#he just ups and leaves when everyone else is still sitting

[coldfanbou]

Finding The Right One

Natty and Julie are hot...that's all I really have to say besides a threesome with them being the dream.

Length 2.4K

Julie X Natty X Mreader

“Who do you want to pick up tonight? The last one was kind of a disappointment.” Julie asked as she fixed her bangs, adjusting the tiny hairs to look perfect. 

“I know, I thought he was going to be perfect, but everything…he just was not it,” Natty responded, zipping up her top. She looked in the mirror and pulled it down; she wanted to have her cleavage look nice. “What if we got a loser?”

Julie couldn’t help but smile. “A loser?” She repeated as if Natty had gone crazy. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not? It couldn’t go worse than the last guy.” Natty pauses, trying to recall the man’s name. “What was his name?”

“I don’t know, Aaron or something? It had an A in it.” Julie stares into the mirror and pouts; a smile grows as she looks at her outfit. “I’m ready when you are.”

Natty looked at her reflection. Satisfied with how she looked, she turned to her friend. “I’m good; let’s head out.” With that, the women headed out to a club they frequented. They sat by the bar, watching men come and go, accepting any drinks they were bought while trying to find the right man.

You had been inside the club for some time; your friends dragged you out but quickly abandoned you. You sat in a booth, sipping on your drink as you watched everyone in the club enjoy themselves. This wasn’t your kind of scene; you didn’t like it.

“What about him?” Julie asks, pointing to where you were sitting. “He’s all by himself. In a place like this? Definitely a loser.”

Natty leans forward, searching for you and needing a little help. “He doesn’t look too bad.” A smirk crept across Natty’s face. She turned to Julie, “Yeah, let’s go.” The women place their half-finished drinks at the bar and walk across the room; many eyes follow them, but they pay them no mind. They take a seat in your booth, one woman on either side of you. “Hey, what are you doing all by yourself? Shouldn’t a guy like you be dancing?” Natty leans forward as she asks the question, her tits nearly spilling out. You can’t help but glance at them before your eyes return to meet Natty’s. She flashes you a quick smile.

“This isn’t really my kind of place. I got dragged out here by friends. I think I’m just going to leave.”

Julie licked her lips upon hearing that. “Aww, that’s too bad.” Julie hooks her arm around yours. “You look just like our type. Can’t you join us for one dance?”

“Leave him alone, Julie,” Natty says, tapping your tapping. “If this isn’t your kind of place, how about we go somewhere else?” Her fingers move along your arm as she waits for your response.

You had to admit, having two beautiful women on you made you feel pretty good about yourself. “Where did you have in mind?” You say, trying to hide a smile.

“Our place,” Julie whispered into your ear. “We can have a lot of fun there.” She said, placing her hand on your thigh. “You won’t disappoint us, right?” Julie tilted her head, a smile still plastered on her face. You nod your head and tell her you won’t. “Then let’s head out.” The women get out of the booth and hook their arms around yours as they walk you out of the club, grab a taxi, and head to their home. Both women place a hand on your thigh, whispering in your ear. “Don’t think poorly of us. We just like to play.” Julie said as she squeezed your thigh.

“We’ll have a lot of fun. Maybe we can show your friends what they missed out on.” Natty whispers before blowing into your ear. “We’ll make sure to treat you right.” The younger woman presses her chest against you and moves her hand up to your chest, her fingernail tracing the middle of your chest. 

Once you arrived, the women led you inside their home. Natty shut the door behind you while Julie pressed her body against yours. “Where do you want to start?” She asked as her hand reached your crotch. She felt you grow as she rubbed your bulge. “Oh, you’re pretty big.” She said with a smirk. 

You felt soft mounds press against your back, “Don’t forget about me.” You felt Natty’s hands move across your waist until they reached your belt buckle. She undid it and unbuttoned your pants. Natty replaced Julie’s hand on your crotch as the older woman stripped you of your shirt. The corner of Natty’s lips curls as she feels your bulge, “Oh, you are big. Let’s see what you got.” The younger woman slips her hands around your waistband and pushes your underwear down; your cock flops out, smacking Julie’s thigh. Natty peaks out from behind you catching an eyeful of your cock. “Oh my god, you’re huge.” She says with mild amusement. Natty tries to wrap her hand around your cock; her small hands can barely do so. She gives you long, slow strokes. 

Julie eyes your cock, slowly kneeling before you. She sticks her tongue out and drags her tongue along the underside of your shaft. “We’ll take good care of you.” Julie’s lips form a seal around your cock; she bobs her head lightly, taking in just the head as Natty strokes your shaft. You groan; Julie’s warm tongue was lapping at the head. Julie pulled away from you, gathering her saliva and spitting on your cock before bobbing her head again. Natty used the older woman’s spit, coating your cock in it as she stroked you. 

“How are you enjoying this?” She whispers, nibbling on your ear lobe. “Julie, let’s move to the bedroom.” The older woman liked the suggestion and stood up. She held your cock as she led you to the bedroom, and they pushed you onto the bed. “Enjoy the show we’re going to give you.” Julie stands behind the younger woman, her hands groping Natty’s tits through her top. The younger woman hums, enjoying Julie’s touch. Julie reaches for the zipper holding Natty’s top together and slowly brings it down. Natty’s soft gasps and the metal teeth disconnecting are the only sounds in the room as Julie unzips the top. The younger woman has her arm across her chest, holding her top together. Julie runs her hands along the opened zipper. As Natty turns her head, she presses her lips against the older woman’s, letting her open her top and reveal her tits to you. Julie takes one in each hand, squeezes them, and makes Natty moan. She drops one, her hand moving down and tugging at Natty’s skirt. 

The younger woman helps her, pushing the other side down. Natty’s thighs are glistening, and her small bush is also prominent. Natty slips out of her top as they break the kiss, and it was Julie’s turn to be stripped. The younger woman faced you, hugging Julie and slowly pulling on the zipper, little by little giving you a view at Julie’s toned back. The women continued to kiss, Natty occasionally glancing at you. She smirked as she got Julie’s skirt off her. The younger woman gripped Julie’s ass, the soft flesh going in between her spread fingers before she let go and delivered a hard strike. Julie moaned into their kiss, a smile forming as she pulled away. 

The women crawl to you, climbing onto the bed and laying their heads on your chest. They reach down, grasping your cock and stroking you together. “Who are you going to want first?” They ask in unison. You look at them both, wondering who should go first. “I choose, Natty.” The pair smile at each other before moving. Natty straddles you, aligning your cock with her lips. She sinks on you slowly, her entrance stretching as she lowers herself. 

Natty grunts and throws her head back, “F-fuck, you're tearing me apart.” 

“Let me help,” Julie says, grabbing the younger woman’s breasts. She pinches Natty’s small brown nipples, pulling on them gently. 

“Oh, fuck.” Natty moans as she begins to bounce on your cock. You grab her hips, helping her move. Her walls squeeze you tightly as you move through her. You watch as Natty’s big tits bounce every time she drops her weight on you. You move in, taking one in your mouth while Julie teases the other. “Agh, more,” Natty says. Hearing that, Julie moves in, getting in front of Natty and sucking on her other nipple. As your tongue swirls around the hard nub, you feel Natty’s walls tightening. You figure that her nipples must be sensitive and gently bite the one in your mouth. Natty releases a low cry as she feels your teeth against her nipple. She stops bouncing on your cock and begins grinding her hips against you. You both moan, enjoying the pleasure of it all. 

“I’m not going to be left out, you two,” Julie says, unlatching from Natty’s tit. The older woman pulls you off Natty’s tit and lays you down. She climbs over you, straddling your face and firmly sitting on it. “Come on, baby, eat me.” You hesitantly run your tongue along Julie’s slit. Hearing her let out a moan gives you confidence, and you continue to do it, sometimes slipping your tongue inside. Julie begins rocking her hips, enjoying your tongue. “You’re pretty good at this,” She groans. Julie stared at Natty’s body; the younger woman’s tits bounced lightly as she began moving again. Julie reached forward, wrapping her arms around Natty’s neck and pulling her into a kiss as they rode you. Natty felt her orgasm coming slowly, a tightness in her core forming. She couldn’t focus on the kiss. This allowed Julie to slip her tongue into the kiss; she explored the younger woman’s mouth. Your hands moved along her waist, holding it tightly as you began meeting Natty’s movement. Julie could hear Natty’s muffled moans slowly climb higher as she reached her climax. Natty impaled herself on your cock as she came, her walls clamped down on your cock. You tried moving but found it challenging. Her walls rubbed the tip of your cock and made you cum inside her. 

