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shenanigans-and-imagines · 8 months

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I Want It All: Part 1

Part 2, Part 3; AO3 Link

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Flirting, Light Angst, Longing

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It's easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can't pretend anymore?

A/N: This turned into a monstrosity. For my own sanity I need to break it up into three parts. I also apologize in advanced, the stuff in the preview won’t pop up until part 2. And please, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 4.8K

The day really couldn’t decide whether it was going to be terrible or tolerable.

On the one hand, it had been pouring rain for hours, leaving you and your party drenched as you searched for some place dry to sleep. On the other hand, you were able to find an inn with more than enough rooms to accommodate all of you. On the other, other hand, rooms cost money, something that was in short supply.

“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile.

Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”

All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”

Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features.

“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”

A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.”

You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.”

“Teasing minx.”

“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained.

You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal?

It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious.

“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.”

Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile.

A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”

“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”

The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”

Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”

She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”

“Guilty.”

“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”

You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.”

Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do. Thirty minute set. You eat after.”

She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain.

It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining.

“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you.

“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.”

“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered.

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach.

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you.

Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him. You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more.

It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least.

Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you.

A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight.

With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room.

You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed.

As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience.

Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring.

Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.

Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room.

Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter.

Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared.

You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest.

He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink.

You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it.

A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song.

You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony.

You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.

Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended.

You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace. By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this.

As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin.

“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”

“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”

“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”

You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.”

The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”

The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”

He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips.

You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least.

“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”

You snorted out a laugh.

“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”

You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.”

He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.”

You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning.

He raised a tankard to you in toast.

You met the gesture in acknowledgment.

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted.

You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun.

“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.”

You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same.

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”

You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.

He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”

Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.”

It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life.

You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds. ��

“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed.

You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.

“I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended.

Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.”

“Says you.”

“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”

“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”

“Oh yes, that’s much better.”

You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away.

Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be.

“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned.

Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.”

Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.”

You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were.

“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”

You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.”

You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay.

“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”

She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it.

“What is this?”

“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”

You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces.

With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings.

It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.

Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes.

It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.

The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest.

You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right.

Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond.

“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands.

The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”

Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”

She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”

You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions.

Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin.

You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons.

The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.

The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence.

You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries.

The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been.

You took another step.

The stones followed.

Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling.

A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench.

As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor.

The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music.

You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp.

You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music.

Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller.

No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream.

You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.

Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again.

You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes.

Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself.

An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else. Even the music had gone dead.

For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark.

A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin. No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.

The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe.

A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air.

You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles.

The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence.

With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own.

You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism.

The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.

He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle.

After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.

The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light.

The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you.

You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you. He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure.

His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.

He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin.

You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago. Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression.

They’d seen it. All of it.

Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think.

Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood.

You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye.

“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said.

To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head.

“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party.

There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction.

Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale.

“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy.

“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently.

“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added.

Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything.

“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.

“What?” she snapped.

Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

“That was…me?”

You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.

In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible.

“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.”

You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you.

Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity.

The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing?

You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be.

Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet.

As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you.

You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.

With a steeling breath, you walked out the door. You could only hope Astarion wouldn’t hate you when it was all over.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #bard!reader #asexual!reader #asexual #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

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winterrrnight · 2 months

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writing more on this at 12.42 am at night cause I am really in my feels and I need this so bad… <3 listen to redbone by childish gambino at 3.47, trust me <3 cw: smoking weed, suggestive content (no actual smut, just a lot of intimacy), intentional use of lower case <3 for @congratsloserr <3 (ily bb 🌷) <3 pictures are just for reference and to help you imagine what I have in mind!

part of this little universe <3

you don’t remember how it happened.

your best friend rafe came over like all the other times he comes over at your place. you sit next to each other in your bed as you play music, just like all the other times. you both share a joint, just like all the other times.

but this time, there’s something different in the air. maybe it’s the new cologne he’s started wearing which is taking a toll over your brain, or maybe it’s the white t-shirt showing off his formed biceps, or maybe it’s the dim, pink lighting of the led lights you just installed; but whatever it is, here you are, sitting in his lap with your legs on either side of his waist, your face nuzzled in his neck, and the sensual instrumentals of redbone are filling the background.

if anything, it’s only elevating the moment more and more. the joint hangs limply in between rafe’s lips as his head remains tilted to the other side, his eyes closed as your lips press soft, saccharine kisses to his heated skin, your hands holding his face. his eyes remain closed, the current moment heightened not only from your deeply intimate touch, but from the thc hazing his and your mind.

his hands remain firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your t-shirt up just a bit so he can feel that soft skin under his touch. deep exhales leave his nose, the pungent, skunky odor of weed surrounding you both in its cloud as you remain wrapped up in the moment.

his fingers press into your skin and a sigh escapes him as he feels your lips slowly travel to his throat, his head leaning back against the headboard to grant you as much skin as he can. your lips trail up and up, finding his chiseled jawline as you press kisses along the strong bone, making your way up to his cheek, and then finally his lips.

you hover over his lips for a second, gently tracing his bottom lip with your thumb and he looks at you through his lashes, your gentle touch being just about the best thing at the moment as the thc creeps more and more into his brain.

you slot the joint in his lips between your index and middle finger and slowly slide it out of his mouth, before letting your own lips wrap around the end. you take a deep, long drag and flutter your eyes shut as you throw your head back, letting the smoke roll off your lips.

rafe watches you, so entranced by every movement of yours, and the melody of redbone only makes him crave more and more. you bring your head back to his level, meeting your own dreamy gaze with his as you pull the joint out of your mouth, and lean in closer to him.

there is merely a few inches of distance between you two, and he knows he can’t control himself anymore; causing him to push his lips against yours. you adjust yourself in his lap so you’re even closer to him, your fingers gently circling his shoulders through his t-shirt as your lips slowly move against his, the taste of the mint lip balm he always uses along with the weed spilling onto your own tongue, sending you in a high beyond euphoric than the one provided by a simple blunt.

— —

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my writing is really a social experiment lately as I’m trying out different things, so any sorts of feedback is really highly appreciated!! <3

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indigovigilance · 8 months

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A Nightingale Sang in 1941

This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.

I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:

A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,

A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)

A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)

I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.

At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.

So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.

If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.

Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”

The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”

Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.

When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.

I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.

In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.

Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.

Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.

Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.

Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.

For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.

Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.

Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).

You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).

Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.

Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.

“Where would I get my coffee?”

This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:

I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.

What does the Metatron do next?

He brings up Crowley.

Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.

So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.

We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.

If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.

We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.

If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!

When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.

Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.

After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.

“Come with me… to Heaven!”

“We can be together… as angels!”

Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.

Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.

The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is

“I need you!”

When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.

Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.

“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.

Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.

But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—

“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.

“No nightingales.”

Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.

This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.

But now the song is over.

By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.

Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.

The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.

During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.

If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.

If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.

He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.

He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.

But the Metatron is watching.

He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.

Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.

My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.

One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.

If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!

Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here

~~~

if you liked this, you may also like:

Book of Life and what it means for Crowley

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

Baraqiel and Azazel

~~~

Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:

making the subtext text by @theonevoice

Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks

Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se

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mostlikelyto-runaway · 2 years

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i like the basic things that everyone makes fun of. i like taking pictures of the sky. it’s so cool that we get to see the same sun set everyday but it looks different every time. i like when the leaves change and i like taking pictures of the trees in my backyard. every year, we get to see nature paint itself and i think it is so fascinating. i like drinking a pink drink from starbucks a few times a week. it tastes like summer and it gives me something to look forward to. i like buying candles in bulk and changing out the scents for each season. i get so excited when fall comes around and i get to bring out my pumpkin scented candles. life is so hard and everyday is so mundane but i like these things. they make it a little bit easier to get out of bed and i think that’s okay. and if the little things are what’s keeping you around, that’s okay too.

#me #writing #kind of?#i used to write so much and i just don’t really do that anymore :/#poetry #mine #i still write songs but i can’t play an instrument so it feels like a waste

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domxmarvel · 6 months

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Twisted wonderland-Card writing challenge

Masterlist

Riddle

“Don’t forget your sunscreen” Riddle quickly grabbed your arm,rubbing some in with a focused expression on his face.

“Riddle” He looked up at you “You’re here to relax,and not worry about every little thing. Come on,lay down and I’ll bring you something to drink” He did what you asked but not without wanting to retaliate.

“Then who’s going to make sure they-”

“Not you” You were expecting him to go back to making sure everyone was behaving the second you turned your back but surprisingly he was still in the same spot when you returned. You handed him the glas,the ice hitting the sides of glas. “Glad you didn’t run off to scold someone” He just reached out,took the glas and took a sip.

“You’re right I should try to relax”

“Good boy” His face turned as red as his hair “Once you’re done join me in the water”

“O-Okay”

Malleus

“Excuse me,may I have this dance?” You turned to the sound of the voice,only to see Malleus standing there with his hand outstretched. You took his hand.

“Of course you may” He kissed the back of your hand before pulling you close,putting his arm around your waist. Pulling you to the center of the room,everyone parted to let him through. He stopped only in the center of the room,you felt like everyone was staring at you and they probably were. “Everyone’s staring at us” You whispered,he pulled you closer.

“I can tell them to leave if you want”

“You would really do that?”

“Of course,I’d do anything for you”

“Don’t actually tell them to leave,it’s fine. I’m just not used to being stared at”

“Just focus on me,you won’t even know they’re here” He held you close as you danced around the room. Malleus was clearly enjoying this,the look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Lilia

“Y/N wanna join me for band practice?” Lilia asked,already dressed in a pop punk way you never thought you’d see.

“I didn’t even know you played an instrument” You were too stunned to even ask about the outfit too.

“I also sing,” He added,smiling like he wanted to talk about it more. You knew that Lilia was older than he looked and probably done more in his life then you could imagine but the thought of his playing an instrument or singing never crossed your mind.

“Why have you never told me about this,what do you sing?”

“I don’t sing a lot anymore. I used to sing lullabies for Silver and Malleus” You thought of Lilia holding Silver and singing to him,just the thought of it made your heart melt and without thinking you said.

“I’d love to hear one,if that’s okay”

“Sure” He sat down on your bed,patting his thighs “Come here,lay down” You laid down with your head on his thighs,just as he started singing his fingers made their way through your hair. You were barely a minute in as you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore,you quickly fell asleep.

Azul

“Why are you out here by yourself?” You turned to see Azul.

“Just needed some air,not the biggest fan of parties” He sat down next to you on the railing,his hand resting on your lower back.

“Careful,you wouldn't want to fall in” You moved closer to him,he tightened his grip on you.

“Then you better hold me tight and make sure that doesn’t happen”

“Don’t worry,I won’t let you fall”

“This is better than the party” He laughed,kissing your forehead.

“But it’s a bit cold. The dorm isn’t too far from here”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Jade

“What’s the point of that wrap your holding,shouldn’t it be on your arm or something?”

“Oh this?” He held it up “ I’ll show you,hold out your arms” You did and in a split second he had your hands tied,using the reminder or the wrap to pull you to him. Lifting your chin with his other hand. “I was hoping you’d ask” He pulled you even closer,so you were chest to chest with him. Your faces are only inches apart.

“Jade” He only responded with a ‘hmm’ making you even more flustered,but you couldn’t move back or look away because he was holding onto you tightly.

“Something wrong?” He teased,smirking as he moved even closer to you. Leaning in utility you could feel his lips touch yours but he didn’t kiss you,he was just hovering there for a bit before he finally kissed you.

He pulled away, licking his lips. He was still holding you,your hands still tied up.

“Could you untie me now?” The second you asked,his facial expression turned more mischievous and you knew you had messed up.

“I don’t think I will,I like you like this”

Floyd

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Floyd did usually stare but this time his gaze was filled with affection,rather than his usual curiosity.

“I just like looking at you” He moved closer to you,his knees still up and his hand still on his cheek.

“I like looking at you too” You both laughed before you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Surprisingly his cheeks reddened and his eyes darted away from you. You had never seen him flustered before,and he was really cute but you had a feeling it wouldn’t last long. And you were right,the moment you turned your head you felt him kiss you back. But when you looked back he was looking away from you.

Jack

“Good luck” You managed to give him a kiss before he ran off,and you quickly made your way back to your group of friends to cheer him on. You kept getting looks from a couple of the other Savanaclaw students,probably due to the face that you had Jack’s jacket draped over your shoulders. The stares were something you had to get used to pretty quickly,and you learned how to ignore them,but you could still feel them. Despite that you kept cheering for your boyfriend,and he finished first. All the Savanaclaw students cheered for him,he was smiling and laughing as he looked through the crowd stopping when your eyes met. That’s when you quickly made your way over to him and he ran up to hug you too. Picking you up and spinning you around before kissing you.

“You did so well”

“Well there was no way I could lose when my lucky charm is here”

Leona

“There you are,herbivore. You’ve certainly kept me waiting,now why don’t you come here” He patted his thigh,gesturing for you to come closer. The moment you were close enough he pulled you into his lap,he smirked as he leaned in. He kissed you,his arm wrapping around to pull you closer.

“Should we really be here?”

“In the palace?” He seemed genuinely confused

“No,the throne. I mean it belongs to your brother,should we really be doing this here?” He seemed disappointed at the mention of his brother,like he hated hearing you even bring him up. But behind that was sadness,sadness that you assumed that was because he felt insignificant compared to his brother and that he knew this throne would never belong to him. “Leona,” He sighed,not looking at you. It hurt and you realize that you messed up.

"You're right,we should leave”

“No”

“No what? You just-”

“We should stay” You kissed him before he could protest “Stay here” You pushed him until his back hit the chair.

“H-Herbivore” He could barely get any words out with you kissing him repeatedly. “Herbivore” He tried again “Herbivore” and again “Y/N” you finally stopped. “Calm down,it’s not like I’m going anywhere”

Vil

“Vil?”

