#This distance he keeps because he knows things about the plot and can’t say | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lalal-99 · 7 months

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Sweet Thing {s.c.}

9 “ That feels good…” 14 “Spread your legs, sweet thing.” 33 “Please, just let me come!"

Changbin x afab!reader | trope: strangers to lovers, regular hookup turns serious | smut | wordcount: 1.8k

Synopsis: You know nothing about the hot guy you've been hooking up with for months. You're not even sure about his name. Obviously, you need to change that. In the middle of sex is probably not the right time, but so what?!

Warnings: explicit content | dni if your under 18

Note: Well, I don't know what to say for myself. The prompt event happened in March/April 2022. And here I am, 2 years later. Some requested prompts are still in my inbox, and I do think I will write something for each eventually. For now, please enjoy this one :) Also, thanks @jl-micasea-fics for letting me use your prompts. I know it's been two years, but still, credit where its due ;)

Taglist: @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig @itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @svintsandghosts @poutypoutybin @hyunjinswifeee @sunlitwilderness

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“Spread your legs, sweet thing.”

Against every fibre in your body, you disobey and further the distance to the unbelievably attractive man instead. Much to his dismay.

“Hey,” he tilts your gaze towards himself by the touch of your jaw. A sweet gesture, seeing you were heavily making out seconds before. “What’s going on?”

Hidden away in the small bathroom of your favourite bar, you find yourself perched on the counter. Most definitely the product of the alcohol intoxicating your system.

“Sorry—” you excuse yourself, wiping your hands down the sides of face. “I’m good. Let’s keep going.”

Expecting him to continue where you had left of, you’re surprised to find him leaning against the wall. “Not until you tell me what’s going on in that stunning head of yours.”

A light blush spreads over your cheeks towards your ears and your lip wanders between your teeth. Because the reason for your distraction is so stupid.

“It’s just, we’ve been doing this for a while.” Hooking up at this very bar every weekend for the past few months. For the life of you, you can’t remember how it even started. Possibly with a conversation and his hand on your thigh. Probably with a few shots while celebrating your birthday. “And I don’t know anything about you.”

“Which hasn’t been a problem until now. So, where’s this coming from?”

The first few times were fun. Hooking up in the bathroom, words limited to the absolute necessary. If anything, it made it even hotter. Being with a stranger whose name you hardly remember. But then the comments started. You don’t know which of your friend was the first to say something. It might have been Seungmin, questioning how you could keep hooking up weekly without knowing the first thing about him.

And now you can’t shake the comment out of you if you try. The voice is a constant tenant of your metaphorical head-apartment. Living rent-free.

“My friends. They’ve been asking questions about you. None of which I can answer.” Which is stupid, because it shouldn’t matter. What matters is the incredibly handsome and muscular guy in front of you. Changbin— you think.

You’re surprised when he doesn’t laugh at or dismiss their concern. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

Cocking an eyebrow, you look down at his hands as they begin travelling up your thighs again. Leaving goosebumps as they burn into your skin.

“Do what?”

“Get to know each other. Might as well play 21 questions while we’re at it.”

His lips brush against your jaw before he urges them against your neck. Checking the quickening of your pulse as he licks at the veins.

“Come on. Hit me.”

But you can’t think. His touches are a true distraction, moans tumbling out of your mouth as you finally spread your legs for him. He slots between them, fitting like the last piece of a puzzle.

“You do know how 21 questions works, right?”

His hands grope at your flesh, pulling you closer until you can feel him against your most sensitive part. Why’d you have to speak up? He could have been inside you by now, but you had to open your stupid mouth.

“Yeah— Just— Can’t think.”

“Fine,” he gives in, pulling at your lip as he kisses you. You’re so hot, you wonder whether you’re nursing a fever. “I’ll tell you three things about me, then. Speed things up. ‘S that alright?”

“Please.” You’re begging now, nails digging into the skin of his bulky arms as he’s dragging his clothed crotch against you. “Feels so good.”

“First one.” Changbin pulls your top up over your breasts, freeing your bra. His thick fingers brush against your nipples, forcing a shudder through your body. “I go to the gym five times a week.”

“Obvious—ngh,” you agree turns into a throaty moan as he nibbles at your left breast. Your panties soaked already as you mumble into the night. “Deeper.”

“I’m not even inside you yet.” His chuckle vibrates through your torso. Then he grazes his teeth against your second nipple, and you might as well have lost your head.

“No. Tell me— fuck— tell something deeper. Something not— not everyone knows.”

You’re entering heaven when his hand wanders down your side and towards the hem of your skirt. It wiggles below the fabric, setting flames to your loins. You’re burning from the inside out as this stranger handles your body like he created it himself. Knows how to make you go absolutely insane. And that’s with his clothes still on.

“I call my mom every day.” That definitely fits the category of deep talk. Although, the thought of Changbin’s mother doesn’t exactly fit the moment. “Number three, I’d like to take you out one of these days.”

When the tip of his thumb reaches for your clit, you see the realisation hit his features in real time. You’ve ruined your panties and he can feel it. He has ruined you, and he can see it. From your rolled-back eyes to your tossed-back head. You’re in absolute ecstasy.

Changbin thumbs at your nub, drawing circles with your own wetness. Smirking with pride like a lunatic.

“Your turn, sweet thing. Three things about you, then you get to come.”

No words describe the hatred you feel for yourself when you realise he’s serious. The trajectory of earning your orgasm is as much arousing as it is frustrating. If only you hadn’t said a thing.

“I’m—” You tumble forward as his middle finger enters you. And him? He cocks his head at you, playing confused.

“Sorry? I don’t understand you. Can you speak up?”

Asshole.

“Music,” you mumble, breathless. “I like music. Listening. Making.”

“That’s one. You’re doing so good for me.” A kiss swallows the whine as he enters another finger. Your walls are clenching around him as his thumb practically attacks your clit. It feels so good, but it’s not enough and Changbin knows. “I tell you what. Give me a second, and I’ll give you a third. Sound good?”

You nod, frantic, needing—nay, craving—another one of his fingers.

“I’m good— good at— oh, God.” Hands are clawing at his shirt, the black and red fabric almost ripping from the strength he ignites in you. Your stomach is tensing tight, and he slows down. It’s an alarming promise, Changbin threatening to leave you high and dry if you don’t give him another one. A second fact about yourself. “Maths. I’m good at maths.”

You’re all but howling when he enters a third finger and curls them up against your spot. That’s when you loose the rest of control over your body. None of your movements are under your own command anymore, Changbin’s the sole reason you’re even still sitting upright.

“That’s two. I thought you were good at maths. You’re one short of earning my mouth, sweet thing.”

The promise alone almost makes you fall of the edge. His mouth on you. Coaxing you to your sweet, sweet release. It’s not far, but Changbin is the only one who can make you reach it. You don’t doubt he’ll leave you on the edge if you don’t give him a third fact.

It’s unfortunate that you can’t form coherent sentences anymore. Let alone think of a third fact about yourself. Absolutely pathetic.

“Please—” Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stare up at him, begging, pleading. “Please, just let me come.”

“Nuh-uh,” he teases with a smirk. A soft kiss hits your nose, then your lips. “That’s not a fact, sweet thing. Don’t you want to come on my tongue?”

Again, the thought alone has you clenching on his fingers. You’re so full, so close, and yet, can’t think of anything.

Maybe if you copy one of his facts, he won’t notice, right? But what was it he said? Oh, right. Gym, mom, date. But, you don’t go to the gym and you don’t talk to your mom daily.

“So, what is it?”

“Date!” you blurt out and he looks confused. “Take me out.” But that’s a prompt, not a fact, so you correct even further, teetering on the edge of heaven and hell. “I’d like it, I mean.”

Changbin debates for a second whether your words count as a fact. You can tell he wants to tease you some more, relishes in it. Thank God, he decides against it.

A sigh of relief escapes you when he finally leans down, pushes your skirt up and connects his lips to yours. And that’s all it takes.

One second his tongue prods against your clit, the next you’re coming on it.

And come, you do. You’re sure you’re squirting all over his face as he swallows up every bit of your release. Cleans you with his mouth until you’re glistening in spit and overstimulation. It doesn’t seem he wants to leave the space between your thighs and you have to drag him away when it becomes too much.

“Sweet, sweet thing,” he teases with a smile when he comes up, licking his lips. His hair is a mess, likely from your hands tugging at the strands and he looks like sex-on-legs. Cheeks dark pink, lips just as, and eyes blurry from arousal. He’s so, so hot, and you’re heating up again already as he’s kissing your lips with pure passion. “So, about that date…”

“Name a place and a time. I’ll be there.”

He chuckles, pulling you from the counter and turning you around. You will never tire from him, treating you like a doll. Bending and breaking you as he pleases. Those damn muscles flex as his arms wrap around your body and he pushes you up against the sink.

“We’ll get there. In fact…” he pulls your skirt over your asscheeks, giving them a delicious squeeze as he hums. Next thing you know, he frees his cock, reaching into his jeans to pull out a condom. And you wonder how Changbin is still so hot while wrapping himself in the latex. “How about you come three more times.”

You gulp at the thought, finding him in the mirror.

“One for a time and one for a place.”

That’s only two. You’re good at maths, or at least you think you are. Changbin might have fucked that brain right out of you.

“And the last one— one— fuck, you’re tight,” he praises as he enters you from behind.

Once he bottoms out, he collects himself, flicking your nipples as he watches you through the glass. And yet again, you’re a chaotic mess in his hands. With your head thrown back against his chest, you’re sent straight back to your own personal nirvana.

That’s when Changbin finishes his prior statement, a proud smirk glued to his face. “The last one’s simply for good measure.”

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mythicmanuscripts · 1 month

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Omega!aemond trying to act tough in front of the public but as soon as the dominating scent of his future alpha hits him he’s just wandering around like a puppy trying to find the delicious scent, and when he does he just does anything to get alone with them so he can smell them more he’s just so addicted the pathetic boy

God I love omega!aemond so so so much!! Incredible thoughts anon.

As always, I've added a cut so that you guys who arent into this type of thing can scroll past easily. All of my a/b/o writing will be tagged with 'a/b/o hotd' so if you don't want to see it at all then block that tag.

So I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: despite the fact that Aemond is an omega, he really has no idea how to be an omega.

He trains his entire life to try and overcome his designation. He’s ashamed it, ashamed of being a male omega, ashamed of being the second son. He’s not well liked and he knows this, and he also knows that alphas aren’t exactly tripping over their own feet to get to him.

Any alphas that did show interest were so domineering and controlling that he immediately turned them all down. He resiles himself with just being alone and doing what’s expected of him.

Because of this, when you come to the red keep with family to discuss matters with the Targaryens and Aemond smells your scent in the corridors…. He has absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

He’s never liked an alpha’s scent, ever. Some were more manageable than others but he’s never actually liked it before. And now he’s smelling something that’s just utterly intoxicating and he has no idea who this person is and also has no idea what he’s supposed to be about this.

When he sits down at dinner and sees the guests, he immediately picks up the scent again and releases its you. He barely even says two words that whole dinner because he can’t keep his eyes off you and is trying to think of how he can approach you.

The biggest problem is that he really has no idea what to do now. He’s spent so much of his life trying to suppress his designation and so now that your scent has triggered him he just doesn’t know what to do. Most omegas know exactly how to dress and act when they’re interested in an alpha and needless to say, Aemond hadn’t given that one second of thought until he saw you.

He’s so quiet at dinner that Allicent even asks if something was wrong. He mealy choked while trying to tell her that everything

You notice him too of course, and not just because his reputation proceeds him but also because you got his his scent when he walked into dinner and you immediately loved it more than any other omega’s scent you’ve ever encountered.

He eventually manages to plot to get you in a room alone with him. The only issue is that once you’re in that room he realises he actually has no idea what to say to you. He never even thought that far.

You ask him what’s going on and he’s losing his mind because you smell so good and you’re standing right there and he doesn’t know what to don. After a bit of awkward silence you ask him why he wanted to talk with you. Again, he tries to answer but it’s like the human part of his brain has completely disappeared leaving only desperate horny omega.

For the first time he wishes he actually paid attention when the other omegas tried to rope him into watching romcoms and talking about his feelings. Maybe if he had listened to them than he’d know what to do here.

And of course you’re very respectful and you keep your distance and you wait for him to make the first move. He stands there looking at you, not knowing what to do now that he’s actually around you.

I think the best way to his heart might be to first just treat him kindly, but like any other person and not like an omega and especially not like an omega in line to the throne. You had seen him practicing his sword skills in the training yard the day before and so you ask him about it, about how long he’s been training and what his favourite styles are.

The conversation flows easily from there, and because Aemond is not at all used to how haywire his instincts are going right then, he keeps on drifting closer and closer to you? You try to subtly take steps back each time because Aemond has yet to show any romantic interests and you wouldn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable or getting your scent on him.

