You're a mess internally as you try to keep cool when he continues to walk. If he keeps this up you're going to end up in love with him before this trip was over...wait...has that been his goal the whole time? It couldn't possibly be.
"Could I ask you a question?" Nanami asks when you finally get yourself together
"Sure." You say
"Are those red cups I see in movies actually a real thing where you come from?"
That's his question? Why would Solo cups not be a real thing?
"Umm of course!" You laugh at his dorky question, "Did you think they were fake?"
"I just thought it was strange that everyone drank from red cups at parties." He shrugs
"Well, for your information, Nanami I've been to multiple parties and drank from a red cup like in the movies." You say
"Interesting." He says, his body gently bumping into yours when you get a little too close, "You can call me Kento."
"I thought in Japan you were supposed to call a person by their last name." You say
"Well, yes that's for formality." He says, "I think we're familiar with each other though, we've been around each other for six full days now."
"Alright then, Kento." You smile, testing his first name out on your tongue
You want to laugh when Kento drags you into a tie shop. He must want something fun to wear to work when he gets home. You suggest multiple different kinds that are ridiculous and would probably get him fired. Your personal favorite? The one with the huge eagle with a snake in his talons. It was just too ridiculous to be real. Honestly it reminded you of things you'd see back home. It was just missing the signature red white and blue.
"Here, switch places with me." Kento says as you exit the store and get back on the sidewalk
"What? Okay." You agree
You don't miss the way he smiles to himself when he gets what he wants. Does he have a preferred side of the sidewalk or something? Who enjoys being on the side closer to the road? What a weird man.
Vacation Day 7:
"You're really strange sometimes." You observe
"How so?" He asks as he bites into a cookie
"You were fully content just wandering into my hotel room. What if I was an axe murderer?" You ask
It was a rainy day in Kuantan. There were road closures and a few downed trees nearby so you had invited Kento to spend the day with you in your hotel room. The two of you were wrapped in fuzzy bathrobes and had just polished off an excellent room service meal that he had insisted on paying for despite you insiting that it was payment for driving you around.
"I knew you weren't though." He says
"And if I was?" You ask
"I would be disappointed and then I'd try to fight you and your axe off." He says
"What if I was too strong?" You joke
"I doubt it." He laughs as he flexes one of his arms.
There isn't much to look at because of the bathrobe that conceals his arms from your greedy eyes but you swear you can see a bit of definition under all the fuzzy material.
"Whatever..." You mumble
His stupidly pretty face is making you say dumb things. Who talks about axe murderers with such a good looking man in their bed? You were surely the biggest idiot in all of Malaysia.
"I thought you said this was a good movie," Kento says
"It is! You just need to give it a chance!" You say
"We're already ten minutes in and the only jokes they've made are about sex and drugs." Kento points out
"Okay, but...look you just have to trust me okay!" You say looking at your laptop which is playing Superbad, a film Kento hasn't ever seen
"There is more to humor than just bad sex jokes." He says
"Well, not in this movie. Now hush." You say unpausing the movie
Kento Nanami's eyes drift over you as you're mesmerized by this movie. Sure there were funny moments but he had definitely seen better.
Besides, how could he focus on some old 2000s movie when he was too distracted by you? You look too cute for words in the hotel's bathrobe and there's even a bit of chocolate smeared on your face from the Hershey kisses you had pulled out of your bag and insisted he try earlier.
His eyes rake over you and your entire room in general. A pair of blue jeans haphazardly sits on the chair across the room. He can see the American flag-printed sunglasses you wore the other day sitting on the nightstand beside a few stray hair ties. An oversized bag of chips you had brought from back home is half eaten on the bed near his feet, he didn't even know they made bags that large.
He swore you were some walking stereotype of things he didn't even know were real outside movies. To top it all off he's pretty sure you're wearing a "New York Yankees Baseball" t-shirt underneath your robe.
"You're so American."
The words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, clearly a bit offended by his words
"Nothing, nothing." He laughs at the way your eyebrows knit together in confusion
"Tell me!" You groan reaching out to punch at his arm.
He easily catches it and pulls you into his side.
"Nothing. You're just really American." He smiles as he wraps an arm around you
You let out a huff of annoyance that he finds cute.
"Whatever, Kento. Maybe you're just too Japanese." You dismiss as you rest your head on his chest.
He lets out a hum of amusement and just accepts the way you send a mean pinch to his upper thigh. The pain is barely there but he laughs when you gently rub at the spot as a form of apology.
He's never been more glad that he came to Kuantan. He can't wait to visit more corners of the world, hopefully with you at his side. Yes, he's sure he wants to be around you even more, even if you're loud in stores, drink out of red cups, and wear baseball themed shirts. Sure, you might be oh-so-American to everyone else but he loves every bit of it.
Was that a cringe ending? I hope it wasn't.
As an american, I tried to think of stereotypes to put into this fic and struggled. IS that a sign I'm blind to them? Probably. Oops.
Yes, I'm still working on my Gojo fic. Have some Nanami while you wait. Consider this my formal apology for what I did to him in the Gojo fic...
My Masterlist
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astarionformayor · 3 days
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Was astarion's fate pre-tadpole the worst out of all companions? I mean... He was literally a slave in a sex-trade. His pimp being Cazadouche, who would take everyone he brought home and kill them. If he failed to do so, he would be tortured in ways that would easily kill a mortal.
He was starved and made to live in the darkness for a year for failing to bring home supper for Cazadouche once. He had to completely disassociate from his humanity, to the point where he literally can't even remember who he was before he was turned.
I often think about how he has high perception (and of course he does, cause he is a rouge) but hear me out: from a story-perspective, it would make sense that his perception was high as a trauma response. Always having to be hyper-vigilant (and keep his wits about) as to not piss off Cazador or his siblings. Even going through a far-less macabre experience for 2 years as an adult can make you hypervigilant to the point where you're dysfunctional.
And this was going on for 200 years. That isn't even a fathomable amount of time for a human. And the fact that, after all that, his humanity was intact.... He was able to fall in love, make friends, and be happy. He really has so much empathy. His empathy was a crux for 200 years, but it remained intact nonetheless.
As a survivor, Astarion has made me realize things about my healing journey that i never had thought of before. I think that's one big reason why he is a comfort character for so many of us. We can relate to him for what he's been through. We see a part of ourselves in him, and we want to help him and to hold him. We want to cherish him and tell him everything is going to be okay.
Maybe all this is for us is just a way to detach from the feelings of selfishness and shame that arise when you give yourself slack. When we see ourselves in Astarion, and we want to tell them everything is going to be okay, maybe we are really telling a part of ourselves that everything is going to be okay.
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mooshywrites · 3 days
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Bloodied Stars - Part 5 - Crimson Warning
Fem!Reader x Ascended Astarion
Masterlist
Art commissions
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Comment here to be tagged in chapter updates
Word count - 5.8K
Warnings - NSFW, MDNI, oral (fem receiving) (Series contains - Angst, “enemies” to lovers, pregnancy, disagreements, slow character growth, smut, typical asshole ascended astarion behavior, cliffhangers, death, murder - This takes place after the events in BG3, the ‘reader’ (you) is not Tav. Just a Baldur’s Gate resident)
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“Can you truly look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t love me?”
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Chapter List
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Returning to your own chamber, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of him.
Were you falling in love with him?
The question echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of doubt and fear that surrounded your heart.
You traced patterns on the coverlet with trembling fingers, lost in a maze of uncertainty and hopes. Astarion was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a riddle wrapped in enigma and shrouded in darkness. And yet, there was a hint of something in his eyes, a longing that drew you into his embrace time and time again.
The night stretched on before you like an endless tapestry, woven with threads of longing and desire. Torn between wanting him close and fearing that the whole affectionate thing was an act, you wrestled with your own emotions in the quiet solitude of your room.