“What,don’t tell me you didn’t recognize me” He smirked,showing off one of his fangs. His hair was slicked back, his costume was still purple but darker than usual the black lipstick,making him look intimidating.

“You look great” You attempted to deflect,but it didn’t work.

"Apparently so good you didn’t even recognize me” You attempted to change the subject.

“So a vampire huh. Is that your way of saying you’ll always be the fairest of them all”

“Do you suggest there’s someone else worthy of that title?”

“Not at all,my queen” He seemed satisfied with your answer “Or should it be,my vampire queen?”

“I’d rather hear something else”

“Like what?”

“Like the sound you make when I sink my fangs into you”

“Aren’t those fake?”

“Why don’t you feel them and find out?”

Rook

“Hello there trickster” The sound of Rook’s greeting made you look up,only to find him in a tree staring down at you.

“I’m scared to ask,but why are you in a tree?”

"Because I like looking at you from up here”

“Well,I’d prefer it if you’d join me down here” He jumped down,smiling at you.

“You’re right it’s better down here”

“I told you so,and because you’re here I can do this” He was about to ask but you interrupted him by grabbing his face and kissing him. He leaned in further,pushing you against the tree as he pushed himself closer to you. Refusing to let go of you,he pushed you further. One of his hands moving to your thighs. Finally you managed to pull away from him. “Rook,someone could see us out here”

“I know a place we could go,where we can be alone. A place where I can have you all to myself”

Idia

“You actually came,I’m really happy that you did”

“Of course,how could I possibly say no”

“Really easily” He mumbled,you moved closer to him.

“It wouldn't be easy for me”

“So I-I,do you wanna dance?” His face was red and the tips of his hair were turning pink.

“I’d love to” You felt his hands shaking on your back and in your own hand,you followed him and danced for a bit. Before you moved both his hands to your waist and yours to his shoulders. The blush on his face and the tips of his hair turning red,as you leaned closer to him. “You look beautiful in that suit”

“T-Thank you” Leaning in, you kissed his cheek. He really did look beautiful,his hair lighting the room along with the candles floating around the roof. There was something so special about being here,just the two of you. There was nothing more you wanted more right now than to kiss him,but you didn’t want to scare him off. Just leaning closer made him flustered,you couldn’t even imagine his reaction if you kissed him. “Y/N” His voice made you snap out of your thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?” Was he thinking the same thing you did?

“Of course,you can.” You stopped dancing and closed your eyes and waited. His lips were cold but you quickly got used to them,despite the cold they were soft against yours. He pulled away and you opened your eyes,his entire face was red now. “Do you wanna do that again?” He nodded. “of course I want to,as many times as you’d like”

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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Entanglement.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, unwanted kissing, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

“You’re still refusing to wear the clothes I gifted you, dearest?”

A dulcet voice smoother than the finest silk coos from behind.

You don’t deviate from your original task. Just outside the window, the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space looms. A mere panel of specialized glass is the only barrier between you and infinite nothingness. The concept used to frighten you, to a paralyzing extent. It got to the point your oh-so-benevolent captor had to make adjustments. Using some technology you’re unacquainted with, the dark canvas morphed into a familiar, more palpable set piece: the scenery of your home planet.

You’ve since overcome this hurdle and no longer require the mirage’s services.

Space isn’t what you fear anymore. No, it’s the woman with the future in her eyes who holds that distinction.

“It isn’t to my taste.”

“I know,” she agrees. Her perfume is near stupefying when it invades your senses. “It's to mine.”

Kafka is either aggravatingly unassuming or laser-sharp with her intentions. You’re never given time to adjust to her fickle ways, the second you think you might understand her, she reveals just enough that you’re right back where you started.

Gloved fingers hover over your wrist, causing your hair to stand on end. As if she’s playing a glissando on the piano, her fingers slowly creep up, from your forearm to your bare shoulder. Presently, you’re wearing one of the few garments you were allowed to bring. It’s a plain, white dress that she longs to stain with her own palette.

Her arms envelop your midsection from behind. She nuzzles her nose into your neck, swaying you back and forth while she hums a haunting ballad. Can she hear the skipping of your heart? Does she consider it just another instrument to compose her hedonistic harmonies?

“Are the stars truly that interesting?” she murmurs against your skin. “Surely, they aren’t prettier than I am, hm?”

“Maybe. At least they understand the concept of personal space.”

“Oh, I do as well. I just choose to ignore it when it comes to you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

You can feel her smile.

“You’d be lonely without me. Maddeningly so.”

“Insanity is tempting if you’re the alternative.”

She laughs, the sound low and husky, belying any offense taken, if you had the hubris to think anything you said could hurt her. Before you can register anything, she twirls you around. In this new, uncomfortable intimate position, you’re forced to look her in the eye. There’s no quality of hers that unsettles you more. They draw you in and devour you like a black hole, picking apart actions you haven’t even committed yet.

It reminds you, similar to the path she walks, that nothing you do will ever amount to any meaningful change in your circumstances.

Kafka settles her gloved pointer finger and thumb on your chin, tilting your head up. Whatever she’s thinking is as unknowable as the universe itself. Her fondness for you is an illness without a cure — even she must know how sick it is. Something tells you that if a remedy for it ever existed, she’d refuse to take it, and would instead crush the vial before your eyes.

“What a beauty you are,” she praises through lidded eyes. “There is no greater joy than knowing you feel every second we’re apart, just as I do.”

Irate, you try moving your head away, but this causes her grip to tighten. Never enough to hurt — it’s only meant to warn.

“I take it you don’t like the cosmetics I brought back, either?”

Kafka delights in asking questions she already knows the answers to. If she had anything resembling a hobby, you suppose that would be it.

The skin beneath her eyes crinkled with amusement at your abrupt vow of silence. You fight off a shiver at the look. It’s all-consuming, dangerous in a way that rouses your primal instincts. She leans down close enough that you can feel her breath fan against your face. Her head tilts in a deliberate show of faux curiosity.

“Is your tongue frozen? Should I think of a way to warm it up?”

The hand that isn’t holding your head in place toys with the strap of your dress.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You know when to surrender in a losing game.

“... No.”

“No?” She repeats, mimicking the inflection of your voice. “Ah, well, that’s a shame.”

You almost sigh in relief when her hand retreats. She reaches into a pocket on the inside of her coat and pulls out a tube of lipstick. She applies the roseate pigment, maintaining smoldering eye contact with you all the while.

After what feels like an eternity, she descends upon you, her lips seeking yours in a fit of scathing passion. You freeze up at the unexpected boldness. She takes advantage of your reverie, interlocking your lips in a languid motion. There’s no urgency to the kiss, she takes her time with you, just how she likes it.

Her hand presses against your back, urging your chest to arch into hers. It isn’t until her hand starts venturing down that you return to your senses. In a fit of panic, you raise your hands to push her away. The defiance gets you nowhere — she catches your wrists with ease and holds them in place.