Aemond meanwhile hadn’t even noticed how he keeps on trying to get closer to you. If Aemond were more in tune with the omega side of him and didn’t spend his entire childhood blocking his ears every time someone spoke about courting and dynamics, then he’d probably realise he’s trying to get more of your scent and the back away because it’s considered improper. But the poor thing doesn’t even notice.

Eventually you’re literally backed up against the wall and you cannot move any further away and even then he only realises when his nose is just about against your neck. Of course he jumps back immediately and apologises, saying he doesn’t know what got into him and promising to never do that again.

If this were any other omega, you’d accept their apology and offer to continue a discussion in public with everyone there and then decide what the omega thinks of you. But this is not any omega. Based on what you’d heard before and what you’ve just seen, it’s clear to you that Aemond either wasn’t trained at all about courting or, what’s much more likely, that Aemond pushed his designation down and ignored all aspects of it.

As a result, when he’s faced with someone whose scent is addictive to him, he can’t control himself? He doesn’t even know what urges to expect nevermind what to do about them or what he should be doing instead. It’s like now the can of worms has been opened and there’s nothing he can do except make a fool of himself over and over again.

It’s because of this that you tell Aemond he doesn’t need to apologise. You say you enjoy talking to him and he can stand as close as he wants, can be as close to you as he wishes and that you’d be honoured with any level of attention from him.

You think this will make him relax and then you can continue talking in your won little bubble.

And well, you’re half right. He certainly does relax, but hearing you say he can be as close as he wants makes him immediately step closer and burry his nose in your neck.

For a moment you’re in complete shock, because this is against everything you’ve been taught. You’ll be fine, you’re an alpha. But Aemond? He’s going to walk out of the room smelling like another alpha and no one else will even look at him anymore.

Despite that, you can’t help but hug him back. You rub his back and be actually purrs?? You just keep hugging him, telling him it’s alright because you don’t want him to panic.

After that, he’s attached to your side at all times. Good luck speaking to any other omegas because you have a jealous dangerous omega with zero control over their instincts following you around at all times.

#a/b/o hotd #omega!aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond smut #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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kikyoupdates · 10 days

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Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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The door slides open to reveal two students, a girl and a boy, sitting around a table while they eat their lunches. Itadori steps inside, still grinning widely, and their heads turn at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, guys! I just dropped by for lunch, if that’s okay. Oh, and I brought a friend! This is [Name],” he happily introduces.

You’re too stunned by the fact that he just referred to you as his friend to process much else, and by that point, the two students have already stood up.

“It’s nice to meet you, [Name],” the girl greets with a smile. “I’m Sasaki, a second-year.”

“And I’m Iguchi, also a second-year,” the boy chimes in.

Needless to say, you already know who they are, too. Even though it was indirect on their part, they’re largely the reason why Itadori ends up at Jujutsu High, thanks to the fateful events of a certain night spent on school grounds.

At this point in time, Itadori has yet to give them Sukuna’s finger. You’re not sure exactly when it’ll happen, but there will probably be some warning signs, like Fushiguro showing up on campus to look for it.

Still, for obvious reasons, you feel like you shouldn’t get too involved with these two. The plot is going to proceed normally, as it should. You’re worried that something might go wrong with your interference. It’s probably best if you keep your distance, and—

“Would you like to join the Occult Research Club?!”

“...”

Yeah, you probably should’ve expected that.

Itadori laughs. “Come on, guys. I didn’t bring her here to try and recruit her. I just wanted to introduce all three of you! I’m not sure if [Name]’s into that kind of stuff, anyways. It’s not really everyone’s thing.”

“It’s true,” you nod. “I’m, uh, not that great with scary stuff…”

“There’s nothing scary about the paranormal!” Sasaki insists. “It’s just interesting! Mysterious! Imagine what could be out there! Don’t you have a thirst for the unknown?”

It’s precisely because I do know what’s out there that I’m scared…

“Sasaki, you’re coming on way too strong,” Iguchi chides. He turns to offer you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We just can’t help but get excited when new people show up to our club room, but we know this kind of thing can’t be forced. You two are more than welcome to stay here during lunch.”

To some extent, you can’t help but feel a bit bad, because you know how passionate they are, and soon, Itadori won’t be around to keep them company anymore. He has no choice but to go to Jujutsu High. It’s his fate as the protagonist of this world.

You know you can’t possibly be a substitute for someone as irreplaceable as Itadori, but once all the craziness with Sukuna’s finger passes, you’d be happy to be their friend, if they’ll have you.

“Ooh, your lunch looks really good, [Name],” Itadori remarks once you sit down and unpack your bento box.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’ve been cooking for a while. My mom cooks too, but I just got used to making food for myself. The process helps me take my mind off things. It’s kind of therapeutic, in a way.”

Seeing as being sucked into a fictional world is kind of—or rather, really fucking insane, it’s safe to say that you cooked up a storm when you got home yesterday. You packed up most of the leftovers for lunch today, so the food didn’t go to waste, but still. You ended up emptying a good portion of the fridge.

Itadori takes a big bite out of his onigiri, but he keeps eyeing your lunch all the while, so you chuckle and push the bento box closer to him.

“Go ahead,” you encourage. “You can have some if you want.”

“Can I really?” he blinks, a few pieces of rice stuck to his cheek. It’s kind of ridiculous how adorable this guy is. You have the sudden urge to pull him into your arms and give him a big squeeze, but mercifully, your intrusive thoughts don’t win.

“Of course. I packed plenty, so I can afford to share.”

“Oh—wait, but earlier, I was saying that I’d be the one to treat you! I can’t just eat your lunch! I still owe you big-time for what I did to you!”

Itadori firmly shakes his head in refusal, then crosses his arms and makes an attempt at what you can only assume is meant to be a stern expression. But again, he’s so ridiculously cute that it’s a bit hard to take him seriously.

Sasaki arches a brow. “What did you do to her?”

“I, uh, may have hit her in the face with a soccer ball,” Itadori replies, shamefully shrinking in on himself.

He is literally baby.

“Why would you do that?” Iguchi gapes. “Come to think of it, her nose is a little bruised…”

“It obviously wasn’t on purpose!” Itadori protests. He turns towards you with an imploring expression. “[Name], I promise it wasn’t on purpose. I swear I would never do something like that!”

You chuckle softly. “I know you wouldn’t. You definitely don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

Itadori lets out a sigh of relief and resumes munching on his onigiri. Meanwhile, Sasaki stares at you from across the table.

“So… [Name],” she says. “You’re a first-year like Itadori, I’m assuming?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve never really seen you around.”

“I’m a new student. I only just transferred in.”

She pauses for a few moments, and you can see her eyes glistening with excitement. “So, that must mean you haven’t joined any clubs yet, right?”

“Sasaki, not this again,” Iguchi sighs.

“I’m telling you! Not everyone is drawn to the occult right away. It takes trial and error to figure out if it’s something you’re actually interested in. I’m not saying she has to join our club or anything. But while she’s here, she should at least dip her toes in, right?”

Before Iguchi can protest on your behalf again, Sasaki grabs a large board from one of the bookshelves and turns towards you with a mischievous grin.

“...you’ve heard of Kokkuri, right?”

After school, Itadori stops by your classroom.

“Hey, [Name],” he beams. “Thanks for hanging out with all of us during lunch. It was a lot of fun. Hopefully that game of Kokkuri didn’t freak you out too much.”

“I had fun too,” you nod. Truthfully, you’ve never really been fazed by this kind of stuff. Horror movies and the like don’t often get much of a reaction out of you. You never bought into ghosts or vengeful spirits. Well, not in the real world at least.

Unfortunately, in this world, there’s plenty of freaky shit to go around.

“It means a lot to those guys,” Itadori says, a tinge of sadness to his smile. “We’re the only people in the school that seem to have an interest in the occult. I signed up for it because I thought it’d be fun, but we just barely meet the three-member minimum. Thanks for going along with it to make them happy, even if it’s not really your kind of thing.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I know I said I wasn’t crazy about scary stuff, but I actually ended up having a good time. I’m glad you invited me to hang out with you guys,” you smile.

Itadori returns your smile with one of his own—seriously, he’s almost always smiling, but you certainly don’t mind—and before you realize it, a phone has been placed into your hand.

You blink. “What’s this?”

“My phone,” Itadori replies, still smiling.

“Um, I mean, I know that, but why’d you give it to me?”

“So you can give me your number. That way it’ll be easier for us to stay in touch!” He pauses, just for a moment, to frown. “Oh, but I guess I should’ve asked if you were okay with it first. I got a little ahead of myself. Would it be cool if we exchanged numbers?”

Abso-fucking-lutely!

By some miracle, you manage to reign in your excitement, and instead of hardcore fangirling and squealing out at the top of your lungs, you just nod.

“Sure thing,” you say, trying to play it cool. Still, despite your best efforts to act indifferent, your fingers are trembling as you pull out your own phone and refer to the number you have saved in a notes app (because you definitely haven’t memorized it within less than a day of being here). Once you’re finished inputting your number, you pass your phone over to Itadori so he can do the same.

And just like that, you have a new contact saved. Itadori Yuji. He even added a little smiley-face at the end of his name. God, he’s so fucking cute.

“Sweet!” Itadori grins. “Thanks, [Name]. I’ll be sure to text you lots! Sorry I can’t really stick around much longer. I just wanted to stop by real quick before I left to go visit my gramps at the hospital.”

Right. His grandfather. A point deep in your stomach throbs uncomfortably, and you’re hit by a sudden wave of guilt. It feels awful to know that his grandfather’s end is rapidly approaching. It feels awful to know that you can’t change it, or even warn him. All you can do is feign ignorance and hope that he enjoys these fleeting moments while they last.

You muster up a smile. “I hope you have a nice day with your grandpa. Feel free to text me whenever.”

“Will do! See ya!”

Itadori waves you off, every bit as cheerful as always. Yet another thing that causes you immense guilt is the knowledge that his happy days won’t last forever. Soon, he’ll be thrown into a dark, sinister world that teems with death. A world that, in your opinion, is far too harsh for such a gentle soul.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about that. Fate will run its course, and you must simply stand by and let it happen.

Despite the nice day you had, your spirits are admittedly a bit low as you trudge home, having to consult Oogle Maps in order to find your way around. After being injured yesterday, the nurse called your parents to inform them of what had happened, and your mom came by to pick you up. This is technically your first time finding your way home by yourself. It’s not just a new school you need time getting used to, but a new home, a new city, a new world… all of it is bound to get a little overwhelming at times.

You wish you could say you’re completely aware of your surroundings, but that’s far from the truth. Every so often, you have to stop and squint towards the street signs to make sure you’re heading the right way. Jujutsu Kaisen is set in a fictional world, of course, but it’s a world modeled off the real world, and there’s plenty of similarities. This version of Japan is every bit as busy as the real one, for instance. Which is why you keep getting swept up in the crowds and losing your sense of direction.

Still, it’s not rocket science. You can mostly figure out where you’re going. Oogle Maps is idiot-proof, after all. Well, sort of.

But the fact remains that you’ve never wandered these streets before, and naturally, you’re as disoriented as anyone would be in a foreign place. Hence why you don’t notice him until it’s late.

A man with long, black hair, who’s staring right at you.

You get jerked around by the crowd of people hurrying home during rush-hour, enough that you end up tripping onto the sidewalk and falling onto your knees. Your socks only reach up to your calves, so unfortunately, your knees get scraped open and start bleeding.

Man. Only two days into this isekai thing, and you just can’t seem to stop getting hurt.

“...are you alright?”

Some guy is speaking to you. Presumably, one of the bystanders that saw you trip. Your cheeks flush, because falling in public is one of the most embarrassing things that can happen, but you instinctively reach out to grab his hand anyway.

At the same time, your gaze pans upwards, and his eyes meet yours.

Oh, balls.

That’s the most appropriate response you can think of. After all, the man you’ve just had the misfortune of running into is hardly the type to be your friend. He’s not like Itadori. He’s not one of the good guys.

He is Geto Suguru. Or rather, the curse user that’s pretending to be him. The real Geto is long dead. He was killed by his former best friend, Gojo.

Those scars on his forehead tell you everything you need to know. The curse user’s name is Kenjaku, and he is merely using Geto’s body as a vessel. As things stand, you’re probably the only person who knows his true identity.

Regardless, the details don’t matter right now.

You’re just really fucking scared.

Kenjaku pulls you to your feet, and unlike with Itadori, when you wished you could keep holding his hand forever, this time, you pull away viscerally fast, as if you’ve just been splashed with hot oil.

Naturally, Kenjaku notices.

“You didn’t answer my question, miss,” he chuckles, a cunning smile spreading across his lips. “I asked if you were alright. You took quite a tumble there. It must have hurt.”

“I-I’m fine,” you reply, praying your fear isn’t absurdly obvious. You need to stay calm. There’s no reason why an ordinary person would be afraid of him, and if you let it show, he’ll know something’s up.