You painted Natty’s walls white as she remained on you. Julie felt Natty’s body shake as the younger woman came, and she smiled before breaking the kiss. She moved off your face and bent down to kiss you, tasting herself on your tongue. “Take a look at what you’ve done.” She says, helping you into a seated position. You look at Natty; her chest is heaving, and sweat covers her body. Natty moves backward, getting off you and revealing her filled cunt to both of you. She buries her fingers inside herself, scooping your cum out of her and tasting it. The erotic sight got you hard again. 

Seeing that, Julie took her chance and pushed you onto your back, stroking your cock as she pressed it against her entrance. “I want you to do the same to me.” Julie places her hands on your chest and lowers herself. Your cock stretches out her cunt; she lets out a low-grown as her body accepts your cock into her. She rocks back and forth while adjusting to your size, only for Natty to push her down. 

“Use her nice and hard; start moving, big boy.” You follow her orders and begin moving early. Julie places her hands on your shoulders, grunting as she struggles to take in your cock. “Time for you to feel good, Julie.” The younger woman knelt behind Julie, spreading the older woman’s cheeks and outlining Julie’s asshole with her tongue. Julie’s back arched as she felt Natty’s tongue tease her asshole. 

“H-hey, wait.” Julie managed to get out between your rough thrusts. Natty took things up a notch, pushing her tongue inside the older woman’s ass. Julie’s moans flowed quickly as she struggled with the pleasure. She kissed you, quieting her moans as you continued to pound away at her body. You felt her tits rub against your chest, her hard nipples dragging against your skin with every thrust.  Your cum-coated cock made her walls slippery, allowing you to slide in faster.

Feeling that Julie had forgotten about her, Natty moved lower, running her tongue along Julie’s slit and occasionally on your cock. Julie gripped your shoulders, struggling to contain herself as she felt Natty’s skilled tongue tease her. “Fuck, Natty,” She grimaced. You felt her walls tightening around you. You gritted your teeth and grabbed Julie’s ass, holding onto it as you thrust faster. Julie screamed out in pleasure as she felt your cock tear through her, knocking against her womb. She buried her head in your chest as she came. Julie could feel Natty lapping up her nectar as you continued your thrusts a little longer. Eventually, you buried yourself inside Julie, filling her womb with your cum. She felt the hot cum, being poured inside her. Despite still being inside her, your cum leaked out slowly, and Natty was there to lick it up. 

Julie slowly got off you and lay by your side as Natty moved between your legs. She placed your dirtied cock between her big tits, pressing them together and slowly moving them. Natty’s tits soon became covered in a mixture of cum and were slick. You cooed, the pleasure coming from the titjob soothed you. “You’re still hard. Do you think you can go a few more rounds?” When you nod slowly, enjoying the titjob as you recover.  Your cock would disappear between Natty’s tits, only poking out from between them as she moved them down. “I think we found a good one, Julie.” She said before lapping at the tip of your cock, “We’ll make sure to treat you and this beast right.” Natty said before wrapping her lips around the tip.

The older woman smiled and kissed you, “We’re in for a long night.” The three of you filled the night with sex, going round after round until you were all thoroughly exhausted. The pair lay on your chest, sweat plastering their hair to their foreheads and cum oozing from their cunts. It painted their thighs, but they weren’t bothered by that. The following day, they asked for your number, being honest about why. It would be hard to resist them usually, but after the night you had, you wouldn’t pass up the option of doing it again.

[missberrycake]

I’ve been thinking this morning about if Steve didn’t get back together with Nancy at the end of S1—I think there’s a lot of different ways that could go, but what if Steve ended up as one of Eddie’s lost little sheep?

Because even if Steve was popular enough to keep afloat in the choppy waters of high school, after his bust up with Tommy and Carole—and even when he’s seen talking with Nancy and Jonathan Byers of all people—he still doesn’t really have any true friends left. Sure, he has people he can chat to in class, but at lunch? After school? Nobody is really thinking about who ex-jock, ex-bully Steve Harrington is hanging around with. 

Perhaps he spends the rest of his junior year dreading lunch hour, because he knows he’s going to have to deploy some serious charm tactics—taking as long as he can in the queue, chatting to the students either side of him—and perhaps if he lingers long enough at one of the tables of his more social classmates, pretends he’s just catching up, carrying on a conversation from class, he can make it seem like it’s all still as easy as it was before. 

Sometimes, though, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend. On those days he’ll retreat quietly to his car and eat his lunch behind his wheel, wondering how different it might have been if he’d never gone back into the Byers’ house that day last fall.

It’s on one of those days that Eddie sees him. It’s not like Eddie hadn’t noticed him before, he’s always on the lookout, after all, and Steve Harrington is one of those people who always drew his eye. He’d seen him scouring the cafeteria while queueing up for his state-mandated mac ‘n’ cheese, searching for a space where he could fit. 

And, of course, he’d heard the whispers about Steve—that he’d punched Tommy H in the face, gotten his crown beaten from his head by Jonathan Byers (though he didn’t seem to hold a grudge). If there’s one thing to know about Eddie, it’s that he’s a bleeding heart, and so when he sees Steve sitting alone in his car, winter frost glittering against the metal, he lets out a heavy sigh and trundles over. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he says, pushing down a smirk when Steve jumps (he is easily startled these days, isn’t he?).

“Munson,” Steve replies with narrow eyes. He doesn’t trust Eddie yet, not entirely. 

“There’s more space in my van. If you wanted some company.”

Eddie leaves it like that, keeps it casual, knows that he might get it shoved right back in his face—expects it to be, even. And so he’s surprised at how quickly Steve nods back at him, a real smile breaking out on his face, if only for a moment, until Steve clears his throat and says, “Sure, yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

It’s the start of something big. A delicate balance where the two of them pretend that it’s not that important, but somehow they’re more honest with each other than they’ve ever been with anyone else. Steve tells Eddie all about how he doesn’t even really know who he is anymore, and in return Eddie shares just how worried he is that he knows exactly who he’s expected to be, and that he can’t change his fate even if he wanted to.

By the time the next school year starts, it’s well established with the school population that Steve Harrington has somehow landed himself with an honorary spot in the Hellfire Club. He doesn’t play—refuses to learn, even if it’s clear that he’d do pretty much anything else that Eddie Munson would ask of him—but he helps set up the meetings, sits with them at lunch, smiles stupidly whenever Eddie gets up onto the cafeteria tables to rant about the shallow-mindedness of his peers. 

And if Eddie’s diatribes are directed at the popular crowd with a little more venom than they used to be, and if he seems to take great pleasure whenever Tommy H, or Carole, or those posers on the basketball team frown and scoff and sneer at him, it’s no great secret to everyone else in the lunch hall exactly why. 

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[sunny44]

You’re muse

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!reader

Warnings: English is not my first language and this story is in the third person point if view.

Summary: Everyone who draws has something or someone to be inspired by, and for Y/n that someone is Charles.

The sun shone brightly on the Monza circuit, reflecting off the asphalt and the gleaming metal of the cars. The sound of revving engines and the loud chatter filled the paddock. I was sitting in a quiet corner, lost in my thoughts as I sketched in my notebook. My fingers glided over the paper with skill, bringing to life yet another image of Charles, capturing his focused and determined expression.

I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't notice when my brother, Max, approached me.

"Hey, Y/n, let's go for lunch?" he called, breaking my concentration.

"Oh, sure," I replied quickly, closing my notebook and standing up. In my haste, I didn't realize that the notebook had slipped from my lap and fallen to the ground, along with all the images I took great care to ensure were seen only by my eyes.

As Max and I walked away, Charles, who was passing by, noticed the forgotten notebook. He bent down to pick it up and, upon seeing the name on the cover, raised an eyebrow.

"Y/n Verstappen," he murmured to himself, curious.

It was a leather-bound notebook, large and heavy. Just by looking at it, he could see that the pages at the beginning were well-used, their edges worn differently from those at the end of the notebook.

Intrigued, he opened the notebook and began to leaf through it. Each page revealed drawings of him in different moments—some laughing with the team, others focused before a race, dressed casually in public places they had both been at on the same day, and even some capturing his thoughtful expression during interviews. Charles couldn't help but smile as he realized the care and attention to detail in each illustration. It was as if he were seeing himself through Y/n's eyes.

All the drawings had dates, and the last one did not, but he could tell it was from today because he remembered the moment. Also, because all the other drawings were colored, many of them with vibrant shades of red, and today's drawing was only in pencil.

