#I may have drunk some wine before posting this

[in-flvx]

This isn't gonna be a deep analysis, but I keep thinking about it: the fandoms relationship to attractiveness as showcased by Sirius and Remus respectively.

We have the text. In which Harry and some unnamed girl from the marauders year find Sirius attractive. Vs tonks pining through at least 2 if not 3 books for Remus.

Harry generally seems to be attracted to people who are perceived by the general public as attractive (see: Cho, ginny, Bill, Cedric). He is our point of direction for this.

The fandom at large seems to have taken this as confirmation that Sirius is vaguely attractive, in the most general sense. Good looking, but in the end boring bc he fits some arbitrary criteria of general beauty. In a way that nobody who spends time getting to know him would even consider his looks at all, bc his character is so genuinely abhorrent that he's barely acceptable. And then only bc Remus is delusional, and bc James feels like he has to keep him in his friend group bc nobody else would even consider it. Also bc sirius will give 150% to overcome all his shortcomings (that fanonically start with his inability and disinterest in knowledge at large, and end with him gambling all his friends lives away for a laugh)

Meanwhile, Remus has canonically far less descriptions to hold onto. He has brown hair with streaks of white in his early 30s, and by this point he looks both sickly and poor (Harry mentions both for him in swm as well, but immediately follows it with plausible deniability for his preconceived opinions about either of them so I don't give it too much merit, even though I know most people have taken this as direct and unchangeable confirmation that he didn't have any kind of money at all all his life. But I don't ascribe to that, so don't even start with me)

But the fandom seems to take their respective popularity throughout poa and ootp as both direct confirmation as to how generally most people find Remus attractive for his sickly and unusual looks, and his general popularity based on the way Molly and the students react to him.

Meanwhile Sirius has the derision of both hermione and Molly, and his descriptions after azkaban working against him, as well as the fact that no one other than Harry and that one girl in their class was actually shown to be attracted to him. That, and the blurb from extra Canon in which Remus talks about how hot and sexy Sirius has been.

This is generally not smth I care too much about. Go for it, if you want to take these plot point to point out how attractive either of them is. If you live in a world in which Remus is just generally more attractive than Sirius, and everybody thinks so, that is okay.

But pls. Please. I beg you. To not act like it's the other way around when you make everyone in their general vicinity unable to talk about anything other than how Remus is the sexiest person to ever exist, and how each and everyone of them (even the lesbians) would have a go at him if given the chance. And if you have Remus go on dates several times during your fic, or have everyone who is interested in Sirius be first, or more, attracted to Remus.

If you want to have Sirius be just a mid looking guy whom nobody really likes, and who can't do too many things at all. Who has nothing to go for him other than his money and his obsession with Remus, and the fact that remus also finds him attractive (even though he is the only person who thinks so).

If you want Sirius to be this, just go with it. Let him be mid. Let Remus be the hottest person ever. Let Sirius know that he isn't really all that hot, and let him rely on his mind. Honestly just give him anything. Don't give him something you tell us he is good at, when all you end up doing is negating it directly by telling us that remus is the hottest person in school, that James actually likes him better, that remus is the only one able or interested in reading.

If you want Remus to have all of that going for it, don't act like this is some arcane knowledge, especially when you have not a single person in your fic or au who has anything positive to say or think about Sirius.

[nickfowlerrr]

i never thought you’d happen to me - 1

part two / part three

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut (part two), fluff, bit of angst. time travel via magic. dad!bucky and mom!reader. steve x nat. some morally dubious homemade porn viewing 💀 (part two). if i’m missing anything that should be tagged, please lmk!

words: just a bit over 6k.

notes: this idea came from a prompt post i saw not too long ago and coincidentally fell into some bingo spots for my @the-slumberparty bingo card.

fair warning: this is so completely self indulgent and a little trope overload lol but i had such a good time working on it and it was fun to write so who really cares 😌 thank you in advance for reading and reblogging! as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated. please let me know what you think! 🥰

It’s another late Friday night as you and the team lounge around the common room, nearly empty takeout containers scattered around the table, glasses and bottles of your drinks much the same. There’s a movie no one is watching playing on the large screen as the current conversation around you continues.

You’re not sure how telling a story from your last mission with Bucky has turned into this once again, but here you are. Another cute remark from Sam about his expectancy to be in the wedding party earns him another glare from you.

“Hey, you side-eye now but in ten years you’ll look back and realize how right we all were,” he says, elbowing Bucky slightly. “Tinman by your side,” he adds with a grin - clearly amused with himself.

“That is not my future,” you say with a humorless chortle.

“I can show you your future,” Wanda speaks from her spot on the couch, everyone turning their heads at once to look at her. She’s been unusually quiet the past few minutes - not engaging much in the conversation as she observed it instead. She takes another sip of her wine as she meets your gaze, foot swinging lazily as she keeps one leg crossed over the other.

She tilts her head at you while you eye her with a raised brow, a look of incredulity on your face.

“What?” she questions, confused at not only yours, but everyone’s, lack of response.

“Come on,” you laugh lightly, brushing her off.

“I’m serious.”

“Wanda, I don’t need to see what my future looks like to know that Bucky will be playing no part in it.”

A round of scoffs, snickers and a groan erupt from around the living room as you roll your eyes. You catch Bucky, seated across from you, doing the same as you turn your face.

“You’re all very funny, and I’m glad you’re amused with yourselves, but I can’t sit here and listen to the same inane conversation over again, soooo,” you pause for a breath, “I’m going to bed,” you clap as you stand from your spot on the couch.

“Look, I don’t speak for everyone, but I am not joking in the slightest,” Kate laughs as she leans back into her seat. Aiming finger guns at you and Bucky, “You guys,” she says, “are endgame.”

“And you, my friend, are drunk.”

Another round of laughs before the previous chatter resumes among the group, a story of misadventure now being told from Parker’s perspective, and you can hear Stark’s interjections already.

You grab your empty glass and head to the kitchen, Wanda following shortly after you.

“You’re stubborn,” she says with no preamble.

You turn with a quirked brow, “Am I?”

“Very. So much so, I think I may need your permission.”

“Sorry...uhm, for?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I think you should see it.” Your face falls slack at her words as you turn back to finish washing out your glass.

“Wanda, -” you go to laugh again.

“No, actually,” she stops you, correcting herself, “you need to see it. You’re stunting yourself. You’re constantly getting in your own way. I think it’d be good for you, to see what you can have if you finally allow it to come to you.”

You're quieted by her sincerity for a moment, half because you weren’t taking any of the previous conversation seriously, and half because you didn’t think it was something she was actually capable of doing. In fact, you still didn’t. But if she wanted to try, who were you to argue.

“Uhhh,” you begin, shaking your head lightly, “I mean, if you really want to, then, go for it, I guess. You have my permission.”

“Good,” she smiles, turning to walk back out to the other’s.

“Wow, wait,” you stop her, “like, what exactly are you gonna do?”

“Just a swap,” she says simply. “A day in the life of your future self. You don’t have to do anything, just go to sleep tonight and you’ll see.”

Your eyes narrow in thought, “...This isn’t dangerous, right?”

“No, not at all. You guys will be fine. 24 hours and you’ll wake up in your own beds, safe and sound. I promise.”

She smiles and flits away quickly. You shake your head at yourself again, still unsure what exactly you’ve agreed to. And it isn’t until you’re walking down the hallway back to your room that what she said actually catches up to you.

You guys will be fine?

You stop walking when you hear footsteps behind you, glancing back to find Bucky coming down the hall. You swallow hard and turn back around, not far from your door.

“Stalker much?” you say without facing him, earning a scoff in return.

He’s barely a step behind you now, though his sudden proximity is not all that surprising. You’ve grown used to his stealth.

“In your dreams.”

“More like waking nightmares. Every time I turn around it’s like you’re always just right there.”

“Maybe if you didn’t put yourself into jeopardy every five minutes I wouldn’t have to shadow you so often.”

You’re walking side by side and you get to your door as he speaks. You turn on him, instantly irritated.

“Are you being serious?” you level at him. He doesn’t respond. “How are you still hung up on Belarus? It was one mission. That was not on me, I didn’t fuck up. No one else saw them coming, either,”

“I did.”

“Well, sorry I’m not as infallible as the one and only Bucky Barnes,” you speak exaggeratedly, annoyance clear in your tone. “You still act like I’m some kind of liability. I’ve been careful. I’m riding a lengthy no injury streak and we’ve still yet to fail a single mission. After how many assignments we’ve been on together, you think you’d start taking me more seriously.”

“I never said I didn’t take you seriously. Just think sometimes you’re still a little too cocky for your own good.”

“For the thousandth time, I’m not clueless, Barnes. I don’t need you monitoring my every move. Not during training, not on missions, and definitely not walking down a hallway at night. I think I can handle getting to my room alone. Or is assuming that too cocky of me?” you ask with a tilt of your head, sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

You don’t wait for a response before you turn to your door and let yourself in, snapping it shut behind you.

You flick on the light and are quickly greeted by a room that is… definitely not yours. You pause for a second, taking in your surroundings before you deflate with a sigh, following it up with a deep breath. You turn the light back off and then turn back around to the door. You wait for a second longer with your hand on the handle before you force yourself to exit the room.

Just like you knew he would be, Bucky is still standing right where you left him; a stupid smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

“Wrong room,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you grumble as you walk a little further down the hall, to your actual door.

“Goodnight to you, too,” Bucky says as he continues to his own room, not far from you. You send him a glare and a “hmph” before shutting your door and getting ready for bed.

You’re not helpless. You’re not clueless. You’re damn good at what you do. But fuck if Bucky doesn’t have a knack for knocking you off kilter with a single look.

—-

It’s a soft shaking that wakes you from your peaceful sleep. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move - you don’t even want to blink open your eyes. But the shaking comes again. Your brows furrow as your arms tighten around your pillow and you cuddle further into it.

Only it’s not your pillow.

It takes a second for you to process that instead, it’s a warm body you’re pressing yourself against before your eyes snap open.

You look up and find a confused Bucky staring down at you.

When your eyes meet, though, there’s a bit of softness there. And as you take in his face, you relax a bit again. His presence beside you is at once comforting as it is confounding.

“What are you doing?” you both ask at the same time - only furthering your confusion.

You suddenly realize you’re still wrapped around him and quickly sit up and give him space.

“Why are you in my bed?” you ask as you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says as he looks around, “but I don’t think we’re at the tower.”

You look up and blink away the fuzziness. Then it hits you.

“Oh shit,” you murmur.

“What? You know where we are?” he asks as he stands and starts looking around, inspecting the room. “Better yet, how the hell we got here?”

“Maybe…Would you believe me if I said we might possibly be in the future?”

Bucky turns and looks at you incredulously.

“Wanda,” you speak at the same time.

“For fuck’s sake,” he says as he runs a hand over his face.

“In my defense,” you begin, “when I agreed to this, I didn’t think she’d be able to do it. I also didn’t think it’d involve anyone else..”

“What do you mean you agreed to this? What is this?”

“She said I needed to see the future. It’d be good for me, or whatever, so I said okay. She said it was uh, a future swap? 24 hours. Day in the life and then I’d wake up back in my own bed the next day.”

“And you agreed to it?”

“Fuckin’, yeah, obviously,” you huff. “I didn’t think it’d be.. Real? I don’t know.”

“So, so what? We’re stuck in some unknown future for the next 24 hours?”

“What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you not understand?”

“Why would you agree to something like this without fully knowing what it is you’re agreeing to? This is exactly what I’m talking about when I say-”

“Spare me, Barnes. It’s Wanda, okay? We’re fine. It’s 24 hours, and I’m assuming that clock started when we fell asleep last night, so really it’s only…,” your voice dies down as you look to the clock on the bedside table. The time isn’t what catches your eye, though.

No.

It’s the framed photo behind it that derails your train of thought.

“No fucking way,” you breathe as you grab it in disbelief.

You stare at the photo of you and Bucky, a close up of you in a sweet embrace, adorning soft smiles as you share a chaste kiss, your left hand touching his cheek, and what you can only assume is a wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

This has to be some kind of dream. That’s it. You’re dreaming. Duh. Your hand moves before your mind does and you slap yourself in your face as hard as you can manage, sure it’ll wake you up and you’ll be back in the tower, in your own bed, alone.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaims in surprise as you wince slightly and hold your cheek as it stings. He walks over to you, becoming more tentative as you look up at him.

“‘M not dreaming. Are you?”

“No, I’m wide awake, believe me,” he says as he gets closer. “Don’t slap me, either.”

You eye him harshly before handing him the frame.

“Well, it.. Explains why you’re here, at least,” you say, voice quieter than you intended as your thoughts were still reeling. “We’re not just in my future, we’re in-”

“Our future,” he finishes as he stares at the photo himself.

“Yeah.”

“So, our room…” he says more to himself than to you. He makes his way around the room, pulling open drawers and looking in the closet as you stand and head for the bathroom.

You meet yourself in the mirror, sure enough, you still look the same. You’re you.

Walking back out into the room, you head for the window, pulling back the curtain. As you peer out, you’re expecting to see a skyline, or city street, but instead you’re met with the view of an open yard.

You pull away from the window in surprise, “Are we in a house?”

You turn to Bucky, who turns to face you. You both head to the bedroom door, you following behind him as he takes the lead.

It’s a house. Definitely a house.

The bedroom door leads to a long hallway, three doors along the right back wall, another door at the far end opposite your own, and to the left of that, on the left wall, is another room.

In the middle of the hallway is an opening, and you and Bucky turn there without inspecting any of the other rooms.

You find yourselves in a living room, before walking into the kitchen.

“We should look around,” you say in a whisper - why, you aren’t sure.

“What exactly are you planning on finding?” he questions as you pull open a drawer, sifting around.

“I don’t know? More information. Like what we’re doing here. What we do. What year it is. Maybe we learn something and it’ll send us home sooner? I don’t know, just, something,” you answer, on edge already by being surrounded by the unknown and only growing more agitated at his every word.

“Why are you getting mad at me?”

“I’m not getting-,” you stop yourself, taking a breath, “sorry. Okay? I thought you were trying to be a dick,”

“Why do you assume I’m being a dick?” he asks, annoyed himself now.

"Because you always act like a fucking dick!", you nearly yell as you slam the kitchen drawer shut.

"Fucking dick!"

You both freeze at the high, sweet-sounding voice that comes from behind you. Your brows furrow as you glance at Bucky, his reaction to the mirthful echo much the same as yours, before you both slowly turn around.

The sight you're met with has you both frozen in shock.

A set of twin toddlers clad in matching pajamas, both of whom bear a striking resemblance to you and Bucky, are staring at you both.

You can't explain why, but your heart is gripped by the mere sight of them. It's something more than just their cuteness, it's something instinctual. How it's possible, you're not sure, but you know, somehow, that they're really yours. Future or not, those are absolutely your kids.

It seems with each passing moment, you and Bucky are left more and more stunned by how your future is turning out, but as you notice the little boy's eyes watering and the pout on his little lips as he looks right at you, you can't seem to care about anything else.

“Hey, buddy,” you squat down and hold your arms open for him, and he waddles to you right away as his eyes well more and more. He hugs you, still pouting as he cuddles into your chest and you hold him tightly as you stand, exchanging another glance with Bucky who looks nearly stupefied until the soft voice of the girl rings out once again.

Your eyes shoot to her as she twirls around clumsily, a chant of "fucking dick" leaving her lips over and over before she starts to tilt, seemingly having made herself dizzy. You're about to gasp, moving forward instinctually as you watch her wobble a bit more, but she's in Bucky's arms in an instant as he grabs her before she falls.

"Woah, there, sweetheart," he says with a small laugh as she dramatically goes limp in his arms. An exhausted breath leaves her little lungs as she breathes out the repetition one final time. She then lifts her tiny hand up to Bucky’s cheek, effectively slapping him as she plants it, blinking up at him. “What’s this?” she asks him curiously as she smooshes his face, feeling his stubble.

“Uhh…It’s hair. I haven’t shaved - Ow,” he exaggerates when she interrupts him and pats his cheek again, a bit harder this time, though you know it didn’t hurt him in the slightest. It makes the girl laugh, though.

“You should shave, Daddy,” she advises, pulling a face.

Her words pull a breathless laugh from him as he gazes down at the small girl, a lump forming in his throat as he takes everything in. He feels crazy, but he can see you in her, and he can see himself, too. Her and her brother, they both look like the perfect little combinations of the two of you. And they’re both so comfortable with you guys. So at ease and uninhibited, just like children should be..

It’s a stark contrast to how he grew up and he can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, of pride, knowing that he isn’t repeating the cycle he swore would die with him.

He’d stopped letting his mind wander to what if futures long ago, but when he did imagine what it’d be like to have a family of his own, this is the kind of peace he longed for. The happy, settled down future he was sure he’d never have.

And you.

Your hand has been mindlessly rubbing the boy's back in an effort to comfort him as he cuddles into you, that never faltering pout pulling every string your heart has as Bucky attends to the girl relaxing in his arms.

"Linc's sad, Mommy," the girl says, pointing at her brother. The title has you swallowing hard, your heart clenching at how sweetly she calls to you.

Linc?... Must've been Bucky, you think briefly before you gently pull him away from you slightly so you can see him better, his bleary blue eyes peering up at you.

"Why are you yelling at Daddy?" he pouts still. Your brows furrow and mouth parts on an inhale, as if you're going to answer him, but nothing comes out as you try and think of what you can say. His innocent question stumping you.

"It's alright, pal, we were just kiddin' around," Bucky offers as he gets closer to you both. You look at him, a bit guilty but thankful for the save.

"Can we have pancakes, Daddy?" the girl asks as she wriggles around like a worm in his hold.

"Pancakes! Please!" Linc smiles as he continues hanging onto you, seemingly happy with Bucky's defense of you - any qualms he had long forgotten as he’s now focused on the mention of pancakes for breakfast.

"Sure," you answer for him, acquiescing easily with a smile before looking to Bucky with wide eyes.

You’re not entirely sure how exactly this all happens, but somehow you end up married with two kids. As shocking as it is, and as confused as you are about how, a part of you is grateful - maybe even happy - that Bucky is here. He may be an ass a lot of the time, overbearing and micromanaging your every move, but you guys have been through hell and back together. Partners from the very start of your time as an Avenger. If you’re being honest, this future makes more sense than you previously wanted to admit.

In an attempt to not freak out the twins, you know you have to play the part. Act like nothing is out of the ordinary and that you are indeed their mom. You are, technically, but you don’t have any idea what the hell you’re doing or what’s wholly needed of you. You’ve nannyed before, though. You know the basics..

"Have we brushed our teeth yet?" you ask the twins, sure the answer is a "no". Your and Bucky's arguing clearly is what woke them up, the yelling must have led them out here from their room.. Rooms?

"Mhm," the girl hums, though just from looking at her, the lie is evident as she avoids looking directly at you.

"Don't lie, Ellie," her brother chastises.

Ellie.. That must've been me, you think with a twitch of a smile before you set Linc down.

"Alright, go with Buc- your dad, and I'll start on the pancakes," you instruct before the twins burst out in giggles. You frown, brows furrowing as you watch them, hoping they'll let you know what exactly is so funny.

"No, we want daddy's pancakes, Mommy!"

"With chocolate chips and syrup!"

"Yeah, they want Daddy's pancakes, Mommy," Bucky taunts with a smirk as you shoot him an annoyed look. He seems a lot more comfortable now than he was a few minutes ago, and you can’t help but notice how easily he seems to be taking this; easing into his role in this place and time. He’s good.

"What's wrong with my pancakes?" you press the toddlers.

"Daddy's are better, but it's okay, your grilled cheese is the best,"

"Yeah! Oh, can we have grilled cheese for lunch, Mommy? Please, please, pleeease," Ellie begs cutely, leaning to you while still in Bucky's hold.

You huff a laugh, agreeing as Bucky sets Ellie down to follow you.

"See if you can find anything," you tell him as you meet his eye before following after the tikes pulling on your hands.

"Don't forget the chocolate, Daddy!"

Bucky watches as you're led to the bathroom before he starts moving around the kitchen. He's about to start looking around for more information on when exactly you are, and the kind of life you’re living, but thinks better of it for now. He'd rather not have two toddlers throw a fit over unfinished pancakes on top of everything else he's trying to wrap his head around at the moment.

He finds the pantry and grabs all the ingredients he needs for his mom's pancake recipe - the one he knows by heart- and gets to work on the batter. The chatter from the kids and you in the bathroom floats into the kitchen and he can’t help but smile at the sound of your voice as you talk to them.

He soon loses himself in the simplicity of the task at hand, and how nice it is to be here like this. He's in pajamas on a Saturday morning, making breakfast for his family as they start their day..

Seems entirely unreal, but a dream nonetheless. And as if that wasn’t enough to have his thoughts in a flurry, he still can't shake the feeling of how nice it was waking up with your soft body pressed against his. Opening his eyes to discover the warmth beside him was you. He was confused at first, wondering when and how you’d gotten into his room, but more so concerned about the why. He watched you for a minute before he noticed the bedding draped over the both of you. It wasn’t his and when he looked around the room, he realized he had no idea where you guys were. You were wrapped around him as you laid together in the comfy king bed, and it took him a second to try to wake you up. He knew he had to, of course, but if he was honest, he didn’t want the feeling to end. Your hold on him was comforting and he was completely at ease in your embrace, circumstances be damned. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in ages.