“Your knees are bleeding,” Kenjaku points out. He leans closer to you, and you swear your heart nearly explodes. His dark, thin eyes are even more eerie from up close. “And you look like you just saw a ghost. I admit, I’m a bit worried.”

That’s bullshit if you’ve ever heard it, but nevertheless, you can’t allow your expression to crumble. There’s no reason for him to kill you out in public like this. Unlike cursed spirits, people can see him. He won’t risk drawing that kind of attention to himself.

Probably.

“I’m just… socially awkward,” you say, chuckling shyly for added effect. “And, uh, I’m not good at talking to handsome guys like you. I get nervous.”

To be honest, what you just said isn’t even a total lie. Sadly.

Kenjaku stares at you in silence for a few moments, then smiles yet again, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m flattered by your words,” he muses. “Well, just be careful not to trip again. You got off with a small injury this time, but if you’re not careful, it could be a lot worse. And nobody likes to hurt, do they?”

It’s hard to tell whether or not that was meant to be a thinly-veiled threat, but you have no intention of sticking around to find out.

“Thank you for your help, mister. I appreciate it.”

You hastily bow to him, then waste no time before speed-walking away. The further you get, the easier it is to breathe.

But since you’re too scared to look back over your shoulder, you don’t realize that Kenjaku is still staring at you with a contemplative look on his face.

He hums to himself. “So much cursed energy. Is she a sorcerer? But something about her seems strange. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Well, no matter. He’ll leave you in peace for now. He can’t very well attack you in broad daylight, and he doesn’t even know if you pose a threat. There are far too many variables to consider.

Besides, something tells him that this won’t be your last meeting.

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trippinsorrows · 3 months

Text

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh.

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life.

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror.

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth.

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears.

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself.

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference.

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares.

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths.

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them.

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good.

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious.

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde.

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number. “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse.

She’ll make sure not to lose it.

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world.

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval.

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers.

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again.

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes.

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish.

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood.

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks.

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is.

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious.

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know.

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself.

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning.

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief.

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?”

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.”

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly.

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family.

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.”

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them.

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed.

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up.

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it.

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true.

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe.

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time.

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire.

“No!”

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck.

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her.

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing.

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.”

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction.

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe.

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance.

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished.

She almost….she almost feels calm.

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now.

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one.

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side.

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome.

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question.

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

#roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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witerh · 4 months

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need each other || boyfriend re4r!leon

warning: nsfw, fluff, mention of leon's ptsd, dom/soft leon! phone handjob, on distance, dirty talk, animal names, caresses, orgasm, consolation, comfort.

rating: mature

plot: your boyfriend's long absence from home makes you miss him not only mentally but also physically.

Long-distance relationships, no matter what temporarily or forever, are always an unbearable longing and need. Thoughts are filled only with when he will return and worry about one rustle at home because he can will return at any moment. A couple of days, weeks and months have already been passing for too long, hours and minutes are like honey — they are slowly tormenting you with its slowness. Joy knows no bounds when you hear a notification on your phone, you hope that it’s your boyfriend, but it turns out it’s just a notification about the weather forecast. At night, hiding a pillow between your legs is simply unbearable because the desire to feel real touches is much stronger. Memories of his hands on your body, wanting to console you and calm you down from bitter tears that you don’t deserve make you sad while he consoled himself with a glass of whiskey at the bar. The atmosphere in the house just suffocates you like never before. You are used to coming home from work and smelling the cooked dinner, comforting yourself in the arms of the blond talking about your day. But now it’s deathly silence, broken by the jingle of your keys in the lock.

A stream of cool air blows into your bedroom through the slightly open window while you lie in bed and chat with Leon. The corners of your lips turn up as you can you hear his voice as if it were some kind of treasure. His words through the phone speaker feel like they are say from the heart. Admitting how much he misses you and will be back soon with a gift in the form of a new dress that you saw on Instagram makes your heart beat faster than before. You tell how things are going on with you at work and, in general, the upcoming news in your life. You haven’t seen him for a long time, you haven’t felt his comfort and the warmth for a long time which now replaces blanket. Fleeting conversations with him on the phone warm you more than any fireplace in a harsh winter that does not want to be consoled. This mission is too long for both of you and your cunt is already getting wet from his message: “How is my girl coping there alone at home, hmm?" It torments you, but at the same time it gives you pleasure like never before. Sweet torture that you are ready to endure on your own skin with defeat and hand in panties.

While talking about something new at your work, you didn’t even not right away notice how Leon was half naked and with rosy cheeks. He often worked out in the gym, because you always need to keep in shape, just as you always need to keep the bookshelves in order from dust in your house. He carefully tried and trained his muscles, so that veins almost burst under his slightly tanned skin. I can’t say that you didn’t admire his muscular body, his chest, his abs, but still it was too much. It was too beautiful a sight for your head to see his strong hands, that a pool had already formed in your mouth from your saliva. You didn’t even ask your boyfriend whether he was home from practice or not, because you still knew the answer: “Yes, I was, baby, otherwise it wouldn’t be me.”

— You think so, what if were you at home and touched me right now? Explain yourself for me. — you reproached into the speaker feeling a rather familiar knot inside your lower abdomen. The sound of your voice so alluring made him root for you even more. Leon could imagine the playful smirk on your lips as you teased him. His strong hand ran over his aching cock, which needed you more and more. Kennedy's imagination is simply clouded by excitement and he cannot think right now.

— I would lie between your thighs... and eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner... I'll make you scream my name until you forget yours... — he sighed softly lost in my imagination. About how you squeeze his skull with your plush hips, how you will cry for release while his tongue carefully works over your body, how your hands grab onto his strands of hair as if it were a sheet that was stained with your juices and his saliva. It makes his skin crawl. Leon threw his heavy head back onto the pillow, which eventually flopped from the big fantasies of your entertainment after his mission.

He will definitely make your pussy happy.

His blond hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat because it's so hot in the hotel room! With every statement and request from Leon, you felt that there was already a lake of your fluids under your ass. There is no point in resisting the temptation, and your hand is already under the lace fabric and circling over your clitoris, caressing you while you imagine that these are his fingers.

— Oh, Leon, — you mutter for him and only him — I want you... — your words were a request and a plea with heavy breathing. Your words and the sounds of your cunt squelching against your finger made the fire inside him flare up. His hand lowered his sweatpants freeing his already hard cock from its confines. Leon's movements were desperate when he heard this symphony of your sighs and sounds.

— What a good girl, — he answered, frowning from the tension in this situation. With every stroke he imagined that you were doing this to him which brought him to an uncontrollable state. Your shared muffled chorus of arousal and moans was heard only by both of you and no one else. — What do you want, baby, now?.. I will do everything I can in my power, —

Your fingers began to tremble due to the way you were squeezing them with your walls. His voice and words were stuck in your head for a couple of seconds while you thought about them while your boyfriend continued to console himself and you heard it perfectly. — Fuck me, Leon... Рlease... I need you so much.. right now, — your thighs began to tremble involuntarily — a sign that your fingers were doing their job well.

— I'm close.. very.. Oh God.. — Kennedy's slight muttering that you couldn't quite understand. Leon was quiet that there were almost no moans for you, but for him your moans were very often. His hand increased the pace of movement, smearing precum from the red tip with his thumb. You both lost your breath and the approach only increased without stopping for mercy. The tension in the lower abdomen tormented him greatly, as did you, constantly reminding him of the long-awaited release. With each passing moment, the intensity of your pleasure grew until it became almost unbearable. It's too much.

— Cum for me, baby, be a good girl for me... — he coos and his voice was hoarse with his desire and need for you. You succumbed to temptation with a hoarse cry, feeling like a knot was untying in the lower abdomen and your pussy ached and ached while your hips stood up slightly in trembling. You are lost and your mouth is dry and there is not enough saliva while your body is all wet from sweat and your own fluids, not to mention the sheet under you and now dirty pajamas. You could only hear his moans and low growls of his release with your encouragement. Thick strings of sperm released into his palm also staining his clothes and his skin.

You both walked away and breathed heavily without saying anything. — You liked it baby, huh? — his murmur was heard with the slight rustling of a napkin as he removed dirt from himself. Kennedy wanted to hear your approval or to hear what he did wrong in this unusual meeting on the phone. — This is not just “good”, it is ideal and only ideal, — you quietly whispered back.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #older leon kennedy #re4 #comfort #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy fanfic #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut

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randomprose · 16 days

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missed calls and white cosmos

[ao3] - set during chapter 452 Guan Shan will never say it, because he’s a lot less brave than He Tian is, but he hopes He Tian knows he feels the same way.

Mo Guan Shan will be the first to admit that he tends to get absorbed in his work. He can’t help it. It’s a job that he actually enjoys, pays ridiculously really well, and lets him express his artistic side. Of course, he’d get bouts of hyperfixation.

He really didn’t mean to blow off He Tian and he really did intend to call when he’s done. It’s just that he got done late. Really late. And on a night when He Tian said he had some good news to share too.

‘Ah, shit,’ Mo Guan Shan thinks, sighing to himself. ‘He’s gonna throw a bitchfit. I just know it.’

10 missed calls and 20 messages though, really?

He doesn’t bother going through each of them now as he hurriedly dresses himself while trying to ring back He Tian.

“C’mon, chicken dick pick up,” Guan Shan mutters, cursing when he nearly busts his nose on the floor as he hastily changes out of his overalls and into his pants. “I know you know I’m calling, asshole. Fucking pick up already.”

‘sorry. late. where r u?’ he types with one hand as he shoves his feet into his sneakers.

“Fuck,” Guan Shan growls as he revs the engine of his scooter. In his head, he’s frantically thinking of a way to make it up to He Tian but he’s drawing up blank. In the years he’s known He Tian ignoring him is just about the worst thing you could do to him.

He passes by a flower shop and thinks about buying a bouquet but his skin is not thick enough to carry one around while he’s on his Vespa trying to find a stupidly unresponsive He Tian. He knows it’s probably the kind of gesture He Tian will be surprised at coming from him, would likely get him instantly forgiven for being late and not checking his phone just because He Tian is easy like that when it comes to him for some reason, but it seems so insincere and very obviously pandering and Mo Guan Shan does not do insincere or pandering, especially not with He Tian.

Instead, he stops by the road when he sees something that catches his eye. He plucks a single stem of white cosmos from the plotted plants on the sidewalk because it reminds him of He Tian. He tucks it in his pocket, careful not to squish it as he cruises the streets to find his no-doubt sulking boyfriend.

Blessedly, he finds him soon enough by the bridge near the restaurant they agreed to meet. He’s leaning on his parked car and even from the distance Guan Shan can feel his bad mood, can just imagine the pout on his face and the tantrum he’s gonna throw.

“Hey, there you are. How long have you been waiting? Have you eaten?” Guan Shan prods even though he already knows He Tian has been waiting for him for three hours and he likely hasn’t eaten because he’s always hated eating alone.

Silence. Mo Guan Shan tries a different tactic.

“You look pretty handsome in that suit.” The compliment comes easily to him because it’s the truth. He Tian really does look handsome in his suit which is why it makes Guan Shan all the more sorry and the guilt in his gut much heavier that he didn’t come to meet him sooner. “Say something. I really was busy.”

Mo Guan Shan has long shaken off the habit of ignoring He Tian. How could he when the man is so stubbornly persistent in making sure Mo Guan Shan’s thoughts are never devoid of him? Not for long anyway. And it’s not like Mo Guan Shan has ever had any success in keeping his thoughts free of He Tian either.

Yet right now He Tian is making a valiant attempt at ignoring him and Mo Guan Shan finds that he does not care for it. He does not care for it at all.

‘Fuck. He’s even giving me attitude.’ Mo Guan Shan can’t help it. He’s so irritated his hand comes up on its own to snatch at the cigarette dangling from He Tian’s lips because he knows for a fact he’ll hate it.

Except He Tian unexpectedly turns to him, thin eyebrows drawn down into a frown, eyes full of annoyance and a touch of anger.

‘Fuck me. This handsome face,’ Mo Guan Shan furiously thinks even as he appreciates the view. ‘I swear to god your stupidly handsome mug is gonna be the death of me one day. Fuck!’

“You…really forgot about me?” He Tian finally speaks and Mo Guan Shan blushes at the slight whine in his voice and the almost imperceptible pout on his lips even as the bastard blows smoke directly at his face.

Guan Shan coughs and pulls back as He Tian turns away from him again, still sulking. He digs into his pocket for his peace offering, wincing slightly when he sees that it’s wilted and bent in the bud but still offers it in all sincerity.

“He Tian…” Guan Shan holds the small flower up and it immediately catches He Tian’s eyes. “Don’t be mad…okay?”

The crease in He Tian’s brow vanishes and an arm reaches out to pull Guan Shan by the waist. Guan Shan easily goes, wanting to be close the moment he found He Tian. His hand fists at Guan Shan’s shirt as if he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight so he wounds an arm around He Tian’s shoulder and leans down to plant a featherlight kiss on his temple, an apology and an assurance in a single gesture.