You were drawn back to the washroom, craving the view of the outside world. The moon cast a silvery glow through the glass, painting everything in shades of grey and blue. As you sat, staring at the stars, you wondered if there was even a place for anything more than duty and necessity in Astarion’s life.
If there was room for you.
Sleep finally claimed you, pulling you into a dark embrace on the cold tile floor. Even while deep in slumber, you couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t mean anything to the pale elf at all.
When you awoke to the sunlight filtering in, washing over you like a warm blanket, you immediately regretted falling asleep on the hard ground. Your mood was sour as you trudged back into the bedroom, your eyes catching on a plain paper resting on the small bedside table.
You picked it up curiously, flipping it over to see the writing. Tied to the edge was a small hairpin. The silver piece was adorned with delicate ivory carvings of intertwining vines, their leaves and flowers forming intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer as they caught the light.
It was absolutely magnificent.
As you examined the hairpin more closely, you found that the tip had been sharpened to a fine point, one that would easily draw blood with the slightest wrong movement. You felt your chest flutter, your eyes flitting back at the note attached to the gift.
All of your doubts melted away as you read the crimson cursive writing, the words giving away more than your pale elf could ever say.
“For my fangless vampire so that she’ll never grow hungry.
Yours always,
Astarion.”
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The next few days seemed to pass in a blur. Astarion would visit in the evenings, accompanying your dinner with a bit of his blood. You tried not to think too much about the pale elf’s gift, though you were slightly mesmerized by the hairpin’s beauty and sentiment. It became your constant companion, tucked into your hair during the day.
The time not with Astarion was spent in only two ways; exploring the building to find Evelyn or sitting in the washroom to stare outside of the window. You didn’t feel as trapped as you did before, but every once in a while, you craved the feeling of the sunlight on your skin.
Oh how you wished there was something interesting for you to sew.
Before you knew it, the days had turned into weeks and you had grown into a comfortable pattern. Astarion had slowly but surely began spending more and more time with you when night fell. Sometimes, it was small talk about the day, but more often, it ended with Astarion’s hands ever so gently holding you. Before you could interrogate him about his feelings, he’d find a way to slip out, leaving you to stew on your own emotions. It seemed that this evening would be no different.
“Curse these cravings,” you grumbled, curling up into your four poster bed.
Astarion usually came to see you by this time of the day, but today he was annoyingly late. You could be patient, but the little hellion you were carrying apparently could not.
As if called by your thoughts, the door creaked open quietly.
“Ready to see me?” Astarion called through the open doorway.
It was hard not to notice how much more polite he’d grown the longer you stayed here. His demeanor had done nothing to help your constantly conflicted feelings, but you supposed it was better than him being a complete and total arse.
“More than ready,” you replied with a small smile, unable to hide your relief at his presence.
He approached you, moving with a quiet grace as he perched himself on the edge of the bed. His fingers brushed across yours lightly, sending a jolt of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth.
“I do have to apologize for my lateness, I suppose,” Astarion sighed. “Had a couple urgent matters.”
“Urgent matters?” you prodded nervously.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Evelyn said that any amount of stress can affect the pregnancy,” he assured, still not meeting your eyes.
“Are you sure?” you continued, leaning forward to try to catch his wandering gaze. “Is it something that affects me and the baby?”
“Absolutely not.” Astarion answered firmly, finally looking at you. There was a strange intensity in his gaze, a feeling of something you couldn’t quite place. You held his gaze for a moment, trying to decipher the emotions swirling in those mesmerizing crimson eyes.
“Then I won’t worry about it,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. But as Astarion’s hand covered yours, a shiver ran down your spine.
He leaned towards you, his lips dangerously close to yours. “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting,” he whispered, his breath cool against your skin.
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. You melted into him, letting yourself be pulled into his aura yet again.
As he pulled away slightly, you were left breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest. Astarion’s eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your insides flutter. You avoided his gaze, trying to push the fog out of your mind.
You couldn’t do this again.
Astarion had fallen into a habit of these kinds of things. Tender kisses to your hands before he left, loving gazes when you spoke about your day, heated lips meeting yours whenever he thought the time right. It always left your head spinning afterwards, but when it finally cleared, you couldn’t help but question his sincerity.
“I can’t resist you any longer,” he murmured. “I need you.”
“Well,” you cleared your throat awkwardly, leaning out of his arms. “As much as I would like to play house, I’m afraid our little Dhampire will eat me from the inside out if I don’t give into the cravings.”
Astarion’s facade of confidence wavered slightly as you pulled away. He quickly masked it with a playful smile, brushing off any concerns. With a deft motion, he reached up and plucked the hairpin from your hair, twirling it between his fingers before pricking his palm without hesitation.
“In that case, I shan’t make you wait any longer,” he quipped.
The crimson bead of blood welled up, shimmering in the dim firelight of the room. Astarion’s gaze never left yours as he offered his hand to you, something he had done every night. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, however, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the inner turmoil he so expertly concealed.
“I never get used to this,” you complained, leaning forward to drink from the pinprick.
The metallic tang of blood filled your senses, intermingling with the heady aroma of Astarion’s cologne. As you drew back, savoring the warmth that spread through you, you caught his gaze firmly fixed on your parted lips.
“You do have a way of making even the mundane seem enchanting,” he mused.
“A very pretty lie,” you shot back, throwing him a small smile.
“Why do you always assume my affection is a lie?” he asked, feigning offense.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
“Call it a gut feeling. Or perhaps it’s just because I know that you can’t love someone you don’t know anything about,” you shrugged.
“Oh, darling,” he purred. “Who said anything about love? I’m purely speaking of affection and desire.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
“So if I were to ask you, say,” Astarion pondered for a moment. “Your favorite fruit. Then would you believe what I say?”
“Absolutely not,” you snorted. “Trust is formed on more than favorite foods. Which would be peaches, by the way.”
“For gods’ sake,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back on the plush bed. “What will it take to make you trust me.”
You giggled, leaning over him, propping yourself up on your palms. You gazed at him for a moment, taking in every crease and line on his face.
“You can start by telling the truth,” you whispered, meeting his gaze.
“Anything,” he murmured back softly.
You thought for a moment, wondering what exactly you should ask him. You finally settled on asking something mundane, something that could lighten the air around the two of you. But when you opened your mouth, completely different words spilled out.
“Can you truly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me?”
Astarion’s eyes widened slightly and your breath stilled.
Not at all what you had planned.
“And if I do love you?” he responded quietly. “What would that even mean?”
The vulnerable look in his eye made your heart clench. It was as if he wasn’t really asking you the question, he was trying to find it in himself.
You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just a breath away from his.
“We’ll figure that part out later.”
With a surge of courage, or perhaps even need for avoidance, you closed the distance between your lips and his. Your kiss was gentle at first, hesitant. You could feel the pressure from his touch as he wrapped his arms around your waist. The sensation sent a shiver through you, causing as soft sigh to escape your lips as you leaned further into him.
Astarion’s response was immediate and fervent, his lips molding against yours with a hunger that matched the intensity of your own. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer to him, his touch igniting the fire that had been smoldering for so long. There was a desperation in his embrace, a deep need to hold you close.
When you finally broke apart for air, breathless and dizzy from the kiss, Astarion sat up with you still straddling his lap. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching you.
“I think-“ he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
“For gods sake, stop talking for once,” you chided, leaning in for another kiss.
It was much easier to fall into desire than it was to have an open conversation about your feelings. What if he were to say the things you never wanted to hear? What if he confirmed what you knew deep down?
You were just a means to an end.
You ground your hips down, almost in an effort to short circuit your swirling insecurities. Astarion groaned into the kiss, his hands grasping at your hips tighter. His touch was both possessive and desperate, almost as if he feared you would slip through his embrace at any moment.
As your hands tangled in his hair, his lips left a blazing trail down your neck, igniting a fire just below your stomach. A low growl rumbled in his chest, sending vibrations through you that only stoked the flames higher. His teeth grazed your jaw line, shivers breaking out across your skin. You sighed airily, shifting your hips across Astarion’s growing erection.