Though, that wasn’t entirely true. He remembers the last time he felt that way, and of course it was with you. You were stuck in a shoddy motel off the highway during a storm, the crappy jeep you’d been traveling in finally gave out half way through your drive back to the compound and you guys had no choice but to crash for the night. Of course the motel only had one singular room available with one singular bed. After some back and forth, you both decided you’d just share. It was big enough for the two of you, with space in between. When Bucky woke up that next morning, though, he found himself holding you tightly from behind, your arms wrapped over his as you slept peacefully in his embrace. He remembers the heat that crept up his neck and the flurry in his stomach that he still refuses to acknowledge as butterflies. He quickly loosened his hold and slipped away from you before you could even bat an eye. You were still none the wiser. He thought about that morning a lot after it happened.

He wondered what would’ve happened if you had woken up, too. What you would’ve said, what he could’ve said to you if he’d finally gotten out of his own way..

He can’t dwell on it anymore, though. He hasn’t. He won’t.

Except maybe he does.

And seeing as this is your future together, he thinks maybe that’s not as hopelessly embarrassing as he’s made himself believe it is.

And god, the sight of those kids. The warmth that bloomed in his chest as he took in their faces, he honestly was worried he would start crying if he stared too long. He had long given up on the idea of starting a family, he didn't think this life would ever be in the cards for him, and especially not with you.

But as he stood pouring chocolate chip pancake batter into a sizzling pan, he was struck by how right it felt.

Obviously, it wasn't right, neither of you should be here right now, and it made him wonder where exactly the future you and him were.

As soon as the thought went through his head, a tablet he hadn’t taken notice of on the back counter dinged.

He flipped the pancakes before he went to get the pad, taking the tablet in his hands. His face unlocked the device easily and opened up to his email account.

He clicked on the new, unread message from.. you?

—-

Hey Bucky.

Wanda says this is unnecessary but if I know me, I’m still probably freaking out internally. So, just letting you know that everything's fine. Or so she says.

We're gonna be back to our respective places in time come tomorrow.

I know waking up in the future - especially our future - may be hard to wrap your heads around, but it’s a hell of a lot better than waking up alone to a preening Wanda staring at you, trust me.

And you guys aren’t as oblivious as you try to be. You know, deep down, exactly why you’re there. Together. - and why it isn’t all that crazy.

And this goes without saying, but obviously, take care of the kids. Eleanor and Lincoln. If you haven’t found them yet, they’ll find you, I’m sure.

Today at 2pm, you need to drop them off at 7314 Wisteria Drive. That's Steve and Nat's house - so don't make it weird. They're keeping the kids so we can celebrate our anniversary.

Funny how that lines up..

So, anyway, apparently all we need to do on both ends is enjoy the 24 hour downtime. We’ll be waking up in our own beds before we know it.

Okay.

Bye.

(I’d say I love you but I don’t wanna freak you out. x)

—

Bucky just stares down at the email blankly while his brain tries to catch up. He's gonna have to have you read it yourself. Before he can fixate on that last line in particular, he can smell the browning of the pancakes.

His attention quickly returns to the food as he starts to plate it, shutting off the burner. The kiddie plates he finds in a cabinet earn a half smile from him as he cuts up the pancakes for the kids and spots their booster seats, placing the plates before them.

He hears them before he sees them as they come down the hallway, all laughs.

You appear just after they do, a look on your face he can't turn away from. Your soft smile and the adoration swimming in your eyes as you watch your kids, both of them waiting to be lifted up to sit down, is.. beautiful.

He catches himself staring before he turns his focus back to the table, lifting Eleanor into her seat before lifting Lincoln in his, earning a "thank you, daddy," from each of them in return, a wave of astonishment and pride coming over him yet again. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to that.

You listen as they talk back and forth about their pancakes and their laughter when they start playing with one another as they eat their lightly syruped bites.

You stand by Bucky, absentmindedly grabbing a pancake and biting into it, stopping almost immediately as the fluffiness catches you off guard. God, they were so right. These are amazing.

"Good, right?" Bucky's voice pulls you back as you swallow your bite.

You lick your lip before looking over at him. "Did you find anything?"

He hands you the tablet and watches as you read the email.

You click your tongue, and then stay silent for a minute.

He almost can’t believe it when you do it, looking at you incredulously once again after you suddenly slap yourself in the face once more.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he bites quietly, moving to stand in front of you and blocking your view of the kids momentarily.

"Just had to make sure," you reply, again cringing at the stinging of your cheek. You eye him before making a move to slap him, too, but he grabs your hand before you can make contact. He looks at you like you're insane as you huff again. "So this is..."

"This is real," he finishes for you. "That hard to believe, huh?"

"That's an understatement. So, I’m not dreaming. But are you sure you’re not dreaming?"

“You think my dreams involve waking up in the future with no memory of what’s gone on between me going to sleep to waking up? That’s a literal nightmare for me. Plus, I learned a while ago how to differentiate between my dreams and reality. Trust me, we’re not dreaming.”

You swallow thickly, an apology on the tip of your tongue. You hadn’t considered that before. Before you can voice your thoughts, though, you're distracted by the interaction between the kids at the table.

"Linc, I'll give you a piece and then you give me one of your piece, okay?"

"You take this one," Linc says as he gives his sister a piece off of his plate and she gives him a piece off of her's.

You can't help but chuckle at the exchange.

"We make cute kids, though," Bucky says, almost under his breath. But you still hear him, and you respond before your brain catches your tongue.

"Yeah, we do."

You push off the counter as Bucky watches you, surprised that you heard him and even more so by your agreement, though it'd be impossible for anyone to argue that your kids aren’t, in fact, ridiculously adorable.

"Do you guys want -"

"Orange juice, please!" Ellie answers before you even finish asking.

"And water, please," Linc follows.

"OJ and water, you got it."

----

You and Bucky get the kids ready to go to Steve and Nat's with minimal arguing... until you had to pack their bags.

What they should or shouldn't take with them was a point of contention as you ridiculed each other's choices. After your bickering and some input from Ellie and Linc, you guys just hoped they had everything they needed. You'd unnecessarily packed them three outfits each just in case of spills or messes and their diaper bag was loaded full, too. Maybe too much for one day, but better safe than sorry, right?

After loading the twins in the car, Bucky followed the GPS to the address you'd left in the email.

When you guys pulled up to the house, you were greeted by Natasha who was unloading groceries from her car. The domestic scene warmed your heart. She deserved the simplicity, the normalcy, and you were happy to know that one day, she’d have it.

She lit up as she saw you guys approaching and came right over, going straight for the back door.

Linc and Ellie were all smiles and giggles as they tried fruitlessly to escape their car seats in favor of being in Nat's arms.

"Bugs!!" Nat greeted them with an enthusiastic smile as she started working on their belts. "I've missed you guys so much! How long has it been? Ten years?"

They laughed in unison at her before Ellie corrected her. "Yesterday, Aunt Nattie!"

"Yesterday?" she questioned in faux disbelief.

She wasn't able to keep up the play, though as the second they were out of their seats, they nearly tackled her.

You watched Steve come outside, coming up to the car with a grin, a girl no more than ten and another toddler, maybe a little older than the twins, in tow.

"Get them inside for me, honey," Nat said to the oldest one. She looked nothing like either of them, dark hair and dark eyes, but still it was clear she was their daughter. The younger one looked like Steve, though, and you wonder briefly if that was just by chance or if they’d had a surrogate. Natasha had talked about the possibility before, and of adopting, but starting a family wasn’t something any of you were actually considering at the time, settling down and having kids wasn't really your focus when you were all trying to make sure the world wouldn’t be ending tomorrow. "We'll be right in. And pick a movie for the sleepover before your Dad does," she pretended to whisper, earning a laugh from the girl as she corralled the kids up the porch.

Nat turned her gaze back on you and Bucky, her stare nothing less than scrutinizing.

"Are you guys in pajamas?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Mh, uh, yeah," you laughed a little breathlessly before looking back at the house, distracted. "They didn't even say bye," you said in your disappointment. You'd only just met the kids, but you felt so instantly connected to them.

"Don't worry about them, they're gonna have fun tonight. And so are you two," she says pointedly, if not a bit suggestively, pulling you from your thoughts. You feel the heat that creeps up your skin and refuse to look at Bucky.

"What are you guys doin' tonight, did you decide?" Steve asks.

"Staying in," Bucky blurts out as you blink and smile. But their faces at that, their smirks of acknowledgement make you grow hotter as you try to not let your embarrassment show.

"Mhm," you hum tight lipped.

It's quiet for a moment as you all watch one another before Steve breaks the silence.

"You guys are acting weird."

"Are we?" you question back too quickly.

"Yeah. You are," Nat says.

"Sugar," Bucky blurts out again. "They're loaded up on sugar. Sorry, they really wanted pancakes this morning. But uh, look, thanks for watching them. We should uh, get going, so.."

"Yeah, we should go," you agree. "What time do you want us to pick them up?"

"We're dropping them off tomorrow afternoon, right?" Steve questioned. "Or did you not want them to go with us?"

"No, oh, right. Duh! I just forgot - that's what we talked about. Because you're taking them to.." you trail off, prompting them.

"The gardens?" Nat finishes.

"Right, yes, the gardens. Which is great. And we appreciate it so much. And if you need anything or anything happens, ya know just call us," you continue on as Bucky starts to pull away. You fight the urge you have to glare at him until you finish your awkward goodbye and Steve and Nat watch you both drive off, clearly confused about the weird interaction.

"Did you miss the part of the email where it explicitly said: don't make it weird?" Bucky asks.

"Fuck off, you were no better," you scowl as you slump in the seat. "What now?"

[perfectlyoongi]

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who bakes cakes with you in the early hours of the morning when the whole city is still asleep. three or four in the morning were sacred hours in your house as autumn approached. with matching aprons and wine glasses in hand, you and Jungkook followed instructions as disorganized as possible, hoping to find some cake batter or cookies in the midst of your laughter. the music played low, remaining completely silent when you and Jungkook exchanged jokes and visions, but always lulling you into a little dance that lasted the entire morning. at six in the morning you sat at the table tasting your creation before saying goodbye and falling asleep in your rooms. “today i want an orange cake. i know it’s late, but do you want to do one with me? i found two recipes that might be good. i’ll even let you have the first slice.”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who has a collection of photos and videos of you that you might consider embarrassing. Jungkook seemed to have a certain gift when it came to humiliating you: whenever you were distracted, or too involved in something, Jungkook made a point of saving everything on his phone, creating a folder in his gallery with just your photos. you could say it was a hobby of Jungkook’s that always made him happy, as it was in these more personal moments that your soul truly shined and oh, how he was in love with that light. “you are so done on your birthday. you’ll see, i’ll post the photos i took of you in the car yesterday. you were beautiful. the world needs to see your natural beauty.”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who always orders your favorite pizza when he doesn’t feel like cooking. you shared the household chores, it was an agreement that was quickly made by you as soon as you became housemates; but there were days when Jungkook came home more tired, or even after dinner, and there was no desire or patience to cook. as such, Jungkook would order your favorite pizza from your favorite pizzeria and, after paying for it, he would call you over for dinner while he went to bed. in a way, you were always Jungkook’s priority. “hi, the work ran a little late today, sorry. i already called for your favorite pizza and you have the money here. i hope you eat well. i’m really tired. good night, angel. good night.”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who buys letter magnets to communicate with you on the fridge when your are mismatched. there were times when you would get home when Jungkook had just left. there were times when Jungkook would go to sleep when you were preparing lunch. there were days when you didn’t even see each other. but as you shared a house, communication was essential to make that experience comforting. so Jungkook bought a large number of colorful magnets in the shapes of letters for you to use as a means of communication. they were only used for basic things, of course, but it was still a very tender gesture on Jungkook’s part. “buy bread. dinner 8pm. seal.”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who always gives you a ride in winter, even if it’s just to get bread. Jungkook was so warm and helpful. if you needed something he was there to make sure you didn’t miss anything. and, when the weather was more brutal, with snow and rain decorating the streets, Jungkook always made a point of taking you wherever you needed to go, secretly keeping in his heart all the streets shared with you, shouting the most popular songs in the radio. it could be mere minutes, but it was enough to leave Jungkook completely surrendered to you. “don’t be stupid. with this cold? you may get sick and then what? i don’t know how to take care of myself, let alone you! I’m looking out for your well-being, that’s all.”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who plays drunk uno with you on long summer nights. when the boredom was a lot and the nights were too hot, you and Jungkook decided to distract yourself with a simple game of cards. changing some of the rules, you and Jungkook agreed to play several games of uno until one of you was too happy to continue. there were screams and laughter, a lot of cheating and distortions, long nights enveloped in pure happiness and complicity. without there ever being a loser, but also without any winner, you and Jungkook repeated the game on the hottest and most boring nights, each of you needing the other’s presence to make that summer something unforgettable. “no, no! you can’t put a +4 after i told you to take 2! stop being a cheater and accept your defeat. no. put the card back into your deck!”

ROOMMATE!JUNGKOOK who declares himself to you when the storm stole all the light in your house. several candles were scattered around your living room in an attempt to bring some comfort in that darkness. sitting on the couch without having much to do, you and Jungkook watched time pass slowly. a long period of silence danced around the various flames, stealing all your comfort and offering Jungkook a small door for him to finally open up to you. and it was when you went to get water that Jungkook followed you to the kitchen and, very confused and nervous, finally confessed to you. “i don’t know if it’s the candles that are making me nostalgic or if it’s really your company, but i want to tell you something. i like you. a lot. i don’t think i should like you this much but i have no control over my feelings for you.”

[bookofbonbon]

i know yours - aemond targaryen.

pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

warnings: explicit language. implied sexy times.

summary: people watching with Aemond turns into an interesting conversation.

word count: 470+

People watching was something that you often did with your close friend, lover and betrothed Aemond Targaryen. An odd match to most but, the only one Aemond (and you) wanted – quite simply, it was you or no one. Although not ideal, Alicent knew that if she did not grant him this, his wild and wilful nature compounded with his hot temper would result in something she would rather avoid.

Your hair moves in the summer breeze, the cool air blowing in through the open windows and offering some reprieve from the stifling heat as night began to fall. You stood hidden in the shadows with Aemond on the second floor, watching over the festivities as Lord’s and Lady’s became steadily wine drunk.

Watching one Lord in particular, your eyes follow Lord Jason Lannister. Intrigued by his wildly off beat and ridiculous dancing as you lean comfortably against Aemond, his hands braced against the rails on either side of you.

“Lord Jason Lannister is…” you trail off, trying to find the right word.

“A cunt,” Aemond quips without hesitation, recalling previous conversations with the egomaniac.

“Aemond!” you scold quietly, turning in his brace.

“I speak only the truth,” he shrugs.

Rolling your eyes, you let the comment go but, not before remarking sarcastically, “and what would you know about cunts?”

You wait a beat for one of his witty remarks but, it does not come - not right way, at least.

You feel Aemond close the remaining space between the two of you, his body pressing impossibly closer to yours as his breath fans across your ear and cheek - his lips hovering nearby.

“Mm… I don’t know,” he ponders mockingly, a ghost of a smile that you cannot see tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’d say I know yours pretty well.”

Your eyes go wide, cheeks burning as you press your hand against his mouth with such force that you push him against the opposite wall as your eyes search wildly for any stragglers who may have heard the risqué statement.

“You cannot say such words a loud, someone may hear,” you whisper frantically but not bothering to defend your maidenhood, fingers loosening on his mouth.

“I speak only the truth,” he smirks lightly from behind your fingers, eyes twinkling with mischief but, it's gone as quickly as it comes when you do not smile.

“Hey, I promise you need not worry, my love,” he reassures, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes if people found out about your pre-marital activities. “I would never allow you to be in harm’s way.”

Calm washes over you and your resolve breaks, knowing his words to be true. Shoulders slumping, you lower your hand from his mouth but, he captures it in his own before you can completely drop it. Bringing the tips of your fingers back to his mouth, he presses a gentle kiss against them before laying your hand to rest between his own and over his heart.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: explicit smut (I don't know how much detail I should go into without giving too much away, but let's call it porn with a sprinkling of plot), language

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

The sun was bright as it beamed through the window, washing over your face and making you squint before you even opened your eyes. You groaned and rolled over, wondering how you had forgotten to close the curtains last night when you realized you weren't in bed, but on the couch in the living room. You cracked one eye open and looked around, spotting the wine glasses on the coffee table and the fire that had gone out long ago. Opening both eyes, you sat up and looked around the living room, then peered into the kitchen when you didn't see Joel. Looking down, you noticed he had covered you with a blanket at some point. You pushed it to the side and stood up to stretch, the side with your injury responding with a quick jolt, reminding you to take it easy.

You wandered into the kitchen looking for any sign of Joel. Anxiety set in as you wondered if he regretted last night, that maybe he was drunk, and you thought it meant more than it did. You paused at the bottom of the stairs when you heard water splashing from the bathroom off the master bedroom. He's probably just washing up.

You whipped your head around trying to remember where you put your backpacks yesterday, then spotted them in the den. You dug through your pack until you found a half-used tube of toothpaste. You squirted a glob onto your pointer finger and swished it around your teeth, cheeks and tongue as you walked to the kitchen to take a swig of water from your canteen and rinsed.

Trying to keep your nerves in check, you approached the stairs and slowly made your way up, listening as the sound of water stopped. You heard fabric rustling on the other side of the door when you entered the bedroom. The attempt at calming your nerves was a lost cause as you felt your heart hammering in your chest. You looked meekly around the bedroom, unsure what to do with yourself as he finished up. You wanted to sit on the bed, but you didn't want to look like you were just out there waiting for him to come fuck you. Finally, you decided to go into the closet where you kept some spare clothes so you could pretend to be busy folding them. You turned away from the bathroom and took one step in the direction of the closet when the door swung open.

He must have washed his hair because it was wet and slicked back. He had put a flannel on with his usual jeans, but he left the top two buttons undone on his shirt, giving you a peek at his tanned chest. Your mouth hung open as you took him in before finally meeting his heated stare.

"Hi," you murmured, the tension palpable. Joel took two long strides and grabbed your face in his hands, pulling you up to him as his lips found yours. He sighed against your mouth when he felt you return the kiss, massaging your lips on his, then granted you access when your teeth grazed his lower lip. He walked you backwards until you hit the wall of the bedroom, his tongue hungrily exploring your mouth, making you moan. He lowered his hands from your face to reach down and grip the backs of your thighs before yanking both your legs up to wrap around his waist, pinning you between him and the wall.

You squeaked in surprise and grabbed onto his broad shoulders to keep you balanced, your tongue swirling with his as one of his hands slid up your thigh to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze while his other hand braced himself on the wall behind you. He ground his hips into your aching core, making you break the kiss and cry out. Even through the thick fabric of your jeans, the contact sent a jolt from your cunt to your fingertips. You gasped as his mouth latched onto your neck, nipping up and down your throat followed by soft licks to soothe any pain he may have caused.

"Joel," you panted, raking your nails through his wet hair and gently over his scalp, making his eyes roll back in his head as he moaned against your neck. "Please," you begged, grinding your hips against his to try to find some relief. He removed his hand from the wall and lifted you up, turning you both around and walked the few steps to the bed, tossing you down to land on your back. He stood between your legs at the end of the bed, panting and staring down at you all sprawled out for him. You reached down to unbutton your jeans and shimmied out of them, tossing them on the floor. His gaze immediately locked onto your underwear, which were nothing special, just a pair of light blue cotton panties, but your arousal was evident by the darkness spreading at the center, making him groan loudly and palm his erection over his jeans.

You leaned back on your elbows with your knees bent and legs partially spread. His gaze flicked up from your pussy to look you in the eye. His lips were parted as his chest heaved, and his pupils were blown wide as he ran his eyes down your body again, drinking you in. Even with your shirt still on, you were beginning to feel self-conscious under his stare.

"Don't you want me?" you asked him sweetly, making him tear his eyes off your body and back onto your face. Lips still parted, he nodded eagerly, and palmed his cock again. He had yet to say a single word to you and you were growing impatient.

"Then tell me," you said, watching as he swallowed roughly, "tell me how badly you want me."

He growled as he leaned forward on the bed, placing his fists on either side of you to hold himself up, and gently pressed his lips against yours again, slowly applying more pressure to your mouth as he inched forward, pushing you to lay flat on your back as he brought his knees to rest between your legs. He released your lips and lifted his head up to look at you, taking one of his hands still fisted next to you on the bed to gently cup your face. His gaze was soft, and his eyes sparkled from the sun peeking through the curtains as he admired you. You sighed and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze as he continued, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I wasted so much time, fought it for so long," he said, shaking his head, "I never thought I could feel this way again, then you showed up, talkin' back to me in that meeting in front of everyone."

He smiled at the memory, running his thumb over your soft lips.

"Couldn't get you out of my damn head, you know that?" He leaned down to give your lips a tender kiss as you whimpered at his sweet words. "Then the world went to hell, and there we were, protectin' each other, carin' for each other." You smiled up at him now, trying not to ruin the moment with tears. You placed your hand over the one he held on to your face, rubbing circles over his damaged knuckles.

"I don't think I can put into words how badly I want you, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I promise you, I ain't gonna waste another second spent with you ever again."