“Fine…” He Tian sighs, sagging against Mo Guan Shan in what feels like surrender. “It’s my fault I can’t live without you.”

Mo Guan Shan will never say it, because he’s a lot less brave than He Tian is, but he hopes He Tian knows he feels the same way.

#19 days #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #writing #according to google white cosmos flowers symbolize purity and faithfulness in romantic love #ch 452 was mwah chef's kiss 10/10

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lass-us-slay · 28 days

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Alr so I was watching edits and came across Arlecchino and an idea popped into my head!

Danny Phantom as Arlecchino in DC also know as: Phantom the Knave Sovereign

(Still working on the name- Before we start I wanna say, I’m just trouble shooting rn and seeing what new ideas I could add with your guys input too. But so far this is what I have)

———

Ok so plot points:

Somehow Pariah Dark gets free of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, either because of Vlad or the Observants

Pariah seeing potential in Danny (and cause he was already dubbed to take Pariahs place after he was old enough) starts trying to become Danny’s parental model (much like Vlad. But Worse.)

It was annoying at first, but slowly over time, Pariah started taking his role as Danny’s “Father” too far and twisted. Wanting to make Danny strong, stronger than he ever will be.

Then one thing leads to another and an identity reveal happens. Except the Fentons now pretend Danny Fenton no longer exists, and it’s just Danny Phantom that is an after image of their boy. Which pains them so they keep their distance, but still help what they think is left of their boy.

Danny is sad about that- but he has his sister Jazz and his two best friends! He can live with his parents pretending he doesn’t exist, atleast not as Danny Fenton no he can’t- he really can’t-

Then shit hits the fan, resulting in Danny’s home dimension into imploding into itself. (Which may or may not be the fault of Pariah Dark)

Luckily Danny is able to get out with Jazz!

But he’s too angry to rationalize himself after the death of his Haunt and almost all his fraid dying. He attacks and attacks Pariah and observers and whoever that threatens his last family at every turn.

More shit hits the fan, resulting in Danny getting cursed, which really hurts Danny. Enough to do weird ghost shenanigans to his biology, (via curse), and Jazz gets caught up.

Pariah sees a golden opportunity to use this to get Danny stronger to become the next king.

But Clockwork has had enough and steps in. Only to be promptly sealed away by the still acting king; Pariah Dark. Which Danny not even knowing as he’s out for the count thanks to the curse. (Jazz is the only witness. But Pariah can’t kill her because of Danny.)

More stuff happens and now Pariah is the acting Father of Danny and Jazz (with amnesia) who are in a ghost normal(?) orphanage with other kids.

Basically Arlecchino’s childhood happens to Danny and Jazz. Just that Pariah has decided to false make Jazz his “bio” kid to mentally fuck with Danny (smol child, and poor Jazz).

Danny still sees Jazz as his sis even if he doesn’t remember

After Jazz sadly doesn’t make it, Danny faces off Pariah once more for the first time. And consumes Pariahs Core into his, eating him alive so no more Pariah for the rest or eternity.

Then remembers- holy shit his names Danny! Not Peruere, which ew- (kidding I love the name-)

Anyways Danny gets mad at Clockwork only to find him sealed and the timelines fucked- and with Clockwork being so weak since the seal-ment, it’s up to Danny to fix the mess (and the one that was caused by the Observants once more with no one on the throne)

And so now Danny travels around timelines, picking up strays and adopting them (much like Batman, but better)

That there is the rough outline of the story!! I probably will make more but I just need to organize my thoughts before going into finer things (and art!)

Also I’d like to mention- while in the orphanage, Danny’s human side takes on more physical characteristics of his ghost form. Sorta merging the two forms into one? Not sure about it.

But Danny’s human form has definitely changed, and the curse is the same as Arlecchinos from Genshin (although would be nice if someone actually explained the curse to me fully- cause I don’t get it at all 😭)

Anyways that’s it- im thinking about interactions with the kids Danny Adopts and such but that’s for another time 💀

Aight peace ✌️

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thecosmicmap · 9 months

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Strap in folks this is gonna be a long one.

So as we know Dean Deblois is the writer of HTTYD2 and 3. As a writer you have a list of rules you should follow. One such rule is “show don’t tell.”

Dean disregarded this rule and we mainly see it with Grimmel and the Night Fury genocide. In the movie he tells us “I hunted every last night fury except yours” yet Grimmel has nothing to show for it. No trophies, no night fury hide cloak, not even a claw. The most we get is a few “facts” about Night Furies that aren’t even true, or can’t be proven to be true because we’ve only ever seen one Night Fury.

“Night Furies can’t survive the cold.” Yet Hiccup tells us (in GOTNF which is canon) that winter in Berk lasts for most of the year.

“Night Furies can’t fly long distances” Yet Toothless’ wings are large and wide, which allows him to glide for long periods of time.

“Furies mate for life.” We would never know because we only see one Night Fury in the entire franchise. And if we take a look at other dragons, it seems they only see their mate during mating season.

And why would Grimmel know that if he’s trying to kill off the Night Furies forever? What’s the point in knowing their mating habits if there’s never going to be any Night Furies again? Did he just look at a Fury pair and go “yeup. They mate for life.”

Now another thing about Grimmel is that his hunting method is unreliable. One, he left his bait without any restraints. Imagine if the Light Fury woke up minutes before and just left? Boom! No more bait. What if Toothless wasn’t horny and was mad at the Light Fury for trying to kill Hiccup multiple times? Boom. He wouldn’t be trying to deal with her and the plan is ruined because the bait isn’t appealing to the target. What if Toothless didn’t smell her and never showed up?

Lots of plot conveniences. It happens in the entire movie. Dean also had to confirm that yes, Grimmel did kill all the Night Furies in an INTERVIEW because people didn’t believe that Grimmel genocide the Night Furies. And Dean only did this because he thinks Toothless is special because he’s the last Night Fury.

Now we could be here forever talking about how stupid grimmel is as a villain and how stupid it is to even entertain the thought that ONE man and his six, drugged dragons were able to commit genocide to a species of intelligent, elusive and fast dragons, but let’s just continue.

Another rule Dean disregarded is having good characterization. Or ANY characterization!

The Light Fury immediately comes to mind. Name one personality trait she has that we actually see in the movie. You can’t, can you? Because Dean actively wrote that out. There was a deleted scene of Light Fury and Toothless’ romantic flight which gave her much more personality, yet Dean wrote it out and gave us the boring one we have now.

Also, can we just talk about how she doesn’t have a name? Her name is literally “The Light Fury.” Which is the same as naming a Golden Retriever Golden Retriever.

I know Hiccup would’ve named her. Hell, anybody would’ve named her! But no, Dean decided that she didn’t need one because “how else would she be wild”?

Dean says this in an interview, “We intentionally try to keep her [The Light Fury] wild and elusive, to kind of represent something that is pure dragon, that hasn't been tainted by human beings by domestication.” Which just goes to show that Dean doesn’t know what domestication is.

(Dean also doesn’t know what a subspecies is because if he did, then he would know a Light Fury can’t possibly be a Night Fury subspecies because they have too many differences).

1. this means that Dean thinks all of the dragons that have benefited from human companionship (Toothless, Cloudjumper, Meatlug, Stormfly, etc) are tainted.

And 2, there is nothing “dragon” about the Light Fury. She has small feet (Hiccup’s head is literally bigger than her feet), small claws, a small mouth, her wings are weirdly shaped, she’s curved, she has no protective scales and her tailfin is in the shape of a heart, which would actually mess up her flight.

Many people have said this is because she’s semi-aquatic. But this is disproven by the fact that we’ve never seen her in the water and the art book.

Here’s two direct quotes: “We had to explore how the Light Fury would walk and make her feel like a female.” “We had to control all the shapes while keeping her both powerful and graceful so she didn’t fall too much into the reptilian category.”

The Light Fury is a plot device, a “agent of change” in Dean’s words.

Now while we’re on the topic of characterization, let’s talk about our main cast. We’ll start with Toothless.

Toothless is Hiccup’s best friend, who will do anything to protect him no matter the costs. He’s sassy, intelligent, curious, loyal, protective and playful.

Now take all of this, and throw it in the trash because this isn’t the toothless you’re going to see in THW. In THW Toothless’ playfulness is shot to the max, making him more like a slobbery puppy than the lethal panther he was in HTTYD1.

Toothless isn’t protective of Hiccup at all, his intelligence is below hell itself and we don’t see a lick of sass. Httyd3 Toothless is physically incapable of looking scary because his face has been deformed to to look blocky and smushed together. He lacks any aerodynamics and we can even see it in his flying. He looks like he’s struggling.

Toothless and Hiccup’s friendship is so watered down in this movie, just for the sake of romance. That’s not how it should be. Romance and friendship go hand in hand, one is not more valuable than the other.

Astrid is nothing but Hiccup’s emotional support, yet she also puts him down. “you gave him [Toothless] his freedom, what were you expecting?” This implies that the dragons are being held captive and Toothless doesn’t want to be with Hiccup.

Which he does, as we see in GOTNF. Toothless only left to get Hiccup’s helmet, then he broke the auto-tail. But why would Astrid even say that? Thats so insensitive 😭.

The twins are dumbed down (despite proving to actually being intelligent), Snotlout is flirting with a woman who’s 20 years older than him (and might be his aunt, depending if you see Hiccup and Snotlout as cousins) and Valka outright tells Hiccup that they can’t hide away from the world.

Which is true, they can’t. Because eventually they will be found. Now remember this, it’ll come back later.

Now, when writing a story it’s important to move the plot along in a way that doesn’t seemed forced. When I think of this, I think of Trollhunters: tales of Arcadia.

The protagonist (Jim) goes into the villain’s home in order to rescue his friend’s baby brother, yet he gets trapped there. His friends have to get him out of there, which allows the villain to be freed from the Darklands. This happening allows the story to move forward in a way that makes sense and isn’t forced.

Now back to HTTYD3. Let’s look at the scene where Toothless and the LF get captured. The Light Fury smells grimmel, she calls to toothless, runs towards Grimmel and gets shot.

Toothless runs over (ignoring Hiccup’s warnings) approaches Grimmel, takes forever loading a plasma blast while sloooowly walking towards Grimmel, allowing the man to shoot him and make him go night-night.

Hiccup runs over, also taking forever. And the next time we see grimmel he’s already tied up two dragons (BY HIMSELF) in these complicated straight jackets. The other dragons come around (finally) ready to attack, yet Grimmel threatens the light fury and tells Toothless to call of the dragons.

“But isn’t Toothless asleep?” I hear you ask, and to that I respond with “no, he’s not. He miraculously woke up in time to call the dragons off, despite the light fury still being knocked out cold.”

The dragons are called off and grimmel leaves on his quad-copter. The dragons follow them, even though Grimmel didn’t tell toothless to make them follow.

Do you see how forced this is? There’s many more forced plot points, but we’ll be here forever talking about it and this post is long enough already.

Next up on the broken rule list, Dean let the antagonist win. Now it’s okay for an antagonist to win, but never in the third act.

Grimmel’s ultimate goal was for dragons to disappear. Dean himself says “he does not want a world in which dragons roam free.” And what do we see at the end of HTTYD3?

The dragons disappearing into the Hidden World forever. Exactly what Grimmel wanted.

Finally, the last rule Dean broke is having a consistent plot. Now the plot of each movie is a bit different. Httyd1: Hiccup shows Vikings that while dangerous, dragons aren’t monsters. And it’s better to work together than working apart.

Httyd2: Dragons are being captured and enslaved, we need to save them and fight for our friends.

Httyd3: toothless needs to get a girlfriend. He HAS to, despite not ever showing to want one, but he’s horny right now so YES, he HAS to.

But the franchise has an overarching narrative about humans and dragons coming together. That no matter what, they will prevail because they’re working together.

Well in HTTYD3 yes, they prevail. But the dragons leave. Why, you may ask? Because no matter what they’ll always be bad humans so there’s no point fighting.

Hiccup sends the dragons to an underground glittery cave that doubles as a prison, and six years of friendship is thrown down the drain for a female Toothless met three days prior. Hiccup tells the audience that dragons will hide until humans learn how to get along (despite the many humans that already get along with them).

And that’s it. The end. No more.

“But wait!” I hear you ask, “Won’t the dragons eventually be found again?” And to that I say, “Oh, you remember!”

Because yes, the dragons will eventually be found out again. And because Hiccup gave up on fighting for change, these humans think dragons are dangerous monsters and will undoubtedly enslave/kill them.

We even see this with his own kids! Zephyr thought dragons were monsters and was ready to hurt them in order to “protect her family”. Humans of the future will no doubt act like this as well.

Humans and dragons will never learn to get along if they are never around each other. Change won’t just happen, you have to fight for it. Like the end of slavery, or the Women’s Rights Movement. Those things didn’t just happen, people had to fight for change and they had to keep fighting because if they gave up then nothing would change.