His hands moved with a newfound urgency, hungrily undressing you as he continued to kiss down your chest. The feeling of his lips, teeth, and tongue brushing against your skin sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you breathless and weak n his grasp. You moaned softly, arching your back to bring yourself closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.
Astarion’s fingers trailed across the delicate skin of your stomach, tracing the curve of your hips before sliding beneath the hem of your dress. The fabric caught on his skin, but the hunger in his eyes had never left as he tugged the dress up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. He ran his hands down your arms, tracing the contours of your shoulders and the delicate lines of your collarbone.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your shoulder as his hands continued to explore you. His breath was cool against your skin and you shivered beneath his touch. He reached around you, undoing the clasp of your corset with practiced ease, revealing the delicate lace of your chemise underneath.
The fabric hung limply, only vaguely hiding the swell of your breast. He traced the edge of the lace with his fingers before running them down your chest, teasingly slow with his motions.
Astarion’s hand found the ties of your chemise, and with a swift tug, it fell away from your body, leaving you sitting atop him in nothing but the dim light of the room. He inhaled sharply, taking in the sight of your naked body, the ever so slight swell of your stomach. You could feel his eyes on you, drinking in everything about you.
Oh how you hated when he looked at you this way, as if you were really being loved.
His hands moved once more, this time gently cupping your breast, his thumbs brushing across your nipples as he dragged them down your chest. A low grumble of approval rumbled in his chest as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your skin. His teeth grazed across your pebbled nipples in a slow, deliberate motion, making your legs weak with the idea of him biting the sensitive skin. You cried out softly, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you.
The light from the flickering fireplace cast an intricate dance of shadows across his face as he leaned further down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they roamed. His tongue flicked out to taste the salty beads of sweat on your skin, your chest shivering under his exploration.
With one hand, he massaged your breast gently, a feather-light touch that had you aching for more friction. The other hand traced delicate circles down your sides, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His fingers dipped into the curve of your hips, dragging lightly against the silky skin before continuing on to the base of your spine. Each touch was an offering, a promise of the pleasures to come.
Your breath hitched as his lips closed over your erect nipple, sucking it gently. The sensation was exquisite, a delicate blend of pain and pleasure that had you arching beneath him. The room seemed to grow dimmer, as if all the light was being drawn towards the two of you, your bodies moving in the shadows like a dark and sinful dance.
He pulled away slowly, leaving your nipple moist and swollen. Your eyes locked with his, searching for the depths of his soul in the darkness. There was something wild and untamed in his gaze, a hunger that mirrored your own.
With a low growl, Astarion’s arms tightened around you, pulling you down further onto him. You could feel him through his tunic, the rigid length of him against your stomach as he flipped you onto your back, leaving you sprawled across the bed. Now it was your turn to drink him in, to feast your eyes on the strong lines of his body, the chiseled features of his face. He smiled wickedly, glowing with a newfound radiance.
“Mine,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with desire.
As you gazed into his eyes, you could see a storm brewing, a deep-seated passion that threatened to consume both of you whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, and a flush rose on your skin.
Slowly, Astarion began to move. Slowly, oh so slowly, Astarion raised himself up, his eyes never leaving yours. He undid the laces of his tunic, each tiny movement a deliberate, seductive dance. His muscles glistened with sweat, and you could see the sinewy strength of them rippling beneath his skin.
As he pulled the tunic off over his head, you were treated to quite the show. His broad shoulders, his lean chest tapered into a defined waist, his skin creamy white. Every curve and contour was perfect.
Then he was kneeling again, looking down at you with a look of hunger in his eyes. Your heart threatened to burst from your chest and you could feel the dew beginning to gather between your legs. Your breathing became shallow and rapid, and you could barely control yourself.
His hands began to explore your body yet again, tracing the lines of your curves, the softness of your skin. He kissed your stomach, his movements increasing in intensity until his lips met your navel. With a whimper, you arched your back, inviting him to continue.
His tongue danced over your skin, tracing the curves of your hips, the indentations of your waist. You felt as if you were melting into the bed and the sensation of his touch was enough to make you cry out in pleasure.
He looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips.
“You’re so easy to come undone, my pet,” he teased.
You blushed, your eyes locked on his, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed.
“And you, Astarion, are such a tease,” you retorted, trying to regain some of your dignity.
He chuckled, landing a chaste kiss on your hip. “But you’re the one asking for it, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you muttered, your voice catching in your throat, “but you owe me for the hell you put me through.”
His eyes darkened, the hunger in them burning even hotter. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone challenging.
You nodded, your resolve strengthening. “Yes,” you whispered, locking your gaze with his. “You do.”
“You want me to make up for all of that…” he paused, nipping at your hip affectionately. “hell?”
“You’ll never be able to make up for all of the torment you’ve put me through,” you scoffed, trying to keep up the pretense. “But I’ll give you one chance anyways.”
“One chance it is, pet.” Astarion’s eyes sparkled at the challenge, his lips brushing dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “Only if I can take my time, that is.”
He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to slowly spread you open with his fingers. The coolness of the air on your heated flesh contrasted with the coolness of his touch, sending shivers down your spine.
Your breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, gently probing the tight folds of your core. The scent of your arousal filled the air, a heady mixture of musk and sweetness that seemed to intoxicate him by the way he inhaled deeply.
His thumbs brushed against your clit, the light touch sending waves of pleasure radiating outward, causing you to shift your hips in response. Astarion watched, a predatory smile spreading across his face as he took in your reactions.
“Please,” you whined, unabashedly grinding your hips against his fingers.
With a smirk, he lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste the sweetness of your core. You moaned softly, your hips bucking against his tongue as he began to work his magic.
His fingers continued to tease and torment, stroking and probing, while his tongue delved deeper, caressing your most sensitive spots. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and desperation that left you utterly breathless.
“Please,” you begged, your voice strained. “Please, don’t stop.”
Astarion chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your sensitive cunt.
“I’m not going to stop, pet. I’m just getting started.”
True to his words, he continued his wicked dance, driving you higher and higher towards the edge. You clawed at the cover beneath you, your nails digging into the fabric.
Your entire body felt alive, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. You arched against him again, desperate and needy. He met your gaze, his lips still latched to your core, his eyes burning with desire.
He shifted his fingers, thrusting into you suddenly. With a final curl of his middle finger, he hit your sweet spot, causing a burst of pleasure to shoot through you like lightning. Your entire body convulsed, your breath caught in your throat. You cried out in ecstasy, the sound mingling with Astarion’s low growl as he continued to pleasure you.
His tongue didn’t stop, and neither did his fingers. The sensation was completely overwhelming, and you felt as if you were floating, soaring through the heavens. your body shook uncontrollably, every muscle tense and strained. It felt like you were on the brink of something incredible.
And then the wall finally broke. A tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you, overwhelming your senses, your mind, your entire being. You screamed his name, your body trembling violently, the intensity of the orgasm leaving you breathless and weak.
Astarion continued his movements, carrying you through your high. You lay there, panting, the fragility of your body and mind all too exposed.
Finally, Astarion pulled away, his pupils blown wide. He looked up at you, a smirk on his lips.
“Are you satisfied, my pet?” he asked, his voice all too confident in an answer you hadn’t even given yet.
“I suppose so,” you quipped, your voice still hoarse from your intense release.
Astarion only chuckled, crawling up to lay beside you, his arms pulling you into a soft embrace. You let your eyes flutter shut, comfortably resting in the pale elf’s arms. The more your breathing evened out, your heartbeat becoming softer, you couldn’t help but flit back to the conversation you’d been having before Astarion’s tongue interrupted.
“What would it mean?” you wondered aloud.
Astarion shifted, turning his gaze to you. His hand came up to brush the hair from your face softly, his touch gentle.
“What would ‘what’ mean, pet?” he prodded.