"Joel," you rasped, desperately trying to hold back your tears as he lifted his head up, and you looked back and forth between his eyes. You snaked your hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss you, pouring all your emotions into every bite on his lip and flick of your tongue. Joel ran his hand down your side to the bottom of your shirt, pushing it up as he slid his hand up your stomach and over your ribs until he reached your bra. He tucked his fingers underneath the fabric to palm your breast gently before expertly rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You cried out at the sensation and tipped your head backwards, arching your back and pushing yourself into his hand further. He leaned back on his knees to lift your shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. You laid underneath him, almost completely exposed, while he was still fully clothed. You whined and pulled at the waistband of his jeans, preventing him from staring at the pink scars along your ribs.

He slid off the bed to quickly shed his jeans and flannel, leaving him in just his boxers as he crawled back on top of you, pressing his warm skin against your own. The air was making the arousal soaking through your underwear feel cold against your skin, and you shuddered. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and placed gentle nips along your collarbone. He held himself above you on one forearm next to your head while his free hand went back to cup your other breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers. You were pinned underneath him, hardly able to move, but you ran your hands up his arms, feeling his muscles twitching under your touch. Your hands landed on his shoulders, and when he gave your nipple a particularly harsh pinch, you dug your fingers into his muscles, rolling your head to the side and let out a yelp.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured against your throat. "Let me make it feel better."

He bent his head down to latch onto the sore spot, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the tip. You moaned, threading your fingers through his drying curls. He released you from his mouth, hovering just over your breast, and gently blew across the wetness he left on your skin. The shock of going from warm to cold made your nipples harden even more, to the point where it was almost painful.

"Fuck, Joel, please," you begged him as he placed gentle kisses along your sternum. His eyes shot up to your face, taking pride in how unraveled you had become under him. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen, and you were struggling to catch your breath. He hummed against your skin. He wanted to give you what you wanted, but he didn't want to rush, either.

"You're gonna have to give me a minute, sweetheart. I've been waitin' a long time for this." he said, sighing as his fingers danced around your ribs. He froze when he felt the shiny, uneven skin of your scars from when you were stabbed. Stabbed when you saved his life.

He lifted his head to get a better look at the injury, gently running his fingers along the edges, marveling at the way goosebumps raised immediately from your skin. He leaned down to press a soft kiss along each of the scars you carried, murmuring to himself after each one.

"What did you say?" you panted, struggling to focus on anything other than his touch.

He ran the tip of his nose over the scars before answering.

"I'm so proud of you, you're so brave and beautiful," he whispered. "I'd do anythin' to keep you safe."

You groaned, wondering if it was possible to have an orgasm from just words alone. You beamed from the praise and lifted your hips up to try to find friction, your cunt pulsing with need. Joel noticed the movement and glanced down between you, deciding to finally give in.

He rolled off you to lay on his side, then wrapped his fingers around the edges of your underwear, tugging them down to your ankles, where you kicked them off the rest of the way. He eagerly climbed back over you and nudged your knees open wider so he could kneel between them. He sat back on his heels and, using his thumbs, pulled open your folds. His jaw hung open, and with a long, drawn-out groan, dragged his eyes back up to yours.

"This all for me?" He drawled, his cock throbbing in his boxers. All you could do was nod, your chest heaving in anticipation. "You're soaked, fuckin' hell, you poor thing," he said, looking back down at your dripping cunt. "D'you want me to take care of you?" he asked lowly, his eyes a darker shade of brown you've never seen on him before. You nodded again, still gasping for air. He reached his bandaged hand up and lightly gripped the underside of your chin.

"Tell me," he growled your previous words back to you, as he struggled to restrain himself from just sliding inside you right away. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make you feel good. He wanted it to mean something.

"I need you," you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. "Please, baby, I'm gonna explode if - oh!" Your back arched off the mattress and your head tilted back, mouth agape when he finally slid a thick finger inside you.

"'Baby?'" Joel panted, "Oh, I like that."

You let out a filthy moan as he set a steady pace, plunging his finger in and out, his thumb brushing against your clit teasingly before he slid a second finger inside. You bent your knees as you rocked your hips along with his thrusts, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched you come undone. With his thumb, he pressed down on your clit, swirling it around slowly as he watched your pleasure building, your gasps for air became harsher, and your moans morphing into cries.

He leaned forward on his free hand, his fist pushing into the mattress next to you, as his other hand picked up the pace inside your cunt. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were glazed over as he watched your face contort in pleasure, your eyes squeezed shut, your lower lip trapped in your teeth, moaning his name. When he pressed onto your clit a little harder and began wiggling his thumb side to side, it set something off. You gripped his wrist that was next to you on the bed and your eyes snapped open, finally looking up at him.

"Joel," you panted, "J-Joel, I'm gonna, fuck, please," you begged, "please d-don't stop."

"You're doin' so good for me, sweetheart," he murmured, "I love watchin' you like this. I can't wait to feel this tight pussy around my cock, but I need you to come for me first," you felt the coil in your stomach about to snap and you did your best to keep your eyes open. When he said, "That's it, let go... come for me," your body stilled as you gasped, your vision went fuzzy and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand, biting down.

Joel removed his fingers and leaned down to plant a small kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and removed your hand so he could press his lips against yours before resting your foreheads together, waiting until you caught your breath and came back down to earth. You stared up at him lazily, trailing a finger over his shoulder and across his collarbone, noticing for the first time he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You looked back at his face as he smiled down at you, but you could see the restraint behind his eyes, desperately trying to give you time to recover, but he was struggling.

You reached down between you and slid your hand inside his boxers, brushing up against the tip of his cock. You made your way down to the base and wrapped him in your hand. He hissed and his eyes fluttered closed as you began to work him up and down, gathering his precum with each stroke.

"Do you like that?" you asked him quietly, twisting your wrist back and forth now as you pumped him up and down, his breath growing erratic and the arm that supported him began to shake.

"Yes," he rasped. His forehead rested on your shoulder so you could feel the tickle of his exhale on your neck. "But you gotta stop, or else this'll be over before it began."

You let out a low chuckle but did as you were told. Once you let him go, you hooked your fingers on the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down as far as you could reach. He lifted his forehead off your shoulder so he could fling them into the corner of the room, then settled back over you again, leaning down to give you a quick kiss as his knees nudged your inner thigh. You opened your legs up wider so he could settle his hips in between, his heavy cock pressed between you both, the length of him sliding between your folds as his hips gently rocked back and forth.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he felt your slick coating him. He was rubbing against your clit, and it was driving you crazy, already feeling the start of another orgasm building.

"Joel, please, I need you," you whispered against his mouth. He lifted his hips up and with his fist, lined himself up, the tip of his cock gently prodding at your entrance a few times before he pushed himself inside your aching heat.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned as he inched further inside you, stretching you out. He tried to go slow, but he couldn't hold back any longer. He buried himself inside you with one quick motion, making you both cry out. He gave you a minute to adjust before he leaned forward and rested his head back on your shoulder, rocking slowly into you as you raked your fingers through his hair.

"You're so warm, so beautiful," he murmured with his eyes closed. "You feel so good," his hand came down to squeeze the meaty part of your hip as he continued his steady pace. He didn't want to rush, he wanted to savor every moment with you. You bit your lip and lightly scratched your nails down his back, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up.

Joel lifted his head from your shoulder to press his lips against yours before peppering your jaw and sucking on the pulse point in your neck. You groaned as he lifted one of your knees up and pressed it against your chest, sliding out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours, making you see stars. He created the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot when he brought your knee up, and it was dizzying.

He continued down your neck as his pace increased, leaving small bites along your collarbone. All you could hear was your skin slapping together and his quiet grunts that accompanied each thrust. You could feel your orgasm building in your lower abdomen, the familiar tension brewing as his pubic bone made direct contact with your clit each time he fucked into you.

"Joel," you whined, trying to warn him you were close.

"Keep takin' it," he grunted into your neck. "Just like that."

You squeezed your eyes shut trying to stave off your orgasm, but the noises he was making and the spot he was hitting inside was too much. You arched off the bed with a sob, digging your nails into his back. Your lips and fingers felt numb as your second orgasm washed over you, then finally you relaxed into the mattress. Joel sped up now, burying himself into you at a ruthless pace. He lifted his mouth from your neck and met your gaze.

"Tell me," he croaked again, his hair a mess and his face flush. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Joel," you whimpered. You were becoming sore and overstimulated as he pounded into you, but you kept talking. "I'm yours. I've been yours since we met," you continued as his thrusts became sloppy and his jaw clenched, focused on your words. "I wish you fucked me on the table in the conference room that night."

That sent him over the edge, pulling out at the last minute with a guttural moan and spurting hot ropes of cum all over your inner thighs.

Joel had to fight to keep himself from collapsing on top of you, instead rolling himself to the side at the last minute, gasping for air. He wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you into him, planting small kisses on your temple and eyelids as you hummed, trying to collect yourself after two back-to-back orgasms. You finally opened your eyes and looked at him, his neck still splotched with red from the exertion and the sweat drying on his forehead. You couldn't help yourself. You reached your hand up to grasp the back of his head and brought him down for a burning kiss, running your tongue along his with a groan.

He sighed against your mouth before forcing himself to stand. He went to the bathroom to wet a rag and brought it back, gingerly cleaning up your thighs as you laid spread out before him. Your spent cunt was all he could focus on for a minute before he cleaned up the mess between your legs, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, then dropped the rag in the sink before sliding back beside you in bed.

"We should probably get up," you said to him, your eyes still closed. "You need to find a car battery."

"Batteries aren't goin' anywhere," he murmured, tightening his grip on your waist in case you were going to try to get up and start the day.

You laid there for a while, unsure if he had fallen asleep or not, but you felt so relaxed you weren't sure yourself if you were drifting in and out. You rubbed circles with your thumb along the back of his hand that clutched your waist and watched the sunlight dance along the walls of the bedroom. For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

"You’re right, that was worth the wait," you whispered. His face was buried in your hair, his breath tickling your neck, and his soft snores lulled you back to sleep.

Later that morning, Joel ventured out to the various garages in the neighborhood, trying to find a battery with enough juice to power the radio. You tried to busy yourself with unpacking and repacking your backpacks, making sure you were fully stocked with first aid, clothes, food, ammo, and rags - anything to keep your mind off the last 24 hours and how things have changed. But hard as you tried, your mind kept wandering to the feeling of Joel's hands and mouth all over you.

You heard a soft rumble of thunder in the distance. Looking out the window, you could see the sky was getting dark quickly. You glanced up and down the street to see if you could see Joel nearby but saw nothing.

You were in the small pantry, organizing the canned goods you collected and deciding which you would use for dinner tonight when Joel strolled through the front door, calling your name. You popped your head out from the pantry to grab his attention, noticing two car batteries in his arms. He put them both on the kitchen counter and turned to you, your hands each holding a canned vegetable.

“I think one of these might work,” he told you excitedly, "Got back just in time, it's about to pour." You tried to hide your disappointment. You knew that getting the radio to work was the beginning of the end to your blissful, domestic life at Hidden Springs. You gave him a pained smile and put the cans on the counter.

“That’s great,” you said, avoiding his gaze.  “Do you want corn or green beans tonight?”

Joel immediately picked up on your mood, taking a step forward and gently took hold of your chin in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for answers. You shook your head, still dodging his gaze, trying to release his grip, but it only made him grab you tighter.

“I don’t want this to end,” you finally admitted, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I’m not ready to leave.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, stroking his thumb along your jaw before pulling you forward to place his lips over yours for the first time since you left the bedroom. You moaned, wrapping your arm around the back of his neck to pull him closer and deepening the kiss. His tongue flicked against your lips, and you opened your mouth, allowing him to explore deeper. The desire damn near suffocated you as you ran your hand down his chest to his waistband, pulling him forward and groaning at the feeling of his stiffening cock against your hip. His hands ran down the length of you before settling on the back of your thighs and lifted you up to sit on the kitchen island. Joel broke the kiss and took half a step back to admire you, raking his eyes up and down your body.

“I had a fantasy like this, once,” he admitted, rubbing his hands along your thighs.

“Yeah?” you whined, chasing his mouth as he hovered over your own but stayed just out of reach. “Tell me.” He groaned at the now familiar command, gripping your hips tightly.

“I wanted to fuck you on my kitchen island,” he confessed, staring you dead in the eye as he watched for your reaction. “I wanted to sink my fingers inside you and watch you come, then I wanted to stuff you full of my cock and make you scream.” A rumble of thunder sounded closer now, the skies looking like they were about to open up.

Your head dropped to the side and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words, panting for breath now as you reached out to grab his shoulder and pull him closer to you. Your lips latched onto his feverishly, and slipping down from the counter, unbuttoned your jeans before breaking the kiss and turning around, pressing your ass against his hips. You looked back at him innocently over your shoulder.

“Show me," you told him, as the rain began to fall quietly outside.

That was all the permission he needed to unzip your pants and yank them down along with your underwear, tapping your ankle with his own to make you spread your legs as far as you could with your legs still caged by your jeans. You obliged, jutting your hips out to him, anxiously waiting for his touch. He ran his hands down your ass slowly before giving one cheek a firm smack, prompting a small cry from you. He wasted no time before he took two fingers to explore along your slit, feeling the wetness collecting there as you moaned and tilted your head back.

“Are you always this ready, sweetheart?” he mumbled in your ear, slipping one finger inside you as you gasped and shook your head.

“No,” you replied, rolling your head to the side, “only for you.”

He groaned at your words, pushing a second finger inside you, making you wail as he thrusted them in and out, his breath ragged matching your moans. He pumped his fingers inside of you from behind, your hips matching his pace as you tried to chase your high, his other hand digging mercilessly into your hip.

“Joel,” you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure build. “I’m gonna come, baby, please!”

“Then do it,” he snarled in your ear, a flash of lightning reflected on the windows. His hand released your hip and went down to hastily undo his belt. “Come all over my fingers, then I’m gonna make you scream my name with my cock.” He pressed a finger on your aching clit two, three times before you came, gasping and throwing your head back.

He didn't waste any time, quickly removing his fingers from your cunt and pressing the tip of his cock against your opening, giving you only a few seconds to realize what was happening before he pushed inside you with a deep groan. This time, he hardly gave you any time to adjust as he snapped his hips against your ass over and over, making you cry out and bite down on your lip, gripping the edges of the counter. He leaned forward and sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder as you bucked against him, your hips desperately trying to match his rhythm. The rain beat steadily on the windows now as you could feel beads of sweat beginning to form at the sides of your head, gasping for air at the intense pace Joel set. You turned your head as far as you could to look back over your shoulder at him, his jaw slack as he stared down where he pummeled into you, your ass rippling with each thrust.

"Was it like this?" you asked, panting for breath. He finally looked up and saw you watching him, a smile spreading across your face.

"No," he grunted, fucking into you faster, making you squeeze the edges of the counter even harder. "This is so much fuckin' better."

You groaned and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your pussy squeezed around him, and he could tell you were about to come.

"That's it," he panted, pulling you up from the counter so your back was flush against his chest, the new angle sending you over the edge. "Let go. Let me feel it. I can't get enough."

As promised, you screamed out his name at the same time thunder roared outside. You felt a jolt go through your whole body as you came, your slick coating his cock, gazing helplessly at the ceiling as he rammed into you, chasing his own release.

"That's my girl," he gasped in your ear, his arm wrapped around your chest so you could barely move. "Fuck, you feel so good, like you were made for me-" He grunted and then quickly pulled out, making you whine at the sudden loss, but then you felt the warmth of his release coating your ass and dripping down the backs of your thighs.

You slumped forward over the island to catch your breath, and Joel followed suit, resting the side of his face between your shoulder blades as his hands slid down your arms down to find your own hands, splayed flat on the countertop, intertwining your fingers together. Your eyes fluttered closed, relishing the intimacy before he inevitably pulled away to clean you both up. After tucking himself back into his jeans, he kneeled on the floor to loop his fingers around the sides of your panties, still wrapped around your ankles, and pulled them up, peppering the backs of your legs with kisses along the way.

He began to pull on your jeans, but halfway up you reached down to take them from him, wiggling your hips as the denim slid around your waist. You turned around to face him, buttoning them back up before planting a bruising kiss on his lips. He groaned against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face before pulling back, resting your foreheads together.

"You're gonna wear me out, sweetheart," he murmured as his thumb stroked your jaw. You sighed, leaning into his touch and gazed up at him through your eyelashes.

"I can't help it, I just keep thinking about all the times we could have been doing this," you whispered, your hand coming up to cover his own. "You could have been bending me over the desk in your office a year ago, instead of a kitchen counter in the middle of nowhere."

He inhaled sharply at the visual of fucking you in his office, his hand covering your mouth as he railed into you.

"Filthy girl," he muttered, pressing his lips firmly against yours before adding, "I thought about doin' that constantly, drove me insane." He could feel the blood rushing to his cock again, wondering how it was possible to want somebody this badly.

You hummed as you ran your hands up and down his torso, reaching up to finally plant a kiss on that heart shaped patch of skin in his beard, his hand dropping from your face to grip your upper arm, and another roll of thunder echoed through the house.

"Here are those reports you asked for, Mr. Miller," you whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, the low groan in his throat vibrating against your lips. You were already soaking through your underwear again, sighing as you turned your head to press small kisses on the other side of his neck. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"Yeah," he growled, his grip on your arm tightening. "Get on your fuckin' knees and suck me off while I hop on this conference call."

He felt the smile tug across your lips against his throat, reaching down to palm his impossibly hard cock over his jeans.

"Whatever you need, sir," you murmured. You pulled away and sunk to your knees on the floor, placing your hand over his belt when you froze. You thought you heard a shout outside, but it was hard to tell through the thunderstorm. You frowned, looking up at Joel to see if he heard it too, but he was already looking through the kitchen and past the living room out the front window, his eyes widening, then ducked down behind the kitchen island where you were already squatting.

"Shit," he whispered, peering one eye around the corner of the island to look out the window. He saw at least four men carrying rifles and shotguns, shouting to each other over the rain, kicking the door in across the street and waving their arms, motioning for two more men to follow, as they ran inside the empty house to get out of the storm.

"How many?" You whispered, even though you knew they couldn't possibly hear you.

"Six, maybe more," he said through clenched teeth. Once he was sure they were all inside the house, he turned back to you. "We gotta be quick. Grab our packs and coats, I'll go get our weapons and we gotta sneak out the back," he told you, jutting his chin towards the mud room door off the kitchen. "Once this storm lets up, they'll come back out." He saw the look in your eye, and he put a stop to it before you could even say anything.

"There's too many, we can't take 'em sweetheart, I'm sorry." He knew you didn't want to leave, but you both knew this day would come sooner or later. "Now, c'mon, go get our stuff, stay as low as you can so they don't see you in the windows."

You turned away from him and army crawled along the kitchen floor into the den, slowly pulling each of your backpacks towards you, staying below the windows in the room that faced the street. You slung yours over your back and hooked his around your wrist as you turned back, still flat on the floor, and pulled yourself back into the kitchen, shoving his pack near the back door and shrugging yours off to leave next to his. You noticed the door leading to the garage was cracked, and you heard Joel rummaging in the garage for your weapons. Lucky for him, there were no windows to avoid in there.

You continued to crawl towards the living room where you saw your coats draped over the arm of the couch, pulling them down slowly, thankful the rain was coming down so hard now that it was making it difficult to see outside.

By the time you made it back into the kitchen, he was already waiting behind the island with your weapons in hand. You tossed him his jacket and shimmied yours on, zipping it up before pulling your pack back on, now sitting behind the island with him.

"I just repacked these this morning while you were out," you whispered as he pulled his backpack on. "Whatever we're missing, we can get along the way." He nodded, handing you your bow and handgun, while he shouldered his rifle and slipped his revolver into the back of his jeans.

"You ready?" He asked, meeting your gaze. You nodded, trying to hold back your emotions, knowing it was stupid to get attached to a house. He reached his hand out to cup your jaw, knowing what you were thinking without having to say it. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours quickly, then dropped his hand to crouch along the kitchen floor, motioning for you to follow him through the mud room and out the back.

Under the cover of the sheets of rain and neighboring houses, you followed Joel through the backyard and towards the woods surrounding your little sanctuary, throwing one last look over your shoulder, committing the image of the white house with blue shutters to your memory before turning back and facing the dense forest ahead.

Chapter Fifteen

Tag list: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby

[sorceresssundries]

Writing promp:

Gale and Tav’s first night in Waterdeep, post-wedding. Both are cuddling on the couch under a blanket, Tav slowly drifting in and out of sleep.

Gale’s in tears as he really can’t believe his luck, with Tav comforting him.

(I’m a romantic sap this evening.)

By the Firelight

Pairing: Gale x male Tav - SFW

Word Count: 800

Now i'm a romantic sap!! I hope you enjoy a little bit of sweet, newlywed bliss. Thank you anon, for the prompt xx

The two Mr. Dekarios were curled up on their favourite sofa in their tower, both still in their wedding robes, drunk on love, joy, and far too much wine. The warmth of the crackling fire beckoned them towards sleep, and they were so entwined they might as well have been one person. They were, really - these husbands of Waterdeep. The broken heroes who had met in dire circumstances and somehow fallen in love amidst shadow-curses and bloodstained battlegrounds. The clash of steel had been their ballad, relentless travel their courtship. Yet, by some miracle, love had settled, flourished, endured, and wrapped them into one person.

Gale had always been one for the grand gesture, for loud declarations and intricate acts of service, it was only now he was able to sink into the quiet, delicate moments he could fully understand the true depth and balance of being the other half of a person. How lucky he was, to be the other half of someone like Tav. No, he thought, correcting himself. Not someone like Tav. There was no-one else like Tav.