And when the dragons are inevitably found once again, it will be Hiccup’s fault when they’re either killed or enslaved.

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unkreativstermensch · 9 months

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The porch lights are all turned off, so the glowing from the pool is the only thing illuminating the back yard, and it looks a little eery with the steaming water and the dark forest surrounding them. A little magical too. Like mystic healing waters in a hidden cave. He could see a mermaid surfacing, taking him with her on a new quest.

Huh. Maybe that would be a nice plot point for the next campaign.

Steve is sitting on the steps that connect the terrace to the pool area of the backyard, his back turned to Eddie. He’s smoking, judging from the low glow of a cigarette in the dark. Eddie hasn’t seen Steve smoke since like…his first senior year.

His back looks tense and if he heard Eddie opening the door and stepping outside, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps staring into the distance, hardly moving, only lifting his hand to his lips and taking a shaky drag of the cigarette. He seems anxious and fidgety and it sort of breaks Eddie’s heart.

He sits down next to him. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him, just joins him there and stares into the distance too. Steve finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the floor next to him.

“You have really bad memories here.” Eddie states it more than he says it. “Upside Down unrelated.” He turns to look at him. “Right?”

Steve lifts his head a tiny fraction, his jaw tense. He looks over at Eddie. Breathes. Looks away again, breathes some more, eyes glued to the floor. Eddie can see tears forming in his eyes. He can also see Steve desperately trying to hide them, force them back.

It doesn’t work.

Then, giving up, Steve just nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

Eddie just watches him for a couple seconds, then redirects his gaze to the pool and shrugs. “I don’t think we should hang out here then.”

Steve immediately scoffs. “Try telling that to the kids.”

“Maybe you really should,” Eddie says after a pause. Steve’s expression turns a little confused.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I tried. Were you not there?”

“No, I was,” Eddie confirms. “Which is how I know that you’re not really the best at standing up for yourself.”

Now Steve actually looks a little offended.

Eddie sighs. “Just…Look, I know you can’t say no to the little shrimps, but they love you. And if they knew how serious you are about not wanting to hang out here, I’m sure they’d stop pestering you about it.”

“What…what do you expect me to tell them, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs. “How bout the truth?”

Steve looks at him like he just suggested to paint the moon in a dark shade of pink. “The truth?” he repeats and scoffs again, a little disbelieving this time. “Sure,” he then says, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Sure. Next time, I’ll just tell them the truth. I’ll just tell them, in as much detail as possible, about how my father beat me black and blue in every single fucking room of this house and had me scrub my own blood from the banister after he shoved me a little too hard, so, excuse me, if don’t want to spend more time than absolutely necessary here." His voice breaks. "But I just haven’t saved up enough money to move out because, guess what? Having rich parents isn’t all that great when they don’t give a shit about you.”

He tried to make it a big sarcastic speech, but he’s crying by the end of it and Eddie just pulls him against his side, holding him tight. Steve sobs into his chest, curling his arms around Eddie’s back, holding onto him and Eddie’s heart breaks more for him. The boy in his arms is so, so broken, and he’s way too good at hiding it.

“Well, maybe not in those words,” he whispers into Steve’s hair and tries to blink his own tears away, that come at the thought of Steve, soft, sweet, loving and caring Steve, being hurt and hurt and hurt again, by his own parents. And nobody being there to stop it, unlike his mother and Wayne were for Eddie.

Steve clings to Eddie and Eddie just presses him closer, won’t let him go until Steve decides to pull away, softly stroking his back, trying his best to give him comfort.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Steve,” he whispers and when Steve actually detaches his head from Eddie’s chest, pulls away a little and looks at him, Eddie can’t help but gently cup his face in his right hand and wipe one of the remaining tears away.

“S’not your fault,” Steve whispers and Eddie softly shakes his head.

“No, I know,” he says. “But it’s not your fault either.”

Steve takes a deep breath, dodges Eddie’s eyes again.

“I really think you should try talking to them again,” he then tries. Steve immediately turns defensive. “Eddie-”

“No, I just- I mean this is important, you can’t-”

“Eddie, I can’t-”

“You can’t let them just-”

“Don’t make me-”

“You can’t rely on Robin to fend for you all the time, I-”

“Yes, I can, she would-”

“Steve!”

“No, Eddie, what?” Steve looks at him, desperate. “I can’t do it, what do you- what do you want from me?”

He looks so devastated. Eddie pulls him a little closer with the hand still on his cheek. He looks at him. Bites his lip. “I want you to be alright.”

That seems to shut Steve up.

“I care about you, Steve. I care so much.” His left hand slowly reaches for Steve’s hand, grabs it, squeezes it tentatively. “Maybe...even a little too much.”

It’s as far into a confession as he’s gonna go, but Steve understands. Eddie knows. His eyes open and honest.

They’re just staring at each other. Steve squeezes back.

God, they’re so close.

“Do you wanna know one of the reasons?” Steve asks, eyes glassy, voice exhausted. Why is he even prettier, when he cries? It’s unfair to the world but even more unfair to Steve. It shouldn’t look good to be in pain.

“Reasons?” Eddie frowns.

“Why my dad…” Steve shrugs. “Well…why he…did it.”

When Eddie catches onto the words, he softly shakes his head. “Those weren’t reasons, Steve”, he says, his left thumb gently wiping the last remaining tear off of Steve’s cheek. “Those were excuses.”

Steve leans even more into Eddie’s touch and closes his eyes. He sighs. “Either way.”

Eddie waits until Steve opens his eyes again, looking at him expectantly.

“Why?”

Steve smiles, but it’s still sad. Eddie can see him swallow.

“Because of this,” Steve whispers, his left hand curling around Eddie’s. “Because I like kissing boys.”

For whatever reason, Eddie isn’t surprised. Not that Steve ‘likes kissing boys’ at least. He is surprised, however, at how similar he phrased it. For a second Eddie’s thrown back, to more than five years ago, when he, with tears on his face and an ice pack pressed against his busted lip, confessed to Wayne that maybe the rumors about him weren’t that wrong after all. That it wasn’t true when they called him gay or a fag, not fully at least, because he liked girls, he kissed one just last week and he enjoyed it, he did, he swore.

“But I just sort of…like kissing boys too.”

“Ed, my boy,” Wayne told him back then and pulled him into an awkward but warm hug. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes and takes Steve’s face in both of his hands to make him look at him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Steve’s eyes are still glazed and he’s still so pretty it hurts and he slowly bites down on his lip, which- unfair, if you ask Eddie. So unfair.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks and it seems almost as if he’s not asking about the kissing thing anymore. Well, yes, but in a different context. His gaze falls down onto Eddie’s lips and Eddie has to take a sharp breath.

“Oh, I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Eddie replies, his voice barely above a whisper and Steve’s lips pull into a hesitant, soft smile before he shifts a little closer.

“So you…you won’t mind, if I-”

He’s cut off by Eddie kissing him. Steve melts into it, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer, the other fisting the fabric of Eddie's shirt. Eddie kisses Steve deeper, softly hums into it and he can feel Steve letting himself go.

Steve feels safe with him, Eddie realizes.

It almost makes him wanna cry.

When they break apart, they just stare at each other for a second. Still close, Eddie’s hands still cupping Steve's face, Steve’s still in Eddie’s curls and shirt.

“This,” Steve says, a little breathless, which- what? Eddie caused that? “This is certainly a good memory."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robins out of town btw #so she's not there to argue for steve #and this is the first time they all hung out at steves #and only eddie realizes the discomfort on steves face

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sentientcave · 6 months

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Here we go friends! These chapters just keep getting longer. A larger plot begins to reveal itself to me. I am having a lot of fun here and I hope you are too.

Chapter 3 - Reading Between the Lines

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Bad memories, A spot of magic, Voyeurism, Reader description kept pretty neutral but I kind of got slightly more specific about black hair care so you're just going to have to live with it.

~6k words

The next morning, it rains.

The pitter-patter of rain against your windows wakes you up, because it sounds wrong. There’s only one small window in your room in Kate’s house, and when weather blows in it’s the sound of water trickling down and dripping off the thatch roof that’s loudest, not the rain itself. Here the sound echoes strangely in the big space, and you wake with a start, disoriented, your heart-hammering in your chest.

It feels like your life in town is the dream, trickling away faster than you can cup your hands to hold onto it. You fly out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, dashing out into the hallway, bare feet cold on the stone floor. The king’s bedroom is directly across the hall from your own, and you stare at the door, frozen and unsure if you’re willing to risk knocking, breath caught in your throat, chest tight, anxiety squeezing your ribs until they ache.

You’re sixteen and twenty-six both, living two lives out in one panicking body. You no longer belong here and you’ve never been anywhere else. Your father is alive, angry, terrifying, and he’s dead and buried where he can’t hurt you anymore. You are a tossed coin landed on it’s edge, waiting to fall.

The door in front of you opens, and you leap back on instinct, but breathe a sigh of relief when it’s John standing there, looking at you with surprise first, and then concern. “Sweetpea?” he asks, stepping forward to meet you, but leaving space between your bodies, like he knows that it would be worse for him to touch you right now. “What’s wrong?”

You press your shaking fingers to your mouth, holding back a sob. You swallow it down, pulling yourself together enough to speak. “I thought it was a dream,” you say at last. “I thought he was still alive.”

There’s no question who you mean. John reaches a hand out, an offering, and you take it, clinging to him like a life-line. He reels you into his arms, and you lean in, the solid, warm bulk of him as reliable and real as the earth below. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “I put him in the ground myself. You’re safe.”

You nod against his chest, feeling small and silly now. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not sure what you’re sorry for. For showing weakness, maybe, for being lost in your own memory, for needing reassurance.

“It’s early yet,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “You should try to sleep a little longer.”

You’re not sure you could even if you tried, and even though you’re still tired, the adrenaline leaving your body cold, fatigue dragging at your bones insistently. You could maybe sleep against John’s chest, holding onto him, his heartbeat steady and strong enough in your ear to drown out the still-frenetic tempo of your own. “I think I’ll just get dressed,” you say, pushing away. He drops his arms instantly, letting you put a little distance between you.

He shakes his head, smiling at you fondly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Sweetpea, the sun hasn’t even risen. Go back to bed. I know just the thing to help. Go on.” He turns you toward your door and nudges you along.

There’s no point in arguing with him— You are tired, and although you suspect sleep will be beyond your reach, it’s cold in the hallway, especially now that you’re no longer pressed against John’s warm chest, and your bed is still warm when you climb back in.

Darkness presses down on you, heavy as grave-dirt, and you lay there, staring at the ceiling. You touch the crystal lamp next to your bed to light up the room, but that’s no better, really.

John knocks, but doesn’t wait for your answer before coming in, a dark wolf with blue eyes trotting in on his heels. “Go on, Soap,” he says, and Soap hops up onto your bed and lays down half on top of you, his head on your shoulder, tail wagging. John pats him on the head like he’s just a dog. “He’ll keep an eye on you.”

It should probably feel weird to cuddle up with a werewolf, since he’s really a man, and you’ll have to face that silly, crooked grin in the morning, but you need someone to cling to, and you’re to proud and cautious to cling to John. “Thank you,” is all you have it in you to say.

“He gets nightmares too. Usually sleeps across someone’s bed. I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you while you’re here.” John says it simply, without a drop of judgment or condescension, and scratches behind Soap’s ear. “He’s a real good listener when he can’t talk back too.” He withdraws, tapping the light and throwing the room into darkness again.

You don’t even hear the door click shut. You bury your face into the thick fur around Soap’s neck and fall asleep almost instantly.

When you wake up again, it's with a very large, very naked man on top of you.

You yelp, scrambling back on your pillows. Johnny’s eyes snap open at your first movement, on high alert before he’s all the way awake. He scrambles too, and falls right off the side of the bed with a solid thud.

"Oh! Johnny I'm so sorry," you look down at him from the edge of the mattress, trying not to laugh. "I forgot you were here."

"It's alright, lass. I didna mean to startle ye. Ah shift back overnight sometimes. Price didnae remember to warn ye." He sits up and leans against the bed, forearms folded over each other. He looks no worse for wear, and like he slept as solidly as you did, those last few hours. There’s a faint imprint of lace from your nightgown on his face, and half of his hair is stuck straight up, the rest pressed flat. "Are ye feelin' better?"

“I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

“S’nothin’ really. Nicer sleepin’ with you than Gaz, he kicks awl night long. An’ Nox doesnae like me none, so I cannae stay with Ghost.” He grins. “Price lets me stay but he makes me sleep at the foot of the bed like a dog. Sometimes a man wants a cuddle, ye ken?”

You giggle. “I ken.”

"Really livin' up to yer name, aye Sweetpea?"

You laugh again. "Johnny, you know that's not my name, right?"

"No? What is it?" He shakes his head when you tell him. "I like Sweetpea better. Suits ye."