You bit your tongue for a moment before pressing a small kiss to his jaw. He groaned slightly, his hips shifting forward.
Bold of him to act as if you were the desperate one with the way he ground his length against your hips.
You smiled as you continued your trail of kissing, pulling back only when you had landed a kiss in the crook of his neck.
“What would it mean,” you started again, avoiding his gaze. “If you did love me?”
The room was silent for a moment, filled with recognizable tension that hung thick in the air. Astarion looked into your eyes, his own holding a mess of emotions. His struggle was evident as his face flickered between confusion, concern, and longing.
“What would it mean?” he repeated, his voice soft. You felt a pang of sadness, as if the words you spoke had somehow managed to break the affection that had been so delicately woven between you.
You couldn’t see that expression any more, see the conflicted look in his eyes any longer, so you turned away. Instead, you stared at the intricately carved wooden panels of the bed’s headboard.
“Forget I asked,” you stammered. “My logic hasn’t quite come back yet,” you tried to laugh, the sound empty and foreign.
The soft sound of his ragged breath escaped his lips, and you could feel him shift uncomfortably beside you. You knew then he was grappling with his own feelings, ones you weren’t sure would end in your favor.
“What are you doing?” you murmured, feeling him shift further.
Ignoring your question, he gently disentangled himself from your grasp. His eyes avoided yours as he stood up and began to put his clothes back on. The air was heavy with his silence, your muscles growing tense.
You wanted to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him back into your embrace and offer whatever reassurance you could, but the distance between you felt insurmountable. The weight of his silence settled in your chest, leaving you with a hollow feeling of unease.
He stood there, fully dressed now, his face a mask of conflict and determination. You watched, feeling as if you were peering in on someone else’s thoughts, a world you didn’t belong in.
Slowly, he met your gaze once more, his eyes glazing over with resolve. “It would mean nothing,” he answered, his voice sure.
You looked on numbly as he turned and left the room, your heart dropping to your feet. As the door clicked shut behind him, you felt a profound sense of sadness and confusion.
You thought you had been making progress with him. Slowly growing closer in the little moments you had shared.
So much for that.
“Where did we go wrong?” you muttered to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper.
Before you could dissolve into a puddle of self pity, you heard a gentle knock on your door. You wiped away an errant tear, took a deep, shuddering breath.
“One moment,” you called out.
You expected it to be Evelyn, she often visited to check up with you. Part of you wondered whether she was just worried that you spent too much time alone. Even so, you’d never turn away the company.
You shuffled into a nightgown, throwing the day’s clothes in a pile on the opposite side of the room. You walked to the door, opening it gently. It wasn’t Evelyn behind the door, however. It was the spawn who had carried you into this room when you had first been locked away.
“I’m sorry if this is a bad time,” he offered awkwardly.
“You’re the one who put me in here the first time,” you responded dryly.
“Ah yes,” he chuckled nervously. “Faelar is my name. And I am sorry about that mess. I couldn’t have said ‘no’, even if I had wanted to.”
You sized up the spawn, taking in his appearance. He resembled Astarion in the way all of the spawn did, with his pale skin and white hair. But Faelar seemed softer, less threatening in every way. He was probably a foot taller than your pale elf and yet still came across as unassuming.
“And did you want to?” you questioned. “Want to say ‘no’, that is?”
Faelar flinched slightly, then paused as if to find his words. You studied him more in the silence, wondering to yourself what he had looked like before he had turned into a spawn. His eyes were a bit lighter, even edging on pink instead of crimson. His hair was long and sleek, braided back out of his face.
“I did want to say no,” he responded quietly. “I’ve been wanting to come and apologize, but after seeing the Master storm out the way he did…” Faelar grimaced slightly. “I thought I’d check on you.”
“So he really is that upset,” you whispered, turning away from the spawn. You didn’t want him to see how much Astarion’s actions affected you. No matter how trivial it was.
You sat back on the bed, allowing the exhaustion to slouch your shoulders.
Faelar let out a small awkward sigh, seeming to not know how to respond. You inwardly cringed at how pathetic you must seem to him in this moment.
“Perhaps I can lift your mood,” he suggested, moving closer to you.
“What could you possibly do?” you asked, suspicion tinging your tone.
“I could show you the stars. The roof has quite the view,” he offered.
“I don’t think Astarion would allow that.”
“Then I suppose it will have to be our secret,” Faelar challenged.
Your eyes shot up to his, catching a sly smile on his lips. You couldn’t help but giggle, thankful for the sliver of levity in this whole mess. You thought for a moment, weighing the outcome of sneaking away, even if for a bit.
“Lead the way,” you said finally, blowing out a shaky breath. You stood up slowly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. Faelar offered you his arm and you took it gratefully.
As you walked, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. The darkness of the night enveloped you both, casting shadowy shapes around you. Faelar led you to the highest point of the tower, where the opening ceiling broke into a sweeping view of the sky.
As you gazed up into the inky blackness, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder. You never took the time to appreciate the beauty of the world. Between work and being thrown into Astarion’s complicated mess of a world, there was never time.
But here, the stars shone brightly, twinkling like tiny pieces of a vast endless puzzle. Faelar pointed out the constellations, explaining the different stories behind each one. You listened intently, happy to talk about the simpler things in life.
You marveled at the intricate patterns of the stars, each one a story waiting to be told. Your eyes widened with Faelar’s words, taking in the many tales of star-crossed lovers and mythical creatures.
You devolved into a fit of laughter at the one about the clumsy bear who knocked over a pot of stew, and the wise old owl who showed him the way to cook a perfect meal. How that related to a grouping of stars, you couldn’t tell. Faelar’s cheeks flushed slightly at your amusement, he couldn’t seem to help smiling back at you.
“So tell me more about Astarion,” you said, finally bringing up the topic that had been lurking in the background. “You know him well, don’t you?”
Faelar nodded solemnly, giving you a sad smile. “Indeed, I do. He can be quite the mystery sometimes, but life has not been kind to him.”
Faelar hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words very carefully. He lowered his gaze, his eyes lost in the hazy darkness of the night sky. “You know, he was abandoned by someone he deeply loved,” he murmured.
You shifted slightly, trying to take in his words.
“He hasn’t spoken about it since it happened,” Faelar continued, his voice tinged with sympathy, “But it’s clear by the way he is with you that he isn’t past it.”
“Oh,” you responded, not able to find any other words.
You stayed quiet for the moment, digesting the information as you stared up at the stars. You wondered what Astarion had been through, what kind of person had left him behind. Did he see their face every time he looked at you?
“That must have been difficult,” you wondered aloud.
“Yes,” Faelar sighed. “But he isn’t the first to lose something important to him. Nor is he the last.”
You looked towards Faelar, sensing something deeper in his words. His expression was a stone mask, his gaze focused on something far away.
“Like you?” you asked softly.
Faelar hesitated for a moment, then the corner of his mouth turned upward in a small, sad smile. “Yes,” he said finally. “Like me.”
Sensing his discomfort, you tried to change the subject. “Is that why he’s always so guarded? I mean he says one thing but then his actions say another,” you questioned.
“Perhaps,” Faelar replied, his voice soft and distant. “But that’s not to say he’s incapable of love. He simply needs time to heal, to find the strength to be vulnerable again.”
“I suppose you’re right,” you nodded. “Even if it does complicate things even further.”
Faelar nodded, giving another sigh. As you continued to sit in silence, the vast expanse of the night sky stretched out above you, you felt a little less alone.
You glanced over at Faelar once more, and though he still looked as if he were a million miles away, you could see the emotion in his eyes. You reached out and took his hand, trying your best to give him a comforting smile.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice growing thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing me up here.”
Faelar gave you a grateful grin, squeezing your hand gently. “You aren’t alone here you know. We may be only spawn, but any of us are here if you need company. Well, maybe any of us but Amastacia,” he chuckled.
You giggled in agreement, feeling a small warmth bloom in your chest.