Fortunately, she pulls back, although she doesn’t relinquish her grip.

“I knew this color would look good on you,” Kafka sighs, almost wistful. Then, she raises your wrist and presses a lingering kiss against your pulse point. It leaves a smudged lipstick stain behind. “That leaves the issue of the outfit. Hm, what to do, what to do…”

As if hit with an epiphany, her eyes light up in microscopic supernovas. “I know. If you need my help applying makeup, then why should getting dressed be any different? Why, you should’ve said so sooner.”

Indignant, you seethe, “That isn’t…! Fine, I’ll put it on myself. Just— just turn around, okay?”

“Of course. Anything for my sweet, shy girl.”

Surprisingly, Kafka acquiesces. She pivots on her heel and covers her eyes with her hands. A teasing gesture, if you had to guess.

Just when you believe you’re regained a semblance of control over the situation, she throws in a comment that snuffs out this fledgling hope.

“I’ll give you to the count of a ten before I come and help you myself.”

#just wanted to write a little something for my Woman #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

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charmerchannie · 3 months

Text

Tuesday: Christopher

Head is spinnin' masterlist

Bang Chan/Christopher x reader

Warnings: public naughtiness, fingering. This is not bang chan, this is Christopher

Intro: you often help the students at your art school by modeling for their projects. But your services aren't free. You always get something in return.

Christopher was a graduate student. He was a TA for one of your art history classes last year. You didn’t sleep with him at the time—you have some principles—but the two of you eye fucked each other all semester long. You hooked up a few times in the spring when he wasn’t in charge of your grades anymore, and twice over the summer, too. You aren't surprised to find him in the library on a Tuesday night. Well, it would be more accurate to say he finds you. He came looking for a book for his thesis when he saw you typing away on your laptop. There were rarely people in this section of the stacks because there weren’t many art majors who spent a whole lot of time in the library, and it was a pretty remote corner. Christopher continues on his way to find his book after he sees you, but he circles back around after, like it’s a coincidence.

“Hey, Y/n,” you hear muffled over the sound of the instrumental music coming from your ear buds. He’s standing in front of you, across the table, and your eyes follow all the way up from his broad hips over his toned chest (evident even through his shirt) up to his handsome face. You pull one earbud out.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” you smile.

"Did that kid Seungmin get in touch with you?" he asks, standing with the book he picked up in one hand and his other hand in his pocket.

"Yeah," you say with a laugh.

He catches the look in your eye when you think about Seungmin on your couch. "Oh, no, you didn't ruin him did you?" he asks, his head turning to the side.

"No! I didn't. We just...made out a little bit," you admit.

"Y/n!" he says loudly in mock indignation.

"Shh! Christopher!” you hiss, wanting him to not yell your name in the library. “It was just a little bit." You blush.

"You're such a whore for artists." He shakes his head at you.

“Oh, please. Centuries of male artists having their way with as many women as they wanted, but I’m not allowed to love men. To admire and appreciate their bodies?” you scoff, but your indignant expression evaporates as you give his own body a flirtatious once over.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You mind if I sit?"

"Sure,” you shrug.

There’s plenty of room at this table for both of you, but you’re surprised when, of the three empty chairs, he chooses to sit in the one to your left. You slide some of your stuff over a few inches to give him some space. He settles and opens his book like he’s going to read it, but he has no such intention. He pretends for long enough for you to go back to writing your paper. It takes you a minute to get your train of thought back and refocus on impressionism, but you get there.

After you’ve written a couple of sentences, you feel Christopher’s warm hand on your thigh just above your knee. You look down at it, his broad hand sitting in stark contrast to the thin black leggings you’re wearing under a red cotton dress. You’re not quite sure what you should do. Christopher likes to play. It’s like that game you used to play in high school where someone would put their hand on your thigh and slowly inched upward to test you until you said it was too much. That’s exactly what Christopher is doing now. He wants to see if you’ll tell him to stop and when. You should definitely tell him to stop, but you don’t want to. You want to see just how far he’ll take it. Is he bluffing? Would he really try to touch you in the library? Will you let him?

He hasn’t moved his hand yet, not up, down, or away. It’s just sitting there, and after looking at his thick fingers for a second, you look back up at your computer screen without looking in his direction, playing along with his little sexual game of chicken. You hear him huff a laugh through the smile that must be plastered across his face, and now you’re pretending to read, too. He slides his hand a couple of inches up your leg, and your eyes involuntarily flick downward before coming up again without acknowledging him in any other way, but you know he’s looking at your face. Since he hasn’t been able to get to you yet, he continues his journey toward the top of your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up. He’s moving very slowly and gives your flesh a squeeze when he reaches your thickest part. His strong fingers knead into you, causing your heat to clench around nothing.

You clear your throat and look at him finally. “Can I help you?” you snark.

“I’m just wondering if I can help you,” he responds.

“How would you help me?” You’re dying to know.

“Well, you said you and Seungmin only made out last night. Knowing you, I’d guess that got you all high and tense. I bet you could use a little release.” His eyes have grown dark, and his fingers have slipped from your inner thigh to your core, giving you just enough pressure to let you know he’s there.

“What makes you think I can’t take care of myself?” you smirk.

He shrugs. “I was just checking,” he says, pulling his hand away.

You grab his wrist and look him in the eyes. “Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish, Bang.”

His eyebrow twitches as his smile grows. He leans closer to you and returns his hand to cup your mound. “Get back to work,” Christopher says, jerking his chin toward your laptop. You twist your face up in a smile as you turn your face forward again, returning your hands to a typing position. He places his fingers flat over your covered opening, having to make some space for his hand between your closed thighs. You hear him gasp quietly when he bends his middle finger to graze your slit. “You aren’t wearing underwear, are you?” he asks in a quiet, sultry voice.

You giggle. “Nope.” You desperately need to do laundry, but you’ve been too lazy and not had the time.

“You slut,” he teases.

You turn to him seriously. “Don’t call me a slut.”

“Oh, honey. I love it,” he assures you, but you’re not kidding. You can’t stand that word. You stare him down. “Fine, got it. You are a very naughty girl, though. Coming to the library with no panties,” he tisks. “It’s like you wanted me to touch you.”

You turn back to your screen, as if you’re no longer interested in the firm strokes he’s giving you, but you’re not telling him to stop, and you both know you don’t want him to. He can feel your heat and as he works over you, he can feel your slick leaking out to wet your crotch.

“Oh, honey. I am going to ruin these leggings,” Chris mutters. You say nothing as he rubs circles around your most sensitive part. You’d been doing a pretty good job acting unbothered up until that point, swallowing down your moans, but now your hips jump in your seat. He feels the pulse of your clenching and drives his fingers down again, pushing your leggings into your folds as he goes. He’s enjoying the way you’re drenching your pants for him, and he pushes harder, pressing into your yearning entrance. Your mouth falls open. Your tongue sneaks out to wet your lips. Your leggings are old, getting threadbare, and Christopher has just discovered the beginning of a hole in your crotch. He can feel your juice on his fingertips, and he stops his movement for a moment before he digs his finger into the small hole, widening it.