"Me too," you tell him. It has no connections to your previous life. It just reminds you of the pretty pink, purple, and white flowers that grow on delicate, curling vines that you like to grow over the side of the chicken coop.

There's a knock on the door, and Johnny leaps up to see who it is. You have to hold your hand up quickly to avoid getting an eyeful of things you're not supposed to see. He's absolutely shameless-- you suspect he wouldn't think twice about strolling down the hallways without a scrap on. You have a curiousity about men's bodies that you're too bashful to indulge, even if you're pretty sure that Johnny would stand still and let you look as long as you liked. Well, maybe not stand still. But you doubt he would mind.

It's Ghost at the door. He doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, but he has clothes for Johnny hung over his arm, so you don't mind. Honestly, you can bear a few overzealous men who feel entitled to your space for a few days, because after that you'll get to go home and get back to your life.

Ghost positions himself between you and Johnny, just as he had yesterday. "Price said you 'ad a bit of an episode earlier. You olright?"

"Just fine," you say brightly. "No need to worry."

"Och, let him worry, hen. He likes ta do it."

"I'm really fine," you insist.

"You want to visit the mausoleum? Might make it feel more real."

You'd be more interested in going there to visit your mother's grave, if you're going at all, but you think that you'll wait for a sunnier day. A gray, dreary morning like the one outside your windows is no balm for dark memories or old wounds. Sunshine might be. "Not today," you say. "Maybe tomorrow." You get out of bed as gracefully as possible, well aware that you have an audience. "Perhaps the two of you could step outside for a moment while I get dressed?"

Ghost glances behind him, checking to see if Soap is covered up enough for him to move, and then walks over to your closet and pulls out a screen that you hadn't noticed sitting in the corner there, and sets it up. "There you go, Sweetpea. You'll need help with all your fastenin's anyway, won't you?"

You imagine that he's smiling under the mask, more than a little smug about it, but you let it slide. "Very thoughtful."

"Try to be."

The blank face of his mask gives you nothing when you glance over, aside from that he’s looking back. It’s not the first time that you’ve wished for more insight into what he’s thinking, but there’s a gravity to his attention that you swear was never there before, and it prickles at the back of your neck even after you duck out of sight.

You choose a sunny yellow dress today, to counter the deluge outside, and remove the silk scarf wrapped around your head so you can twist your braids on each side from your brow back to the nape of your neck, pinning the lengths into a knot. You’ll have to redo them soon, but without Kate and her wife to help you, you know it’ll take hours, if not most of a day.

You walk over to where Ghost is sitting and turn your back to him so he can button it up for you. He hands you his gloves to hold while he does so, and you run your hands over the detail of white leather bones stitched on over the well-worn black leather, decoration and extra protection both. Idly, you slip one on, but your hands are so small in comparison to his that you have to stretch your hand out just to get your fingers arranged inside it properly. He stands behind you, and leans over you to gently pull them from your hands, as though to underline again how much bigger he is than you are.

The top of your head brushes his chest when you tip your head back to look at him. “Thank you,” you say.

“I’m always ‘appy to ‘elp,” he says. “I’m with you for the mornin’ anyway. Might as well make myself useful, eh?”

“Stuck minding me?” you tease, sweeping around to fold back the sheets on your bed, only to find that one of them had already done it. Ghost, most likely, judging by how neat it is. You touch his arm lightly in silent thanks, and the three of you leave your room together.

Other than insisting you eat breakfast (served in a communal dining hall, where they insist on bringing things to you rather than let you suffer the indignity of standing in a line, and watch you eat with unnerving intensity), they’re content to follow you around as you refamiliarize yourself with the castle, mapping out changes so you don’t get turned about looking for anything. You find a number of familiar faces here and there, and have an perplexingly similar conversation with anyone you know, where they welcome you back cheerfully, and grow a bit quiet and nervous when you insist that you won’t be staying long, and when you try to press them on that, you’re ushered out, told they’re too busy to chat, and that you’ll find time to catch up later.

You suspect that Ghost and Johnny are the source of their nerves, but both of them always seem to be a few paces out of (human) earshot, and minding their own business, talking about something else quietly between them.

"Where's Kyle?" you ask as you're hustled out of the the healer's work shop and back out into the hallway. It’s become abundantly clear, no matter how well they feign innocence, that your hulking shadows are making the staff nervous, and you decide not to subject anyone else to their company. If you can slip away from them later, you might be able to have an actual conversation.

“Prob’ly ‘oled up in ‘is workshop,” Ghost says. “Some weeks we ‘ardly see ‘im.”

“Wizardy shite,” Johnny adds, his tone disapproving. “As if there aren’t a thousand ways ta blow shite intae bits withoot wigglin’ yer fingers. Can blow up flour, did ye know, Sweetpea? In barrels isnae much different than black powder.”

“Still useful to have a little magic,” you say, flipping your palm over and conjuring a flame in the centre of it. It’s one of the few spells in your cache, and you’ve mostly just used it to light candles and the stove. Your lessons barely dipped beyond simple control— You’d been told that magic was no proper pastime for a lady. When you think back on it now, you think it’s more that your father never wanted you to have defenses that he could not control, or that could be used against him. A grim thought, from this side of things.

“Forgot you ‘ave a little magic in you.” Ghost holds his hands above yours, feeling the heat coming off the small flame. “Come on, pet. Let’s find Kyle. Might be enough to pull ‘is nose out of ‘is books.”

You close your hand, extinguishing the flame, and let them guide you through a few corridors and up a spiraling stone staircase.

Johnny hesitates at the door, nose wrinkling at the slight, hard to identify smell of complex magical wards that are carved neatly into the doors. You can feel the slight hum of it in your teeth. Ghost pushes the door open without knocking (you think all four of these men might be allergic to knocking), and steps inside.

You follow, and stop right there in the doorway while Ghost ventures in further. Kyle is shirtless, doing pushups over a heavy looking book. He doesn't look up, doesn't even stop when he turns the page, just continues the exercise one handed. He's in perfect shape, every muscle well-defined, putting even some of the finely-carved marble statues you've seen to shame. He has a frame for wiry muscle, but he's worked so hard that he's gotten bulky too, and although he's not as broad as Soap or as big as Ghost, it's clear that he's stronger than most men. Certainly stronger than men of his occupation have any need to be.

"What do you want, Ghost?" Kyle asks, still focused on his reading. "I'm busy, you know."

"Brought our girl by to see you, and you don't even bother lookin' up."

Kyle’s attention does snap up at that, brown eyes sliding past Ghost’s legs to you, still hovering in the doorway, Johnny a step behind, peering over your shoulder. Kyle scrambles to his feet, sending the book flying with a gesture. It settles on the desk behind him as he steps around Ghost, dusting his hands against his trousers before he takes yours, pulling you more fully into the space. His skin gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, but he's not the least bit out of breath. “Come on in, Sweetpea. Did you come all the way up here just to see me?”

“Of course,” you say. It’s a silly question, although now that you look around the space, you’re gripped by curiousity. The circular room is lined with bookshelves, each full of thick, leather and linen-bound tomes that hum with power. The whole room sings like a chorus, the sound not in your ears, but tickling the back of your mind instead. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I don’t want to interrupt, of course, if you’re working on something.” Although, now that you're looking, it seems like he’s working on many things, all at once. He has a carousel of research tomes open next to the desk, and neatly written pages laid out over the desk to dry, a stack of opened and unopened correspondence in a basket hanging from the side, ingredients measured out by a shelf full of bottles and jars of strange and familiar ingredients, and there are unlit candles set around the perimeter of an open area on the floor, a circle of iridescent tile set into the stone, pale and glittering.

“Nothing important this moment. Just studying while I wait for ink to dry. The mind grows dull if you don’t take the time to keep it sharp.” He glances at Johnny meaningfully, and receives a rude gesture in response.

“There’s more’n just books if ye want to keep sharp,” Johnny says, his voice flinty. “Isnae the only way to learn, ye know.”

You glance at Ghost. His mask looks back at you, blank as ever. “There’s a place for books, and a place for practical application,” you say diplomatically. “Wisdom can be found in many places.”

“In a pretty girl, for one,” Ghost says approvingly. “Would be good for you to crack a book once in a while, Soap. And for you to spend a little less time ‘oled up in ‘ere.” His head turns toward Kyle.

“I have a lot to do, you know,” Kyle says. “I can’t just shove everything to the side whenever I please.”

You drift closer to the desk, peeking at the tome he was referencing earlier, the pages opened to a chapter on illusion spells. Curious, you glance to his notes, humming with interest at the first page you glance at. It’s something about setting spells of illusion into fabric, weaving magic into the very stitches. “Are you trying to make a cloak of shadows?” you ask, picking up the page carefully by the edges, still mindful of the mostly dried ink.

Kyle looks over at you and smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Something like that. I didn’t know you were interested in magical theory.”

“She’s got a little sorcery in ‘er,” Ghost explains. “Maybe you should give ‘er a lesson or two. While she’s ‘ere.”

Your ears perk up at that, and you drop the paper back to the desk, forgetting it entirely. “Would you?” you ask excitedly. “I really would love to learn more.”

Kyle slips his shirt back on and beckons you over to one of the bookcases, smile turning sly and conspiratorial. “Can you give me a hand Sweetpea? I need something off the top shelf.”

You look up at the top shelf, which is well out of your reach. “Kyle, I think maybe you should ask Ghost.”

“Sorry, pet, I’m busy keepin’ Soap from pilferin’ alchemical ingredients.”

"Wasnae pilferin'! Just takin' a wee looksie. Isnae a crime."

"Soap," Kyle says pleasantly. "If I find anything missing we are going to have a long talk about it." He shakes his head lightly, sweet brown eyes finding yours, amused.

"D'ye think he means a good rough fuck?" Johnny asks Ghost, not quite quiet enough for you not to hear it. "Or an actual chat? Because that's goan ta change what I do here."

"I really don't think I can help," you say to Kyle, ignoring Johnny's query as much as you can. "Unless you'd like me to climb the shelves."

"Here." He crouches down in front of you and hugs your knees to his chest, other hand a higher on the backs of your thighs to hold you steady, and pops up. You let out a little shriek, and press your hands against his strong shoulders for support. "Don't worry, Sweetpea, I've got you. Now, can you grab that slim blue volume to the right? The one with no title on the spine."

Scanning the neat row of books, you locate the one he means and pick it up. "Ive got it," you inform him, laughing. "Now please put me down."

He slides you down his front carefully, adjusting his grip, your skirts bunching up and exposing your stockinged calves, and he holds you just above him for a moment. You loop your arms around his neck reflexively, holding the book behind him. He looks up at you, so dazzlingly handsome, you're almost surprised that he's real.

"Kyle," you remind him gently. "Please put me down."

“You sure?” he asks, bringing you down just a little more, so that your face is just above his own. “You look a bit tired today, princess. Could just carry you around for the rest of the day if you like.”

“That will not be necessary,” you say firmly. “But it’s a very kind offer.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the room, but you’re not sure if it comes from Ghost or Johnny. “Nothin’ kind about it,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Bastard just likes the idea of bein’ pressed up against ye all day.”

“You slept in her bed last night,” Kyle reminds him. “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“Ahm no’ jealous! Yer just bein’ a fandan charmer tryna cop a wee feel, an’ ye willnae admit ta it.”

You look over at Ghost, and he shakes his head. You imagine that he’s rolling his eyes, just as exasperated by the two of them as you are. He comes to your rescue though, carefully pulling you out of Kyle’s arms and setting you back down on the floor. “Thank you, Ghost,” you say archly, shaking your crumpled skirts out with one hand.

“Sorry, Sweetpea,” Kyle says, and you can’t help but note that he certainly doesn’t sound sorry. “If you read the first chapter of this tonight, we can do a lesson in the morning. This will probably be a step up from whatever paltry lessons the old wizard gave you— I know he took offence to the idea of training you at all, the closed-minded old bastard. If you have any questions, make notes, and we can go over it.” He taps the top of the book you hold. “You can write in it, if you like. I’ve scribbled in the margins a few times myself.”

You tuck the book into your pocket. “Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you, Sweetpea.”

You hesitate, a bit nervous to ask a favour when he’s already agreed to take time out of his day to give you a lesson in something you’re not sure you have enough talent in to warrant. He’s cleary a busy person, and you don’t want to waste his time.

Kyle senses your hesitation, and reaches for your hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anything,” he repeats, brown eyes oh-so earnest.

Your ears feel hot. Flirting comes as easily to him as breathing, and even though you’re sure he means little by it, by his relationship with Johnny and the claim that John has laid on you, it’s hard not to grow flustered when he directs the full force of that sunshine smile at you. “Did you ever, um, help your sisters with their hair? I’d like to have a bath this afternoon, and wash my hair, but it’ll take me ages to rebraid it alone. I would really appreciate an extra set of hands if you have a spare minute tomorrow.”