The wind began to pick up, its whisper rustling wisps of your hair around you. You felt your eyes begin to grow tired, your body falling into sleepiness now that you weren’t as stressed as before.
Faelar’s gaze met yours with a knowing look and he gave your hand a small squeeze.
“We should head back,” he suggested, standing up and brushing himself off.
You stood up as well, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. You gave one last look towards the stars, thankful for this moment of peace.
You followed Faelar back down the steps, making your way back to your room. Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t oppressive. It didn’t take long before you were back before your door, the spawn stopping before he opened it.
“You know,” he started, slightly nervous. “If you’re still feeling a bit isolated, you’re welcome to have dinner with the other spawns and I. We meet every night.”
“Oh I don’t want to intrude,” you smiled shyly. You weren’t quite ready to admit how desperate you were for more company.
“It wouldn’t be an intrusion at all. I’ll come get you tomorrow?” Faelar smiled.
“Tomorrow then,” you relented, smiling gratefully.
With that, he opened the door and paused for a moment. Just as quick, he seemed to shake off the feeling, opening the door wider. You walked in the room, turning and giving him one last smile. He nodded curtly before turning and leaving your room. You watched him go for a moment, then quietly closed the door.
As you made your way to the bed, sleep tugging you ever closer, your eyes snagged on an envelope atop your bedside table.
You rolled your eyes. Did Astarion really think that every situation could be fixed with a sappy note and a hairpin?
But as you flipped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within, your blood ran cold.
In bright red letters, scrawled angrily and in a haste was an obvious threat.
‘Even carrying his heir won’t protect you from your inevitable death.’
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To be continued - Saturday, April 6th - 8 p.m. CST
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Tagged - @dinoace2 , @tiedyedghoulette , @n3cros1sbunny , @bloodlust-1 , @bookishpenguino , @asterordinary , @under-the-crescent-moon , @xxfaithlynxx , @generalstephkenobi , @silverfangmarks , @twilg , @sp00kyfishh , @rileybooboo , @bloodsuckingfiends , @amberbronk , @wwe1rdc0re , @oh-theseus , @dontneedbiologytoadopt , @ayselluna , @rachelessfreedom-world , @soapsoapsoapsoapssoap , @theomnipotentfox , @prudent-nerd , @sadexistentialism ,
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mcflymemes · 1 day
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PROMPTS FROM LIFE IS STRANGE, SEASON 1 *  assorted dialogue, suggested by ismelodrama, adjust as necessary
everything is a picture waiting for be taken.
you're just jealous of me because i actually do the things you can't.
are you hiding something?
i'm sick of your disrespect. tell me the truth!
i don't want to fight with you anymore. i don't want to fight with anyone anymore.
i was eating those beans!
how the hell did you know about that photo?
always take the shot. my number one rule of photography.
you just don't listen, do you?
there's something weird going on with you.
you've only been here for three weeks and you're already causing conflict.
after this week, you are certainly not a little kid anymore.
not now. i'm contemplating shit.
are you fucking kidding me? this is major bullshit!
i didn't have all the evidence at the time.
we all make decisions we regret.
i'm not gonna make any excuses for my behavior.
i'd put stephen hawking against picasso any day.
it sucks to be dragged into the spotlight.
nobody believes me anyway.
you're exactly the kind of soldier i'd want by my side in a war.
why the hell not?
i almost asked you to hang out.
you should have asked me.
maybe we're too much alike.
i don't believe anything you say. you're full of shit.
eat a dick, [name].
i'll be in the tardis getting my delorean ready.
since you're the mysterious superhero... i'll be your faithful chauffeur and companion.
you don't know who the fuck i am or who you're messing around with.
where'd you get that? what are you doing? come on, put that thing down!
don't ever tell me what to do! i'm so sick of people trying to control me!
so you can't help me?
i told you before that i'll always believe you.
i may be a pest but... i'm a good listener.
you're the bravest person i've ever known.
for every action, there's a reaction.
i'm trying. but you have to understand my position.
i know i can be a pain in the ass... and you've always treated me like a person, not a beta nerd.
why do you want all your friends to die?
oh i see. i'm not important to you anymore.
nobody lectures me. everybody tries though.
do not analyze me! i pay people for that.
hey, that's total slander!
you don't know shit about my father, or me.
you're all fucked!
everybody hates me.
[name]... it's me. i just wanted to say i'm sorry.
i truly am sorry for being such a bastard.
you would have been cool to hang out with.
you might as well choose me.
i'm not perfect, okay?
you have talent, [name].
you don't have to push people out of your way.
thanks for admitting again that i have some talent.
do you think it's, like, fate we're not supposed to be friends?
nobody says we have to be friends.
everybody lies. no exceptions.
i came for all of you.
i'm in a nightmare and i can't wake up.
no wonder they call it a "web." nothing can ever get out.
i wish i could go back in time and erase everything.
just tell me you do have the photograph.
now shut up and listen.
i'm not a real scientist.
i was just happy just being your friend.
[name], i'm so sorry you had to go through all that.
i don't think i can concentrate on going out to the movies.
everybody pretends to care until they don't.
even angels need angels, [name].
i might be naive, but i feel their struggle.
why did you stop me from jumping?
this shit pit has taken everyone i've ever loved.
when a door closes, a window opens... or something like that.
i keep going back in time.
how could there be a more important moment in history?
thank you for trusting me.
hey... be careful out there.
what kind of friend are you?
you never understood me, or what happened to me.
i'll always be alone, thanks to you.
just in case we don't get out of this...
i'm going to make the right choices from now on.
i've been feeling like this might be actually the end of the world.
i hate to say that i'm glad to see you, but i'm glad to see you.
i wish i could stay in this moment forever... but then it wouldn't be a moment.
if that tornado came right now, i would just sit here and watch for a while.
i just feel like escaping.
i have total faith that you'll do the right thing when the time comes.
with great power comes great bullshit.
am i pushing myself too hard?
you like to hurt people, huh?
i'm glad you decided to escort me.
i know this is a bad time, but can i get one picture?
of course i believe you. you're the most amazing person i've ever met, and i'm glad you trust me.
i don't have a fucking clue what's going on.
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schnarfer · 2 days
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The One - A Dieter Bravo Drabble
Dieter Bravo x f!reader
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Rating: Just light angst today lads (gn)
Word count: 838 words  
Summary: If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?
Content: Bit of emotional torment, drink and drugs references, Dieter POV, happy ending? Always Fleabag coded.
AN: Thank you so much to the truly wonderful @beskarandblasters for creating the taylor swift drabble challenge! I chose Folklore (MY BELOVED) and got given Dieter & The 1, which when I was woken up at 2am by my three year old, I found I had a flurry of ideas for! I hope you enjoy this little drabble that may well have been a fever dream? I absolutely love writing for Dieter, the trash panda of my heart 🖤 you can read my other Dieter's on my fic masterlist
Huge thank you to my darling @pascalssbabyy for reading and encouraging me in my madness!
Please do check out the whole challenge masterlist here
Dividers by @saradika/ @saradika-graphics
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The One
Dieter Bravo knows he’s not the one.
He’s the best sex they’ve ever had, the most debauched twenty-four hours in Vegas, the absolute worst boyfriend, the ultimate Met Gala date, the ideal stoned art gallery companion… but never, he’s never, been The One.
Sometimes he’s been The One before The One, like with you.
He wakes up alone in his bed for once. With bleary eyes he checks his phone, sees the date and feels an unpleasant lurch in his stomach, a twist of memory right in the gut.
Fuck it, he needs a spliff and he needs to get out of this fucking house. It feels airless all of a sudden, this ridiculous glass palace he’s hidden himself away in. He keeps his grey sweats on, scratches at his belly and goes on the hunt for his supplies.
So much fucking glass everywhere, the sun hurts his eyes and he pulls on the nearest pair of Wayfarer sunglasses. They’re too small for his face - yours. Shit. He keeps them on, continues the search for his weed tin, knows he left it somewhere last night when he was aiming for oblivion.