Holding onto the notebook, he went to find her. It didn't take long to spot her chatting with Max near the food stalls. She laughed at something Max said, and her laughter made Charles smile. God, how he loved hearing that laugh. He could easily say it was one of his favorite sounds.

He then approached with a smile on his face and the notebook in hand.

"Y/n. I believe this is yours," he said, handing the notebook to her.

I immediately turned red, realizing what he had in his hands. Part of me desperately hoped he hadn't opened it, but I doubted that. The temptation to look through someone else's things is strong.

"Oh, thank you," I murmured, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Charles couldn't resist teasing me a little. "I didn't know I was your muse," he said with a mischievous smile.

I felt my face burn with shame and looked away. "I... I just like to draw, that's all," I tried to explain, but my voice faltered.

With a gentle gesture, Charles held my face with both hands, making me look at him.

"I believe you," he said. "But if I knew how to draw, you would be my muse too," he said softly, his gaze locked onto mine.

The world around us seemed to disappear as we stared at each other. I felt my heart race, and before I could think of a response, Charles leaned in and kissed me. The kiss was soft and full of unspoken feelings, a mix of years of bickering and hidden emotions.

When we parted, both of us were breathless and blushing. Max, who had been watching the scene closely, couldn't help but smile. "Finally," he murmured to himself and walked away, leaving them alone.

Charles took my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"I think it's time we stop pretending we hate each other," he said, his voice filled with newfound determination.

I nodded, still a bit dazed. "Yes, I think so," I replied, feeling a new beginning unfolding between us.

As we walked back to the paddock, side by side, with Charles still holding my hand, we both knew that things would never be the same. And for the first time, we were eager to see what the future held.

[zae-heeyyy]

Stelliferous

Summary: You stargaze with Arthur. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 1,353 Tags: fluff, shy, high honor Arthur Warnings: no warnings, enjoy the fluff.

a/n: Just a little something I thought of when I found this camp. Plus, I really wanted to draw a constellation. Fun fact, the game has accurate constellations, and Orion is one of them! I had a lot of fun reading about Orion mythology for this one. And TYSM to my tumblr bestie @littlemistey for helping me get the journal entry just right!

stelliferous: filled with stars or bearing stars, often used to describe a visibly starry night.

As everyone went about their business for the night, you headed to a deserted clearing just beyond camp and sat on the ground. You loved sitting alone, getting lost in the stars and the tales that went with them. Just as you were settling down, the snap of a twig alerted you to someone else's presence. The stars had aligned perfectly for you that night, putting you and Arthur in the same place at the same time.

You rose and looked around, spotting the cowboy leaning against a tree. If it were anybody else, you'd be annoyed, but seeing him there made your heart flutter in all the good ways. You loved looking at him just as much as you loved looking up at the stars. But the stars didn't make you weak in the knees at the sight of them or make you laugh until your stomach hurt. But just like the stars, Arthur always felt so out of reach.

"Things're really goin' downhill back there if a lady would rather sleep in the grass than in her tent," he said. His face was neutral, but you could see a playful glint in his eyes. You hugged your knees to your chest and tried to hide your shyness.

"Oh, hey Arthur, I was just––"

He held out a halting hand and tipped his head.

"I was just jokin, miss. I know what it's like to want some peace and quiet." He pushed himself off the tree and gave a two-finger wave. "Anyway, I won't disturb you."

You spoke out before he could leave. "It's no trouble, Arthur." You turned away from him and cranked your neck to the sky. "Y'ever wonder if it's just us out here?" It wasn't a question you expected him to answer. You were just thinking aloud. He didn't respond for a long moment but sauntered towards you, his boots appearing in your peripheral.

"I don't do much thinkin'."

You turned to glance at him again, shaking your head.

"Oh, hush, Arthur Morgan. We all know you do more thinkin' than any other fool around here."

You could tell he was fighting hard to keep the frown on his face from curving upward.

"That ain't saying much." He chuckled on his exhale, then, with a grunt, sat down beside you. "This whatchu' always doing out here? Just—" he gestured to the sky, "—looking up?"

"Don't knock it til you try it, Arthur." A soft smile formed on your face, and you waited expectantly. He quirked an eyebrow, then put his hands behind his head and laid back. A satisfied grin crossed your face, and you dropped down, too.

You spent the rest of the night pointing out stars and constellations to Arthur, sharing all the stories you knew about them. An hour crept by before a yawn escaped you. Arthur didn't show it, but your departure was the last thing he wanted. With one arm still behind his head and the other slung across his stomach, he kept his eyes trained on the sky above.

He was hooked—not on the stars, but on you. Then and there, he realized he could spend eternity on the ground, captivated by the rise of pitch in your voice when you got excited and how your eyes crinkled at the corners when your smile stretched from ear to ear.

From that night, Arthur used stargazing as his excuse to be near you, sometimes sitting so close to you that your shoulders rubbed when you pointed upward. Once, you turned to ask him a question and noticed him staring at you instead of the sky.

"It's impolite to stare, Mr. Morgan." His expression faltered, and he opened his mouth in a stuttering attempt to damage control.

He didn't need to be ashamed, though; you'd felt his eyes on you many times before. He admired you like you admired the stars, and knowing that sent waves of adoration through you.

Arthur caught up with you another evening just as you were finishing dinner. Golden sunlight reflected on his face as he glanced down at his feet, clutching his hat between his fingers. He reached nervously towards your hand, thought too hard, and placed it back on his hat. He started to speak, his words low and careful.

"Got somethin' to show you—somethin' I found— if you'll ride with me?"

You suppressed a building laugh, trying to save him further embarrassment. It tickled you that someone as audacious as him could be made so flustered by the likes of you. Your amusement was well hidden, and you reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"It's about time you asked me on a ride, Mr. Morgan." He nodded and placed his hat back on his head, the brim shielding the building smile on his face. He walked you to his horse. He got on first and held a strong arm down to pull you up.

The two of you road down the Heartlands, across the Dakota River, and through Bard's Crossing. He slowed when you approached a hill outside Lone Mule Stead. Arthur helped you off the horse with one hand, keeping hold until you stood in front of a campsite that overlooked the Upper Montana River and beyond. The site was breathtaking; you could make out the lights of Blackwater, boats on the water, and the expansive night sky in all its glory. Just to the side of the spot stood a small brass telescope. When you finally saw it, your eyes widened, and you met Arthur's, your mouth agape.

"Found this out here the other day," he gestured towards it, beckoning you.

"Oh, Arthur," you ran your fingers across the smooth brass cylinder. You shook your head in slow incredulity. "I've never seen one in person, only seen 'em in books."

Arthur removed the cap on the end, letting it swing on its chain. He nodded toward the viewing device again, and you walked around to the lens, bending to look through it.

"I hope it's everything you read about, miss." His voice was comforting, like the soft rumble of distant thunder. Breathless, you pressed your eye to the lens, and a speckled blanket of black engulfed your vision. Truthfully, the stars were the same as always, but knowing Arthur had curated this moment, just for you, made the night sky more beautiful than ever. When you were done taking it in, you stood to see Arthur watching you from a few feet away. You approached the crate he was sitting on, your hands outstretched and reaching for his.

"Thank you, really," you said. The gunslinger stood and accepted your hands, his lips pressed together tightly as if opening his mouth would betray him. His eyes were strictly focused on your clasped hands. Surely, if his mouth would betray him, his eyes would too.

"Arthur." His name coming off your lips so endearingly could kill him. He finally looked up, his mouth falling open to speak, but you didn't give him the chance. You rose on your toes, your lips crashing against his hurriedly. When he finally realized what was happening, his shoulders fell relaxed, and he wrapped two arms around your waist, pulling you into him. Your mouths moved in sync with each other's until you pulled away for air. Heat had built up in his face, and you saved him the trouble of hiding his blush by wrapping your arms around him tight.

As breathtaking as it was, you forwent the telescope for the rest of the night, opting to wrap yourself in Arthur's arms instead. You pointed up at a line of bright stars.

"See those three? That's Orion's Belt."

"Orion?" he asked, saying the name as if it were a foreign language.

"Orion. He was a hunter—a big and strong one. They say he was a bit of a drunk brute, too. He reminds me of someone." You didn't need to peel your eyes away from the warrior in the sky to feel the warmth of the one right next to you, a knowing, gentle smile on his lips.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 8

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: if you are a mark webber fan, im sorry its for the plot. Also expect a double update because I'll put up Chapter 9 tomorrow!!!