He grins at that, pleased to be able to help you with something that Ghost and Johnny are ill-equipped to. The scar on his cheek dimples slightly when he smiles this hard, the slight flaw in his complexion more a dashing accessory to his charm than any detractor. “Would be happy to help. Do you have everything else you need? Oil? Curl cream?”

You hadn’t thought to check what was in the cupboard in the bathroom. “I’m not sure,” you admit.

“I have some. I’ll bring them by your room later this afternoon, just in case.”

Ghost offers to walk you back to your room, leaving Johnny behind to discuss something with Kyle, although as soon as the door closes, you hear a crash and a series of colourful swear words. You glance behind you as Ghost ushers you down the stairs. “Should we—”

“No. Trust me, Sweetpea. They’re just fine, and not doin’ anything you want to see.”

“Oh.” The implication warms you from the tips of your ears to somewhere in your belly.

“You’ve got the lads all worked up,” Ghost adds, as though you needed more context. “Competin’ with each other to get a smile out of you. Let ‘em blow off a little steam.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with me, if they have each other,” you say, trailing one hand over the wall, feeling the bumps of cool stone and seams between the cut blocks as you descend. “And John has made no secret of his intentions.”

He touches your arm to halt you, and moves past, taking a few extra steps so he stands below you, the near-hidden gleam of his eyes on level with yours. The two of you are alone here, where the curve of the stairs create a private universe, a pocket of stone and crystal light casting meagre shadow. "What are your intentions?" He asks. "Are you goin' to just let 'im take what 'e pleases?"

"I intend to go home," you say. "I won't be staying."

"Olright, maybe you do go 'ome. And what'f Kyle or Johnny came sniffin' round to court you themselves?"

"They won't."

"Why wun't they? You're a ray of sunshine sweet girl. You're the only one that don't see it."

"Ghost--"

"No, hush up for a moment, princess. You've got the wrong idea. I personally threatened every man that so much as looked your way. For years. Din't think about 'ow that'd make you feel. You're beautiful. Enough to chase, enough to go to bloody war for." His body is still, save for the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. You make us all crazy.”

The surety that John would really let you go slips as Ghost speaks, something fundamental about your footing in the world shifting uneasily beneath you. You had found comfort in the idea that you were quotidian, unremarkable. That the crown alone was aggrandizing, and you could pass unnoticed without it. Now you wonder if you’ve ever gone unnoticed, or if it was just that you had been too obtuse to see. “It doesn’t matter,” you insist. It’s easier to reject what he says outright, even if Ghost has never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt his words. The ground settles. “I will be going home in a few days, and once John has my official endorsement none of you will have to keep an eye on me again.”

“You won’t rid yourself of me that easily,” he says firmly. “Keepin’ you safe’s one of the only jobs that I do that’s worth doin’. I promised your mum I would, an’ I don’t intend to break my oath just because you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“My mother asked you to?” You had always thought Ghost’s orders had come from your father, setting the quiet, faceless, black-clad knight on your heels, as close as a shadow, only leaving your side when the king sent him off to fight, somewhere far and away. “Why?”

“Figured she could tell I ‘aven’t got an ounce of ambition in me. Used to, before I came ‘ere. Didn’t do me any good. Can’t trust my own head, sometimes. But if I can trust what’s ‘ere—” He puts his hand to his chest, head tipped slightly to the side. “— Then I know I can trust what’s in there.” He lifts his hand and taps his finger against your forehead lightly.

You blink at him, surprised by how much he’s said all at once. Abruptly, he turns around and continues down the stairs, finished the conversation. You spur yourself back into motion, sweeping your skirts up with one hand so you don’t trip. There’s no doubt that you could trust Ghost to catch you, but the risk of sending you both tumbling down the long spiral staircase has you moving cautiously.

He stays with you for a bit, offering help unbraiding your hair and unbuttoning your dress, and leaves without protest when you ask him to. Predictably, he’s quiet the entire time, as though he used up his daily quota of words all at once in the stairway.

You lay out everything you need close to the tub, and sink into a hot bath, sighing. This is perhaps one of the few things you really did miss about castle life— Hot running water. If you wanted a hot bath in town, you would either have to go to the public bathhouse, or spend a good hour boiling enough water to fill a tub at Kate’s house.

You hum happily to yourself, which turns to singing out loud, the acoustics in the tiled room too good to resist. You sing your way through a number of folk songs as you run a cloth over your skin and scrub your hair clean, hot water and soap washing away what little of the darkness from that morning that company and distraction hadn’t banished, clinging shadows in the corners of your mind scoured clean again.

You pull the plug and let the water start to drain, and stand up, wringing your hair out before you reach over to the towel you’d set aside for yourself, bracing you hand on the side of the tub.

“What are you two muppets doing?” John’s voice coming through the cracked open door startles you. And it startles Johnny and Kyle too, because they tumble through the door onto the tiled floor, landing on top of each other in a heap.

You clutch the towel to your front, unable to keep yourself from letting out a surprised shriek. It takes a moment for surprise to give way to anger, your shocked, wide-eyed gaze traveling from Johnny’s red face to Kyle’s guilty expression to John in the doorway, a complicated mix of stony anger and surprise in his blue eyes. Both emotions fade as his attention lingers on your exposed legs, crawling up slowly.

“I came to drop off— But he was—” Kyle starts to try to explain himself.

“Dinnae try to blame tha’ on me, ye fuckin’ roaster, Ahm no’ a’ fault for what yer doin’,” Johnny cuts him off angrily, shoving Kyle off of him. “Yer no’ better than me just ‘cause ye weren’t here first.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

You level a glare at him that has his mouth shutting so fast that you can hear the click of his teeth. “Get out.”

The two of them scramble up and nearly fall over themselves trying to get out as quickly as possible, mortified to have been caught. They start sniping at each other before they’ve even gotten out of earshot.

John, however, doesn’t budge from the doorway. You direct your fury at him. “John. Get out.”

He doesn’t scramble to obey like the younger men did, as is he has any more right to be there than they did. “Sweetpea,” he says evenly, as though he expects to be able to talk you down from your very justified anger with a few measured words.

“Now,” you snap. “Before I lose my temper.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but the look on your face makes him reconsider trying to have a conversation with you for the moment, and he leans into the room just enough to grasp the door handle and pull it closed behind him as he retreats.

You look at the ceiling for a long moment, swallowing down the urge to scream.

By the time Ghost comes to fetch you for dinner (unsurprising that the other three didn’t have the nerve) you’ve mostly calmed down, untangling your emotions as you do your hair. You hope that John will have news of your cousin’s witness, so you can count down the days. The longing for home has intensified, and all you want is to curl up in your bed in Kate’s house and cry. If it will be weeks, you’ll ask if you can go home in the interim, and come back when the time comes to make your speech.

Ghost helps you button up your dress. You’re so tired of needing help from them. Your ire bleeds over, and you’re snappy with him too, annoyed that you’ve had to spend so much time with men lately. Aggravated that you’re forced to rely on them for something as private as getting dressed, when they shouldn’t even be alone with you in your room to begin with.

You apologize on the way down the stairs, however. Ghost just chuckles in response. “Even when you’re snappin’, you’re a peach,” he says. “Don’t think you missed a single opportunity for a please and thank you. Can’t ‘elp yourself from bein’ sweet.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you say. “I’m not angry with you, I shouldn’t be rude.”

“Think it would be a bit of a lark, you bein’ rude.”

You laugh, and it clears away some of the lingering bitterness, like sediment washing away downstream. You feel remarkably clear-headed when you enter the dining room and face the three sets of guilty eyes.

All three of them start to speak at once, and stop as soon as you raise your hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say firmly. “All three of you are grown men, and you should know better than to behave so shamefully.”

John frowns, not happy to be receiving the same share of the blame. “Sweetpea, I wasn’t—”

“I am not finished.” You cut him off with a sharp look. “I know I do not need to chastise any of you. All of you were in the wrong. But I share some of the blame too, allowing you all free access to my space in the first place. So here is what will change. One, I would like a lock on my door. No more popping in without permission. Two, you will all learn how to knock. Three, I would like a lady to accompany me for the rest of my stay here. It is not appropriate for me to accept assistance from any man with dressing, and I do not require shadows following me everywhere I go.”

Ghost shifts beside you. “Now ‘old on,” he says. “You need protection.”

“I need no such thing. I do not believe there are assassins waiting around every corner for me.”

“I should be with you,” he insists. “If somethin’ ‘appens—”

“What do you expect is going to happen?” you ask hotly. You’ve lived on your own for years, and your hiding place was apparently well known to everyone. If an assassin was coming to dispatch you, they would have already come. The opportunities had likely been plentiful.

“Ghost is right. You need to be kept safe.” John holds up both hands when you look at him, half a surrender and half a plea for you to hear him out. You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting. “A compromise. A fighting woman. Someone that can help you with anything you need, and can defend you if something were to happen.”

You incline your head. It’s a reasonable compromise. “That would be acceptable.”

“Farah?” Kyle asks.

“If she’ll say yes, she’d be the person I trust most with Sweetpea’s safety.” John glances at you, and offers you a little smile, like he’s not sure that you’re entirely done scolding. “You’ll like her. I’ll have her meet you in town tomorrow. Want you fitted for something nice to wear for your speech.”

“There is a closet full of perfectly nice dresses in my room,” you say. “I do not need anything else.”

“Indulge me. Your cousin’s man will be here tomorrow night, and the day after we’ll have you make your statement.” John’s smile widens, turning the slightest, inexplicable bit smug. “Want you to look your best, if it’s to be your last day as a princess, hm? And then on to better things.”

You sigh. It can't hurt to give in on this matter, since you won't have to stay much longer. “Very well, John. Although I think it’s a waste.”

The look in his deep blue eyes is inscrutable, but his smile doesn't slip. “I disagree. Nothing you let me give to you could ever be a waste.”

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#fantasy au #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x Reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #These bastards really are just the worst #I love writing AUs where Ghost is the most well adjusted one #Send my man to fantasy therapy (learning a trade) and see what happens #Re: Use of the term muppets - Uhhhh Muppets exist in this universe and they travel around doing Punch and Judy type shows #Coming soon to a market square near you lmao #Ye Olde Jim Henson's Workshoppe

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astarionfreak · 7 months

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You'll hate me (make love)

// Astarion (Ascended) / Fem!Reader

You left Astarion after he completed the ritual. You lost the love of your life. You mourned him. Now, a year later, you return to him in a moment of desperation. Astarion grants you one last night with the man you lost.

or: Ascended Astarion pretends to be his spawn self as Tav's dying wish and they fuck on his grave. Why? Because I felt like it.

18+ • NSFW • 5.3K words (1/1) | Read on AO3 (a teaser is available below)

Tags: About to Die, Porn With Plot, Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Gentle Sex, Gentle Kissing, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Blood, Sad, Sad and Sweet, Angst, Bittersweet

Writing soundtrack: Shameful Company | Nothing Matters | Heavy In Your Arms | it is what it is

This is the last place you should be.

He’s not the man you fell in love with. Not anymore. The Rite of Profane Ascension corrupted him — of course it did.

Seven thousand souls were sacrificed. Astarion gained all that power. Something like that doesn’t come without a price. His price was losing you.

You left him. You swore that he’d never see you again after the brain was defeated. And, yet, here you are merely a year later. Standing inside his palace. Waiting to lay your eyes on him one final time.

You were told to sit in a chair at the vast table that fills the middle of the room. You do not sit. Instead, you pace while you wait. You don’t keep track of the time. You don’t want to know how long it’s been since you arrived — how long you have left.

What you do know is that he’s here. He’s messing with your head, even now. This, the making you wait. It’s all part of a game.

That’s all anything is to him anymore. That’s all anyone is, just playthings to keep him entertained.

You’ve just about convinced yourself to leave when his voice stops you. Not his footsteps. His voice. You never even heard him approach, but he’s in the room.

“Well, look who came crawling back after all this time. Have a change of heart, my dear?” His voice has a pleasant lilt, but there’s a touch of vitriol just beneath the surface.

You spin on your heels. Your breath catches in your throat when you finally see him. His sharp features. Those familiar, but distant eyes. The smug look that mocks you now.

“No,” you say.

There was no change of heart. Even if you did want him to take you back, it wouldn’t matter. It’s far too late for that.

“If you’re here to beg for my help, I am more than delighted to tell you the answer is no.” Astarion takes a few strong strides toward you — then he pauses.

His body stiffens, just momentarily, before he slips back into a comfortable stance.

“Astarion . . .”

You forget what you were going to say. You’re too distracted by the way he’s staring at you now. There’s something in his eyes that you could mistake for concern if you didn’t know him better.

“What’s going on, Tav?” he asks.

Not a pet name. No more mocking tone. Just him. Your name coming from his lips sounds like home.

You don’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t him. This is the thing that stole his face.

But does it even matter? Do you even care? You came all this way, after all. You know what you came for. You came for him.

One last rotten night.

Your voice shakes when you speak, “You can tell, can’t you?”