It’s in the den. The one comfy spot in this awful place. The cats come and sit with him as he skins up; he has vague recollections of being so high last night he was certain he could hear Chairman Meow’s thoughts. Was sure the little black cat telepathically told him that if he wished hard enough, you’d come back to him. You’d realise all the things he’d never told you. He gives Chairman Meow a good scratch on the chin, lights the spliff.
Dieter knows he is unconventional, a colour outside the lines kind of guy; unpredictable career, minor drug problem, pathological fear of commitment? You know, the usual. He’d thought that you’d loved that about him. Until you hadn’t. Until you’d decided you needed a more paint by the numbers kind of relationship; started feeling the need to tick boxes that Dieter wasn’t even aware of.
Now he’s satisfied that he’s stoned enough, he rolls into his car and asks his driver Pete to take him to the movies. There’s a Richard Curtis marathon on, your favourite. Might as well torture himself a little at the matinée.
There’s a moment in the car when he thinks he sees you at the bus stop and his whole body freezes, a ghost that sucks his soul right out of him for a whole half second. He didn’t though. You weren’t ever at bus stops, least of all today.
He realises too late he didn’t put a shirt on under his teddybear coat, so he’s a bit sweaty and overexposed all at once. Today is not his day.
The popcorn is salty sweet delicious, the film is exquisite pain. About Time, your comfort film. You cry like a baby every watch and now Dieter does the same, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as father and son walk down the beach one last time.
Fuck’s sake he grumbles to himself, why did he think this would make anything better? Worse. He’s made it worse.
He wonders back to the waiting car, rubbing at his eyes and pulling at his scruffy beard, contemplating just how alone he feels. He had always been on his own before you, but you’d begun collecting people, a little found family for you both. They did things like host supper parties, or lazy Sunday’s watching movies together, there was a picnic once. A picnic! He thought you’d been happy. He can’t drink rosé any more, makes him feel sick to his stomach; a reminder of your shared joy, wine drunk with friends who loved you both. It now tastes acrid in his mouth, bitter, like regret.
He leans forward, gives Pete a big Cheshire Cat grin, “Pete can you…”
“Mr Bravo, you gave me ten grand in cash and told me if you ever asked me to drive you to her house again, I had to take you straight to rehab instead. Is that what we’re doing today?”
Dieter lets out a dramatic sigh.
“No Pete.” He slumps back on the seat. Torments himself for the rest of the journey if there was one thing he could have done differently. If he had, would today be a very different day? He digs at the sweetness, makes it hurt.
“Fuck! Pete! Am I hallucinating?”
You’re there. Sat on his front step.
A mess of tears and puffy cheeks, a veil that has been cast aside next to you and a bouquet of white roses still hanging in your hands. White silk dress stained with mascara.
Pete stops the car and Dieter practically backwards somersaults out the door, one croc flying off, a combination of falling and running to you, a jumble of panic and confusion. Aching concern; he can’t stand to see you hurting, wants nothing more than to bundle you up into his arms and make the pain he can practically feel radiating from you, go away.
“Angel?”
You drop the flowers, bury your head in his chest, the remnants of popcorn still stuck to it but you don’t care, breathe him in. Your Dieter.
He kisses at your hair, tightens his arms around you, “I don’t understand?”
“He wasn’t the one Dieter.” You wiggle out of his grip, lean up to him and give him the softest kiss, “You are.”
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Little tag list of some Dieter fans: @sp00kymulderr @chronically-ghosted @luxurychristmaspudding @katareyoudrilling @toomanytookas @wannab-urs @ghotifishreads @bitchesuntitled @covetyou @futuraa-free @freelancearsonist @fhatbhabie @magpiepillsjunior
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lovelybrooke · 1 day
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Can I request how Raphael realises he love Reader?
Yeah!!
Here's my post about the companions---Here's my post about Zevlor and Dammon.
masterlist
---
Raphael thought of you often, more often than he'd liked to admit. There was something compelling about you that kept him coming back for more. A part of him thought it was your situation, a pathetic little human getting wrapped up in all this mess. Or maybe it was those annoying little companions by your side. Truly, he doesn't know why you're so captivating, why you take up so much space in his mind, but it's starting to get annoying. 
He thought it was annoying how you kept refusing him, even when entering the city. He was ready to give you what you wanted, but you refused, and it made his blood boil. But what was even more annoying was even after all of this, after all your refusals, all your annoyed glances, and exasperated sighs, he still can't help but think of you constantly. He thinks of the first time he saw you, on the road in that forest. He thinks of your companions, how close they stand near you, the possessive looks they send your way, and the anger he feels as they fill your head with lie after lie about him. 
He's annoyed when Korrilla tells him of your adventures, because all he can imagine is the way your companions make you smile, the way you hide behind them in moments of danger, the way they fill your head with promises to find you a way home, promises they'd never deliver on. He could help you though, he could find you a way home. Maybe then you'd listen to him, you'd quit your refusals and recognize him as something more than just a Cambion. Maybe then your smiles would be for him. 
But send you home---that's not something he would possibly do, regardless of what you did for him. You're more interesting here, where he can keep an eye on you. 
Raphael thinks of you often. He thinks of when he first saw you, on that road in the forest. He thinks of when he took you to his House of Hope, the shock on your face. He thinks of when he offered to remove that ever-present tadpole from your mind, only for you to refuse, and how it surprised him. Oh you were so full of surprises, maybe that's what draws him to you--the thought of what you're going to do next. 
Raphael is patient, he'll wait until you realize how valuable he is, until you come crawling back to him. And If you don't, if you surprise him, well maybe he'd prefer that.
---
A/n: Much more short but that's cuz this was only for one character.
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lovelygarbageday · 2 days
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Lucifer X Lilith Head Canon: Eden Edition
I really wish we could have seen more of Lilith in season 1, but I still have a few ideas for what their early relationship could have looked like.
Lucifer was the youngest of the Angels. His purpose was to bring joy and happiness to Heaven and Eden, an inventor of toys and entertainer to the masses.
Lucifer did not help with creation of Lilith and Adam. He was relegated to role of inventing cute animals that could bring happiness to humans. This is why he is an excellent shapeshifter.
Lucifer invented ducks in heaven and went to Eden to see them in action. When he flew to the lake where their habitat was, he heard Lilith for the first time. She was feeding the ducks and giving the cute little ducklings kisses on their little heads and giggling after each one.
Lucifer loved her laughter before he ever saw her. When he saw her sitting among the ducks and lovingly playing with them, he fell hard into love.
He also fell hard into the lake. He was so distracted by Lilith, he flew straight into a tree branch and dropped into the water.
Lilith saved Lucifer from the lake. The first time she saw him, he was completely bedraggled, wings akimbo, soaked and his top hat was shoved over his face.
Lilith had met angels before Lucifer, but they had mostly served as mentors and teachers, figures of authority. They had intended to teach her & Adam how to be the perfect man & woman together.
She didn't believe that a silly figure like Lucifer was an angel at first.
After Lucifer's rescue, he was quite petulant about embarrassing himself so thoroughly, especially in front of Lilith, but was gently reassured by her
Lucifer made her laugh more in their first conversation than she had in her entire existence at that point. When she tells him this after wiping away tears of laughter, he feels both delighted to bring her so much happiness and pensive about her relationship with Adam.
Lilith likes to call him her little duck due to this first meeting.
Lucifer began to visit her regularly after this, at first using the excuse that he was checking on his creations, but after a while only going to see her.
Lilith loved listening to Lucifer talk about his creations and plans, and how he wishes he could have more of an impact on Heaven itself.
Lilith would tell Lucifer about what she was being taught about being a human, which is how they learn about kissing.
Lilith also would tell Lucifer about how unhappy she is with Adam, and what a failure she feels like because the Elder Angels created her and Adam to be companions.