Before, he had believed that in order to be loved wholly, he had to chip away parts of himself and squeeze and twist into the cramped chambers of hearts he did not belong in. Tav’s heart was a welcome sanctuary, and no sacrifices or tolls were required to settle into its soft comfort. It was the place he realised he had always been working towards, and now he was there - it felt like finally coming home.

Gale raised his hand from his beloved so the new ring adorning his middle finger could catch the light. The flickering flames made the colours dance together, and the shimmer in Gale’s eyes made it look to him as though the ring was giving off its own glow. As was tradition, they had each designed a ring, which, during the ceremony, had been cut in half and the non-matching halves fused together to create their union rings. Gale was delighted with the blend of their two designs, with how different they were and yet how seamlessly they flowed into each other. Half of the ring was a simple, slim band forged from pure silver, a mythical metal said to offer protection to its wearer, and the other was intricately braided from gold and copper, resembling a beautiful autumn vine. 

“Are you crying again?” Tav murmured sleepily, not raising his head from Gale’s chest. 

“Not at all, Mr.Dekarios. ”Gale cleared his throat and blinked away the tears. “Just got some dust in my eye.”

“Ah, more dust is it? How strange. There seemed to be plenty of dust in the tavern as well” Tav raised his head to offer Gale a sweet kiss, before settling back down and nuzzling his face against his chest like a cat.

“Is it because of the whole incident with Lae’zel and the cake?” Tav’s voice was low and tired “Because I think she was just trying to be helpful.”

Gale smiled at the memory, “My mother spent a fortune on that cake, and she sliced through the middle of it with a steel sword.”

“She thought there may have been a Kobold in there.”

“Yes, well she also thought the priest may have been a shapeshifter, but luckily we managed to avoid that potential bloodbath. All that was in that cake was a small fortune’s worth of traditional almond sponge.” 

He felt Tav’s laugh rumble against his chest “I found it very funny.” 

Gale kissed the top of his head, “Well, as long as it made you laugh, my rose. I’ll forgive her.”

The day had been filled with laughter, Gale had never laughed so much in his life. He had laughed so much with Tav it became as instinctive as breathing. They had danced, and kissed (to Tara’s disgust), and smiled until their rosy cheeks ached with joy. He was alight with unfiltered happiness.

Gale let the tears spill and held Tav tighter. 

Tav stirred once again, and when he kissed Gale he could taste the salty tears on his lips. 

“Normally, I would tell you not to cry.” He smiled and kissed at each tear on his cheek. “But you have earned your joy, and I don’t think you should hold any of it back.” 

They settled back together in gentle silence, their breathing in sync and touches reverent and loving as they held each other in comfortable bliss. 

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Tav’s voice was just a sleep heavy whisper, barely audible over the crackle and popping of the simmering fire. 

“What’s that, my love?” Gale stroked his hair, and listened as Tav’s breathing became deeper and their eyes fluttered with the weight of oncoming sleep.

“The next adventure.” Tav sighed, before slipping away to dream of his dusty-eyed husband.

[yokohamapound]

howdy! can we get some hcs for ranpo, chuuya, and akutagawa missing (or forgetting) their s/o’s birthday?

FungusWitch: Hello! My best bish, UnluckyAmulet, has once again graced us with a guest post of delicious headcanons, so I hope you enjoy!

Please check out her AO3! She also writes for Bleach, BNHA, Durarara, Dangan Ronpa, and JJK, among others!

Characters: Edogawa Ranpo, Nakahara Chuuya, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Contains: NSFW, birthday sex, bondage

Edogawa Ranpo

Of the three, Ranpo is far and away the smartest, in both intellect and emotional intelligence. It's very unlikely you can hide how you feel about him missing your birthday from him - even if you haven't been dating Ranpo for long, if you're his s/o, he knows you. He can read your mood like a 3-D pop-up book. It's disconcerting but also oddly comforting.

It is very unlikely he forgot your birthday - it's more probably that he was doing a job for the Armed Detective Agency and got so wrapped up in it that he temporarily set aside everything else until it was finished. When Ranpo is chasing an interesting case it's nigh on impossible to get him to focus on anything else.

Once his hyperfixation ends, though, he does feel a little guilty. You ARE the s/o to the World's Greatest Detective, after all, so logically that means you ought to be celebrated! He gets right to it, roping in poor hapless Atsushi and other members of the Agency into decorating the office for your birthday. Of course he knows what gift you want (and probably makes Atsushi, Kunikida or someone go out and actually buy it. What? He'd get lost if he had to take the train to the mall!) He still takes credit when you praise him for being so thoughtful.

Ranpo tends to be a little lazy and spoiled, but for you, on your special day, he very nobly puts that aside to spoil you for a change. You wanna go do something fun like visit an amusement park or go to a concert? Great! He'll have Fukuzawa pay for tickets! You want to do something more lowkey, maybe chilling at home cuddling and watching movies with him? Awesome, he'll get popcorn! You wanna go out partying and getting shitfaced? Well…he's not much of a drinker, but he'll still come with to dance with you and hold your hair back when you puke. (He'll make Fukuzawa come pick your drunk ass up.)

And don't forget a long, long night of some truly incredible oral - Ranpo's best asset in the bedroom is that tongue of his, so he's going to go to town on you~

Remember to lavish him with praise over what a great boyfriend he is. He needs the validation, okay?

Nakahara Chuuya

With Chuuya he was probably doing a mission for Mori and simply didn't have time to be there or he did forget. His way of making it up to you is simple - gifts. Chuuya is very wealthy thanks to being a high-ranking Port Mafia agent, so whatever you want is yours. That new Prada bag? Done. You want a spa day with all the works? Already booked. Fanciest resturaunt in town? He can just waltz in and get a table whenever he wants.

This may sound all fine and great, but Chuuya may not immediately notice how you're feeling about him missing your birthday - he'll apologise but in a "Oops, sorry, babe!" kind of way and you'll have to be upfront with him if you're actually upset. Chuuya does have a bit of a bad habit of buying your affection when he's too busy to spend time with you, because he's used to people depending on him and being seen as a provider. If you like gift-giving as a love language then you might not consider this an issue, but he does somewhat use his money to assuage feeling guilty and avoid discussing it because he doesn't like seeing you upset.

Also, Chuuya has no memories of before he was seven years old and I doubt very much he got to celebrate his birthdays much when he was running around Suribachi with the Sheep. Sure, he can afford to go ham for his birthday now, and his subordinates gives him gifts (Koyo always buys him wine), but he might not quite grasp the emotional significance of birthdays. Sit him down and explain to him that you appreciate the gifts, but you want him, YOUR BOYFRIEND to be with you, not a credit card.

To make it up to you, Chuuya will give you a birthday fuck that goes on all night. If you have a position or kink you haven't got around to requesting from Chuuya, now's the time, because he intends to make you feel so good you can barely walk the next day.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

I'm gonna be honest, Akutagawa is not particularly understanding or sympathetic. At least, not right away.

He grew up in the slums with his kid sister, surviving off scraps and learning to fight from a very young age. Akutagawa likely had no concept of what a 'birthday' even was except just being another year he's managed to survive in the hellhole he was born into. Even now he's an adult and can afford to do whatever he wants to celebrate if he so chooses, he's not a very birthday person. He always buys a gift for Gin and will get something for his superiors as a token of respect (because it's expected of him), and he'll begrudgingly tell Higuchi "happy birthday", but overall he doesn't consider them that important. He does appreciate being given gifts, but doesn't think of them as a necessity.

So if you get upset or angry with him, he's liable to bite back at first. Akutagawa has trouble apologising because he was never apologised to when he was treated poorly, so he's generally not good at owning up to his mistakes. Like Chuuya, you need to explain to him that even if he doesn't place much importance on birthdays, you do and it hurts you that he doesn't seem to care.

That will get to him. For as grumpy and quick to violence as he is, he does care about his s/o greatly and he doesn't want to lose you. He doesn't even know why you love him in the first place, but he isn't willing to throw your whole relationship away over something trivial like this. So, he'll treat you to whatever you want. He's got the money to really spoil you and he doesn't take much time off, so he'll be able to free up his schedule. (Gin will also remind him next time or help him set up a reminder on his phone so he doesn't miss it in future.)

Try not to force him to come clubbing or some other loud, crowded activity. He won't refuse because he feels bad, but he'll ruin the mood by brooding in the corner like a wilting plant and he gets overstimulated and grouchy quite quickly. But he doesn't mind treating you to a posh meal or going on a holiday or something like that.

I hope you don't mind being tied up, because once somebody explains to Akutagawa the concept of birthday sex, he will go find you immediately and use Rashomon to hold you still for hours while he works you over - that's one birthday tradition he doesn't consider frivolous~

[writingmysanity]

New Favorites

pairing: sanji x fem!baker

Prompt: Red

word count: 1924

TW: mentions of getting drunk, drinking, kisses. This is Fluff -- as requested @stray-kaz making the love cook happy! sorry meant to post this this morning (almost 12 hours ago) but our hot water heater went out and ended up having to boil water to get clean and between the process and the warmth of the bath... took most of the day (including my taking an impromptu nap afterwards) but please, have this unbeta'd first edition to the #rainbowdrabblechallenge <3 I hope you like it. this is yet another continuation of my series of one shots and commit to the bit for Sanji and his baker! i love them your honor.

========

Giggles echo harshly outside of the kitchen, bouncing off the walls and resting at Sanji’s feet well before you actually come stumbling through the door. He pauses in his cleaning to watch you, your eyes flickering around the kitchen in confusion until they fall on him, a large smile crossing your face. The sight is enough to cause a painful thump in his chest as a smile of his own eases onto his face. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” he hums, straightening from where he had been scrubbing at something, another scuff on his otherwise pristine floors – but what is he to expect with the likes of pirates around? 

Another giggle escapes you as you stumble further in, your eyes never leaving his. The action nearly earns your face to his floors as you catch yourself on the table. His hands linger in the air where he had lurched forward to catch you had you fallen. 

“I should sit,” you sing, slumping into the seat beside you. 

“You should” he agrees, eyes softening over your drunken form as you lean back to take another drink from the bottle. “Have you been drinking with zoro?” he inquires, leaning against the countertop, watching you. You hum in agreement, earning a scoff from the tall cook. 

“That was a bad idea,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You shrug with a sloppy grin. 

“Maybe!” you nearly shout, but, catching his wince, lower your voice considerably. “But the wine you got was too delicious. And then I thought of you… so I had to see you.” you state as a matter of factly, nodding firmly. You groan at the action, your vision swimming around you – his brilliant eyes the focus. 

He chuckles.

“You’re drunk,” he can't help his smile. You sought him out while you were drunk, and for some reason, that felt like an accomplishment. 

you don't pay his comment any attention as you lean forward on the table, eyes zeroed in on him, resting your head on your hand. 

“Goodness, you're gorgeous.” you murmur, meaning to speak more to yourself. Unfortunately, you might as well have screamed it, your voice echoing perfectly back to the blond man who had begun trying to scrub at the dishes in the sink. He pauses again, quickly coming to the conclusion that he won't be able to get any work done with you like this. 

“You’re really drunk,” he comments with an exasperated sigh, hands stilling in the water. You nod with a sheepish grin. 

“Sure,” you slur. “But you're still hot.” 

His movements are slow, well aware of your eyes on him as he dries his hands before stepping over to you. Your smile seems to grow the closer he gets, the unbridled excitement in your eyes earning another painful thump in his chest. That smile drops when he leans for the bottle of wine. 

“Last drinks, pretty girl,” he hums as you try to tug the bottle away from him. You whine, eyeing it. 

“But it's good.” he nods, trying to keep from laughing at you outright. It may not be taken well with you being so far gone. 

“That is why I bought it,” he agrees. When you continue to pull it away from him, he sighs, settling into the chair across from you. “Can I have a drink?” he asks, hand outstretched. He is shocked when he finds it in his grasp moments later, your drunken giggles settling around him again. 

“You’re going to drink with me,” you sing, elongating several of the words drunkenly. He swirls the bottle in his hand, noting how light it already is. There are perhaps only a few drinks left in it. With a shrug, he tips the bottle back, swallowing the rest. The weight of your gaze causes the heat to rise up his neck as he gives you a sweet smile. 

“Not much to drink, love.” he states. “We should get you to bed.” you shake your head quickly, fumbling forward as you reach for his hand. He lets you take it, palm resting upwards so that he can wrap his fingers around yours – an anchor as your head sloshes like the sea fumbling along the shore line not too far away. 

“But I just got here,” you whine, looking up at him pleadingly. “Play a game with me?” you request sweetly, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. He sighs, setting the bottle off to the side, nodding. 

“What game?”

“20 questions!” he snorts, shaking his head. 

“Fine,” he agrees. “Who goes first?” you tap your chin slowly, the movements clumsy and over dramatic as you pretend to think. 

“You.” 

“What is your favorite color?” he asks plainly, motioning for you to answer as your nose scrunches, a pitiful frown twisting your face for a moment. 

“Awe,” you grouch. “You’re no fun!” The implication that you were hoping for something more, either naughty or personal, does not escape his attention. Though neither of those things are good options with how far gone you are. 

He is sure you won't even remember this come morning. 

“Just answer the question,” he hums, offering you a smile. You pause, staring up at him, eyes softened with wonder as you watch the ocean in his eyes, the way the waves seem to calm as he smiles. The gentle sloshing of the ship resting in the harbor doesn't help as you tip back and forth, clutching his hand like the lifeline it is. 

“Blue,” you hum, laying your head on your arm that is outstretched for his hand. He softens, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear gently.

“Your turn,” his voice is soft, slow. Sighing contently, you shift your head to rest your chin on your arm instead, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Favorite color,” you grumble, hiding your smile. He snorts. 

“Ah, no fun,” he mimics, eyes sparkling in the low light of the moonlight glittering through the galley window behind you. He goes to answer, his mouth open to speak when you perk up quickly, jerking back. With your hold on his hand, you jerk him forward slightly in your excitement. 

“Can I guess?” he pauses before nodding, head tilting to the side, smile stretching in amusement. 

“Sure, sweetheart. Give it a go.” there isn't a moment's hesitation as you bounce up onto your knees to get closer to him, tugging him down to you until you are nose to nose. 

“Red,” you state as a matter of factly. 

=====

Since that night, Sanji has not been able to see the color the same. He sees it in everything, and in it, he sees you. 

He could live in it, now. 

“What do you think?” you call out to the cook, catching his attention from the gourds he had been staring at for what seems like forever. Blinking quickly, he refocuses on you, a broad smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer to you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes, rubbing the crimson fabric between his fingers, delighting in how your cheeks seem to warm, darkening to nearly the same color. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the vendor with your Berry as she laughs quietly at the exchange. 

“Thank you,” you smile, trying to ignore the way your cheeks seem to warm further when his fingers brush yours. His fingers wrap lightly around your finger tips, tugging them lightly to lead you away from the stall. 

“Come, love,” he grins, his voice a rumble in your ear. “I can hardly wait to see you in that.” he looks pointedly at the dress hanging limply over your arm. 

======

“Where did you bring these from, again?” you ask from the kitchen as Sanji goes to lock the door for the night. You can hear the clipped sound of the open sign being flipped followed by the click of his heels as he makes his way back to you. 

“Island in the south seas,” he hums, settling in behind you with a smile, his hands resting on either side of you. 

Smiling brightly, you turn in his arms to look up at him, a large vibrant strawberry in hand. 

“They're perfect,” you giggle, lips stained red from the last one you ate. He swallows a bit before forcing a teasing smile to his lips. 

“I brought them thinking you could bake something with them,” he grouses playfully. You laugh, tapping the strawberry to your lips.

“Have you tasted them?” he shakes his head. 

“I did well to keep their existence hidden from the crew,” he huffs. “Mainly Luffy.” grinning up at him, you take a bite of the strawberry, your eyes never straying from his. Your eyes flutter closed with a sigh, tongue darting out to catch the juice threatening to slip past your lips. 

“Would you like to?” you hum, looking up at him through your lashes, the strawberry resting in the open between you. His breath shakes as he presses closer, fingers tugging your chin towards him. 

“Yes,” he breathes desperately. 

=======

The evening has been calm, both of you settling into the familiar rhythm you've created every time Sanji is able to drift to your shores. He grabs the basket he put together, topped by the blanket he had insisted on buying at the market the other day. 

“Red?” you question, fiddling with the edges. He just smiles, shrugging. 

“It’s my favorite color.” he insists gently. 

Beaming up at him, you link your arm with his when prompted. His visit had been peaceful, no need to duck and hide from various marine patrols as you would usually have to. Their ships have yet to dock for the month, and Sanji plans to be gone by the time they do. 

“You’re in your thoughts again,” he states, calling your name gently, poking your cheek as you shift on the blanket. Blinking quickly, you turn to face him, smiling softly. He is laying out on the blanket beside you, one arm resting behind his head watching the sea without a care in the world. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, shifting to grab a snack from the basket. He shakes his head, turning his gaze back to you. 

“What is bothering you?” he asks gently, tugging your hand, imploring you to not bottle it up, to share your burdens. 

There is a pause as you stare at the blanket, picking at it before lifting your eyes to meet his again, smiling sadly. 

“The marines will dock again in a few days' time.” he nods slowly, knowing where this is going. 

“Indeed they will,” he agrees, bringing your hand to him, brushing his lips along the knuckles. “Will I lose what little time I have with you to the thought of my leaving?” he asks gently, frown twitching at his lips. 

Humming in thought, you set the sandwich down as you shift to settle over him, your back to the ocean. He stares up at you in open appreciation, one hand coming to rest on your hip as you lean forward before you start to pepper kisses all over his face – his cheeks, nose and forehead before hovering over his lips, admiring the brilliant crimson marks littering his skin. 

The red he had picked for you two trips ago, and his favorite. You grin to yourself, noting how the red brightens his already brilliant blue eyes, making them pop. 

Red may not be your favorite color, but it is a close second. 

“No,” you answer him, leaning down to kiss him properly.

======

tag list:

@stray-kaz @fanaticsnail @sordidmusings @rainbowpitofdoom @gingernut1314 @short-honey-badger

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters! You just spilled wine on your favorite shirt--what will you do??

Navani: I will politely excuse myself and go change, of course. Why--what else would someone do?

Steris: First, I would not panic. Next, I would utter one of the jokes I had prepared in advance in case of a party faux-pas, chosen based on my level of acquaintance and relative social ranking to the witnesses. Post-joke, I would excuse myself to the washroom, use the small bottle of detergent I keep in my bag at all times, and see if the outfit can be salvaged. If not, then I would change the smallest total percentage of my outfit as possible while still removing the offending stain. Then, I can return to the party and use the re-entry-after-a-faux-pas joke, and move on.

Wayne: Can I just suck it out of my shirt?

Steris: ...

Wayne: What? Waste of good wine, that is!

Zahel: Leave it. Maybe then people will think I am some sort of messy drunk and FINALLY leave me alone.

Azure: Dab it with a napkin, deal with it later. I generally have more important things going on. 

Noro (whispering): Highmarshal Azure is always so cool!!

Lightsong: I’d pretend it was on purpose to see if I can make dumping wine on your front a trend--after all, a god did it.

Blushweaver: Oh no, I guess my shirt will simply have to come off.

Szeth: I am used to being stained.

Szeth: Usually it’s blood, though. Not wine.

Nightblood: Yeah! Just cover the wine with the blood of evil-doers!

Szeth: That is not quite what I was saying, sword-nimi. 

Moash: If you spend your days breaking rocks and killing gods, you don’t have to worry about trivial things like spilled wine.

Moash: And who has a favorite shirt, anyway? 

Elend: I assume this is at a party, in which case, by holding a book protectively before me at all times, no one will notice!

Vin: Foolproof, really.

Elend: I know!

Elhokar: I would simply say that the wine was poisoned.

Elhokar: Not that anyone ever BELIEVES me!

Jasnah: I have not spilled wine since I was five, but I suppose that if it happened, I could simply soulcast it to smoke.

Veil: I mean--is it even really a party if you haven’t gotten sloppy drunk enough to spill?

Siri: I assume I would be immediately mobbed by servants, stripped and changed, and then that outfit would be ritually burned.

Siri: You know, a normal day.

Adolin: Oh! Oh! I know this!

Adolin: You can use vinegar to remove the stain and then wash the clothes as normal.

Shallan: Time to bury that once-favorite shirt deep, deep underground where it will never see the light of day.

Kaladin: Oooh--that’s smart. The knowledge may torment you forever, but at least it won’t bother anyone else!

Shallan: What torment? It’s buried. It’s gone. I’ve already forgotten.

Kaladin: Wow. That’s so cool--I wish I could do that.

Adolin: WHAT ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?!

[corpsebasil]

forced marriage to knight Nikolai au.

basis: going off the barmaid idea let’s say someone was harassing you and in order to defend you Nikolai lies and says he’s your husband. well guess what? now all the knights are stunned and think he’s being serious and he doesn’t know how to back down.

DRABBLLLLLE UNDER THE CUUUUUUT

You don’t know how you got here. One minute you were working at a tavern getting harassed to no end by some drunks and the next you’re sharing your cottage with a knight who you met only weeks before.

You know it’s for your safety; the men who were trying to paw at you were nasty brutes. Men who wouldn’t think twice before taking advantage of your sweet self. Men who would force themselves upon you if you refused.