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444

2011, Hungaroring

Ever since Y/N could remember, Mark was always the one taking care of her. Big brother Mark who would pick her up from school, Big brother Mark who gives her ice cream after a dentist appointment and all that stuffs. It was that reason why Y/N has opted to fly all over different countries to aid and support him in his quest of being the best driver in the world.

There are moments that Y/N wishes that she could have that big brother back but no moment has been much more pressing when she woke up with a pounding headache and a burning feeling.

This was the first time that she got sick without Mark by her side. She reached out her phone and her fingers hovered to press Mark’s number but she hesitated. Y/N was not sure if Mark was okay especially with his crash during free practice and he wasn’t able to get a good spot for qualifying—it is most likely that Mark is already resting. She also knows that Mark is still very upset with her and they haven’t been in speaking terms for almost two months already.

So she calls the other number she knows will pick up.

“Can’t a person get some sleep”Sebastian was half-awake and half-asleep.

“Seb?” Y/N’s voice was weak “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disturb but I don’t know who else to call”

Sebastian immediately stood up upon hearing the voice of Y/N. There was something different about it and it made him extremely worried.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“I’m having a fever and I just need some medicines”Y/N explained

“Okay, don’t worry. I got this”Sebastian assures “I’m going to the pharmacy and pick up some medicines. Anything else?”

"Just some medicines and then I have everything covered"

Y/N must be joking if she thinks that Sebastian would simply leave her alone by herself. He was already listing down everything that Y/N might need and already including her in his schedule today.

It didn't matter if Sebastian are a few hotels away from Y/N's. He was willing to sneak to be caught into enemy's territory if its Y/N on the line. It didn’t even matter for Sebastian that he is in a foreign country and has no idea where a pharmacy is. Let alone mind that it was currently 4 in the morning and there was not much stores open at this early hour.

Y/N drifted to sleep while waiting for Sebastian. She had no idea what time it was when she woke up but the sun was shining brightly and she could feel a cool towel on her forehead.

“Mark?” she asked on instinct

“Just Seb here” Seb corrects “No need to worry, I have everything here for you”

True enough, the bedside table has been cleared of unnecessary stuffs. The medicines were neatly arranged and a small bowl with a damp towel was carefully prepared. Sebastian also took the liberty of ordering room service for Y/N to eat because medicines shouldn’t be taken with an empty stomach.

“I’m sorry for waking you up”Y/N mutters

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, I am here for you okay?”

Y/N sits up and Sebastian helped her get into a comfortable position. She genuinely appreciates the effort that Sebastian did for her and at the same time she feels slightly guilty that he must babysit her.

“I think I’ll be fine on my own. I just need the medicines and all that”Y/N reasoned out “You have the race in a few hours and Red Bull might kill me if their driver is fatigued”

But Sebastian shakes his head in disagreement.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I am here to take care of you as long as I could”Sebastian assures

“But the race?”

“The race is not until 3pm, I can leave the hotel at 12 noon to get ready” Sebastian quips back.

A grateful smile graced on Y/N’s face as she couldn’t fathom how she was so lucky to have Sebastian by her side.

2011, Marina Bay Street Circuit

Christian Horner was in a good mood after they secured the championship for constructor and the driver's. It was not even the end of the season and they can actually pop the champagne and celebrate their impending victory. Truly, Red Bull's dominance was here to stay.

As a treat, he asked to meet with the two Red Bull drivers for dinner. Sebastian immediately accepted while Mark politely declined. Christian could not even fathom how the bloke feels with him missing the championship twice in a row so he lets him be. Upon learning that Mark wasn't joining then Sebastian asked him if he could invite the other Webber.

For Christian, Y/N was like one of his own. Even if she swapped teams, she was still welcome to the garage. It was no issue for Christian.

And so he finds himself seated with Sebastian and Y/N for dinner time.

"So how is McLaren treating you? I hope things aren't too bad there"Christian wondered as he cuts up his steak.

"It's definitely different from what I'm used to but I manage"Y/N smiles.

"Still not in good terms with Mark?"

Christian may act blind but he sees everything. He knows how there is a huge problem between the Webber siblings. He wished he could mediate and stop Mark from firing Y/N but Mark is as stubborn as he can get.

The female Webber just give him a sad smile and it conveyed a lot for the Team Principal.

"I hope he comes around"Christian voiced out "The garage misses you, don't you like to be in a winning garage?"

"C'mon, McLaren is also trying their best"Sebastian teased.

"Well we're still working ion it but Jenson and Lewis are trying their best with the car's maximum capacity"Y/N assures.

"Yeah, I kind of miss Jenson's competitiveness in a Brawn"Sebastian chuckles.

As the Red Bull driver jest, Christian noticed how Sebastian's cutlery was on Y/N's plate. It was expertly removing the bell peppers and Christian scrunched up his face as he couldn't remember that Y/N requested for bellpeppers to be removed.

"You don't like bell peppers?"Christian asked "We could have it removed if you didn't want them"

"Oh don't worry about it"Y/N immediately answered "Sebastian likes bell peppers a little too much and I think its a common habit that he takes bell peppers from my plate"

Huh, Christian says to himself. That was something new that he learns from the German driver and it was a sweet gesture from Y/N.

As the dinner progressed, Christian couldn't help but notice how the two were in synch with how they order their food and share them with each other. Its like watching a married couple but Christian knows that if he brings this up then the two will go around with their bullshit that they are just friends.

For Christian, there is bound to be a good relationship between the two of them. It would be impossible to not have a good one especially when they are willing to swap dishes with one another or share a dessert together. He honestly thinks that he should have brought a partner of his own so he wouldn't feel too much of a third wheel.

At least, this would be a good story for the team principal to recount when the two get married.

2011, Suzuka Circuit

There was a sea of navy erupting into cheers when Sebastian parked at the parc ferme. The cheers were in different languages and he couldn't even decipher every single one of them. He proceeds to run to his team at the barricade who is awaiting for him and he felt like crying for a wonderful season.

At the end of a barricade, there was a woman dressed in orange and white. It clearly stood up from the rows of navy colored gear. Sebastian didn't miss this opportunity to go to her and give her a bone crushing hug.

"You did it, you did it again"Y/N was ecstatic.

It was a joy for Sebastian to finally celebrate with her. He pictured this happening in Abu Dhabi last year but circumstances prevented him from doing so. He lifts up his helmet and then he gave her his helmet.

"I have something to tell you" he whispered close.

He prays that she can hear him from all the loud noises in the paddock.

"Can't you tell me now?"

"This is important, meet me at Red Bull garage after the podium"Sebastian instructs.

Y/N nods and Sebastian called upon Britta to usher Y/N to the safety of the Red Bull garage. He wanted to make sure that Y/N is perfectly safe and he could see her right away after the whole interviews as well as the podium.

This was the perfect timing to tell her exactly how he feels.

Meanwhile, Britta navigates Y/N back to the familiar Red Bull garage. The younger Webber was confused of what Sebastian wanted to say that is so important that he has to say it in private.

Could it be, she thought about the possibility.

"Britta isn't there anything that you can tell me about Sebastian's weird behavior?"Y/N begged.

"I'm sworn to secrecy" Britta giggled.

Of course Britta knows. She also knows that this is all that Sebastian has been looking forward to in the Japan GP. Britta was the only other person besides Sebastian himself that he would ask her out if he wins his second championship in Japan. She is trying her best to contain her emotions because Y/N seems to be so confused about the whole situation.

"Oh just tell me now, I'm getting so anxious with all of this secrecy-"

"Y/N? What are you doing here"another Australian accent filled the air.

The gears in Britta's head were already turning because this has been the first encounter of the siblings in months and here she was in the middle of it.

"Didn't know I need permission to be here" Y/N responded cooly.

"I think you should especially when you are from the enemy's side" Mark spat.

"Now, I'm an enemy?"

"You moved to McLaren, what are we supposed to do?"

"You fucking fired me"Y/N defended herself "I need a job to sustain myself"

The tension between Mark and Y/N is at its peak. Mark looked like he regretted the things he said but his pride has prevented him to admit that he made a mistake. Y/N, on the other hand, is close to crying. Britta couldn't fathom how much pain Mark is putting Y/N in with his words.

"You should have left this world"Mark stated "You don't belong here"

Y/N dropped the helmet that she was holding. The tears immediately flowed out of her eyes because it was one thing to be constantly told that she doesn't belong in this field of motorsports. She encountered that daily with a lot with its male dominated community and she learned to tune it out. But its another thing to hear it from her own brother.