Lucifer experiences jealousy for the first time, knowing that Lilith is meant for Adam.
Lilith attraction to Lucifer increases every time he reassures her that she is the most perfect human alive and deserves better. Lucifer will be happy to reassure her of her perfection for the rest of eternity.
Lilith initiates their first kiss after a particularly bad fight with Adam.
Lilith and Lucifer fall passionately in love and take time to do all the things the Elder Angels had wanted Adam and Lilith to do together.
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felicitywilds · 5 months
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also slowly turning around in my brain how rose said she was going to stay with the doctor forever, and then later donna says the same thing (to martha!! the doctor doesnt even hear or know!!! it would make him so happy but hurt him so much if he did!!!!!!), and then when she tells the doctor shes going home in sontaran stratagem he immediately assumes it means shes leaving him for good and accepts it but also launches into all the things he still wanted to show her.
and i know its played for a joke like haha silly martian thats not what i meant! but this is the same man who, when he needed to turn human, loved someone SO DEEP AND HARD that he didnt think he'd ever fall in love again. ever. even with his memory erased. so when you take that moment of "oh you're just popping home for a visit" and like ACTUALLY look at it you're like. this man gets so so so attached to people, and is so incredibly scarred by losing these people he loves that he has no choice but to let them go when they want to leave on good terms, because he knows how bad it could get for them if they stay, no matter how much he wants them to stay.
anyway donna's forever and rose's forever are just different flavors of the same "i need you as much as you need me, so im in it for the long haul, bad stuff included" and its chefs kiss
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This week on "CJ needs to gush about DAO": Morrigan's dark ritual.
I adore Origins because depending on how serious you take roleplay, every decision you make is a thread that leads back to your origin, and in this case of the ritual, who you choose to romance can have a major impact on how you handle this choice.
For context, my canon run is with a female Tabris who romances Alistair and keeps him as a Grey Warden, and is close friends with Morrigan. It's more in character for my Tabris to reject Morrigan's ritual and not even bring it up to Alistair, which would result in her leaving him behind while she makes the ultimate sacrifice in killing the archdemon... however, agreeing to convince Alistair to do the ritual with Morrigan is the only choice in the entire game where I break roleplay because I'm selfish and weak and I want Tabris to live.
I have a lot of strong feelings about the ritual, like it hurts me. It makes me want to chew on furniture. I can talk about it until I can talk no more. I so badly want to be strong enough to remain in character and reject the ritual.
Let me explain: Tabris survives an origin that deals with sexual assault. She gets kidnapped on her wedding day, she watches the other kidnapped women and her husband get murdered, and then is too late to save Shianni from being assaulted... and Tabris carries that trauma with her throughout the entire game.
If the way to save her life is to ask the two most important people she cares about; one being her lover and the other being her best friend; who she knows hate each other, to have dubiously consensual sex in order to make a baby to absorb the old god soul... she's saying no. The last thing Tabris would ever do is put someone into a sexual situation where consent is at all dubious after what she saw happen to Shianni and nearly happened to herself. She'd rather die than force that upon Alistair and Morrigan.
That's what I mean when I say origin affects everything; I know some will side eye that with "Really? Your warden would rather die than let Alistair sleep with another woman? It's one time, and Alistair agrees to it, so no one needs to die?"
Let me be clear in saying this isn't a "Morrigan slept with my man" issue. Sure, that part's awkward and it sucks, but that's not even breaking water tension, let alone diving into the deep waters to the core of the issue.
For my Tabris, this is about betrayal, consent, and accepting fate.
The person offering Tabris this deal is someone she thought of as a trusted friend who has actually been lying to her the entire time. It doesn't matter what Morrigan's intentions are now or if she genuinely wants to save the wardens. She knew from the beginning why Flemeth sent her with them, she admits as much. She knew a warden would need to make the ultimate sacrifice and then leveraged that to get what she wants. Morrigan waited until the night before, when Alistair and the warden learn one of them has to die to defeat the archdemon, and took advantage of the high running emotions and possibly the fear of dying to make the warden agree to her ritual.
At least, that's how my Tabris interprets this confrontation. She feels betrayed by someone she came to love like a sister and went out of her way to help Morrigan with her mother upon learning what's in Flemeth's grimoire. And then that someone tells her no one needs to die, she just needs to convince Alistair to sleep with her... which is a huge fucking problem.
The Alistair and Tabris romance is slow; it took a long time for either of them to be comfortable with being emotionally vulnerable and trusting each other with basic intimacy, let alone sex. Tabris is mortified at the idea of putting Alistair in this situation. Not only would it feel like a betrayal on her part to ask that of him, but she knows the last thing Alistair ever wants to do is father a bastard who then goes on to grow up without him. How could she possibly ask him to do that?
Then you consider that ritual or no, there isn't a guarantee that they'll survive anyway. Say they do the ritual and Tabris dies anyway; she made Alistair sleep with Morrigan in order to save her and then she died anyway. Or if Alistair dies then Tabris gets to live with the fact that the last person Alistair was with was a woman he hates because she asked that of him… and either way, Morrigan gets to walk away with what she wanted.
Tabris led the group, and she's accepted that if Riordan dies [which he does] then she'll be the one to make the sacrifice, even if it means breaking both hers and Alistair's heart.... except she doesn't because I'm a coward who doesn't want to lose her because my worldstate isn't good without her in it but I also refuse to lose Alistair so I just pretend it plays out differently in my head it's fine-
But... that's how I play Tabris and view the situation. My friend @pi-creates and I have discussed the dark ritual at length. While I play a Tabris who romances Alistair, Pi plays a Mahariel who romances Morrigan, so we have vastly different interpretations of the ritual itself and Morrigan's intentions.
Which yeah, it makes total sense that someone who romanced Morrigan with a different origin, and has the option to do the ritual with her rather than asking someone else to do it, wouldn't see this the way I do.
To quote Pi: "Playing as a male warden in the Morrigan romance makes the whole situation feel different, and maybe it’s because she’s presenting it differently due to the emotional connection, but it feels more like she’s opening up about her initial instructions (that she had been given by Flemeth) and offering a solution to avoid the possibility of death. And for my Mahariel, the constant threat of sudden death has haunted him from the start – he caught the blight and was ripped away from his clan (something he did not want to do in the slightest), got forced into a Grey Warden ritual that could kill him, was forced into a battle that could kill him, going on this whole quest that he never wanted but has now become responsible for regardless of his thoughts on the matter… the dark ritual may be one of the few moments where he is presented with an option to decide if he wants to walk into certain death, or take actions of his own volition to stop it.
"The idea of the ritual still feels like a dodgy thing to do since the ultimate outcome is unknown at that point, he’s taking Morrigan at her word that it will save the warden and that this child would be unharmed, just with an old god soul that she isn’t exactly clear on why she wants that and is determined to runaway immediately after the battle to secure it properly. It could be interpreted that it’s purely a preservation thing, but I’m biased to wanting Morrigan's intentions to not be power based.
"But also, taking part in the ritual isn’t as outlandish for my warden since he and Morrigan have already been involved in an intimate relationship. It’s the future of the ritual that is scarier – the idea of this old-god baby, and the idea of Morrigan insisting that she’s leaving afterwards when Mahariel and her have a loving relationship. He’s hurting, but he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Alistair to die, he doesn’t want Morrigan to leave, he definitely doesn’t want pregnant Morrigan to leave on her own… it’s complicated, but for completely different reasons."
And I find that fascinating. I want to know how other players approach this part of DAO, what origins they play, and who they romanced. Seriously, this is an invitation to anyone reading to share their thoughts.
What about a warden who doesn't even have Alistair in their party because they made Loghain a warden? Is there anyone out there who has Loghain do the ritual with Morrigan and why? What about male wardens who don't romance her? Do you choose to do it with her anyway, or do you ask Alistair or Loghain to do it? Do you tell Morrigan to fuck off with the ritual? Why? Who makes the ultimate sacrifice in that case? And what about Morrigan herself? How do you interpret her intentions/motivations? I want to know.