“Oh my god,” he breaths, and you’re both a little lost in the headiness of this sudden turn. Christopher’s finger is against your swollen flesh, and all you can think of is having more. He seems to be thinking the same thing as he scoots his chair an inch or two closer to you. He pushes his finger deeper inside the hole, feeling your folds now. He dips his finger into your essence and sighs. Christopher remembers loving the taste of you, and he’s wishing you weren’t in the library anymore. He’s considering throwing you on the table in front of him and making a meal of you.

“I’ll buy you new leggings,” he says just before he tears the hole wider, making your mouth drop open. He probes his finger inside of you but can’t get very far with the angle you're sitting at. Without a word, you slump in your chair a little, push your hips forward, and spread your knees apart so he can squeeze his finger inside of you, both of you sighing. “Fuck. Have I ever told you how much I like your pussy?” he breathes in your ear, causing you to throw your head back. He has actually, every time you two are together like this, but you’re not tired of hearing it. “So fucking tight and wet,” he moans softly as he pushes another finger inside of you all the way up to your sweet spot and dragging the pads of his fingers back down against your gummy wall. There are no words in your head to respond. You’re trying so hard not to make any sound at all as you grip your chair. He pulls his fingers back out to rub firm circles over your clit.

“Fuck, Christopher,” you hiss, surprised how fast you’re rocketing toward your peak.

“You’re loving this aren’t you?” he chuckles softly, as if he’s not. “You love me getting you off in the library, you dirty girl,” he breathes.

You bite your lips between your teeth trying desperately to hold in your cries of pleasure as the tension builds in your stomach. You hear the ding of the elevator behind you and freeze, but he doesn’t stop.

Christopher’s lips are against your ear. “You better come before they do,” he commands while he moves his fingers harder and faster against you. You hear footsteps coming in your direction and close your eyes tight.

“Fuck,” you gasp when you hit your climax, fingers gripping the edge of the table for dear life.

Normally, Christopher would tease you through your shudders, driving you crazy, but he doesn’t wait to withdraw his fingers. You fall forward, burying your head in your arms on the table while he licks you off his fingers. He wipes his saliva on your leggings with a grin, and you can only laugh because he already promised to replace them. The person who got off the elevator walks by you none the wiser.

“Oh my god,” you sigh happily, leaning back in your chair. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead for the thin layer of sweat.

Christopher laughs, too. “Can I drive you home?” he offers.

“Can you? You’d better. I’m not walking across campus to my apartment with my leggings ripped open,” you tell him quietly.

He shrugs. “The breeze might be refreshing.” You both laugh again. You gather your things and wait impatiently, squeezing your legs together, while he checks out his book at the circulation desk. Your dress is definitely covering you, but you still feel exposed.

He walks you out to his car and opens the door for you, which would seem gentlemanly if you didn’t know that it was because the automatic locks on his old beat up car don’t work, and if he hadn’t just fingered you in public.

“Your place or mine?” he asks as he starts the car.

You scoff. “Oh, so you think you should get off now, too?” you say in a tone that makes it clear he won’t.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he laughs. He navigates easily to your apartment from memory. “Well, that was fun,” he says as he parks in front of your building.

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime,” you grin and wink, knowing you will. You open the door and step out, holding down the back of your dress with your hand. “Oh, and don’t forget you owe me leggings!” you turn back to say before closing the door on his laughter.

Main Masterlist

Taglist: @rylea08

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids #christopher bang #skz bang chan

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chrollohearttags · 7 months

Note

idk if u have anymore locked and loaded away but can we get some more musician!eren hcs/traits…just a crumb even. im on the side of the road shaking my cup🙏🏾

oh babes, I got more than I know what to do with. Gather round and I’ll share with you all my never ending lore for the loml. 🤍

EJ is a clown. His favorite pastime outside of music is being an S tier menace. He loves picking at everybody 😭 (y/n), Jean, Mika, his own MAMA..nobody is off limits when he gets started. He is an asshole and proud of it. (he once told Mika she was jealous of him because she was bald headed and he wasn’t. Sis tried to break his nose but then remembered she needed him for a performance that night 😩)

he can play over 10 different instruments and proficiently at that! His main is guitar and drums but he’s naturally gifted so any instrument he puts his hands on, he can learn fairly quickly.

he won’t attend awards shows unless his whole crew is invited too. Don’t matter if it’s the Grammys, BET, VMA’s..if his whole team isn’t there, he’s not going. And they definitely forget it if (y/n) isn’t on the list.

he HAS to have at least an hour before shows to be completely alone and decompress, otherwise, he’ll be messing up all night. He has severe anxiety so it makes it hard for him to concentrate if too much is going on before hand. He’ll spend the time meditating or listening to music and smoking.

his ultimate goal is to one day start his own label. He wants to work with more female artists because he feels there are “a lot of dudes using women for clout but never wanting to put them on.”

also adding to that, Eren swears he is not a dancer but decided to let (y/n) do choreography for his latest song and he ended up liking it so much, that he incorporated it into his latest performance.

(haven’t quite delved into this yet so not giving away too much!) but there is one person who eren credits his musical career to and for pushing him to go for it. His exact quote: “there’s so many people who’ve helped me throughout my journey. That I have to thank for getting me this far but as for who really made this possible? Well..she’s no longer here and I wish she was. I wish she could see how far I’ve come and I only hope that she’s smiling down on me. I hope I made her proud.”

he lovessss sitting in on (y/n)’s practice sessions! Not even on some sexual shit, it truly fascinated him seeing his girl do all of these intricate pole tricks without falling or missing a beat. He realizes how much work goes into learning it and respects your talent. He even posts vids to his Instagram story, showing you off.

during the time of the [p word that shall not be named] he and Armin put their DJ’ing skills to good use and entertained their fans. They started a little thing on Instagram live called “Club Passion” where they would dress up in these cheesy ass fits, pretend they were hosting events and have people join in the live. They’d play music, be drinking and even host twerk contests where they’d CashApp the winner a prize. (A very unserious duo 😭)

for the more devious of the traits, he’s a demon and a half when he drinks. He has zero limits or shame. Including in the bedroom. RIP to (y/n)’s cervix cause he has no control.

he is a habitual bed/headboard breaker 😩🥴 do with that what you will.

he doesn’t believe in cheating or open relationships, but he’ll gladly let you share him with your girls and vice versa. (Niesha’s definitely his favorite but he won’t tell his best friend that 🤭) And if he’s feeling extra deviant, he’ll let you pick a fan of his to do some thangs with. “As long as she doesn’t go running her mouth, I’m with whatever y’all wanna do.” He definitely has a few videos of you guys’ escapades saved in his phone. (the NDA’s stay ready!)