The tears were no longer because of sadness but pure hatred.

"You are a piece of fucking work Mark"words uttered were laced with venom.

Britta couldn't do anything as Y/N turned to leave in a hurry. She wished she could do something other than glare daggers at Mark and plot the worst kind of PR treatment possible.

Sebastian have to try another day because clearly Mark just ruined his chances today.

2011, Interlagos

Webber wins his first and last of the 2011 season in front of his family.

Dianne and Alan Webber flew all the way from Australia to Brazil to support Mark in his final race for the season. Much to their surprise,they witness Mark go into the top podium spot for the Sunday race. Both the parents are thrilled with Alan saying that "Mark is a very promising driver that is ready to challenge Sebastian for the coming years." Mark is also very grateful to his parents and dedicater the win to them during the post-race interview.

Fans noticed the lack of Y/N Webber during the celebrations. Rumor has it that the former Red Bull employee and now McLaren press officer, is not in good terms with her brother after her move to McLaren. She has been out sight through the whole weekend and she wasn't even spotted during the celebratory family dinner.

Webber siblings caught feuding with each other.

Sources say that the presence of Alan and Diane Webber was not merely to watch Mark race but negotiate between the feud of Mark and Y/N. It has been several months since we last saw Y/N anywhere near Mark and when asked during the interviews about her, Mark refused to answer that question. There is no clear reason how and why it started but everything leads back to Germany where Y/N first donned the orange-white colors of McLaren.

The paddock is currently circulating with a voice recording of a conversation between the two siblings in Mark's driver room. It seems as if Y/N tried to reach out with an olive tree by congratulating Mark but the Red Bull driver was not having it. The recording has been taken down and no one had a full transcript of the whole fight.

Sebastian has been nursing his drink for the past few hours. He knew that he had to be sober because clearly Y/N has a plan to drink the whole place down.

In all the years that Sebastian knew Y/N, he never saw her like this. It was weird how utterly shattered she was and she wouldn't even tell him what Mark said. She just wanted to drink her pain away.

"You should better stop or you'll regret it tomorrow"Sebastian reminded.

The girl raised a middle finger as she proceeds to drink another bottle of beer.

"What even is that point"

He was quite thankful that this was a private bar and no one seems to recognize them. He has already seen the articles and if the media got a whiff of this then it will be a field day for her.

"You can reconcile over the winter break,you live in the same house"Sebastian argues.

"Used to"Y/N clarifies "Used to live in the same house"

Sebastian was confused. He didn't know if this was sober Y/N talking or is this just plain drunkeness.

"They kicked me out. They say I'm a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad person"Y/N spilled.

If he could only assure her that she is never any of those things, Sebastian would already have. However he knows that his words cannot compare to what she heard from her own flesh and blood. He just gives her a comforting hug to calm her.

"I don't know what to fucking say or do right"the sobbing comes now.

"There there"

It was a moment of silence except for Y/N's cries. It was already past 2 in the morning and the bar was almost empty so they were given the privacy that they need. Sebastian felt upset he couldn't do anything to help her.

"Where do you go now?"Sebastian asked.

He could offer a place back in Germany for her to stay or maybe somewhere near Milton Keynes.

"Michael and Corinna wanted me to stay with them"Y/N answers "And then maybe by January, I'll look for a place in London so its closer to work"

It must be a weird feeling for Y/N to be suddenly forced into this new situation and Sebastian knew how scared the girl must be.

"You'll be alright, you are not alone"

He holds her hand and Y/N leaned on his shoulder for balance.

Sebastian already resigned the idea that he will confess his feelings. There is clearly a lot on Y/N's plate right now and its not a good timing to add more to her worries. If having a good friend is what she needs then that's what Sebastian would be for the time being.

[newluvrs]

Sohee ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: ゆめうつつ - LAMP word count: 4.9k bb note: tried something a little different with this one

The first time Sohee sees you he doesn’t actually see you.  It’s the first day of his Drawing Foundations class and truly he would rather be anywhere else.  He’s so shit at drawing and art, but he needed it to fill a gen ed requirement and he’s heard that the class is an easy A.  The professor is reviewing the syllabus and everything inside him wants to drop the class.  It’s a studio art class meaning it’s 3 hours long, the class is smack in the middle of his day on a Monday of all days, and every assignment the professor reads off sounds terrifying.  What the fuck is conte anyways? Sohee’s never heard of it and he’s not sure he gives a shit about it.  Sohee wants to roll his eyes when the professor is expecting an assignment completed by the end of class because of course he would ask something like that on the first day.  He’s assigned an easel where he props up a rather large drawing pad.  Sohee dreads the thought of having to fill such a large space with artwork when he can barely draw a straight line.  Sure the class is for beginners, but Sohee feels like he is embarrassingly bad.  

He’s attempting a very poor rendition of still life comprised of his bag’s contents when he’s positive he’s made up his mind.  He needs to drop this class before he has to face this for an entire semester.  But when he contemplates ducking out of the class early so he can spend the rest of the day browsing for a different one, something in the room shifts.  It’s like something within him is screaming at him to turn around.  When he does he sees you, well he doesn’t actually see you because your hidden behind your designated easel, but it’s like he feels you.  It makes him so badly want to see who it is that is sitting behind the imposing object.  It irks him for the rest of class until the professor announces that the time is up and it’s time for everyone to show what it is that they’ve done.  Sohee lays his eyes on you when you make your way to the front of the room to display your drawing pad.  It’s like all the breath in his lungs gets knocked out of him when he sees you.  His mouth goes dry and he starts fidgeting with his hands, nerves overtaking him.  And what you’ve drawn is far too good for a class that is intended for beginners, lines clean and neat, shading added, a singular light source indicated in your piece.  If it were anyone else Sohee would scoff and call it pretentious, but you are far cry from what he would designate pretentious.  Any and all praise that gets awarded to you (and the professor is sure to give you plenty) is well deserved, and if anything Sohee thinks you deserve more.  Needless to say he changes the mind about leaving, even after presenting his poor attempt at a still life and proceeding to get picked apart.  Is he a little insane for choosing to stay in a 3-hour class for a girl who he saw for the first time that day? Maybe, but nobody could ever convince him of that.  

The second time Sohee sees you, he realizes that there’s something… off about you.  But for the life of him he cannot pinpoint what exactly it is.  As the class proceeds, he thinks he’s glanced at you about 100 times in an hour alone.  You’re frighteningly beautiful, but in a way that should never be looked at, like if you stare too long it’ll hurt you.  The longer he watches you, the harder it is for him to figure you out.  Maybe it’s your mannerisms.. the way you hold eye contact a little too long or the way you never speak.  Or maybe it’s the way you look, your lips a little too pink, eyes a little too doe eyed. He can’t pinpoint what is about you that made him so nervous.  It’s not that you looked mean, you just looked.. blank; unreadable.  Aura overpowering everyone elses, making it hard for him to just breathe next to you.  Sohee’s convinced your like an actual angel who fell to earth and doesn’t know how to act.  He finds himself wanting to do things he’s never done before.  He wants so badly to make you laugh, to change your blank expression for once into something he actually recognizes.  Something within him makes him feel like he would do anything to entertain you, and it’s a dangerous feeling.  

The first time he actually hears you speak without first being spoken to, it’s a critique day.  Your first official project is being presented for all of class to see, and Sohee is truthfully dreading it.  He feels like he has improved in his art skills absolutely none at all and he does not want to hear it from the professor.  It does not help that the professor has tasked you all with drawing the exact same thing, meaning his art skills will be put up against everyone else’s.  He tries to comfort himself by saying that at least he gets to see what you’ve done, to him it feels like a small peek into your brain.  And of course you’re critique is perfect, the professor not criticizing you in the slightest even though it’s quite literally in the name that you have to.  Sohee looks at your lines, and he can see where you intentionally smudged the graphite of the pencil to make a blurred effect.  For a moment he thinks about copying some of the techniques you use, maybe he’d actually learn a thing or two. 

The professor approaches his piece and Sohee shuts his eyes like it’ll help him get through the critique any faster.  Spoiler alert it does not and the professor hates this one just as much as he has hated every other thing Sohee has done.  If you weren’t so pretty Sohee thinks he might hate you for every glowing review you receive alone.  He nods his head to every comment the professor makes, pretending to make mental notes about what the professor is saying.  He lets out a breath he didn’t recognize he was holding when the professor finally moves past his.  He tries his best to act like he doesn’t care about whether or not his art is good, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed.  Sohee had actually put in a lot of work into this piece, making trips to the studio when it was open on the weekend.  He had even tried using charcoal in an attempt to cover up his scratchy lines, hoping that maybe that way they would at least look intentional.  When he resigns himself to the idea that he’s just not gonna be good at art, he feels that you’re standing near him.  