I'm telling you, this is a discussion that gets me excited, as most discussions about DAO do.
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fallout-fucker · 9 months
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Sole Survivor Headcanon
Kind of OC based but it's also vague (Although Minutemen leaning) so like. If your Sole wasn't a soldier or lawyer. Or anything. Just a skill-less bastard. You might like this. Enjoy.
Sole being trusted by so many factions just for breathing is so funny actually. Like they deadass crawl out of a cave, freshly traumatised, and told they're a General? Because they helped someone? Cool, yeah, sure, uh-huh. That's a great amount of pressure to handle on top of their circumstances.
I like to think that everyone also assumes they're insanely clever. It's not that Sole isn't, per se, but everyone treats them like a genius. A prodigy. People have told Sole they understand why Preston trusted them so much because the Commonwealth 'needs their level of knowledge and intelligence to get better'. To which Sole is always bewildered, because their 'extensive level of knowledge' is just. High school level. Basic science lessons.
They know about evolution and stem cells and stuff. They know how disease and antibodies work. They're praised for changing people's opinions on vaccination when, with the help of Curie, they start a campaign to bring back vaccines. Their goal was to fight the viruses that had been brought back from near extinction from 200+ years of no healthcare system, no scientists and doctors to cure them. A tilt back in the direction of accessible Pre-War healthcare.
Sole knows history. They know what to watch out for, how to spot tension between factions. They know how to avoid more war, lessons learned from textbooks and late nights with post-it notes. They know how to piece together a scale and pin point the tipping point to stop it before shit goes down because they did a project about it on a WW1 assignment. The Great War. The irony is not lost on Sole when they contemplate that name for too long.
They're decent at Maths. Decent enough to make sure the caps and donations to the Minutemen are being put to good use. To make sure the book keeping is up to code and every cap is accounted for, and what it should be put towards. Like trying to bring back vaccines from 200 years ago. Negotiating with Vault 81 to let Curie use the old lab there goes way more smoothly when they've got the caps to make a worthy case for the cause.
Sole knows why people assume their mind is unmatched, though. In a way it is, sort of, they suppose. Since education is rare in the Post-War world, and even then it's not at the level it was Pre-War, Sole just seems smart. Everyone thinks they are.
Sole never knows how to handle it.
Are they complicit for letting people believe they're a genius? Should they keep up the charade so people listen to them? The thought keeps them up at night. Preston laughs at them for it.
MacCready reminds them of the many times they looked like a dumbass in every other circumstance where they lacked knowledge. 210 years of missing out on General Wolrd Stuff will do that to ya. It's not necessarily their fault, but he still likes to drag them for the time they got food poisoning because they didn't realise some of the new plants had to be cooked before consumption.
Every time someone acts in awe of Sole's intelligence, MacCready snickers because he was there in the early days. Sole had hired him to watch their back. Soon enough he became their mentor on how to shoot a gun properly. How to maintain it. What to eat, what not to eat, what to definetly not eat. How to make sure mole rat meat is 100% cooked. How to safely remove as much radiation as possible from water and food when you have only basic supplies. He would never think Sole is stupid. They know a lot compared to most people, but learning how to survive and knowing how to count are very different types of knowledge. No, he'd never think they're stupid. But he definetly humbles them, which Sole is actually happy about. He still affectionately calls them an idiot and reminds them of the time they tripped over their own laces, alerting the radstag they were hunting of their presence. And the food poisoning thing. And the incident with the bucket. And when they almost touched a deadly plant because they thought it would look nice in a vase they found.
Thing is, Preston taught them basics of how to shoot and fight before they left Sanctuary. MacCready picked up the workload when he met Sole and realised they'd likely get them both killed if he didn't. Cait showed them hand to hand combat and lockpicking. Everyone at some point taught Sole something. So Sole goes red from embarrassment when being complimented on their mind, because they know they're gonna get an earful from their friends later. Affectionately bullied. You know Deacon has some blackmail level information from the months he followed them. They all sit at Sole's kitchen counter and share stories of Sole's embarrassing misadventures over breakfast. That's just what a family does.
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nightmanatee · 1 year
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thinking about the underwater date again and about how after 13th almost joke-ish "not a bad date am i?" yaz doesn't joke back or brush the answer off but honestly answers with her quiet "no".
she's so much more brave that i've thought about her before (not that i've ever thought that yaz is not brave; she is, she very much is but this moment...). imagine you're standing in front of a 2000+ years old alien creature that's "seen more, loved more, lost more". the creature that is so like... infinite, so much more than just a friend someone you'll put on a pedestal and still STILL after this "not a bad date am i :D" you don't hesitate you don't go silent but you're honest and you admit something (that you didn't even want to admit to yourself a couple of hours/days ago). it's not "did dan tell you to say that" or "no you certainly is a bad date, we could've drowned!!!" or "where's the ship tho?" no it's an HONEST answer.
it makes me respect chibnall's writing more with each rewatch bc yaz IS special but in ordinary/everyday things you wouldn't think as special before moments like this. bc like admitting your feelings is huge but normal but admitting them to the doctor?
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i wonder about how/will this lead to something in potd? in a way of yaz being brave one last time.
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wakinguponsaturday · 8 months
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Losing my mind about Wyll with horns after you convince him not to kill Karlach. Corruption of the soul made manifest and in service of good rather than evil yes yes of course but also my tiefling is vibrating with excitement. Now she has TWO friends with horns
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Just watched Fury from the Deep and I love Victoria's exit so much it breaks my heart. She's so worn down by their travels always ending up full of danger and death and her always being put in the position of damsel in distress. She really doesn't want to leave jamie and the doctor but she doesn't want that life and I love that it let's her make that choice. And I love that Jamie's concerned she won't be happy living in, what is to them, the future but she acknowledges she's changed too much to go back to Victorian England, and she's highly unlikely to get back there anyway, not without more death and danger. That the doctor changes his mind about slipping away in the night and agrees to stay another day so Victoria can think about her decision properly without feeling as pressured. The fact that she knows the doctor won't say a proper goodbye because that's his way. The way she stands on the beach watching them row out to the tardis, knowing she'll never see either of them again. The fact she doesn't go back to the tardis with them to collect her belongings. Jamie's "I don't care where we go next" because he's miserable that Victoria made that decision. The Doctor's "I was fond of her too, you know" which is the closest he'll get to admitting how much he cares about them all. I just love it
#i just have so many thoughts about her#i love that the story builds to her exit with her saying shes tired of being frightened and asking why they never end up anywhere nice#her exit's similar to tegans in that theyre both worn out and sick of it but i love where tegans exit is impulsive#and very much in the heat of the moment#you see victoria considering it throughout the episode even though she cant bring herself to say it to jamie and the doctor#and yeah i just love that we get to see the travelling take its toll bc when you get down to it she is just a kid who never signed up#for any of this#and where new who companions get breaks between adventures and have lives outside the doctor#classic who companions dont get any of that by virtue of the 'the doctor cant control the tardis' so the doctor and his lifestyle is all#they have#and it goes even more so for victoria bc shes one of the orphaned companions who has nowhere to go back to#(sidenote i was thinking the other day about how many classic companions have nowhere they want to go back to particularly with 1 2 and 5#which fits with the whole 'cant control the tardis so they cant ever go back so we better make companions who dont want to'#idk i just love that so many of the classic exits are companions finding a new home/realising they can do good in this new place#like they can never go back to their old home and they end up with their temporary tardis family until they find somewhere new to call home#and ik we rarely see the outcomes of these decisions so we dont know if they were the right ones but still)#anyway this was about victoria#in conclusion: i love her and her exit#doctor who#victoria waterfield#jamie mccrimmon#second doctor
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starsandthorn · 7 months
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feel like i need a corkboard and red string to make sense of the narzissenkreuz stuff
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