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monsterfuckerconfessions · 4 months

Note

Would love to be abducted and used as a breeding toy by monsters with ovipositors. Being fucked so full of eggs I can’t move, as intended. Every time one of them approaches I beg “no no no no I’m too full I’m too full.” They flip me over onto my stomach and raise up my hips so that my belly is touching the mattress. They slot their massive cock/ovipositor against my hole already slicked from constant use to hear me moan, popping the tip in and out until they shove in roughly all at once and start fucking me with abandon.

I wail in pleasure as their cock literally rearranges my insides, the perfectly round bead-like eggs massaging against the most pleasurable spots in my body with every thrust. They pull my hips back to meet their thrusts and enjoy the sight of their massive cock making my gratuitous belly jiggle, the little moans I can’t help but let spill out. Pleasure is coursing through my body and knocking all coherent thoughts from my head, and when their cock starts rhythmically spurting thick fluid to make room for more eggs I get a little stupid. Perhaps it’s something in their cum but my no no no no’s turn into pleading yes yes yes yes please fill me!

The monster and his buddies standing in the doorway laugh at how quickly I turned so subby for them, begging for harder and faster and deeper and more. They tease me for saying I was too full earlier, asking if I was sure I could take it. The monster inside me slows to a tortuous pace. I’m fully gone now, pushing back against the monster as much as I can to get more friction, begging and pleading for them to fill me, how much I want it, I’ll be so good for them and take all of their eggs, please please just don’t stop—

They begin thrusting into me again at a punishing speed, determined to fuck their eggs and cum into me as far as they can. I’m only capable of saying “uh uh uh uh” with every thrust as they well and truly play my body like an instrument. I feel a couple final spurts until finally, they thrust in as far as they can go and begin cumming hard, laying their eggs in the process. My belly expands impossibly more, my eyes roll back into my head and my mouth opens in a choked wail as my first orgasm wracks my body.

But I know we’re far from done. The monster gives several hard thrusts to push all the eggs as deep into my cavity as they will go before stepping aside. My spread legs and gaping hole leaking cum with eggs trying to escape an open invitation to the next monster, who quickly peels away from the edge of the room. They grip my thighs hard and spread my legs even more, eagerly lining up their cock to graze against my hole. In autopilot I move my hips back to take the tip and in response they thrust in all the way to the hilt. Their balls slap against my ass as they set a brutal pace to fuck my mind away.

For the next several hours I am just a wet leaking moaning hole to be fucked and filled by these creatures’ thick viscous cum and perfectly round eggs massaging my insides as they move. Just a toy with no thoughts that spreads my legs wider for them to abuse my hole much as possible—Not that I could find it in me to complain anymore with how good it feels.

As my hole gets thoroughly abused and cum leaks down my thighs, having lost count of how many times I’ve orgasmed, I half wonder if it would feel just as good for the eggs to come out as they did going in, and if they would fuck me then too…I couldn’t wait to find out

#monsterfucker confessions

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hobie-enthusiast · 11 months

Note

Hobie with a friend or s/o that feels safe drawing and practicing instruments (just overall being creative) around him 🥺?

Thank u op for feeding us so we’ll with all the hobie content btw !!!! MWAH ❤️❤️

THE CREATIVE MIND !

— hobie brown x creative!gn!reader

— fluff, creative reader, pet-names, hobie being a menace, hcs and then a blurb for artist reader at the end

— hobie and his encouragement with his s/o, who loves expressing their creativity with him

— SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK but here it is anon muwah

— Hobie first noticed how much you kept to yourself

— Of course you talked with people around you, but you weren’t very open about what you liked to do

— He loved playing his guitar, Gwen loved playing the drums, Miles loved drawing and sketching, but what did you enjoy?

— Turns out it was a combination of all those things

— When Hobie starts to get closer to you, he notices the little things that you don’t hide around him anymore

— Splatters of paint, marker markings, blistered fingers, all signs of the creativity you hold behind closed doors

— Just as friends, Hobie may ask about what you do, but will never push if you don’t want to say

— He’ll lead into some conversations about it if you do

— Loves listening to you talk and talk about what you do once you get comfortable around him

— Then his friends try to beg to know what you do, what’s the secret hobby you hold so dear?

— And to that he keeps quiet

— Because he loves the fact that you trust him so much to let him know about how well you can do what you do

— If the two of you are dating, god he’s your biggest supporter

— He loves motivating people to go against their limits and rules to achieve their greatness, and he does the same with you

— Every-time you show him a new project, he praises it like the Mona Lisa

— “‘s amazin’, swee’heart. got myself such a talen’ed par’ner.”

— “Belongs on display, ‘s for sure.”

— if you’re an artist, he commissions you all the time

— Stickers for his guitar, art on his walls, even doodles on his hands

— He wants to proudly sport your work wherever he can

— If you play an instrument, he’ll constantly ask to practice and play with you

— Even if you play something like the trumpet, he’ll find a way to jam out with you

— It means a lot to him to share music with who he loves

— If you are a writer, he’ll always ask to see what you’re typing up

— Hobie’s everyone’s biggest supporter, and that’s never an exception for you

— He adores everything you create, no exceptions

Your legs dangled off the edge of the couch as you take your pencil to your sketchbook. On the opposite chair, Hobie was strumming guitar, scribbling and marking his music. It was like a peaceful creative time you shared.

You take a peak up at your boyfriend before looking back down, sketching the features of his nose onto your paper. For the past hour you had been sketching him, multiple poses of him lying there, with his guitar, and him just smiling (which was a closed smirk but better than nothing). You were finishing a sketch of him messing with his guitar, drawing up his hair and piercings.

“Mm..” Hobie sighs before making that focused face he does, bringing out the crease on his forehead.

You smile and draw that out onto the sketch, enjoying how blissfully unaware Hobie seemed. You had numerous sketches of him, but he didn’t need to know.

As you stare down and take glances up, Hobie finishes with the current song he was messing with. He looks over at you, noticing how focused you seemed on your sketch. It was mesmerizing watching you work so passionately.

Quietly, he got up, sneaking over to your seat on the couch. He wraps his arms around you, peaking over your shoulder. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

You slam the book shut. “Nothing!”

“Oh? But I wanna see..” Hobie responds, reaching to grab your sketchbook.

“No no! It’s nothing!”

You shoot up to run to your shared bedroom, holding the book away from Hobie. He chases after you and shoots a web to grab the book. As much as you try to pull it back, he ultimately wins, taking the sketchbook in his hands.

“Le’s see..” He speaks, turning to the page you were working on. “Oh.”

You groan, throwing your head into a pillow. “Hobie..”

He’s quiet for a while, admiring your work. You make him look so.. incredible. All the pencil strokes bring out a different feature of him, and he’s never thought he looked this great.

"These are incred'ble, swee'heart." He says after a while, glancing up at you. “C’mon, don’ be shy. ‘s good stuff.” He assures you as he takes a seat next to you.

You snatch the book from Hobie, swatting him with it. “Ever heard of privacy?!”

“Mm.. ‘s good t’ know ‘s how ya see me.”

“Well.. it’s not even done.” You say with a sigh. Then, you get an idea. “Wait! I’ve got an idea.”

Hobie’s eyes raise. “Hmm?”