Then there was Nikolai.

Sir Nikolai Lantsov, the captain of the royal guard for saint’s sakes.

He’d stepped into the argument quickly, his hand grabbing the wrist of the man that was reaching for your dress without your permission. ‘My wife’ was all you could hear before the men cleared out, Nikolai’s fellow knights gaping at him in shock.

You both had to keep up the ruse for your safety, you know? If word that Nikolai lied about your marriage came out then those men would surely seek you out. Without him being your big scary guard dog you’d be hurt, no doubt about it.

So now he’s in your home.

You’re washing the dishes when he comes inside, barely sparing you a quick ‘hello’ before setting his weapons down on a shelf, rolling his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He’s had a long day with his fellow knights patrolling the city and handling squabbles, all petty tasks that annoy him more than anything.

He’s supposed to be on a campaign. He had planned on leaving your town weeks ago but now, with your safety on the line, he’s taken up a post here so that he can keep the ruse up for as long as he can.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful. Or kind.

The minute you hear him set his weapons down you’re walking over, offering a glass of water to your ‘husband’. He accepts it with a nod, a small twitch of the mouth the only semblance of a smile you’re going to get.

“Thanks, Love.”

Love.

You’ll never get over how it feels to be close to him. The smell of him, how handsome he is, god. It feels like you’ve been permanently flustered since he interrupted the men at the bar, placing his hand on the small of your back and calling you his wife. You’d played along, leaning into him as soon as you realized this was the captain you were being rescued by.

It’s Nikolai Lantsov, sweetheart. Of course you trust him.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask quietly, watching him as he sets the glass down next to his weapons. His eyes, so fucking blue, are locked onto yours as he speaks.

“Mhmm.” He hums. “You?” He tilts his head thoughtfully before a small grin forms on his face. “Did my wife have a good day?”

You’ll never stop getting nervous every time he calls you ‘wife’. It doesn’t matter if it’s fake; it wouldn’t matter if it were real. You’re flustered and he knows it.

“Um..” you reply brilliantly. “I made fresh bread if you want some.”

“Hmm.”

“And there’s wine in the cabinet. And butter and..stuff.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I made…jam.”

He snorts and you give him a shy smile. He’s amused at how adorable you look with your flushed cheeks and that look in your eyes every time you see him. He may not be your chosen husband but he sure seems like it.

“I got you something.” He tells you, guiding you gently by the waist back into the kitchen. “I think you’ll like it.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Nik—”

“Close them, woman.” He teases, covering your eyes with a hand. You grin and extend your palm, waiting for whatever he brought you.

Then he surprises you.

When he removes his hand from your eyes and moves behind you, you tense. But then he’s moving your hair and clasping a necklace around your neck and you look down, surprised to see a beautiful gem on a chain.

“Nikolai you—” You spin around, clutching the large emerald in one hand as you look up at him. He’s watching you with a soft smile, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is too much. I cant—”

“You’re beautiful.” He blurts out, one hand moving to your waist as he watches you. “So beautiful.”

And when he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

He’s your husband after all.

[kamidukki]

[AKNK] Lucas and Hanamaru Conversation TL

This post contains (a little of) part 7 and part 8 of the event 'Butler's wine festival'.

Hanamaru: Phew… After having dinner, the Master returned to their room. Once I’ve finished with the bath, I guess I’ll get some rest tonight.

Still, to think that the inn has an open-air bath. The wine business is certainly a lucrative one.

Lucas: Fu fu… Excuse me for having one before you, Hanamaru-kun.

Hanamaru: Uh-oh, my bad. You’re here too, Lucas-sensei.

Enjoying a glass of wine while soaking in the bathtub… That’s pretty neat.

Lucas: Fufu. Would you like to join me, Hanamaru-kun?

Hanamaru: Yeah, I’ll gladly accept that offer.

Just give me a minute. I’ll wash up and clean my body first.

-A little while later-

Hanamaru: Phew… What a bliss. It feels nice to drink while being soaked. The inside of my body warms up too.

Lucas: It is. We must be careful to not overdrink, though.

Drinking alcohol while having our body soaked in the bath increases the risk of dehydration or anaemia after all.

Hanamaru: Hehe, if that happens, I’ll just have a doctor look after me.

But, getting drunk in the bath and being taken care of while naked… any good adult would want to avoid that.

Lucas: That’s right ♪

Since we’re both good adults, let’s do be careful.

Hanamaru: Hm? By the way, Lucas-sensei… You’ve got a tattoo on your flank. When did you get it?

Lucas: This? Who knows, I wonder now… It was a long time ago, so I’ve forgotten ♪

Hanamaru: I see… So, it was a pretty distant past.

If that’s the case… I guess my tattoo won’t fade by itself too.

Lucas: Hm? Do you wish for the tattoo on your back to fade, Hanamaru-kun?

It’s such a magnificent dragon tattoo though…

Hanamaru: Sure it looks awesome, but it will only scare some people.

Lucas: I see… Well, that may be true. Like, to a little child or a lady, or maybe… some people with a bounty on their head?

Hanamaru: …

Hee~ as expected of Lucas-sensei. You already know the significance of this tattoo.

Lucas: Well, that’s the wisdom of age for you.

As a negotiator of the mansion, I get to hear rumours of other lands pretty often too.

In the back regions of the Eastern Land, there exists a village called ‘Ise’. All the residents of this village make their living as ‘bounty hunters’. Those people all have dragons tattooed on their backs.

No matter how high profile a bounty head is, once targeted by an Ise inhabitant, their life is as good as dead.

The mere sight of that dragon tattoo is enough to make anyone tremble in fear, I suppose.

Hanamaru: Hee~ so it has turned into such rumour.

To think that the name of a remote countryside village reached all the way to the Central Land… I feel both proud and ashamed.

Anyway, there is not a single trace of that place left to see now.

They raked in too much money, thus earned the resentment of the bounty heads all over… In the end, everything was burned down in revenge.

Well, that might have been a fitting end for a village whose livelihood came from the blood of others.

Lucas: Hanamaru-kun…

-Chapter 8: The Accumulation of Time-

Hanamaru: Still… You knew of my past, then, Lucas-sensei.

To think that someone with my background was welcomed into the midst of yours... The Devil Butlers are truly generous, no?

Lucas: Ah, about that…

As a matter of fact, five years ago, when I healed you after you were wounded fighting the angels, I saw the tattoo on your back... and I was against the idea of inviting you to join us.

Hanamaru: Hee…? Is that so.

Was it because you were worried about bringing in a murderer after all?

Lucas: No. The Devil Butlers, myself included, all have their own pasts.

As long as I find someone trustworthy, I don't call their past into question.

Hanamaru: So… I guess it means I wasn’t trustworthy back then.

Lucas: ….

That’s…

Hanamaru: No need to look so worried, Lucas-sensei.

Since this is a great opportunity, let's just talk openly.

Lucas: …You’re right. Well then, I’ll take you up on that.

As you said, I had no idea what kind of person you were at first. All I knew was that you had the power to fight an angel with your bare hands, and that you have a dragon tattoo on the back.

I had no definitive proof of your past, but... if you turned out to be who I thought you were... then why would a survivor from a destroyed village in the Eastern Land raise children in a church?

There were so many things that were beyond my comprehension. I thought I should put the invitation on hold.

No matter how powerful someone is, if we let in someone we don't know well enough, we're only putting ourselves at risk.

Hanamaru: You said it.

At any rate, even I find it strange. A good-for-nothing like me was, for whatever reason, taking care of the children.

Lucas: Well... later on, when I saw how the children were doing, I started to reconsider.

Both you and the children cared for each other as if you were real family members. If you can form such a strong bond with children who are not your blood relatives... then I’m sure we’ll get along well... I thought.

Hanamaru: I see… Looks like I owed those kids yet another debt I wasn’t aware of.

Really, those guys keep saving me. It's thanks to them that I didn't lose hope in life.

Lucas: …I’m sorry. Have I reopened an old wound?

Hanamaru: No worries, I told you. The thought is on my mind constantly anyway, so I’m used to it.

Or rather… If you knew about my past, you should have told me sooner. Desperately trying to hide a secret that has been out in the open for a long time makes me look a bit lame, don't you think?

Lucas: Not really. I'm probably the only one who knows what your dragon tattoo means.

Hanamaru: Hm? For real?

Lucas: Yes. Besides, since I don't have any solid evidence, there's no way I can tell anyone.

Or maybe, like me, there are someone who is aware but chooses to keep quiet. Everyone knows enough about your personality. Even if they did know, nobody would care now ♪

Hanamaru: Good grief. I don't think it's the kind of light-hearted past that can be brushed off with such a broad smile though.

It seems that the Devil Butlers are generous people after all.

That said, the rest of the world won’t be as accepting. This tattoo might reveal who I really am... and thus cause trouble for the Master, everyone in the manor... and the kids.

When I think about it, this tattoo... I'd like to get rid of it if I could.

What do you think, Lucas-sensei? Can it be treated by surgery?

Lucas: Hmm~ to be honest, I wouldn't recommend it. The surface area is too large, not to mention the post-operative scar.

Rather than resorting to surgery, it would be better to wait for it to fade away over time.

Hanamaru: Waiting for it to fade, huh... But Lucas-sensei, your tattoo hasn't faded after all this time, has it?

Lucas: Yes. That’s why what you should expect to fade is people’s memories.

In another hundred years, no one will be aware of your past ♪

Hanamaru: A hundred years, huh… What a very devil butler-like advice.

But well, I suppose you’re telling me to take it easy. Even if it looks a serious problem at present, it may become trivial matter in a hundred year.

Lucas: That’s right, that’s right ♪ Truly, a little, trivial matter.

Take this 100-year-old wine for an example. If I didn't tell you, you wouldn't really know the difference.

Hanamaru: Hee~ so this is a 100-year-old wine…

Wait, what!? Are you being serious, Lucas-sensei!?

Without knowing that, I gulped it down…

Lucas: Fu fu. Sorry, sorry ♪ I was just joking.

I lied about it being a hundred year old. If anything, its flavour will only deteriorate if you mature it that long.

Hanamaru: So it was a joke… Don’t scare me off like that.

But it’s indeed delicious and easy to drink. What kind of wine is it?

Lucas: It’s a 36-year-old from Tobilis.

Hanamaru: That’s as old as I am!

Should it really be drunk in light-hearted atmosphere!?

Lucas: No worries, no worries ♪

Something like 36 years will pass in the blink of an eye ♪

Hanamaru: How scary~

You’ve matured too much as person, Lucas-sensei.

Lucas: Fufu. I’m sure you too, are the type who mature as you get older.

Well then, let’s pay respect to the year you’ve accumulated so far, Hanamaru-kun. With this 36-year-old wine, shall we have another toast?

Hanamaru: Yeah. This time, I’ll be sure to savour it properly.

Since it's sad to see 36 years pass down your throat in an instant...

Lucas: Fufu… Well then, cheers ♪

[tywrites]

not your babe | the lost boys [marko x reader]

a/n: hi! this is my first time actually writing in around 9 months? so i apologise if it’s bad :’) it’s also my first time writing for the lost boys! i just can’t get this man out of my head >.< i found marko pretty difficult to characterise so i apologise if he’s ooc <3 as always feedback is super appreciated!

summary: you get stood and marko wants to make you feel better :( inspired by this post by @kurt-nightcrawler​

pairing: marko x gn!reader (i’m pretty sure i didn’t use any gender terms-)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: cheating :0, i think that’s it? maybe ooc marko

---

A sigh fell from your lips. The bright lights from the boardwalk shimmered around you, taunting you. Intoxicated whoops and screams of laughter echoed and swirled through the air. Your arms were comfortingly wrapped around your body despite the warm summer night. Gazing longingly at the people around you having such a good time caused your heart to ache. As much as you wished to join in with the festivities, there was a heavy bitterness lying inside you.

Your boyfriend wasn’t the most punctual person in Santa Carla, but standing you up completely was new. After waiting for nearly 2 hours, you were close to giving up and going on home, maybe drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine and shitty late night TV. You glanced at your watch once more, the neon numbers only succeeding in making you feel worse. I mean, really? What kind of person leaves their partner waiting for this long? Had he forgotten or could he just not be bothered to drag his sorry ass here tonight? You’d only been dating for about a month, but you really couldn’t believe that you meant so little to him.

You surveyed the boardwalk, taking notice of all the familiar faces. You were a regular there, having lived in Santa Carla for pretty much your whole life. It may be dangerous, but it was home. In the distance, you could make out a gang of Surf Nazis messing around with Big Ed, the boardwalk’s night guard, as per usual. Clumps of people were scattered around, chatting at the top of their lungs; drunks and junkies wobbling their way around the stalls. The boardwalk was particularly crowded tonight, probably due to the weekend; but there was no sight of him. Biting your lip, you decided that enough was enough and began to gather your things ready to leave. It was particularly frustrating since you’d put so much effort into your appearance tonight. But whatever, dude didn’t deserve to see you looking so good if he couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

A sudden cacophony of motorcycle engines broke you from your thoughts. You dropped your bag back onto the bench and whipped around, hoping to see your boyfriend. He was never seen without his bike. Instead, you were met with a gang of boys who you were all too familiar with. Clad in leather and showing a tasteful amount of skin, they were definitely a hard bunch to miss.

A few of them frequented the record shop you worked night shifts at, usually the two blonds (the natural ones anyway...) They’d always been sweet to you, despite their reputation – even going as far as to chase away some guys who’d been harassing you one time. That happened all too often around here so you really did appreciate the gesture. Those guys never entered the store again. You understood why people found them intimidating, but to you, they were really fun to be around. Always laughing and joking around in the store, and more often than not, flirting too. Especially Marko. You’d found yourself drawn to the wild guy in a way you’d never been before. His fashion sense, his humour, the way he always made a point of making conversation with you whenever he’d come in. You kinda had it bad for him. Maybe he flirted a bit too much for your taste considering he knew you were taken, but he was funny and definitely easy on the eyes. Your boyfriend really didn’t approve of your friendship, he always seemed to pull you away the moment you started getting too close for comfort. The two guys really didn’t get along.

You struggled to tear your eyes away from Marko as he and his friends parked on the side of the boardwalk. They bantered good-naturedly, giggling with each other as they dismounted their bikes. The girl and kid that always hung around with them hopped off the bikes and wandered into the fairground, the rest of them speaking for a moment before Marko turned and headed into the crowd with Paul. They strutted around for a bit, looking around the area before Marko looked in your direction. You quickly averted your eyes, the ground suddenly becoming very interesting. He brought Paul in for a moment to whisper in his ear. When he pulled away, a large suggestive grin was plastered on Paul’s face and he clapped Marko’s back as if wishing him luck before continuing on. Marko rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics while heading over to you.

“Hey there babe,”

“Not your babe,” you reminded him, looking up to meet those mischievous blue eyes you’d grown so familiar with.

He smirked as he advanced towards you, looking at you intently. He was pretty close now, standing in front of the small bench you were sitting on. He bounced on the heels of his feet as he glanced around, gently nibbling on the skin of his thumb. Cute. “So… Where’s your little boyfriend?” He asked, quirking a brow.

You looked down, shuffling your feet. God, this was humiliating. “He, uh...”

“Didn’t show?”

You let out a short, half-hearted laugh. “That obvious, huh? Yeah, you got it right,”

“Asshole. Clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing. You look really fucking good tonight.” He grinned when he noticed the blush that rose to your face at that. You realised that you were genuinely smiling for the first time tonight. “So since he’s not here… you’re free tonight, right?”

“I mean, technically. But I was honestly just planning on heading home, not really in the best mood y’know? Wouldn’t wanna bring the vibe down,” you replied, fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“Aw c’mon!” He took your hands in his, the leather of his gloves sliding against your soft skin. “The night’s still young, don’t let that tiny dick asshole ruin it for you,”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your laugh only making Marko smile wider. God, your laugh did things to him. You knew this might be a bad idea. You were still taken. But right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was the one who fucked up, why should your night be ruined because of him? You mulled it over for a moment before replying.

“Fuck it. Why not?”

“Then let’s bounce, babe.”

–

Your arms were wound tightly around Marko’s torso, gently tracing patterns onto the bare skin of his stomach exposed by his crop top. The firm denim of his jacket was rough against your bare arms, the many patches layered over each other creating an uneven texture. You leant your cheek against his back as you sped through the night, sand flying up into the air as you rode. It was exhilarating. Your boyfriend never let you near his bike; it was his pride and joy. At this very moment, as the wind whipped through your hair, splaying it out behind you – you’d truly never felt more alive. You screamed in excitement and tightened your grip when he suddenly lifted the bike back into a wheelie, whooping wildly. The engine roared deafeningly. Your eyes clenched shut involuntarily as you felt the bike lean back, your stomach dropping. You could hear Marko chuckling at the screams coming from your mouth and found yourself laughing along.

The moon and his headlights lit the way in front, showing nothing but a long expanse of sand. To your right was the most gorgeous view of the ocean, to the left the vivid lights from the fairground. It felt as though the moonlight was stalking you both, following you through the shadows and bouncing off the waves. Part of you didn’t want the night to end. It was like a dream.

Unfortunately, the ride was finished too soon. Riding bumpily back up the stairs to the boardwalk, Marko parked his bike back where you’d first started nearly two hours ago. After that ride, your boyfriend wasn’t even a passing thought in your mind. All you could think about was the pretty boy who was currently helping you off the back of his bike.

“How was that?” He grinned as he slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“Well, it was definitely worth the absolute mess that is my hair right now,” you giggled, trying your best to smooth out your locks but to no avail. Not that it mattered when two seconds later Marko’s hand found it’s way into your hair, messing it up once again. You glared playfully at him.

“It’s cute, you should keep it like that,” he winked. “C’mon!”

He grabbed your hand, dragging you into the fairground before you could protest. Not that you would have. You weren’t 100% sure where all of this was going – whether he was just trying to cheer you up because of the whole boyfriend thing or whether it was something more. But you put all of those thoughts to the back of your mind. You just wanted to have a good time.

And you did. He dragged you on pretty much every ride, no matter how many times you was chased off by the security guard. Laughing delightedly together on the biggest roller coasters, you clinging tightly to his arm as the cart teetered over the edge of steep inclines. The teasing quips he’d make about you being scared. It was a rush, a breath of fresh air. The pounding in your heart and lungs as you sprinted away from Ed hunting the two of you down. Of course Marko hadn’t told you about his ban from the boardwalk. You weren’t one to get in trouble a lot, but this was exhilarating. After getting pursued all throughout the fun house (you’d lost Ed in the mirror room, and Marko for a short while too, but you’d reunited outside the fun house), the two of you sprinted down to a ride at the very end of the fairground. A boat ride on a track tempted you, one you hadn’t seen before. Must be new. But hiding in the tunnel seemed like a good shout.

“Quick, on here!” You both hopped onto the ride, the boat rocking creakily in the water, and frantically urged the operator to start.

The bored teen cranked the lever and you were off, heading towards a tunnel lit up with pink tinted lights on the inside. You looked up just in time to see the lit up banner pasted on top of the tunnel. The Tunnel of Love.

Go figure.

You breathed heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath, clutching the side of the boat. Looking at your companion, you couldn’t understand how Marko seemed so unbothered while you were still fighting the stitch in your side. Instead, he was far more distracted by the inside of the tunnel. Huge heart-shaped arches lead you through the ride, flower petals were scattered across the water. Neon bulbs emanated a pink glow as a subtle, sweet smell spread through the air.

He looked at you, smirking. “Just wanted to get me alone, huh babe?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder with your own. “Not your babe…” you said quietly.

He giggled, intently gazing into your eyes. Carefully, he reached out and took your hand. You felt the cool leather of his fingerless gloves and rough callouses as he gently played with your fingertips. He smiled lopsidedly at you. Your heart fluttered.

“You still thinking about him? Your night still ruined?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “He’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

His gaze was intense, you felt so analysed. One of his hands left yours, coming up to cup your cheek. Your breath hitched but you leant into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. You waited. Soft lips pressed against your own, capturing your mouth in a sweet kiss. It was so different than you expected, gentle and slow. Until he took his arm and moved it to your back, manoeuvring you onto his lap. His hand dropped to your waist, his grip firm as he deepened the kiss. You arms came up to settle around his neck, one of your hands tangled in his blond curls. He held you tightly against his body as his lips moved in sync with yours, the kiss becoming gradually more messy as it went on. You were breathless, chest heaving but unable to part from him. The gloved hand around your waist became more and more confident, playing with the hem of your shirt before sliding underneath. The cold leather made you shiver as it slid against you, tracing patterns on your side. It was so sudden when he bit your lip, a high whine escaping you. You could feel him smirk against your lips. Your head was foggy as he reconnected your lips, almost possessive with the way he held you against him.

“That’s enough kids, break it up!”

You hadn’t even noticed the ride stop. You sprung apart from him, still feeling as though your were under a trance. Looking up, blinking in the bright lights of the fairground, you saw the night guard hovering over you both, a triumphant scowl on his face.

“Uh oh-”

“I’ve got you now!”

Marko yanked you up, leapt out of the boat and – narrowly escaping Ed’s arms – the chase began once again. You ran side by side into the night, laughing manically. You’d definitely be giving your boyfriend a call tonight.

[stashandtell]

Newest Fic: Ranking the Weasleys

Hermione was drunk. It was all Ginny’s fault.

“RANK MY BROTHERS, Hermione! The people deserve to know!”