“it’s very tender.”

The way your voice cuts through the air is melodic, like a song made just for him, and if he wasn’t already watching you when you said it, he would think he imagined it.  He looks at your profile, and you’re not speaking to him, but speaking to yourself.  He wonders if you’re aware that he’s even there because you’re so immersed in looking at what he’s done.  The thought occurs to him again that you’re weirdly off putting.  But in a way that makes him want to be around you more.  Like he doesn’t ever want to leave your side so he can watch you a little longer.  He’s never felt such an intense urge to crawl inside someone’s mind

As the weeks pass, he starts to recognize that he’s not the only one who can tell that you’re different.  He watches how people interact with you in class, how they can’t hold eye contact with you, or how they stumble over their words when they speak to you.  He feels a little bit better to realize it’s a universal feeling and that he’s not completely insane.  Unfortunately this also means that he’s not the only one who can see that you’re beautiful.  At this point he’s seen you outside of class multiple times, always unable to take his eyes off you no matter where he is or what he’s doing.  He’s come across you in the dining hall, seen you with your friends in the student union, he’s even starting to realize that you frequent the same parties he does.  This means he’s subjected to the sight of men approaching you.  Time and time again he watches a boy approach you with the intention of making you laugh and getting your number, maybe even getting into your pants.  

The first time he sees it a fear envelops him, like he was too late to make a move and now here comes some random guy to sweep you off your feet.  Jealousy sweeping over him when he watches a boy approach you with ease at a party in a way he never could bring himself to do.  He recognizes that it’s a friend of a friend and it just makes him more annoyed. But as he continues to watch on, he feels satisfaction settling in his chest.  He sees the boy’s futile attempts to make you laugh as you just watch him with your standard expression, drink in your hand.  It’s obvious when the boy is starting to catch on that he’s not charming you like he thought.  Sohee breaks into a smile when the boy starts fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot nervously before finally retreating in defeat.  This will not be the first time Sohee watches someone approach you and honestly, he’s starting to develop a sick fascination with watching the interaction.  He likes to see the moment they realize they aren’t gonna get with you, it makes him feel better for already knowing that it’s not going to work on you.  Like he’s better for recognizing that you aren’t easy to impress.  

Sohee tries to scheme up ways to speak to you, but every time he sees you he draws a blank.  Sure he’s relatively introverted, but he knows he can at least talk to pretty girls.  He’s done it plenty times before, if anything he’s good at it; but something about you just makes him completely change.  He knows he’s obnoxious when he’s with his friends, cracking jokes and loud mouthed when with familiar company.  But if he sees you coming near or even remotely in the same space, his personality is doing a complete 180.  His friends make fun of him each time he does it, laughing at how he goes from being rambunctious to immediately on his best behavior.  And Sohee will take the jabs any day as long as it means that you don’t see him like one of the stupid boys who choose to approach you.  He just wishes one day you’ll let him close enough to even scratch the surface of your true personality.  To give him something to indicate what it is that you’re into.  

His opportunity comes extremely unexpectedly and completely on accident.  He’s late leaving class one day, too caught up in trying to perfect his midterm project to notice that it’s 15 minutes past class time being up.  He doesn’t realize it until the next professor is entering the room to set up the studio space.  He apologizes as he throws his supplies in his bag, leaving the room as quickly as he can.  He doesn’t even realize that you were late leaving too, not until he enters the elevator and you immediately follow behind him.  Sohee feels like he’s going to burn up in the small space, so he tucks himself in the back of the elevator and tries to be as still as he can, like maybe if he doesn’t move you won’t see him.  That’s when he sees it, the tiniest indication of your interests.  As the elevator starts its trek to the first floor he’s staring at your bag which for the most part is unassuming.  But the glint of a korok charm hanging from your zipper catches his eye.  Before he can stop himself he’s speaking, breaking the silence of the elevator ride.

“You like Zelda?”

As soon as he speaks he wants to slap a hand over his mouth, like he can’t believe he just spoke to you for one, and for two he can’t believe he asked it in such a bewildered tone.  He half considers getting off on the next stop and just taking the stairs the rest of the way down.  But then you do the unexpected; you turn to him.  

“I love Zelda.”

A smile graces your features, and Sohee can physically feel the way his heart cracks in two.  He realizes right then and there that he would do anything to get you to smile at him again. 

“I’m Sohee.”  

“I know.”  

You’re terrifying and Sohee can feel the way his palms are starting to sweat.  

“I’m y/n.”

“I know.” 

You smile at him wider when he says it, and he hears the way you exhale a breath through your nose.  It’s the closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from you and Sohee tries not to let it immediately go to his head.  He glances behind you and he can see the way the numbers are getting closer and closer to the bottom floor.  

“My favorite is Twilight Princess.”  

He’s shocked when you speak again and he thinks about how he wants to stand in your light for as long as you’ll let him.  

“I have an affinity for Majora’s Mask.”  

You hum to yourself in acknowledgement when he says this, and when you open your mouth to speak again the elevator doors open with a ding.  Sohee curses to himself in his head, he’s never wished for an elevator to malfunction more than now.  You smile at him one more time before you turn to leave and Sohee has to look away at how overwhelming it is.  

“See you next time Sohee.” 

And then you’re gone.  Sohee stands there so long that the elevator doors try to close on him.  He can’t believe that that just happened, and instead of scratching the itch he had to talk to you, all it does is feed into it further.  He thinks about how he needs to hear you speak to him again, how he needs to hear you say his name again.  He smiles like an idiot for the rest of the day as he schemes of something else to say to you the next time he sees you.  

In a suprising turn of events, he does not have to try hard at all.  Matter of fact he doesn’t even have to try because the next time you have class together, you choose the easel next to his.  At first Sohee thinks maybe it’s a fluke, like the universe has decided to smile kindly on him this one time.  It only dawns on him that this was intentional when you speak up next to him, clearing your throat as the both of you work on drawing the fruits displayed on the table in front of you.  

“So do you play any other Nintendo?” 

Sohee prays that you don’t see the way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you spoke.  For the rest of class that’s what the two of you talk about.  Every now and then in between you lean over to look at what it is he’s drawing and you give him a few tips.  Sohee revels in the smile you give him when you catch him utilizing your advice.  Much to Sohee’s dismay, apparently 3 hours passes by extremely quickly when you’re actually enjoying yourself.  When the time is called and everyone starts packing their belongings Sohee does his best not to be disappointed.  He’s failing terribly at it but then he notices how you linger after you’ve packed your things.  There’s no way you’re actually waiting on him.  When you follow Sohee out of the studio he still thinks it’s a coincidence.  The elevator ride this time around is silent, and when it’s almost at the bottom you speak up.

“We should play together sometime.”  

Sohee’s head snaps up at this and when he looks at you you’re already staring at him, making his heart feel like it’s in his stomach.  Sohee may be a little dense sometimes but he can at least recognize that this is a clear invitation from you, so he leaps at the chance.  

“Do you want to come over Saturday night for Mario Kart?”

The way it takes you less than a second to agree makes Sohee feel a little too cocky for someone who can’t hold eye contact with you for longer than 5 seconds.  He feels like he’s in a daze when you hand him your phone to put in his number.  He only comes to after you say goodbye and there’s a message on his phone.  It’s simple enough, all it reads is ‘y/n’, but he feels like he’s on cloud 9.  

Sohee’s excitement quickly shifts to dread when he realizes that despite the interactions he’s had with you, he still cannot read you at all.  It drives him crazy, the way that you’ve showed him nothing about you.  It’s a stark contrast to how he feels so exposed every time he speaks to you.  It’s like you can see all of him and it plagues his thoughts for the rest of the week.  In the days leading up to Saturday you don’t message him, so he doesn’t message you.  He’s not even sure what he would say, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself.  He spends all of Friday cleaning his apartment, making sure everything is spick and span.  He bans his roommate from spending anytime in the common living area until after Saturday.  He even goes out and buys candles for each room, just so it’ll be a little more appealing.  When Saturday comes, he finds himself paying his roommate 40 bucks to fuck off for the evening.  He thinks it’s worth it if it means he’ll have your undivided attention. 