You turn back to open the page you were working on, grabbing a pencil and a red marker from the nightstand next to your bed. You look up at Hobie before looking back down, sketching something.

“Just stay still..” You request, sketching out some new features you can now notice from up close. “I wanna finish..”

Hobie chuckles, crossing a knee over his leg. “Mm.. ‘right, ‘ll be ‘ur muse.”

In turn, you give a smile, gently kissing his cheek before continuing to work on his profile. You sketch every little crease, freckle, blister he has on his face. Any scar or bruise he has from his hero ventures, you include. You start to get lost in your book as time moves on.

Your boyfriend just sits there, admiring the way you look so focused. He’s grateful you feel comfortable around him, to where you can allow yourself to indulge in your creativity. He loves how people express themselves, you especially.

When you start adding some colour, you see Hobie scoot next to you. “So talen’ed, ya know that?”

You smile gently, leaning into his shoulder. “I appreciate that, Hobie.” You respond as you continue putting in some highlights.

Once it’s done, Hobie sits back and praises your work like there’s no tomorrow. Many compliments, pet-names, and red blushing messes later, he’s pulling your leg to convince you to let him take them, hang them up.

Once you do agree, he also asks you to make him some stickers for his guitar. “Need some good stuff f’ my gui’ar. Make it flashy t’ fight facis’s.”

Once you do make them, trust, he’s going to brag to everyone he knows and is friends with who made the beautiful artwork displayed on his guitar.

#NEW ARTICLE || OUT NOW !!#hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv #atsv hobie

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citrus-lamb · 1 month

Note

hey!! do you think you could write some ben (sbg) x reader who is also really into music (maybe plays guitar) headcannons? thanks!!

a/n : i did a short story and head canons! i hope you enjoy as i really love this concept. i love ben's character so much and i hope i did him justice! please enjoy!

song : you and me (TadanoCo & KTKT)

Ben first noticed that you liked music when you were constantly wearing headphones like Ashlyn.

You always hummed along to the songs, though not for long as you quickly noticed and got embarrassed.

One time when you guys were hanging out and everyone else was talking he asked you about the song you were listening to through his notebook.

You got excited and started talking about the meaning and the name of the song, specific lyrics you liked, and analyzing everything it was about.

Ben listened very intently the whole time, and afterwards asked if he could listen.

You said yes and you guys fell asleep listening to your playlist.

In the morning you guys made a shared playlist that you both listen to.

That was the start of your friendship.

Ben was very excited. He felt like he found someone who actually understood music like he did, instead of “I like the beat”, as Aiden says.

You guys were your own duo in the group, and they mostly left you guys alone unless one of them recognized the song you guys were talking about.

You ended up talking so much that you learned sign-language to have better communication with him.

After the event at the arcade the group went back to your house for a while since it was the closest.

They were hanging out in your room, doing their own thing or hanging out.

Aiden was snooping through your closest and found a lot of your old instruments.

A bass, a guitar, a drum set, and piano sheet music.

“Wow, I never knew you played any instruments!” Aiden said excitedly, interrupting your conversation with Ben.

“What do you mean… oh.” You looked over to him, standing in the door way with your old blood red bass strapped on, “I don’t really play anymore, it’s not super special or anything.”

“It’s cool!” Aiden beamed, getting the attention of everyone else. “You should play something for us! To calm our nerves. I think we need it after… earlier events.” He smiled. How could you say no. You looked over to Ben, who looked excited as well. He signed, ‘Only if you want to.’

You took song requests for about an hour before your hands got so tired that you felt like they were going to fall off.

Ashlyn’s dad came to pick them up afterwards, but Ben texted you into the night about how amazing you were.

You continuously got compliments from the group about your playing and you began to do it more often.

You learned everyone’s favorite songs and played for them whenever they were nervous.

Ben really appreciated it.

His angry quickly died down when you played, and you noticed.

It was like a whole other language that only you guys could understand.

#sbg #sbg x reader #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard x reader #ben clark x reader

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

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I can see Eddie randomly inviting Gareth and Jeff and (unnamed freak) over and Steve just locking himself in the bedroom or locking them in the basement (and then turning on ABBA or something of the like really loud to drown them out)

This is exactly why they soundproofed the basement.

Originally, Eddie wanted to use the garage as a rehearsal space. He wanted to take the band back to their roots and play like they were still just hanging out in Gareth’s mom’s garage. Steve initially agreed to this, but he would have agreed to anything as long as it got Eddie’s equipment out of the middle of their living room.

The problem was that they weren’t in Gareth’s mom’s garage anymore and they weren’t playing with shitting instruments and shitty amps. They were loud and they got three noise complaints within the first month of living there.

They couldn’t even practice if Steve had a migraine because the music was so loud that it literally shook the house.

So, they soundproof the basement.

There’s enough space for their instruments, for a couch, for a recording booth against the back wall so they don’t have to rent space in the city every time they want to record a demo. They can move around and truly preform, and you can’t hear a single thing that happens in that studio anywhere else in the house.

Which is good because if Steve is listening to ABBA or the BeeGees and Jeff hears it, they lose Jeff. He is an avid disco fan. Him and Steve used to jam out together on the bus when they toured together.

#gonna give Jeff Dave Grohl vibes and make him a disco fan #CC covered You Should Be Dancing at his request and it slaps #eddie munson tiktok saga #eddie munson #steve harrington #corroded coffin

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soulofapatrick · 8 months

Text

Piano Lessons - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: Alex gets turned on by your piano skills

Words 1.7K

Warnings: Smut; gay smut; rimming; cockwarming; anal sex; idk what this is anymore

Notes: I promise I'll write some fluff for Alex and Henry next !

Y/N’s POV

As I sit at the grand piano in Kensington Palace, my fingers gracefully glide across the ivory keys, coaxing a melodic symphony from the instrument. The rich, resonant notes fill the room, dancing in the air like fireflies on a warm summer night. The piano is set against a backdrop of regal red, pristine white and the deep blue hues that embody the spirit of the monarchy past. It’s a symbol of tradition and history, much like my family itself.

Today, the atmosphere in the room is different, and it’s all because of Alex Claremont-Diaz, the charismatic and intelligent man I’m fortunate enough to call my boyfriend. He’s visiting me here at Kensington Palace, and his presence has added a touch of vibrancy and excitement to the usually stated surroundings. As my fingers continue to play, I can’t help but steal a glance at Alex. He’s seated on a luxurious, plush chair nearby, his russet eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His admiration and affection are palpable, even from across the room.

The strains of the piano’s music seem to weave a story of their own, a story of love, passion, and the unbreakable bond between two individuals who have defied the odds. Alex and I come from different worlds, but our connection is undeniable. He’s the love of my life, the one who has shattered all expectations and brought colour into my world of duty and responsibility.

I finish the piece with a flourish, letting the final notes linger in the air for a moment before they fade away. Alex rises gracefully from his seat, his eyes never leaving mine, and his smile could light up the darkest of rooms. He approaches me with that same confident stride that has always captivated me. The way he moves, with an air of self-assuredness, is a testament to the strength of his character and the love that binds us together.