“OKAY! Okay. FINE. I give in! I’ll rank all your brothers, based on their looks AND PERSONALITIES. You have such a morbid fascination with how shaggable I find your brothers!”

“You’re STALLING!”

Hermione huffed as she tucked into a ball and then shoved Ginny in the butt with her lint-covered sock. This was a normal girls’ night for them. Lots of wine, shouting, and playful-but-catty roughhousing.

Read Ranking the Weasleys on AO3

- - - -

I'm so happy to be sharing this on the deadline I set for myself, which is today, Hermione's birthday, 9/19/24. As a very new fanfiction writer, who is committed to enjoying this hobby as long as the muse is with me on it, I had marked a handful of bdays of some of my favorite characters as occasions to post fics this year. It's been a nice way to stick with projects and put some artificial pressure on myself. Originally I was working to release a piece based around Hermione getting a belated Moon Party thrown for her by the Gryff girls. Moon parties are typically thrown for young people when they start menstruation if their friends and/or families are into that sort of thing. I'm still working on that fic but I did quickly push pause on it last weekend when, at 2 AM, after letting myself indulge in almost a full day of writing a different fic, I had the seed of the idea for Ranking the Weasleys and cranked out a very formidable first draft in 2 hours. (Yes, this means I went to sleep juuuuust before the sun was preparing to rise. Worth it.) When the words flow, you go with it. It also happens that I'm participating in The Weasley Clock Discord's Bingo Collection (Event? Fest? Bingo-Thing?) and this covers my square for "Ginny Weasley" quite nicely!

- - - - About Fred, George, Bill, and Fetishizing War Wounds These are some initial thoughts I had on the subject and is in no way a comprehensive analysis of the topic.

I wasn't expecting to discover that Fred's battle injury and recovery included him using a wheelchair for the rest of his life in this story but it came out in the writing process. I thought deeply about how, in many Harry Potter fanfics, we see examples of fetishizing elements of people's injuries or hardships (I say this in a non-judgemental way. I truly was pondering it.) If you read Dramione, think about how Draco's Sectumsempra scars are sometimes described. "Scars are sexy" is often a thing in our fandom (and in real life for some!) and it paints a complex picture of attraction, reverence, and attractiveness in a shorthand, accessible way to many readers, from writers. Especially when writers are writing from inside the private minds of characters, the characters are allowed to have thoughts that may not be appropriate or sensitive to others' identities, sense of self, language preferences, etc. It's why many of us love reading fiction; we get an intimate look into the messy, imperfect, and sometimes illicit thought processes of characters. It can be enthralling. But, for this particular, shorter one-shot, I wanted to try to be consistent about how I approached how Hermione was objectifying and trash-talking the characters for many things they either had control over or were core parts of their developed personalities. But what about George's gold ear? I thought about this too. Yes, Hermione thinks the ear is "very fun and cheeky," but she's not into how he's missing an ear or saying that she is attracted the prosthetic because it's a prosthetic or symbolizes a trauma he went through-- my intention was for her to make a comment on the choice of it being solid gold. The opulence of the ear prosthetic was a "fun and cheeky" choice of George's. I hope that came across. I deleted a whole section about how Hermione found Bill to be sexier after his attack from Greyback, not because of the injury but because it changed his mindset about how he wants to protect others.

"...even after he was attacked, he grew even more assured in himself which just made him hotter. And it wasn’t the mild-lycanthropy that made him more confident..."

I couldn't make it work without it being clunky and preachy, so I cut it. I wanted to make sure Bill's scars and the effects of a werewolf affliction weren't portrayed as a turn-on in the very same piece where I was trying to navigate a sensitivity and neutrality to Fred's use of a chair. Sometimes it IS best to "murder your darlings," amiright? I'll admit, I fell in love with Fred in this fic and how he's hot and cold with Hermione, even though he's pretty successful in the dating field with other wixen. Maybe this fic will inspire something longer [shrugs]. I grew fond of some of the implied backstories that grew out of this absolute brain-barf I was seemingly compelled to type out through tired, tired eyes. - - - -

A while ago, I drafted a post ranking all my favorite Hermione/Weasley sibling ships, and it was nice to have such a hefty post pre-written that fit in with all this. It was likely the base of the fic I would write-- cooking along on the back burner of my brain until it was ready to served out. I appreciate that my inner-monologue-made-outer-tumblr-posts may be another way of puzzling out plots I may eventually create! Check It Out:

Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships with REASONS (tumblr post)

Some Recommendations for Fics That Influenced My Weasley-Ship Rankings (tumblr post)

Ranking the Weasleys, a Harry Potter fanfic by stashandtell on AO3

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER TWO: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 4,788 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3 Avi’li Sostomi belongs to my dear friend @lilas!

When she reaches the Forgotten Knight, Aureia shoves the doors open and clatters down the stairs. Though the sound causes some heads to turn, the tavern quickly reverts to its drunken murmurings and clandestine conversations. She has always had an affection for Gibrillont’s establishment. The lighting is dark, the hearths warm, the food and drink good. She is rarely identified as the Warrior of Light here, blending in with crowds too drunk to recognize her. Here, everyone’s business is their own. Here, she is just another patron stepping in from the cold.

“Ah, Aureia!” Gibrillont nods in welcome, his hands occupied by cleaning out tankards with a worn rag. “I hear congratulations are in order—”

She rests her arms on the counter and leans into it. “No. Not in order. As far as I’m concerned, nothing of significance happened today.”

He pauses, regarding her with a knowing smile on his face. “Very well,” he says. “‘Tis but an ordinary day, with ordinary struggles.”

“And ordinary drinks,” she adds pointedly.

Gibrillont chuckles and stoops, resurfacing a moment later with a bottle. “Then perhaps this miraculous brew will serve you well, Mistress Malathar,” he says and slides it across the counter to her waiting hand.

Aureia eyes him—the honorific has not gone unnoticed—and hefts the bottle. Wine. Likely cheap, likely strong, and likely to give her a phenomenal hangover the next morning. “Thanks,” she grunts. The dark glass slips against her fingerless glove and she reacts quickly, tightening her grip before she drops it.

His eyes narrow. “I apologize if this is not my place,” he says carefully, picking up the rag and returning to cleaning tankards. “But I suspect this is not a celebratory drink.”

The nape of her neck prickles. Thoughts of Thancred race through her mind, jagged and raw. No matter how hard she tries to banish him, he lingers. Making a face, she yanks the cork out and downs a mouthful of wine. She coughs, the tart, heady scent clogging her nostrils, the fragrant flavour lingering on her tongue.

“There’s nothing to celebrate tonight, Gibrillont,” she says and slams a handful of gil on the counter. “I’m here to get drunk.”

Bottle in hand, Aureia forces her way through the crowd, searching for a table. The cacophony of a dozen conversations fills her ears. From the merchants to the off-duty Temple Knights to minor scions of lesser nobility, all are focused on one thing: the Grand Melee, the Alliance, and the Warrior of Light’s thrilling duel with General Raubahn.

Notably—at least to her—Sidurgu is absent from his usual post. He must have not wanted Rielle caught in the midst of all this revelry, not when there are so many Temple Knights around. The day they dispatched Ystride de Caulignot together is still raw in her mind. Though the church has changed, any number of her former allies or supporters could be among the knights’ numbers.

Aureia pauses in the centre, twisting left and right as she scans the room. “Seven hells,” she mutters, taking another swig. She is glad for their success, truly, she is. Aymeric was correct, this was the only way to incorporate Ishgard into the Alliance without upsetting the Holy See’s delicate internal politics. She hates to give it to him, but Thancred was right—Ishgardian pride has been the source too many of their difficulties. The whole nation is too arrogant for its own good.

And the last thing she needs now is a recount of her heroics on refrain.

Pushing her way through a cluster of loud-mouthed knights, she rounds the corner and flies down the stairs, disappearing into the lower level.

Aureia feels the change as she descends. Though Aymeric is doing his best to pave a way for a new future, dismantling a thousand years of tradition is not a feat accomplished overnight. The highborn and the lowborn still separate instinctively, and that divide could not be more palpable than in the Forgotten Knight. The hearths are dark, the rooms cramped, the floors and tables scratched. The air is mustier here, thick with the scents of the Brume. But the alcohol is strong, the patrons lively, and there is a sense of fierce, fearless freedom about this place that she has never found upstairs.

“Aw, c’mon, Avi, I had it that time!”

A familiar voice cuts through the din. Aureia pauses on the third step and scans the room, searching. Hilda sits slung in a chair, boots on the table, cards in her hand. A wrought iron lamp lies off to the side, its candle casting a warm glow over a collection of discarded plates and half-finished tankards. Her carbine rests against the wall behind her, its polished finishings glinting in the dim light.

A white-haired Miqo’te perches across from her, his tail curled casually around one of his stool’s legs. He holds his cards close to his face, eyes alight with an impish grin. “Looks like fortune says otherwise,” he says. “I win.”

Hilda harumphs and tosses her cards. “Cheater,” she snorts, grabbing her tankard. “You’re never this good.”

His ear twitches. “Or perhaps the sun has finally risen, understanding has dawned, and I am finally decent at Triple Triad,” he replies, rolling a card between his fingers. “Play enough and even the worst of us get better eventually.”

She eyes him over her tankard and takes a drink. “Or you cheated.”

“I did not.”

“Keep telling yourself that—”

The Miqo’te chortles and throws down his cards, forearms pressed against the table as he dissolves into a fit of laughter. Hilda coughs and lowers her tankard. Spotting Aureia from across the room, she balances it on her knee and raises a hand in greeting.

“I was just beginning to think I wouldn’t see you tonight,” she says casually, adjusting her feet as Aureia draws close. She gestures to her companion. “Avi’li, Aureia—Aureia, Avi’li. Don’t trust him, he cheats at Triple Triad.”

Avi’li’s mouth drops open. “I don’t cheat—” 

“Mhm. You’ll have to be more convincing than that.”

Avi’li flashes her a grin as she pulls up a chair. “Always good to meet a friend of Hilda’s,” he says, eyes flicking curiously from her to Hilda and back again. They narrow with that distinct inquisitiveness that comes over anyone who spots the two women together. “Pardon the intrusion, but you two aren’t—”

“No,” Aureia and Hilda say together.

It’s become a habit—if six separate incidents so far can be called a habit. From their similar colouring, heritage, and builds, it is easy for the indiscriminate eye to assume they are sisters. After all, how many ruby-eyed, black-haired women of mixed Hyur and Elezen parentage find their way to Ishgard? The truth of the matter is that their origins couldn’t be more different. But despite it, they are connected—if not by mutual experience, then by respect and solidarity. Hilda has been one of the few in Ishgard unafraid of her reputation and status. Her keen awareness and blunt honesty are a breath of fresh air in a nation who has alternatively seen her as a hero to be worshipped or a threat to be put down.

Aureia is forever grateful for it.

“I see you came prepared,” Hilda continues, eyeing the wine bottle as Aureia places her staff against the wall and throws herself into her chair. “You made a memorable display in the Grand Melee today. Tired of all the lordlings fawning over you, I reckon?”  

“Didn’t stay around for that,” Aureia replies, slouching down.

She regards her with an amused smile. “Abandoning Aymeric to field them for you? Now I feel sorry for the poor sod. I wonder how many propositions of marriage have landed on his desk in the past half-day.”

“None, if I have anything to say about it,” Aureia replies, raising the bottle to her lips. The wine is just as sour the second time as it was the first.

Hilda chuckles and shakes her head, her long, dark ponytail rippling down her back. “Don’t think you have a choice there, Aur,” she says grimly. “If you hadn’t won over the blue bloods yet, you’ve certainly done so today. More eyes are on you now than ever before.”  

She grimaces.

“If you wanted to avoid this mess entirely, you could have… I dunno… thrown the fight with that general bloke. But that would have led to quite an upset. Best not think on it now, eh?”

She grunts noncommittally into her bottle and takes another drink.

Hilda presses her lips together, eyes narrowed, and slowly unfurls. “Give us a moment here, huh, Avi?” she says, removing her feet from the table.

Avi’li glances at Aureia, his tail flicking quietly behind him. “Good to meet you, Aureia,” he says with a graceful bow. “See you around sometime, yeah?” Swiping his tankard from the table, he turns and threads his way through the crowd.

Hilda folds her arms across her chest. “Right,” she says as he disappears. “Now tell me what’s really going on. I ain’t seen you like this since Haurchefant passed.”

“Nothing,” Aureia replies, sipping on her bottle. “What’s wrong with wanting a drink?”

“Because you shouldn’t be drinking on your own after that display today!” Hilda grips her chair by the seat and drags it forward. The legs scrape horrifically as she shuffles it across the floor. “You should be celebrating. With your fellow Scions, the Ul’dahn delegation, or hells… why not Aymeric? You should have seen the look on his face when you disappeared. So, tell me—” She prods a finger into Aureia’s shoulder. “What in the seven hells are you doing down here with a bottle of Gibrillont’s worst wine, looking like the world just ended?”

Aureia lowers her bottle, chewing her lip as she stares absently at the flickering candle. “It’s nothing,” she says. “I’m tired. And someone who I thought was my friend may no longer…”

She trails off, the words catching painfully in her throat. Saying it now is as good as admitting it. She isn’t prepared for that—not yet. As furious as she is with Thancred, she sees too much of herself in him. He is struggling with something he refuses to voice, something she knows all too well. She should have seen it the moment he ran off after the cyclops on his own. It wasn’t that long ago that she was going through the same motions, taking off across Coerthas on her own, battling whatever monsters she could find alone and unprepared.

But Aureia had help when her luck ran out. Estinien tirelessly shadowed her as she stupidly threw herself into fight after fight, pulling her out when she encountered a foe she could not handle alone. Sid watched her back, his initial resentment and mistrust bleeding into hope and faith as they stood their ground against Rielle’s pursuers. Hells, she thought she foolishly thought she was alone when she came to Ishgard, but she was wrong. So impossibly wrong. Alphinaud and Tataru never gave up on her, even when she pushed them away. Even Ysayle—wonderful, relentless Ysayle who had risked so much and sacrificed all—came for her at the eleventh bell.

But Thancred has no one. He was fortunate today, scraping by with only a handful of minor wounds. If Y’shtola’s theory is correct and his aether is disrupted… How long will it be before he puts himself in a situation he cannot overcome?

Bastard, she thinks. Wherever you’re going, don’t you dare get yourself killed for this. I’ll never forgive you if you do. 

Hilda sighs irritably and plucks the bottle from her hand.

Aureia opens her mouth in protest. “Hey—”

Hilda sets it on the table and firmly pushes it out of the way. Twisting around, she grips her by the forearms and pulls her in. “Listen to me, Aur,” she says, staring her in the eye. “That friend of yours? Fuck them. If they’re making you feel this miserable, tell them to bugger off. You’re the bloody Warrior of Light, you don’t have many chances to catch a break. Good days are priceless where you’re concerned. Don’t let anyone ruin that for you.”

Aureia swallows hard. If only it were that easy… “I’m trying,” she says.

Hilda raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” she insists. “Give me my wine back.”

Hilda smirks. Swiping the bottle off the table, she digs her heels into the floor and pushes herself backwards, sending her chair scooting across the floor and out of reach. She leans back, one leg crossed casually over the other, and eyeing Aureia as she raises the bottle to her mouth and takes a long drink. Grimacing, she lowers the bottle and coughs into the back of her hand. “Yeah…” she says hoarsely, holding the bottle out. “That’s, uh… bad. Extremely bad. I’m gonna have to have a word with Gibrillont over how bad that is, aren’t I.”

Aureia snorts with laughter and retrieves the bottle, taking another swig. The tartness has begun to fade—or perhaps it’s turned her tongue numb. Looping a lock of hair behind her ear, she lounges in her chair and casts an eye around the tavern. The cacophony washes over her, the noise and commotion strangely soothing after the icy silence on the bridge.

Hilda retrieves her own drink. “If you want my advice, Aur—”

“Hmm… not particularly, no.”

She chuckles. “Too bad. I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

Aureia makes a face.

Hilda shifts in her seat, her foot bouncing on her knee. “If I were you, I’d find someone to enjoy myself with,” she says. “Take the edge off, eh? Have a little fun. Don’t say it hasn’t occurred to you. Someone like you, with your standing and fame? You must have more than one suitor calling—”

Aureia flushes. “Not interested in that,” she says firmly.

“No?” She raises an eyebrow. “Not once? Not in all this time you’ve been in Ishgard? Surely someone here has caught your eye—”

“Not interested.”

“Not even that Auri fellow? The one upstairs with the girl following him around like a lost puppy?”

The description twists sharply on her gut. “Rielle isn’t a lost puppy. And Sid and I—”

“Oh ho?” Hilda raises an eyebrow, her smirk barely contained. “Never realized you were on first-name basis with those two. Is there something you ain’t telling me, or am I to figure it out for myself?”

Aureia rolls her eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

“No? He’s a handsome enough bloke, if you ask me—”

“Well, I’m not—”

“The only time I see that scowl wiped off his face is when you’re around.”

“Sidurgu and I are friends, that’s it. Besides, I said I wasn’t interested in all that and I meant it.”

Hilda shuts her mouth and raises her hands, silently indicating that the point has been made and understood.

Aureia sighs, rapping her fingers against the bottle. This is not an easy discussion to have—and certainly not now, certainly not here, certainly not with Hilda.

This isn’t about Sid. It’s not.  

She flushes at the thought and shoves it away, annoyed at her friend for making assumptions. There’s no point belabouring where she and Sid stand, they aren’t anything more than war comrades. Though there have been times when she has wondered differently. A casual touch here, a look there… She flushes remembering the scolding of the century he gave her after she threw herself in front of him and Rielle and took a temple knight’s blade to the gut. Bleeding out in the ass-end of Coerthas, turning bright snow to red sludge, while he cursed and swore and made her promise to never do anything so foolish again.

But even if it were different, would she even want to act on it? There’s a queasiness in her stomach whenever a subject like this is raised, a sense that something isn’t right with her. She envies how damn easy it is for others. It’s not about love—she knows what that feels like, and how intensely it can strike—but intimacy. It has always been a barricade, growing larger and more insurmountable with every passing year, not helped by her utter lack of interest in sex.

Sometimes she wonders if it’s too late for her. Even if her feelings on the matter have shifted in recent years, it’s easier to ignore it entirely than admit this humiliating truth.

“Point taken,” Hilda says finally. “I see why you like to drink now.”

Aureia grimaces, bristling at the tone. She shoves a hand into her seat and pushes herself upright. “I—”

A hand brushes her shoulder.

She reacts on instinct. Ripping free of its grasp, she throws herself out of her chair and falls into a defensive stance, hands raised, fingers curled. A messenger in silver and blue stares at her, mouth agape, fear in his eyes.

“Mistress Malathar?” he stammers. “I meant no offense—”

“Announce yourself properly next time,” she snaps, dropping her stance and folding her arms. “What do you want? Which House do you represent?”

“I… uh…” The messenger flushes and stares at his feet, still shaken. The Elezen must be relatively young. Though he is much taller than her, he is gangly and nervous. Oddly, he reminds her of Emmanellain. “May we speak upstairs? The message I bear is not for… well… certain ears.”

Aureia exchanges looks with Hilda. Despite recent advances, some things never change.

“Us lowborn, you mean?” Hilda offers, a dark look in her eye. “Are you that scared of the Brume, boy? You’re gonna have to work on that if you intend to remain a messenger for the Lord Commander.”

Aureia curses inwardly, taking in the messenger’s colours once again. Of course. Temple Knights… The messenger is from Aymeric. She’s had more to drink than she thought and she’s falling into foolishness.

“Seven hells,” Aureia mutters and ushers the boy forward. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

She guides him through the crowd to the foot of the stairs, then clambers up them two at a time. He follows, his armour clinking in her ears, and breathes an audible sigh of relief when they surface on the upper floor.

Leading him into a far corner, she takes up position with her back to the wall and crosses her arms. “Now, then,” she says brusquely. “What is this about?”

The messenger quickly salutes. “Mistress Malathar, I bear a message from Ser Aymeric.”

“Yes. I gathered that. What is it?”

“I… I don’t know. It is here.”

He proffers a letter, stamped and sealed with the insignia of House Borel.

Aureia takes it from his shaking hand, brow furrowed, and flips it over. Aymeric has written her many times, but always in an official capacity as Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. But now he’s using the insignia of his own house… This isn’t official. This is personal.

Her heart clenches. “Is that all?” she asks.

The messenger nods, bowing, and retreats. Aureia watches him go, rubbing the envelope’s luxurious parchment between her fingers, her mind racing. Though part of her wants nothing more than to race down the stairs and return to Hilda’s company and the comfort of her wine, curiosity has set her aflame.

Why the personal message? What does Aymeric want?

Chewing her lower lip, she tears the envelope open and unfolds the letter.