When you’re knocking on his door, he’s a mess of excitement and nerves.  You greet him with a smile and your wide-eyed stare.  Immediately he’s stepping aside to let you in, telling you to make yourself more comfortable.  You toe off your shoes at his front door, making your way further into his living room to see his switch already set up, Mario Kart ready to go.  Sohee thought about having it in his room, but he felt like maybe it would seem a little presumptuous of him.  When you take a seat on his couch, he thinks the sight of you in his living room is something he wants to see forever.  You curl into the blankets left for you, covering your exposed legs, and to Sohee you just look like you belong.  When you catch him staring he rips his eyes away from you and all you can do is smirk to yourself.  He makes sure to leave room between you and him on the couch when he goes to sit and you make a mental note of the distance between you.  

Sohee quickly learns that you’re extremely competitive and way better at mario kart than you let on, and he makes sure you know that.  He almost feels embarrassed about how he boasted that he beats every one of his friends every time, because right now you have won every single round.  You didn’t even fall off the track a single time on rainbow road, making sure to use the drift controls to pad your turns.  When you turn to look at him mid round, you can see how he pouts his lips in concentration and it makes you want to lean over and crowd his space.  As the game proceeds, the volume and familiarity in which the two of you speaks only gets more extreme.  The two of you went from only saying a few words to each other and speaking only when needed to calling the other names and claiming the unfair use of an item.  Sohee even rolled his eyes at you after you called him a loser.  

After winning your 5th cup in a row, Sohee decides it’s time to for a break.  He throws his head back on the couch in frustration as your victory screen plays for the millionth time it feels like.  When you reach out a hand to push on his shoulder at his dramaticism, only then does he notice how close the two of you managed to get throughout the games played.  When he looks between the two of you your legs are nearly touching, with only a few inches of space between the two of you.  He does his best not to seem nervous when he subtly tries to slide away from you, but when you close the space between the two of you he feels like his heart is gonna leap from his chest.  Instead of looking at you, he turns away, avoiding your gaze and playing dumb.  When you place a hand on his knee he feels heat make its way up his spine.  Your delicate fingers glide to the inside of his knee as you open your mouth to speak.  

“You’re really cute Sohee.”  

Finally he’s turning to look at you, and the heaviness in your gaze is enough to floor him.  For once, you are easy to read, the lust obvious in your eyes and in the way your fingers are inching closer to his thigh.  He leans in before you have time to react and kisses you.  It’s brief, just a quick peck and he mostly did it on instinct.  When he sees that he caught you off guard, he feels cockiness starting to set in.  He knows that you’re having fun toying with him at this point, so to be able to catch you off guard even for a moment makes him satisfied.  Your eyes flicker down to his lips and he’s leaning in again, with conviction this time, plush lips slotting against yours.  It takes you no time before your kissing him back, moving your mouth in tandem with his.  He brings a hand to cup your jaw as the kiss intensifies, both of you breathing heavily through your nose.  The way your lips feel against his is so soft, and he can taste the sweetness of your lip balm.  

Your hand creeps up to rest on his inner thigh and Sohee feels his cock jump in his shorts.  He presses his hips forward to indicate that its okay, not wanting to break the kiss he so badly longed for.  When he feels your hand finally touch where he needs you most he moans against your lips and the sound makes you want to devour him whole.  You press your palm against him as you break away from the kiss, trying to catch your breath while simultaneously trying to get a look at his pretty face.  He looks so dazed, his lips are swollen from your kisses with his chest heaving with each breath he takes.  He grinds against your palm and the action makes you rub your thighs together, he’s just so cute.  He can tell the effect he’s having on you and all it does is stroke his ego.  

“Is this turning you on?”  

His voice is a wreck and borders on whiny, but he doesn’t care, not when your pupils look so blown.  You nod your head as you bite your lip, starting to feel restless now, the achiness beginning to be a little too much.  Sohee spreads his legs to give you more room, shamelessly pushing into your hand each time you press down.  He looks at you and he can see you’re practically panting as you watch him.  You pull your hand away, ceasing your movements, obsessed with the way you can see him twitch in his pants.  Sohee realizes then that you’re just as fascinated with him as he is with you.  He guides your hand back down to grip him, but this time he holds it against him.  He looks you in the eyes as he grinds his hips up into your combined hands, moaning into the air as he does so.  He watches the way you cross your legs a little tighter, trying to give yourself something.

He pulls you in for another kiss with his unoccupied hand on the back of your neck.  It’s sloppy and uncoordinated but Sohee doesn’t care, he just needs to be pressed against you.  When you start to whine into his mouth he breaks away to see the reason you sound that way, coming face to face with the sight of you sticking your own hand in your shorts.  He swears he could cum right then and there.  His view is obstructed, and he hates it, he wants to see the exact way you like your clit played with.  The angle is the awkward with how your kneeled next to him on the couch and Sohee gets an idea.  When he pulls your hand away from him, the distressed look on your face makes him want to let you keep going.  Wordlessly, he moves to one end of the couch, sitting so his back is against the arm rest, legs resting on the cushions.  

“Come sit on my lap.”

You think that you would do anything he asked when he sounds that pretty saying it.  Reluctantly, you pull your fingers off your clit and crawl towards him on the couch until your resting against his thighs.  Sohee sees the wet patch against your shorts and lets out a groan, reaching a hand into his own.  He pulls his waistband down just enough to be able to wrap his hand fully around his cock.  You follow his lead, reaching your hand back into your pants to resume your earlier movement, but now you can see all of him.  The room is so hot Sohee thinks he may burn alive, but it would be a good way to go.  Especially when you’re moaning so prettily for him on his lap, touching yourself to him.  

“You’re so pretty y/n”

He means it.  Everything about you draws him in, consuming him with the need to be around you and hear your every thought.  His hand not being used to touch himself rests on your inner thigh, stroking up and down, resisting the urge to touch you exactly where he wants to.  When you start to hump your own hand, Sohee begins to stroke himself faster, matching your movements.  He sees the wet patch on your shorts getting darker and he thinks about how bad he wants to taste you.  When he realizes he can hear how wet you sound even with your shorts still covering you, Sohee thinks he might combust.  Your movements are starting to get jerky, hips kicking involuntarily as you rub yourself faster.

“Sohee ’m gonna cum.”

Your voice is still as sweet and melodic as ever, whines making it sound severely more erotic.  He hears the way you moan his name and thinks that’s the only sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life.  He watches on with boyish fascination as you grind against your hand a few more times, body shaking as you cum.  He takes in how your thighs try and close, your fingers working you through your orgasm, body letting out twitches from above him as you gasp.   You have to put a hand on Sohee’s shoulder to stop yourself from collapsing completely against him.  Hand still once you’re too sensitive.  

Sohee is almost there, he can feel it, his lower stomach tensing as his movements grow faster.  You pull the hand that’s from your pants and swat his hand away, replacing it with your own.  Sohee groans at how warm and wet your hand is, thinking about how you were just using that same hand to play with your pussy.  You flick your wrist quickly, trying to get him there as he whines, squirming from the friction of your hand.  When he finally comes it’s intense and overwhelming, your thumb brushing over the head as he spills all over your hand, his body shuddering as he cries out your name.  You watch on as his whole body shakes and twitches until he's finally had enough, pushing at your hand to stop.  

You both can’t stop staring at each other as you sit there and catch your breath.  Absentmindedly he reaches his clean hand out to trace the features of your face.  You mirror him, starting at his eyebrows and ending at his lips.  You start to giggle and Sohee thinks about how terribly he wanted to hear that sound a few weeks ago and how gratifying it is to hear it now.  He wishes you would let him record it so he could hear it whenever he wanted to.  He looks at you with a smile of his own, letting out a ‘hm?’ Your answer being something he never expected to hear.  

“I think I’m a little obsessed with you.”

The irony is not lost on him.  

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 31

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

You hated the way these shoes felt. The House of Wind had generously provided a pair of stunning blue pumps, but it had overlooked one crucial fact: you had about as much experience walking in heels as a baby fawn. The woods had not exactly trained you for this. You took a tentative step across your room, feeling your toes smash into the front of the shoes. While you were pleasantly surprised by your ability to balance, each mild shuffle felt like you were torturing your feet. You huffed, plopping down on the edge of the bed, your gown fanning out around you like a defeated banner as you blew a stray tendril of hair from your face.

Leaning down, you hiked the skirt up around your thighs, yanking your already reddened toes from their tiny prisons. From the doorway came a familiar chuckle, and when you glanced up, Azriel stood there, arms crossed, his wings casually fanned out behind him.

Straightening, you sat up with the shoes in hand before chucking them onto the carpet, where one heel clattered over the other. “Those are a death trap,” you declared, pointing at the offending objects.