He doesn't stop in front of me; instead, he reaches out and gently takes my hand, drawing me to my feet. Our eyes lock, and it's as if the world around us disappears, leaving just the two of us in this intimate moment. He moves around to stand behind me, settling on the piano stool. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and pulling me back onto his lap. It draws a surprised gasp from me as there’s something poking me in the ass and fuck, I know exactly what he’s doing.

I don’t protest, letting myself melt into his embrace, my head falling back against his shoulder, relishing in the comforting and exhilarating feeling of his arms around me. The warmth of his body against mine is a soothing balm to my soul, reminding me that I’m not alone in this world of duty and responsibility. A soft sound escapes my throat when Alex presses a loving kiss to the back of my neck, each one sending shivers down my spine.

His hands slip from my waist down to the button of my jeans, a gentle kiss pressed to my jawline and I’m fighting against it as Shaan is just outside the door and could walk in any moment. But, Alex’s hand is driving me crazy, palming me through my tight jeans, knowing exactly how to turn me on.

“Baby boy,” Alex’s voice is low and resonant, exuding want and love, and it’s breaking down the last of my reservations about what he’s asking, “Need you baby.”

I rock my hips back once, drawing a deep rumble from Alex’s chest, and it’s all he needs to pop the button on my jeans and tugging lightly. I lift my hips for him, letting him draw my jeans and boxers down far enough to expose me to him. Instead of freeing himself from the confines of his jeans like I expected he’s gripping my hips and pushing me to my feet, pressing a large hand to the base of my spine and bending me over the piano. His hands spread my ass, kneeling the flesh between those fantasy inducing hands and before I can process what’s happening I’m yelping in surprise.

At the first lick I almost faceplant the top of the piano, never expecting so many nerve-endings where Alex is currently ravishing me. Alex supports my weight, bringing me back against his mouth, and it draws an embarrassing sound from me, a high pitched whine that gets caught in my throat. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I’m gripping the edges of the piano, trying to spread my legs even further to give him more room. Alex wastes no time, tongue flicking and licking broad stripes against my hole, moving every so often to nip at the plump skin. It’s erotic, more than I could have imagined. The two of us with Alex’s lean but muscular body holding me up as he devours me, my dick twitching as he eats me out like I’m his last meal. His hands are massaging my thighs, oh so close to my aching dick, dripping precum onto the keys of the piano, making me arch my back to try and get the warmth closer to my dick. It doesn’t work but instead gives Alex more space and before I can react his tongue is inside me and I’m crying out before slamming my head against the top of the piano trying to muffle my cries.

“A-Alex please.” My voice comes out broken and hoarse, causing Alex to grin against my skin, “Alex. I need you.” I’m almost crying, feeling embarrassed about begging but I need to feel him inside me properly.

It’s all it takes it seems. Alex is pulling away, giving me time to steady my breathing while I hear the zipper on his jeans and then, with gentle hands I’m being guided backwards. I’m so glad for Alex’s grip on my hips as my knees are shaking like crazy but that’s soon forgotten when the head of his dick pushes its way past my now relaxed opening. I’m gripping his wrists, taking a deep breath as the stretch still burns but not as much as before, Alex’s spit acting as lube and I can slide further down quicker than before.

I go to raise my hips again as soon as I’m settled on his lip, the button of his jeans digging into the back of my thigh but his hands still gripping my hips stop me and he’s leaning forwards, warm breath ghosting my ear, “Play.”

“W-what?” I choke out.

“Play me something.” His voice is tight and his hips betray him when they thrust up ever so slightly, drawing a sound from both of us but he reiterates his point, “Play for me.”

I take a deep breath, attempting to focus on playing another piece despite the situation, knowing I’m getting nothing from Alex otherwise. I place my fingers on the keys, trying to muster the concentration needed to produce a coherent melody. But as I begin to play, Alex’s hands find my thighs, massaging them and his lips are coasting teasingly along my neck. His proximity is both a blessing and a challenge, as his hips jerk up again, teasing himself as well as me.

With each note I strike, I can sense Alex’s playful energy intensifying. He digs his nails into my inner thighs, drawing a sharp sound from me and an off key as my hands jerk. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s clear he intends to draw this teasing out as long as he can. His fingers trace light patterns on my hips, sending delightful shivers down my spine. He whispers sweet, teasing words in my ear, his voice laced with affection and a hint seduction. It’s incredibly difficult to maintain my composure and focus on the music when he’s gently circling my hips in his lap.

The piece could not end quicker for both of us because as soon as I’ve played my last note Alex’s regains that firm grip on my hips and lifts me until just the head of his dick is indie me before he slams me down, a loud cry of pain and pleasure escaping me. I’m a whimpering mess already, Alex moving a hand to wrap around my aching dick, moving his hand in time with his almost brutal thrusts. I can feel my muscles tightening and thighs shaking as I reach that precipice, but Alex, my sweet, frustrating Alex. He pulls me down so he’s fully sheafed inside me and circles his hips, just missing my prostate and leaving me almost begging for that sweet release.

“Now now baby,” Alex nips at the back of my neck, “Wait for me.” With that he thrusts as deep as he can, circling his hips every few thrusts until I’m almost crying again, my thighs clenching and stomach rolling over with effort of trying to stave off that sweet release. I’m mumbling stuff, unsure if it’s actual words or gibberish but Alex knows exactly as he reaches around to take my dick in his hand one last time. He doesn’t jerk me off but runs his thumb over the slit that’s leaking precum and before I can stop myself I’m cumming. My body lurches forwards and my whole body shudders with pleasure as ropes of my seed hit the piano and I should be embarrassed but all I can think about is Alex holding me tightly, breath hot against the back of my neck as he pumps me full. His hips jerk a few times more before he’s sinking into the stool, holding me against his chest as we try and catch our breaths.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” I mumble, throat raw and voice cracking.

Alex chuckles into the crook of his neck before a muffled reply comes from him, “I think everyone heard.”

“Oh god.” I’m burying my face in my hands, cheeks heating up and not wanting to ever leave this room again.

“Come on darling, let’s get ourselves sorted out.” He’s easing me off of him, both of us wincing in oversensitivity and I sort myself out the best I can, feeling his seed already leaking down my legs and knowing I need a nice, hot bath now.

Alex takes my hand and leads me out of the room, past a very red faced Shaan who won’t look our way. He leads me down the hall, towards my room but before we get there we hear a shriek from Philip:

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO MY PIANO!!!??”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Red White and Royal Blue Masterlist

TAGS: New Tag List Form

TAGS: @clarks-letterman

#alex claremont diaz x male reader #alex claremont diaz x you #alex claremont diaz smut #alex claremont diaz #Alex Claremont-diaz fluff #Alex Claremont-diaz angst #red white and royal blue fluff #red white and royal blue angst #red white and royal blue x you #red white and royal blue x male reader #red white and royal blue smut #taylor zakhar perez

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