Aureia,    I am loathe to begin with “congratulations are in order” as I am certain you have heard that phrase far too much today. Nevertheless, it is true. This victory was more than a simple triumph in the heat of friendly combat. We have secured Ishgard’s position within the Alliance and safeguarded the course to her future. I cannot say how grateful I am for your involvement. Nor would I have wanted to be the one opposing you on the field of battle! Livia assures me that General Raubahn holds no grievance over the thrashing you gave him. I am told he was beaming with pride at his defeat and has requested a rematch the next time your travels bring you to Ul’dah.    I must apologize for conveying this within a letter. This conversation is ill-suited to the pen—one-sided even, as it leaves no opportunity for your immediate reply—but circumstances allowed us no time for proper conversation once the melee had concluded. Or perhaps I am merely accustomed to writing to you now, given how far your travels now take you from Ishgard.   You recall my somewhat mortifying request for a drink some nights ago? I would ask again. Perhaps more legitimately, this time, and with more grace and sincerity. I did not intend to put you on the spot with my words the last time, and yet I did. I do not begrudge the silence you gave me in return, I was, to put it quite frankly, a fool.    And so I ask again. Please, my dearest friend. Join me for an evening. It would be a delight to spend the night in your company.  

Aureia exhales slowly, staring blankly at the elegant script. A lump forms in her throat, her heart beating rapidly. Aymeric, as always, is far too kind to her. Too thoughtful, too genuine, too damn polite. She doesn’t know why he thinks so highly of her when she is prickly and disagreeable, no charm, no patience, all sharp edges. But their friendship has been tried and tested through more ordeals than she count this past year. He has been the one consistency through it all.

Once she thought it was Thancred who kept her grounded, but then the bloody banquet fractured the Scions and the man he was then is now gone forever. After her flight to Ishgard, Haurchefant was a shining beacon, as dear to her as the brother she never had—and now he is gone, cut down before her very eyes. Estinien was her source of strength in the dark days that followed, their rivalry softening to friendship over the course of their trials. He, too, is now gone, lost to Nidhogg’s rage.  

But Aymeric has remained a firm, resolute presence in her life.

She remembers that day in his office, when he blurted out his initial invitation. She was so shocked, she couldn’t even garble a reply, staring at him with her eyes wide, like a deer facing a hunter. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks not long after and she excused herself, passing through his door with her back perfectly straight, praying that he did not see the colour on her cheeks.

It was only after that she realized he intended it as a friend. A friend. Somehow, that only made her response all the more humiliating…

At least she knows he was as mortified as she was. She can take solace in the fact that they can be fools in equal measure.

Aureia folds the letter and stuffs it in her pocket. She needs to return to her room, write a reply… Or perhaps it would be faster to go to him herself? Then again, there is wine on her breath and she is still sweat stained from the melee. Better to write him. He doesn’t need to see her like this.

She is halfway to her room in the inn when she remembers her staff is on the lower levels. Cursing inwardly, she wheels around and hurries through the tavern, weaving in and out of the crowd. Clattering down the stairs, she makes beeline for her table—

Her staff is there, but Hilda is gone.

Aureia pauses, frowning in confusion as she retrieves her staff and straps it to her back. The messy collection of plates and tankards remain. Even her bottle of wine is there, now emptied. In the centre of the table, the lamp’s candle flickers from a pool of wax, burning down to the stub. Its light glints off Hilda’s carbine, left unattended against the wall. She must be here, somewhere… It’s not like her to forget her weapon.

Grabbing the carbine, she withdraws from the table and casts an eye around the premises. The floor is emptier than before, many of the patrons having found their way outside one way or another. Aureia rounds the tables, searching, but Hilda is nowhere to be found. And she wasn’t upstairs, either… Either she exited to the Brume or she’s elsewhere in the tavern. The Forgotten Knight is filled with pockets of odd space—knotted hallways leading nowhere, oddly-shaped rooms tucked away in the corners or beneath the stairs. There are plenty of places she could have gone. Patrons find their way to them for one reason or another.

Slipping through a door, Aureia paces down a tight, dark hallway, cradling the heavy carbine against her chest. Her throat is dry, her head is aching—she forgot to drink water and now the side-effects of Gibrillont’s miraculous brew raising their ugly heads. She blinks, ignoring her body’s complaints, and pushes on. She can’t leave now. She needs to find Hilda.

“…so you admit it, then?”

“Admit what?”

Voices echo through an open door. Droll and heady, drunk on too much wine and spirits.

“…and here I thought it would take more than that for you to say you felt some affection for me.”

“Affection? Please. Far too strong a word.”

Auriea’s heart leaps into her throat. She freezes in the shadows of the hall, floorboards creaking underfoot. Hilda and Thancred stand together in the adjoining room, their profiles illuminated by the dusty moonlight filtering through the narrow window. His arms are locked around her, pulling her into him. She tilts her chin, a playful smile on her lips, red eyes dancing wickedly. 

“You wound me, my lady,” he says, his lips brushing her cheek.

She smirks. “Not a lady.”

“To me you are.”

“Oh, please. Is that what you tell all the women in your life or did you truly expect a line like that to work on me?”

He kisses her, fierce and desperate. She melts into it, her fingers scraping the sides of his face, his jaw, pulling him into her. His fingers brush her ear, tentatively cupping the point, and thread through her hair. He releases it from its tail and the dark waves fall free, flowing over her shoulders and shadowing her face like a curtain. She chuckles huskily and shoves him back against the wall. He grunts and seizes her, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around him and allows him to spin them around.

Hilda pulls back from his kiss, face flushed and eyes wild, and scrapes her fingers through his hair. “You sure about this?” she asks huskily, lips pressed against his ear. “Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.”

He freezes, his arms going stiff. “I am here for you. Only you.”

“Good. Just wanted to be clear—”

He kisses her, pinning her to the wall, his mouth on hers, still kissing, always kissing. She presses against him, her hands wandering, reaching, urgent, desperate—

Aureia tears her eyes away, cheeks flushed with the heat of anger and humiliation. She stoops, setting the carbine against the doorframe, and stalks down the hall. She doesn’t care if the floor creaks, if they hear her footsteps, if they know she was there. Chances are they never noticed. Chances are they will never know.

Bitter tears pang in the corners of her eyes. Seven hells, why is she crying? Why does she care so much? They are her friends. She should be happy if they’ve managed to find some solace in each other, gods know they’ve needed it. It’s not like she could give it to them herself, what with the way she is. Even if she wanted to, it’s too much.

Too much.

She kicks the hallway door open and storms through the tavern, scattering the remaining patrons in front of her. Gibrillont catches her eye when she storms up the stairs and quickly retreats. He knows better than to interfere. He know he must leave her be.

Aureia is certain she will become a snivelling mess when she finds privacy. But when she reaches her room, the tears refuse to fall. The best she can do is lay on her bed, staring numbly into the silver of moonlight dancing across her floor, and let her symptoms take her. She will welcome the hangover tomorrow. No matter how bad it is, it is nothing compared to the pain and isolation she feels tonight.

Aymeric’s letter remains folded in her pocket, all but forgotten.

[cardanapologist]

Under the Tables

I WROTE THIS BASED ON THIS POST BY @i-admit-i-am-dumb <3333333

***

Cardan watches Jude uneasily take a cup of wine from a nearby servant, nodding her head in thanks. She glances down at it with the usual frown on her face, swirling the red drink around in the cup. It’ll be her first drink of the night, while Cardan has already had 3. He’s nowhere near as drunk as he usually is at revels, choosing to bear the festivities not sober, but Jude is not a drinker like him. Instead, he watches her take small slips, wincing at the taste before setting the cup aside.

The same servant comes back up the dais and bends his head as he offers her a platter of what Jude describes as finger food, though that makes Cardan wrinkle his nose as he imagines unpleasant things.

She pushes the platter away with a small, “No thank you” and then reaches for her cup again, not so much to drink, but to busy herself so it looks like she doesn’t want meddling servants to keep offering her things just for her to reject them.

Several moments later, she catches his eye, and the scowl on her face deepens just a little bit more. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Cardan says, resting his chin delicately in his palm. He leans towards her. She’s all too far away on this dais, their throne-like chairs set several feet away from each other. He makes a mental note to amend this for next time. He should have learned of the structure of the dais and seating arrangements before this revel. It’s their first one after all. The staff didn’t know how to seat two royals on the dais.

“You clearly have something you wish to say.”

“Do I?” he replies innocently.

He takes her in silently.

She’s picked out a dark dress for tonight, though he can hardly say she had a choice. All the dresses he’s gifted her after their marriage and her return from the mortal world have been similar in darkness, but not in style. While some dresses have extra ruffles or a distinct neckline, they’re all dark shades of several colors. Maroon, navy blue, black, forest green, and his favorite dark purple.

The last one is the one she wears, a dress that comes down to her feet, her shoulders left bare, and a corset that accentuates her waist. The only thing that stands out from the dark colors is the white of her corset laces, which she may have tied a little too tightly, he thinks, judging by the way her chest rises and falls with each trembling breath.

Or, he realizes, she’s nervous.

“These revels,” he says, gesturing lazily at the crowd and orchestra, “are meant for merriment and celebration. This one in particular is intended to celebrate your return. So why then are you unhappy?”

She frowns. “I am not unhappy. I’m having a great time.”

Cardan clicks his tongue. “Liar liar. What an awful trait to have.”

She shoots him a look. “I am not lying. I really do think all this is great. I’m happy I’m not being hunted or killed or held for ransom.”

“But?”

“But what? Nothing. But nothing.”

“What makes you so uncomfortable you cannot eat or drink properly? Much less sit without fidgeting. Is it the amount of people? I assure you that was not my doing. It was all your sister. I believe she still thinks she has to make things up to you. Take it up with her.”

“It’s not that.”

“Is it the food, then? Does the magic still not allow you to enjoy our food?”

“That’s not it either.”

Cardan reaches for his cup and pointedly takes a sip. “I assure you it is not poisoned.”

Her eyes flash. “I wasn’t too concerned about being poisoned tonight. Not that you’d even notice if you were poisoned. You act the same way drunk.”

He’s grinning now. He tilts his head down so his crown falls a bit lower than his brow, which he catches quickly before it can fall to the floor. “Then what is it? And do not tell me it is nothing. Quickly tell me what it is so I can fix it immediately. Is it the music? Shall I ask them to change it? Is it the throne? I’ve already decided I need to have a word with the staff about the seating. Or is it the–”

“Cardan,” she says quickly under breath, her jaw tense, “it is nothing of concern.”

“It is,” he replies. “Tell me what it is.”

Jude’s eyes narrow, but she doesn't speak. Much to his frustration. She looks back at the crowd of dancing people and drums her fingers against her arm rests, refusing to look at him. Nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing the gold jewelry embedded in her unusual round ears, matching the delicate gold chains around her faux horns. She’s made them extra tight today it seems. Usually, by the end of the day, her hair is beginning to unravel, but not today. Everything about her is impeccable, unruffled.

She looks every bit like the Queen.

And yet she twists her fingers anxiously and keeps switching from crossing her legs to crossing her ankles, to leaving her feet flat against the floor.

He will not tolerate it. One night off is what she deserves.

Cardan suddenly stands, making several revel goers glance at him cautiously. A few stop dancing, stepping away from the dais to give him room. Jude slants a look at Cardan and narrows her eyes again.

He holds his hand out. “Come. We’ll dance.”

“What?” she hisses. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Way to do this in front of everyone. Now I can’t even say no.”

“I do not think you’d want to say no to your husband anyways. Not about a dance at least.” He smiles when she takes his hand, waiting for her to adjust her dress so she’s not tripping over it as she follows him, descending from the dais.

The music continues merrily, many revel goers taking steps back, making a path for the King and Queen. Jude ducks her head to hide her face, nearly walking into Cardan’s back when he abruptly stops in the middle of the floor. He turns back and takes her waist, but not before announcing to the dancers, “Please, do not stop. Keep the festivities alive!”

And with that command from their king, the dancers and citizens resume their dancing, stealing glances at Cardan and Jude whenever possible. 

Jude is unmoving, now staring up at him with her dagger-like eyes. He only smiles back and tightens his fingers on her waist, just below her tight corset. He tugs her closer and gently begins to sway. It takes several long seconds before her legs give way, falling into a small step pattern with him.

“This is very obviously a security hazard,” she says, looking around them now. She can’t look over his shoulder due to his height, so she chooses to look around his torso instead. “Anyone could stab you right now and be done with you.”

“I am more at a risk of my own wife doing so rather than a stranger.”

She scowls. “I’ve never actually stabbed you.”

“How many times have you threatened to?”

“Not enough.”

“As for the security,” Cardan says, sweeping her around suddenly, making her clutch onto his biceps. “You’ve done all that you could about it. There are about 10 guards at every entrance of the Palace. I’ve never felt safer, and you should feel safe too.”

“You can never be too careful,” Jude grumbles, letting his arms go. He pauses their movements and reaches for her wrists, tugging her hands so they clasp behind his neck. The movement makes her stumble closer to him, and then he returns his hands.

“Come on, wife,” he says quietly. “We’ve done this before.”

“I hated that night,” Jude replies instantly, her jaw tight, likely from the mere memory of it. But there’s a scarlet blush over her cheeks. He finds it amusing. “I’ve hated several of these revels in fact. They were always fun for everyone but rarely for Taryn and I.”

As Cardan gently moves them, he thinks back about seeing her at the previous parties. He seems to remember what she’d been doing at nearly all of them, and the realization would have struck his stomach in a nauseous way a year ago. Now, he accepts it. He’d always been watching her. It comes handy during moments like this.

He recalls the first revel he saw her at. There were talks about mortals in Elfhame, and at the first mention of the twins, he scoffed and rolled his eyes and groused about them to his friends. He’d predicted what they’d look like. He recalls telling his friends that he assumed the mortals were dull creatures, too ugly and plain to be considered things of beauty to marvel at. He imagined they had bug eyes and unnatural hair colors. He assumed they had sharp teeth and gangly limbs that made them awkward to look at. “I pity them,” he’d said to his friends who had laughed in response. “To be that ugly and stupid…it must be a nightmare. I would simply end my life.”

The night that he first saw Taryn and Jude did little to change his perception about mortals being stupid, but some cracks formed in his ideas about them all being ugly.

“Those are the twins,” Nicasia had leaned in and told him with a grimace. “They’re so plain looking. Look at their dresses.”

“What are their names?” he’d asked, staring at one of them in particular.

“Jude and Taryn. My parents said so.”

“Which one is which?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

He gave her a peculiar look. “You can’t tell? But they look so different.”

And Nicasia had given him that same look back. “They’re identical. Anyways, I do not care about which one is which. Let’s get a drink.”

They were different, Cardan recalls. Everything from their hair to their face to their dresses. They were polar opposites, and he did not learn who was who until several days later when they’d showed up to lessons, huddled with each other.

Because of Madoc’s status and role, Cardan saw the twins more often than not at the revels. When they first arrived, they looked lost like deer. Their heads whipped anxiously at every noise, trying to hide behind each other. One of them, Taryn, always managed to hide behind Jude. And they always held hands, he remembers, smiling. Their hands were always tightly clasped, making them inseparable.

Jude frowns. “What is so funny?”

“I’m recalling the previous revels.”

“Yes, because the death of your entire family must have been a fun night.”

Cardan ignores the jab. Instead, he turns them around and wraps his arms around her waist, tucking her closer. “I remember,” he says, looking over her head, “the first time you got into trouble at one of the revels. We couldn’t have been more than 12 years of age. You got separated from your sister and couldn’t find her.”

Jude’s eyes darken at the mention of that year. “Mhm.”

“And you’d asked for help to find her,” he says, unblinking, still recalling. “But you asked the wrong people. Some older kids, right? And they’d commanded you to dance instead. It took hours for someone to realize something was wrong and for your father to get you out of the dance circle.”

Jude is quiet for some time, and he blinks, glancing back at her. She has one of those infuriating expressions on, the ones he can’t read. “You knew,” she says finally. “You watched it happen.”

“I did.”

“You were very cruel for not helping.”

“I was.”

They don’t say anything after that, just swaying along with the music. Her skirts brush against his legs, but he always manages to move away before he can step on the expensive fabric of her dress and cause them both to tumble. He continues through his memories.

“For a while,” he starts up again, opting for a different memory than the bombardment of bad memories that arise in his head. Of all the times he watched and did not help. “For a while, I wondered why you and Taryn would hide under the tables.”

He feels Jude stiffen under his touch. She stops moving, frowning up at him. “What?”

“The tables,” he says. “You hid under them. For several hours sometimes. It was intriguing. I wondered why you did that. Why you chose to be away from the festivities and simply talk under the tables. What could be so important?”

He shrugs and gently steers her away from a group of kids dancing so she doesn’t fall against them. She’s staring up at him with her mouth slightly ajar.

“But I know now that with all the people messing with you, it was the only safe place. I just found it interesting. You’d be there one moment and then gone the next. Several times, I thought you managed to find a way out of the party without alarming your father, but it wasn’t until later that I saw you and Taryn crawl out from under a table that I realized it.” He smiles. “Sometimes I grew jealous. I too would have liked to be under the tables with a friend, hidden from everyone’s eyes. Once, I thought about joining you and your sister under. But by then, you weren’t particularly fond of me and I’d already made up my mind about hating you.”

He takes a breath. “You were such a strange child. Now you’re an even stranger woman. Only I’ve become used to it now, I suppose.”

Jude bites down on her lower lip. She swallows. “Is that why you joined me under the table that night?”

“You punched me and made me double over. I did not have a choice. I do not think I could have walked even if I wanted to after that.”

“You know what I mean.”

His eyes refocus. “I think so. I am not sure. I was very drunk. When it all started happening, it became unbearably loud in the hall.  People running, children crying.” He winces and lowers his voice. To avoid other listeners, he pulls her closer and bucks his head, his cheek against her hair and mouth against her beautifully round ear to ensure she’s the only one hearing him speak. She shivers but lets him. “I saw the guards by the entrances. I saw your sister. I saw Madoc and Oak and Oriana, but I did not see you.”

Realization strikes her features. “You knew it would be me under the table when you lifted the cloth.”

Cardan laughs though he doesn't find anything funny about the bitter memory. “It took a few tries to find the correct table, my dear, but yes. If anyone was under those tables, it would be you.”

She looks up at him with that expression again, the one he cannot read. “You said…” she struggles to speak as if trying to recall that night. Her eyes briefly flutter shut and then reopen. “You said that it wasn’t safe for me.”

“It was not.”

“What were you going to do? Once you found me? It wasn’t safe, but what else? What else could you do? Do you recall?”

“No,” he replies truthfully. “I don’t remember much from that night.” There’s a reason why they do not talk about it often. “But I do remember feeling glad that I got to be under that table. Even if it were my last few minutes alive. And even if you physically made me incapable of walking.”

Jude is quiet after that. Her legs move mechanically as he sways them closer to the dais. The dancers have made another path for them and while she’s lost in her thoughts, she’s more pliable. He moves her closer without having to argue with her, and finally when they stop in front of the sais, the music pauses, allowing dancers to take a break before the next dance begins. He drops his hands.

“Revels,” he says quietly, “have not treated you well. I see that. Perhaps as Queen, you will not feel the need to hide under tables or away from your people. They are, after all, here for you.”

She blinks up at him. “It’s been hard,” she says, gathering her dress to make it easier to walk back up the stairs to their seats.

“That is why I urge you to take after me and have some drinks.”

He’s relieved to see the corner of her mouth raise slightly as she nods. He takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, dotting light kisses to her knuckles. In response, she gently holds his crown so it does not fall. Then, he clasps her hand and helps her up the stairs and into her seat.

When they sit down on opposite chairs, he glances over at her. She looks more relaxed, though still in her thoughts. Feeling his eyes on her, she looks back at him. Stares for many seconds and then says almost inaudibly, “We don’t have to hide under tables anymore.”

“No, dearest,” Cardan replies softly. “We do not.”

[havealotonmymind]

Fears

Summary: Drunk after another fresh victory, the party discusses their silliest fears with one another. When Astarion chooses to abstain, Leviathala (OC) grows ever curious as to why.

Rating: T

Category: Astarion/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Gale & Karlach & Lae'zel & Shadowheart & Tav & Wyll (Friendship)

Additional Tags:

Party Banter, Alcohol, Developing Friendships, Astarion Being Astarion, Developing Relationship, Blood Drinking, Sexual Tension, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Feelings Realization, Asexuality Spectrum, Named Tav, Tiefling Tav, Fighter Tav

Also available on AO3!

This was partially inspired by that moment in Act 3 when you try to send Astarion up to the circus stage and he gets upset. I just thought it was funny and it led me to wonder what other silly things the main companions might be scared of. Or at least intensely dislike.

Then it devolved (or evolved depending on how you look at it) into Astarion/Lev shenanigans lol. I think of this as a prelude to the first night they spent in the woods ;)

“Needles,” Gale said after taking a long swig of wine. “I don’t like needles. They make me feel, er…well, squeamish gives the impression of a worm. Uncomfortable, I suppose.”

Wyll couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve faced down an entire goblin army with all manner of blades pointed at you. I’m surprised you’d shy away from the mere prick of a needle.”

Settling by the campfire after dinner had become their party’s unspoken tradition for the past tenday or so. Those first few distant nights had been tough. After all, how could anyone find pleasure in leisure with a mindflayer tadpole swimming around their brain?

When it was clear that they wouldn’t transform into monsters right away, however, that nervous energy died down, instead replaced by the kind of camaraderie brought on by good spirits and fine stories. Tonight, after many cups of wine and ale passed around, their group dared each other to reveal the silliest fears they had.

Gale frowned. “All right, well, what’s your silliest fear then? I’m sure everyone along the Sword Coast would want to know what could possibly terrify the famed Blade of Frontiers.”