He nods stiffly and finally closes the distance between you. His eyes never leave your face. He’s searching for something there that you know he won’t find.

You didn’t want to tell him, not really. You didn’t want this hanging between you, but maybe this is better. Maybe this will make the inevitable easier to swallow.

“How long?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” You watch the muscles in his jaw work through your obvious lie. He is holding back his anger, and his frustration with you.

“Tell me how long you have left, Tav.”

“A day, maybe,” you say. “Maybe less.”

He reaches for you, a warm, gentle hand cupping your face. Warm. Another reminder of the man he isn’t.

You lean into his touch. You crave him. Despite everything, you are happy just to be near the visage of the man you loved. The man who, though he never said it, you know loved you.

You hold your breath.

Astarion seems to be holding his breath too. He’s warm. His heart beats. Everything has changed. The pad of his thumb gently brushes over your cheek. “I’ll fix this.”

You laugh. For the first time in a long time, you laugh and it’s genuine. “There is no fixing this, Astarion. I’m going to die.”

His hand moves down, fingers feather-light as they dance across your neck. Until he finds the place where he bit you the first time he fed.

There are no scars. There is nothing to remind either of you other than the memory alone.

“I’ll turn you,” he says.

There was a time when such words would have sent a chill up your spine. Not anymore. It’s too late for you. Even undeath won’t unwind your fate.

Continue reading on AO3.

#ascended astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #ao3 #ascended astarion fanfic #astarion smut #af.op #af.op.fic

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kisstuals · 1 year

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if blue could be happiness

PAIRING. na jaemin x female!reader WORD COUNT. 2.4k CONTAINS. angst, romance, actor!au WARNINGS. implied smut, just the reader being sad and in her head a lot, pretty reflective and retrospective, not much plot more emotions and vibes PLAYLIST. if blue could be happiness - florist | never goodbye - nct dream | liability - lorde NOTE. turns out i love complex female characters and depressing stories and men who fall harder… who is sensing a theme in my works? also im kinda back hahahaha hope everyone has been well xx. i’d say i’ll be more active now but i have a bad track record. that being said, please do give this some love and interact and let me know ur thoughts bc that will motivate me to be more active and post more things!!! would love to chat with you all <3

All you have ever known is being alone, so you can’t help but pull away when Jaemin comes into your life. Too bad he’s here to stay.

NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE TRAVELING, there is a wave of relief that hits you when the plane finally makes its descent in New York City. The tall buildings shimmer against the twilight sky, and even from so far away, you can sense the hustle and bustle of the always-busy city. You can imagine people getting off work after staying late, going into bars for happy hour. They laugh and giggle with their friends with a drink in their hands. New York City is always alive, and that’s why you love being there, as the fervor and excitement almost allows you to forget about how empty you feel all the time.

Despite that, there is a blue stillness around. A cloud of comfort, broken by a brief anticipation.

Your fingers curl around your seatbelt, waiting for the indication that you could finally take it off and leave the plane. It had been a month since you were last home, as you had been in Paris for the shoot of your upcoming movie. There is no doubt that your time there had been lovely, for you participated in every cliche there was for a Parisian tourist… eating too many croissants every day, visiting the Eiffel Tower, getting lost in the Louvre. The actual work you had gone to Paris for also concluded smoothly, but film shoots were never a problem for someone like you who actually enjoys their job.

None of that mattered though. You were aching to finally be home. It’s difficult to ignore your heart that is practically beating out of your chest, but that may be for reasons other than simply arriving back in your favorite city.

Reasons that are called Na Jaemin.

You wonder if he thought about you nearly as much as you did over the past month. And why would you, consider that you were the one who pushed him away. But you keep on wondering this as you leave the plane. He plagues your mind at the baggage claim, when you get into the car waiting for you, and the entire ride home. The buzz of your phone on the leather seat next to you is the only thing that pulls you out of your daze, eyes blindly following whatever buildings you could see in the distance. It was getting late, but New York never slept.

It buzzes again, and you finally blink before reaching for your phone. It’s a text from your sister, who had been house-sitting for you (or, more of an excuse to hang out in the city).

sister: he just showed up.

Your eyebrows furrow. The texts keep coming in

sister: (name). sister: JAEMIN IS HERE sister: when are you getting back?

Movements growing frantic, you quickly look outside for a landmark, realizing you were still pretty far from your apartment. And with the city traffic, it would at least be another hour.

you: WDYM HE’S HERE? you: i won’t be home for a while you: tell him to go wait in my room

She sends you a thumbs up and you sigh, leaning back into your seat to close your eyes in hopes of getting some rest. Your efforts prove to be futile, of course, because he’s all you can think about.

The first time you met him, you were drunk out of your mind. It was Ryujin’s party for actors to gather and mingle if you remembered correctly, but truthfully your memories of that night were pretty foggy. Everyone was dressed nicely and there was expensive liquor lining the countertops, but you ungracefully stumbled into Jaemin, a new and rising actor whose name was everywhere on the tabloids, in a corner somewhere. See, you were normally always on your best behavior, with perfectly styled hair, manicured nails, and hands folded politely. You never tripped over your own feet. You never spoke out of turn. You never did what you weren’t supposed to do, which was a long list considering you were an A-list actress with an image pristine like glass. People looked up to you.

So you had really no explanation for how Jaemin’s hands ended up around your waist, his lips chasing your own. Your body was hot against his, aching for his touch, and when you finally gave in, there was no stopping either of you. His lips moved ferociously against yours, lighting your skin on fire wherever they touched you.

It was no surprise you ended up in his bed later that night, but it was equally less of a surprise that you left the next morning before he could even wake up.

Yet, that was only the beginning. You seemed to run into him everywhere. At parties of mutual friends, you didn’t even realize you shared. At dress fittings, because the stylist for your next movie also happened to be his personal stylist. At the new coffee shop you decided to try out, and then realized was his favorite.

Suddenly, you couldn’t run away anymore. He was going to be in your life, whether you willed for it or not, so you entertained it for a brief minute. So you kissed him at parties and showed up at dress fittings with your hand in his. Every Sunday, you went to his favorite coffee shop together. You went to sleep in his bed and woke up in his arms. His name was linked to yours, and everyone talked about it, but you didn’t care. You had relinquished all control of your life.

It was great, until it wasn’t. Until he got too close, and you went too far.

That night, there was a downpour in New York City and you retreated back into the comforts of your home. Of the perfect, orderly life you built for yourself.

And the next morning, you left for Paris.

There is a tremble in your fingers as you enter the code to your apartment. Why was he here? You pushed him away, and then he was meant to stay away. People don’t usually try so hard to remain in your life. Probably because of how distant you keep your heart from them. Or maybe that’s why you began doing it in the first place. It’s been so long, you cannot even remember what came first.

Your sister greets you with a worried smile as you enter. She takes your coat from you and you take a moment to set down your belongings, including the large suitcase you had been hauling behind you. The longer you take to go into your room, the longer you have to prepare for whatever is about to happen.

“(Name). He’s been waiting.” Your sister says, looking pointedly at your room door. You’ve dug your toes so far into black boots that you are afraid they may appear at the other end. There is a fleeting touch of comfort on your shoulder before she walks away. With a sigh, you take off your shoes and arrange them neatly on the shoe rack.

In an apartment as big as yours, the walk to your room is shorter than you remember, but you know you cannot delay this any further. Jaemin is definitely aware of your presence, no matter how softly your clothed feet hit the wooden floor of your apartment, so you finally open the door.

Your heart stills when you see him. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed, wearing a fluffy brown jacket and a hat to match. It’s pretty obvious how he looks out of place against your cold, blue walls.

“Hi.” His smile is cautious like you might run away upon seeing him. His worries are not entirely absurd though, as you do consider backing away. But his eyes are warm, and you remember how much you are aching for his touch. You can’t help but take another step towards him.

“Hi.” Your voice cracks and he notices, but you both choose to ignore it.

“How was Paris?”

“It was good.” The temperature of your room must be near freezing, but somehow your words are colder. Jaemin winces, subtle yet noticeable, and stands up, rubbing his hands on his jeans. You pray that he doesn’t move any closer to you, as then you might actually run away, and somehow, he listens.

The heart is a silly little thing, because you find yourself disappointed at the distance between Jaemin and you, even though this ruin was your doing.

“(Name)...” You’re not sure what he’s going to say, but the deep breath he takes before speaking lets you know that you are not ready to hear it. Not yet.

“Sorry for making you wait. Got stuck in traffic.” You begin moving around the room to straighten up a few things that suddenly looked out of order, even though no one had entered your room while you were gone.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” His gaze follows your every move. “I hope your sister wasn’t uncomfortable with me just showing up.”

“No, not uncomfortable. Just surprised that you’re here.” Arranging your lipsticks from the darkest red to the lightest nude seemed like the perfect task at this moment, so you stand in the corner of your room farthest from Jaemin, hovering over your vanity.

He sighs. “Me too.”

This makes you glance back at him, eyebrows raised. “You are… also surprised that you’re here?”

“Yeah, considering how you just left me, why would I want to be here?” Jaemin is always honest, and you appreciate him for that, but you can’t ignore the guilt that pools in your stomach as you finally meet his eyes.

Your lips purse, and if you’re feeling anything, you don’t let it show. “Why are you here, then?”

This is the question that ultimately pushes him over the edge. Jaemin’s expression darkens as he finally closes the distance between you two, stopping just close enough so you could feel his breath against yours.

“You’re seriously asking me this? After everything?” He asks incredulously, his eyes searching for answers in your own

“I told you it was over.”

“Okay, but why?” You don’t answer, but you also don’t step away. “What are you afraid of?” Your lip quivers.

“Stop,” you whisper, as you feel your resolve starting to break. Jaemin takes a step back but keeps going.

“That I’ll break your heart? That I’ll leave you and go away?” He lets out an empty, pained laugh. “Well, isn’t that what you’ve done?”

“Jaemin, I–” You begin to speak, but now it’s his turn to cut you off.

“But despite all that, I still love you.” Your eyes widen, and an unknown, indescribable feeling overtakes your entire being. A single tear escapes you, of guilt, and fear, of love and longing.

The room is silent for a minute, and then another.

You are unsure of what the proper response to his confession should be, but whatever it is, you have messed it up already by waiting so long. You owe him an answer, because of everything you’ve put him through. Because you walked into his life, and then walked out, doing it first as you were afraid he would soon enough. But above all, because you loved him too, despite everything you had tried to convince yourself of.

“I’m sorry.” You aren’t sure how to put all your thoughts in words, so you decide to apologize first, instead. And even though it may be a deflection, you hope he realizes that it’s sincere.

But there’s disbelief in his eyes, and you hate that he doubts you, even though you’ve given him every reason to. “That��s it?”

“You’re right. I left because I wanted to do it before you could.” You continue, providing him with the honesty he deserved from day one. “I was so sure you would, because people always leave anyway, you know? They come into my life, I get used to them, then they leave, and I have to get used to life without them. There’s only so many times you can do that before you simply cannot anymore.”

Jaemin’s expression is unreadable as he considers what you said. “So, the solution was to push me away, even though I told you I wasn’t going anywhere that night?” Now his tone is neutral, and you are unable to figure out if he is mad, upset, or disappointed by your explanation.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been told that?”

You had always known that the film world was a lonely one. Your dad was a producer and your mom was an actress. They fell in love when they were twenty and fell out of love when they were twenty-five, with affairs and scandals galore. That left you and your sister, mere toddlers, stuck in the middle, as they threatened to leave each other. Eventually, they just left you. Despite all that, you chose to go down the same path, as the film world was the only world you knew. And then you went through it all over it again, as friends, boyfriends, managers, and mentors all came into your life, only to leave again. The only person who had stuck around was your sister, but because she had to.

Jaemin was the first person who ever wanted to be in your life, by choice.

“I should’ve been more clear then. If I had told you I loved you that night, would you have stayed?” He asks, his voice breaking.

“I don’t think anything would’ve stopped me that night,” you say quietly, remembering how quickly you booked a flight to Paris, and leaving one week earlier than you were originally supposed to for your shoot.

“And how about now?”

You look into Jaemin’s eyes and see only a love for yourself, despite everything, just as he said. And in that moment, the heaviness that you had been carrying around in your heart for as long as you can remember finally settles.

“I want to stay.” You admit.

“So what’s stopping you?”

The question that has plagued you forever now rises to your lips, in a bout of vulnerability you never saw for yourself. “Please don’t leave me.”

At that, Jaemin is immediately reaching for you, the touch that you had yearned for finally engulfing you. He gently cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m here, aren’t I? And, I always will be. I won’t give up on us.” You nod, and return his touch, tugging on the collar of his jacket to pull him closer. “And if you leave, I’ll come after you, again and again, like I did today. I just needed to know that you want this as much as I do.”

“I love you.”

And then you kiss him like you never have before, like blue water in the forests of love. Because if blue could be happiness, that is all you ever want.

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