“I’m sure there are some people who would like to know. Enemies, mostly, though I suppose I can make an exception for close friends.” Wyll poured himself another glass of ale. “I was raised to always be vigilant. A Duke’s son is susceptible to plenty of kidnapping and assassination attempts, after all. I became quite good at spotting would-be attackers hidden in crowds or up in rafters. Adroit as some of them thought they were, one good arrow to the chest stopped them cold.”

“I hesitate to ask, but how many such attempts have you or your father endured? It sounds awful,” Leviathala piped up. Her navy blue tail swished lazily back and forth in the dirt behind her.

“I’ve dealt with a fair handful before I became the Blade. I imagine my father faced even more so, given his travels. He used to tell me stories about roaming gangs of petty bandits he felled while on the Risen Road.”

“He may have embellished those a tad,” Shadowheart said. “Just to make sure he didn’t scare you.”

“Perhaps,” Wyll relented. “But it wasn’t the stories of bandits or monsters that scared me. As a child, I knew that there were always things I couldn’t control. Sometimes, whenever my father went off on some diplomatic trip, I worried that his caravan might overturn and tumble down a steep cliff or a bad storm would tip his ships. Bandits and monsters I believed wholeheartedly he could best, but a spot of bad luck? How could you fight against fate?”

“That’s hardly silly,” Karlach pointed out, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I think every kid worries about their parents to some degree. Surely you’ve something a little sillier than that.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s the best I have as far as silly fears go.”

“Man, your definition of silly needs some work,” Karlach said. “How are we supposed to laugh at that?”

“I thought the point of telling you all this was not to laugh.”

“I meant on the inside. I can stick to a promise no matter how drunk I get.”

“Well, what silly thing are you afraid of, then?” Wyll asked with an amused smile. Despite his heroic mien, he did have a bit of a mischievous streak to him.

Karlach rolled her shoulders and assumed a faux boxing stance. “Right, rough and tumble kid from the Lower City. You’d think I’d be pretty fearless, right? I thought so, too. Thought there was nothing I couldn’t beat down. Petty bullies, underbelly criminals, hell, even monsters.”

“You are much the same now,” Lae’zel pointed out.

“Yeah, but back then, I was afraid of something pretty silly in hindsight.” Her bravado dimmed just a tad. “I guess it’s kinda like Wyll’s fear, in a way. I was scared of thunderstorms. The really big ones with winds that felt like they could rip the roof right off your house. Thought they would just up and whisk me away from home.”

A far-off look passed over her face. Who knew that would come true in one way or another for her? Leviathala passed her the bottle of red wine they’d all been sharing for the past half hour without a word.

Karlach took a few long sips. “I stopped being scared of that a long time ago, though. I mean, thunder’s just all noise, right? No offense to the weather, but it’s gonna have to try a little harder to take me away from all this now. I really like all of you, you know?”

“Chk!” Lae’zel turned her nose up at the campfire. “I knew the beings on this Plane were weak, but I did not expect them to be this soft-hearted. I expect none of you would last more than a day in crèche K'liir.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Oh, and are you going to say you fear nothing?”

“A githyanki who would give in to fear is not worthy of serving Vlaakith.”

“What about when you were a child?” Gale asked before the two could break into another petty fight. “Surely even then, you must have had some irrational fear of the dark or monsters.”

At least Lae’zel seemed to ponder the question this time. “Githyanki do not tolerate any expressions of weakness. Like any young gith in-training, I wanted to prove myself above fear. But there was one creature on this Plane that I feared beyond all reason. Its body is pure muscle, strong enough to crush its prey if you were unlucky enough to find yourself in its grasp. Even a drop of its venom is said to paralyze you so you could do nothing but watch yourself be eaten. And yet, for all its prowess, it deigns to slither unassumingly along the ground.” She scowled as though the description alone was enough to make her sick. “For a creature to crawl so low and to strike so quickly…it disgusts me to this day.”

“Wait, so what were you scared of? Worms?” Karlach asked.

Leviathala snorted. “Snakes, I believe.”

“Funny, considering you look like one,” Shadowheart sniped.

Lae’zel’s eyes flashed with rage. “I suppose you are lucky I choose not to strike you down, then.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for staying your hand, gith?”

“I expect istik to be worms beneath my boot. And my time here has only proven me right.”

“Hang on, we all haven’t shared yet. You might find something worthy of fearing among us yet,” Wyll piped up from over his cup of ale. Ever the mediator. He nodded at Shadowheart. “And you, Shadowheart? Any silly fears we ought to know about?”

Her face fell. “I can’t remember.”

When everyone started to groan, she added, “It’s true! Perhaps there was something long ago I feared that’s just out of reach. Maybe if I faced it again, I would no longer be afraid of it.”

Leviathala threw her a look. Fearing wolves might not be deemed entirely silly, but it was something to tell the group at least. Especially when they were still camping out in the wilds.

Still, Shadowheart had divulged that information to her in confidence. No need to push the matter if she didn’t trust it to the others quite yet.

“Astarion, are you planning on joining us?” Gale called out over his shoulder. No manner of coaxing had successfully drawn him to their fire. Not yet, at least. It was still a courtesy they extended to him regardless.

Once everyone glanced back at his tent, Astarion’s mouth curled into a sneer. “And wantonly reveal my weaknesses just like that? No, thank you.”

“All right, killjoy.” Karlach passed the bottle back to Leviathala. “Go on then, Lev. What about you?”

Leviathala slung the bottle to her lips. “All your fears have been rather sensible so far,” she said. “But you might laugh at mine.”

“Aw, come on, we swore not to at the start of all this, didn’t we?”

“That we did, but Wyll still laughed at my discomfort with needles,” Gale said.

Wyll looked affronted. “I wasn’t prepared for it. But I do apologize. It wasn’t fair of me.”

Gale smiled and he bowed his head. “Apology accepted. I appreciate your candor, your grace.”

“All right, no need for grand titles,” Wyll grumbled, brushing him off. He gestured at Leviathala to continue. “Go on. Before anyone else starts calling me Lord or some other ridiculous thing.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” Leviathala made a show of bowing theatrically low and the others snickered.

“Walked into that one…” He knocked back the rest of his ale in a few gulps.

“Leviathala.” Her name rolled slowly over her tongue. “Named after a deadly creature known as the leviathan.”

“A rather fitting name for one as vicious as yourself.” From anyone but Lae’zel, it would have sounded like a sarcastic jab.

Lev tried not to preen at the compliment. “I must have been, oh, four or five when I asked my parents what my name meant. They handed me some monster guide or other. I don’t remember. All I do remember is trying to find the creature I was named after. When I saw it was a many-tentacled sea beast as big as the Gate itself, I think I started crying. I couldn’t help but imagine the leviathan learning of me somehow and hunting me down for stealing its name. I refused to go near any banks of water for weeks. Even now, getting on boats makes me queasy.”

A sharp burst of laughter behind her almost made her jump. Leviathala turned, stunned to find Astarion doubled over with a genuine smile on his face.

“Being afraid of your namesake is such delicious irony,” he said. “I imagine your parents must have been devastated when they found out.”

Karlach frowned at him. “Hey, we all promised not to laugh! Don’t be rude.”

“I promised no such thing. And besides, you can’t fault me for finding that funny.”

“Her parents are gonna be sad to hear that, y’know.”

“No, no, they found it as funny as Astarion did,” Lev said as she waved them off. “Which is why I rarely ever tell people unless you manage to get me drunk.”

Karlach glanced between him and Leviathala for a moment then gave an unsubtle grin. “Hey, Astarion, I have a question for you.”

“If it’s some roundabout way of asking me what ridiculous thing I fear, I’ll have to abstain.”

“Nah, nah, nothing like that.” She gestured at Lev. “You’ve been feeding on Lev’s blood for the past…I don’t know how long before I got here. If you drank her blood now, would you get drunk, too?”

Both Shadowheart and Gale, absolutely blasted off their minds on wine, failed to hide their laughter.

“That’s…a rather interesting question, actually. I suppose we’ll have to see tonight, won’t we?” Astarion flashed them all a toothy smile that showed off his fangs.

“Karlach, I’m not letting him drink my blood right now,” Lev said.

“Aw, come on! I wanna know!” She tipped violently as she made another grab for the bottle Lev still hoarded.

Leviathala kept it out of reach with a smile. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Karlach managed to right herself again. “No, ‘m fine! ‘s all fine. Just a bit…dizzy.”

A quick glance around revealed pretty much everyone was veering on positively drunk. It was harder to tell with Lae’zel’s stoic stance, but even from this distance, Lev could see the flush in her cheeks.

She pushed the cork back over the bottle of wine. “All right, that’s enough for one night. We still have more adventuring to do tomorrow. I’d rather we all not venture forth with hangovers.”

“Aw, come on!” Karlach whined. “I could do with a nightcap.”

“Drink some water, Karlach. I mean it.”

Karlach threw her hands in the air but headed off to her tent regardless. “Gods, okay, mum.”

“Don’t make me ground you, young lady,” Lev teased.

Their little group dispersed off to their own tents, some wobbling more than others. Leviathala’s gaze roamed over their camp, finally settling on Astarion’s tent. He still stood off to the side, eyes locked on yet another novel she picked up from the goblin camp. She recognized the cover: a faded copy of Journey of the Jungle with an equally dusty book ribbon.

Leviathala tried not to smile. Her tent was filling up with tiny stacks of books she’d taken from all the places they’d been. That particular copy of Journey of the Jungle had been at the top of her Finished pile. She had meant to put those all away in the Traveler’s Chest or sell them once she had the chance. Glad to see this book got at least one more use before then.

She drifted to him, trying not to trip over her own feet on the way there.

“I’m not apologizing, you know,” he said without even looking up.

She frowned. “For what?”

“Laughing at you.”

At this, she couldn’t help but scoff. “I’m not that fragile. Laugh away. I’ll find out what your silliest fear is yet. Mark my words.”

“Is that why you’re here?” The question was brusque, but not altogether unwelcoming of her presence. 

“I’m not prying it out of you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Then go bother someone else. You’re in my light.” His eyes flickered up to her. “Unless you want me to test out what Karlach asked.”

“I am a bit curious, I won’t lie,” she said. “But I’ll try to drink a lot more water before I sleep tonight. Hopefully flush the alcohol out a bit.”

“My dear, you act as though I’m a lightweight. I can handle myself, don’t you worry.”

Leviathala hid a laugh behind her hand. “I won’t forget when you came back to camp drunk from bear blood. I don’t think the bear was indulging in spirits that night.”

He allowed himself the barest smile in return. “I’ve never had the blood of a creature that large before. It was quite the experience. Though, not as heady a tonic as your delicious blood, darling.”

“Spare me the flattery. I’m not sober enough to appreciate it.”

Astarion’s smile grew just a little wider. “Oh? I seem to recall you telling me to curb the compliments. Who knew you were hiding how you truly felt?”

“It’s not as if you mean most of them, anyway.” This was not a jab, but rather spoken as fact. As blue as the sky and as dark as the night, Astarion was a liar through and through. “But you make me laugh and that’s enough. I think anything concerning my blood is the only honest compliment you’ve given me.”

He smirked. “Hard to lie about the very source of life sustaining me.”

“Surely the animals you feed on are more filling. My blood can’t be more than a sip in comparison to the gallons at your disposal.”

“Are you telling me to stop drinking your blood?” Astarion asked, pouting. “I have grown rather fond of the taste, you know.”

“And how does it taste to you?” Leviathala leaned in just a little closer than she normally would. “I am morbidly curious. Is it sweet? Tart? Do different blood types have different tastes, I wonder?”

He laughed again, a high, breathy sound that made her feel warm. “Gods, you are a chatty drunk.”

“Is that bad?”

That stubbornly still-sober part that navigated her inhibitions and insecurities tutted at her. Yes, of course that’s bad. Stay quiet. Stay vigilant.

The alcohol dulled that nagging voice, and for once, she saw fit to ignore it.

Astarion shut the book and tossed it inside his tent. “Not necessarily. You’re a rather fun person when you aren’t snapping at me or being sickeningly helpful.”

“I consider this nightly ritual of ours a good deed in its own way. What’s a pint of blood when it lets you down our enemies in a single strike?” she said breezily.

“Careful, darling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think that was a compliment.”

Lev smiled despite herself. “Then I had better sober up fast. I wouldn’t want the alcohol to reflect on your performance tomorrow.”

“Oh please. The miniscule amount of alcohol seeped into your blood isn’t going to have any effect on me whatsoever.”

“Care to test that theory?”

After nights of sleeping through his late-night feeding, Lev hadn’t noticed any lingering pain or marks left behind. Just a general wooziness that went away as soon as she cast Lesser Restoration on herself. Surely he’d figured out some gentler bloodletting method that wouldn’t hurt as much as that first night.

“What, now?” he asked incredulously. “You wouldn’t rather wait until you were asleep first?”

She plopped onto the plush stool right by his mirror. “If I fell asleep now, I wouldn’t get to see how the alcohol affects you, if at all. Besides, I’m drunk. I don’t know if I’d feel your bite.”

“Really? Been bitten enough to tell the difference?” he teased.

“I trust you not to hurt me.”

At this, Astarion faltered. A bold claim indeed.

Leviathala tilted her head, baring her neck expectantly. “Well, go on then.”

This was neither dare nor command. It was simply one last thing to check off her list for the day, as routine as changing into sleeping clothes or putting seed oil on her spire-like horns before bed.

“Very well. Since you’re so insistent about it, how could I say no?”

His hands fell heavily on her shoulders to secure her in place. He was a lot stronger than she thought. Lev dipped her head, suddenly shy despite her earlier openness.

“You need to look up, darling,” he said with a faint smile like he could guess at her thoughts. “I can’t get a good bite in with your chin tucked like that.”

Leviathala took a deep breath and offered her neck to him once more. She fixed her gaze on the campfire, watching as the flames darted this way and that. A shoddy distraction. She could still spot Astarion closing in out of the corner of her eye.

His breath was like a chilly night breeze, welcome in the humidity of the oncoming summer nights. She squeezed her eyes shut the moment that he bit down. The alcohol did little to dull the numbing pain coursing through her. It wasn’t unpleasant, but that didn’t stop her from wincing anyway.

Her nails dug into the wood of the stool, more a reflex than any expression of pain, but she didn’t stop him. For all his playful lies and half-truths, she knew she could trust his restraint.

His slim fingers slid up the back of her neck to tangle in the soft wisps of her hair. Oddly enough, it almost felt…nice. Gentle. Gods, she must have been drunker than she thought.

Leviathala grunted in surprise when he wrapped an arm around her back, tugging her forth. The motion made her arch into him and she tried not to squirm. He hadn’t done this the very first night he bit her. There was a new hunger here.

Her breath caught when his lips trailed after a stray drop of blood. Feather-light and barely there, an unwitting kiss to her collarbone to collect it at last. As Astarion traced his way back slowly, so enticingly slow, up her neck once more, Leviathala had to bite back a gasp. Every nerve was alight, her chest tight, breath quickening to compensate.

And just like that, he broke away with a satisfied sigh. The warmth of it, made only so by her blood, was an odd contrast to his cold, firm hands still set on her trembling shoulders.

His eyes shone brighter, almost glowing even in the dim firelight. “Mm…It does taste different. Sweeter. Although I don’t suppose you’d indulge in spirits every night just to satisfy me.”

Her mind was still a riot of lingering sensations. She could think of nothing witty to say. Or indeed, anything at all after that.

Instead, she dug her nails deeper into the stool, trying to reaffirm that this was real and she was as solid as anything else around her. To say that hadn’t thrilled her would be a lie, but it also overwhelmed her more than she was prepared for.

Leviathala fixated on a dark mark on his pale skin. There, that errant drop along the edge of his lips. The traitorous stray that caused this havoc in her mind.

She swallowed hard and said, “You’ve got some on your mouth still.”

The slow flick of his tongue along his lips gave her pause. This close, it was easy to study every detail of his pretty face. The thick lashes, dark eyes half-lidded and burning into her, sharp, clean jaw…

Leviathala’s eyes fell to his soft, bloody lips. Her blood. She would only have to tilt her head up just so and…

“Gone?” Astarion asked, sounding breathless. Ravenous. He wanted more.

Was that why he hadn’t moved away yet?

Gods, he was making it so hard to think.

“N-No, it’s…Here, I’ll get it.” Leviathala reached out to absently swipe at the corner of his mouth with her sleeve. She had to scrub the reminder from existence.

Quicker than she could react, he had a firm grip on her wrist. “Don’t touch me.”

A hint of rage and something else flashed in his eyes. Fear, she realized.

So many things clicked into place in that instant. His casual cruelties, why he always opted out of any group activities at camp…

Touch was a very loaded sense. Most times, Leviathala thought she might crave it. For someone to hug her when she was lonely or to physically reach out as a show of support. Whenever anyone did, however, some deep, primordial part of her recoiled. It was so strange to crave something so commonplace and yet loathe its very presence.

She was trying her hardest to get over it. She would hug her friends, her family. Even then, that stiffness never left her. Somewhere inside her, she feared she would never overcome that.

And now she saw that same revulsion echoed in Astarion. Funny how such a kinship could finally put her unquiet mind at ease.

Her hand went limp immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Not thinking. Yes, I know. Clearly.” He let her go with a disgusted sigh.

Lev opened her mouth to apologize again then faltered. It would only anger him more, she was sure. 

“You don’t feel anything, then?” she asked instead.

His gaze turned sharp. “What?”

“My blood. The alcohol. Nothing?”

At this, he visibly relaxed. “O-Oh, right. No. Nothing.”

“Shame. It would’ve been funny to see you tipsy again.” Lev leaned back with a sigh. Parts of her felt like they were floating away. Maybe it wasn’t such a good decision to drink herself silly and let a vampire drain her on the very same night.

“And while it is very entertaining to see you tipsy, I was almost finished reading that dreadful novel,” he said as he stooped down to retrieve it. “So do take care to pass out somewhere else for the night.”

Leviathala made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Fine, I’ll get out of your hair. You’re welcome for the blood, by the way.”

“Oh, um…thank you,” he said haltingly. “I do mean that, you know.”

“I do know.” The rest of the tension in her shoulders crumbled away at last. Those rare moments he showed humility were endearing.

As she began to head off to her tent, a sudden thought occurred to her. Perhaps it was stupid to worry over a simple misunderstanding, but it was better to be clear than let any discomfort linger.

“I won’t touch you without your permission again.”

She said it aloud without turning to look back at him. His silence needled into her spine, twisting as painfully as any dagger would. She clasped her hands behind her back to give an air of casual indifference. Her tail swinging nervously to and fro still gave it all away.

“Funny, I seem to recall you being cursed to put your hands on everything.”

A cracked note of amusement forced itself through. His own strained attempt at brushing the matter over.

She smirked. “I’m being serious. Don’t tease me.”

“If only you weren’t so fun to tease.”

Leviathala chuckled as she absently rubbed the sore spot on her neck. There wasn’t a speck of blood when she drew it back. Impressive. Maybe vampires had coagulant in their saliva. Or Astarion was just very careful.

It dawned on her that perhaps he had already worked out the cleanest way to feed from her these past few nights. Another part of her wondered how gently his lips might stray over her entire body should she allow it.

She shook her head. Best not to pick at that loose thread yet.

“Clowns.”

Leviathala glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry?”

He kept his eyes fixed pointedly away. “My silliest fear. I’ve never been very fond of…clowns.”

Even as out of it as she was, she could tell this had taken a great deal of internal debate to admit. It was a surprise he’d even tell her at all.

The growing silence made him shift on his feet. “Don’t tell the others.”

“I won’t. I promise.” The answer was immediate. Instinctive. Astarion’s trust was a fragile thing. She would not tarnish it by spilling a fragment of a secret, no matter how silly it was. She spread her arms out wide. “Although it’s very possible I’ll simply forget it in the morning. Who knows?”

Astarion smiled. “Oh, I count on it. Why else would I admit my darkest secrets to a drunkard?”

“Come now, I don’t drink very often. This is a fluke.”

“What a shame. I rather like this more open side of you. You’re very cheeky without it being grating.”

A warm swell of pride filled her whole being. “I’ll try to be more open when I’m sober then.”

He snorted. “Sure. I’ll look forward to that.”

“Good night, Astarion.”

“Do try not to dream of krakens tonight.”

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll trust you won’t dream of circuses, then.”

“It’s far too late for that. I’m already traveling with one.”

“Says the main clown.”

Their laughter mingled in the air between them. It helped to bridge the gap like an outstretched hand. A silent offer of true companionship laid hidden in his sharp-toothed grin.

Lev clasped her hands behind her back, her tail swishing happily behind her. “Good night.”

“Good night, darling.”

She shuffled back with a dopey smile stretched across her face before turning away again.

If she was more sober, she might have dodged the warm thoughts swirling around her mind. As it was, indulging in them now didn’t seem so bad.

There was no denying that Astarion was handsome. Beautiful, a bolder part of her insisted. He made her laugh. He paid attention to what she said, remembered small details she mentioned only in passing. And the way he stared at her…

Well, it was enough for any tipsy heart to hope. To feel safe enough to fall for him.

It was the alcohol and blood loss talking, she was sure. All this would disappear in the morning. Leviathala fell against her bedroll with a content sigh and drifted off almost immediately.

It was a horrifying thing to open her eyes and realize that every single floaty, drunken thought still rang true in the morning. The moment she met Astarion’s eyes across the campfire, he smiled knowingly, letting his gaze linger just a little longer than normal.

Did he know? Had he known all along?

Leviathala averted her gaze, face burning and absolutely mortified.

Shit.