“I could hear you cursing at them all the way down the hall,” he said, strolling over to sit next to you on the bed.

You dropped your hands into your lap, looking up at him with an exaggerated pout. “How are things downstairs?”

Azriel snorted lightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know, the usual chaos. Cassian decided to wear a different suit than the one Nesta picked out for him. Now she’s following him around, threatening to kill him in his sleep if he doesn’t change back.”

You laughed quietly, “That’s about what I expected. Anyone else here?”

Azriel rubbed his hands on his thighs, trying to dry some anxious sweat. “Elain and Lucien arrived a little while ago.”

“How’s Lucien?” you asked, curiosity piqued. Lucien had been very quiet about the ball, likely due to the complicated and still-tentative relationship between the Night and Autumn Courts.

Lucien had been navigating the treacherous waters of familial politics, attempting to reconnect with his estranged brothers. Since Eris had taken over the High Lordship—thanks to a mysteriously convenient assassination of their father—he’d been trying to mend fences with the rest of their testosterone-charged family. From what Elain had shared, Lucien and she had been attending various Autumn Court events and “family dinners,” which typically ended in a shouting match between one or more of the volatile males at the table. The couple often left before dessert, much to everyone’s relief.

Lucien’s reintegration into the Autumn Court had been rocky, to say the least. Many courtiers still viewed him with suspicion, especially after the revelation of his true paternity involving Helion. The court, with its rigid emphasis on bloodline purity, wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat for him. His status was a delicate issue, and despite Eris’s attempts to shield him, Lucien was perpetually walking on eggshells.

You hadn’t yet had the pleasure—or the burden—of meeting Eris or any of Lucien’s other brothers. Tonight marked the first time Eris would attend a formal event at the House of Wind, and the stress of this high-stakes gathering was palpable. You could almost hear the collective holding of breath echoing through the grand halls.

Azriel chuckled, interrupting your thoughts. “Lucien’s playing it cool, but you can tell he’s a bit on edge. It’s like watching a fox trying to pretend it’s a housecat.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “What about you?” you asked, peering up at Azriel. He stared ahead toward the door, his usually calm demeanor slightly off-kilter. You could hear his heartbeat pumping faster than its normal steady cadence.

Azriel shook his head, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I’m fine,” he said, though his tone betrayed a hint of unease.

You kept your gaze on him. This was one of the few times you’d seen Azriel genuinely unsettled, his usual composure slipping. “You sure?” you probed lightly, eyebrows raised in playful skepticism.

Azriel remained focused on the doorway, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your heart is beating quickly,” you replied, noting the slight rise and fall of his chest as he took a few steadying breaths, clearly trying to keep you from noticing. “You’re being more aloof than usual.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, a mild offense coloring his expression. “Aloof?” He turned to face you, his brows knitting together. “I’m not aloof.”

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes widening with exaggerated incredulity. “Oh, come on.”

Azriel leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting with mock seriousness. “No, what do you mean by aloof? I’m not aloof.”

You pushed yourself up from the bed, rolling your eyes dramatically, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Mr. ‘I use my shadows to eavesdrop on conversations and hide from groups of people’ thinks he isn’t aloof?” You made your way into the closet, hoping to find footwear that didn’t feel like medieval torture devices.

Azriel’s voice followed you, slightly indignant. “It’s my job!”

You squatted in front of the shoe rack, lined with elegant but impractical heels you had no intention of wearing. “Isn’t there a saying that if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life?” you called back, your fingers brushing over the backs of the shoes.

With a soft, almost magical rustle, a pair of midnight blue flats with a subtle orange shimmer appeared at the end of the shelf. You glanced upwards, a smile playing on your lips as you whispered a quiet thank you to the House.

Slipping them on, you sighed in relief, feeling like you’d been freed from a mini prison. You straightened your dress and walked back into the main room where Azriel now lay sprawled out on the bed, his legs dangling over the edge, feet touching the floor, his back and wings spread across the blankets as he stared at the ceiling.

He glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You really think I’m aloof?”

You rolled your eyes again, walking over and wrapping your hand around the bedpost. “I think you’re introverted,” you replied, leaning your head against the wood, a teasing glint in your eyes. “And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Doesn’t that just make me charming and mysterious?” he asked, winking mischievously.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “If you have to plant the seed of charm and mystery in someone’s head, I think that answers your own question.” You pushed off the bedpost, moving to check yourself in the mirror.

The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. Your cheeks, once gaunt and shadowed, now had a healthy, rosy hue. Your eyes, once dull and lifeless, sparkled with a light you hadn’t seen in ages. The dark circles that had seemed a permanent fixture had faded. You looked more alive, and it was a feeling you were still trying to get used to.

You heard the rustle of the bed as Azriel sat up. Glancing at him in the mirror, you threw him a small smile. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay,” you said.

Azriel met your gaze in the reflection, his expression softening. “I should be the one worried about you,” he replied, rising and pulling down the legs of his pants, straightening his jacket over his broad shoulders.

You turned to face him, leaning your hips against the dressing table, hands braced on either side. “Doesn’t mean I can’t also be concerned about your wellbeing.”

Azriel gave a tight smile, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “I just don’t love these parties.”

Your own amused smile glimmered to your face as you crossed the room to him, your hands reaching up to straighten the collar of his jacket. The fabric was smooth and cool under your fingers, and you noticed the subtle blue threads woven into the dark cloth, catching the light with a gentle shimmer. Azriel’s eyes softened further, following your movements with a warmth that sent a flutter through your chest.

Satisfied with the collar’s alignment, you met his gaze, his eyes lingering on you with a gentle intensity. You patted his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the finely tailored suit. “That’s the aloof part coming out.”

Azriel scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing back slightly, though his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “I prefer enigmatic.”

You laughed lightly, gripping his arm as he tried to pull away. “I’m sorry,” you drawled playfully. “Just was an easy shot.” You held onto his jacket a bit tighter as he pulled you to him, wrapping you in a bear hug. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric.

“You’re insufferable,” he whispered, shaking you lightly, the vibrations making you giggle.

“And yet you suffer me,” you retorted, your face buried in his chest, muffling your laughter against the soft fabric.

Azriel released you, “Every day is a new day of suffering when you’re around,” he teased back.

From down the hall, the faint strains of violins and piano floated up the stairs, their melodies intertwining in a harmonious dance. 

Azriel sighed, looking down at you with a tight smile, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “We should go down.”

You nodded as Azriel extended his elbow to you, the gesture almost comically formal. You stared at it, one brow arching incredulously. “Are we really these kinds of fae now?”

“Well, might as well put on a good show,” he responded, his lips quirking into a playful grin.

Wrapping your hands around his forearm, you felt the solid strength beneath his sleeve, the warmth of his skin through the fabric. His muscles relaxed slightly as your fingers pressed into him.

You and Azriel stepped out of the room, the soft glow of faelights casting a gentle sheen on the polished floorboards as you walked down the hall towards the source of the merry strains. The music grew louder, filling the air with a sense of festivity.

“I feel ridiculous,” you whispered, the dress rustling softly with each step.

“You should see how you look,” Azriel taunted, his tone light and teasing.

You gave him a hearty elbow in the stomach, feeling the firmness of his muscles under your nudge, though it barely moved him. “Kidding,” he quickly followed up, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You look great.”

As you and Azriel descended the sweeping marble staircase, the strains of music grew ever more pronounced, each note reverberating through the grand hall and mingling with the fluttering of your heartbeat. The staircase was bathed in the soft glow of faelight, casting intricate patterns on the polished stone beneath your feet, and the opulent banister, adorned with golden filigree, gleamed in the ambient light. Azriel’s reassuring squeeze on your hand anchored you as you reached the bottom.

You pushed open the ornate double doors to the grand ballroom, your breath catching in your chest at the sight that unfolded before you. While you had been involved with the planning and decorations, the transformation of the space was nothing short of breathtaking. The room was a living, breathing embodiment of elegance, a symphony of colors, lights, and textures that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

The ceiling soared above you, draped with cascading garlands of autumn leaves, their hues shifting from deep crimson to burnished gold, interwoven with shimmering strands of faelight. Chandeliers hung like glittering constellations, their crystal prisms scattering light in a thousand rainbows that danced across the gleaming floor. The walls were lined with tall, arched windows, their mullions draped in rich velvet curtains of deep blue.

The great hall was alive with movement and music, the harmonious melodies of violins and a grand piano filling the air, their notes weaving through the laughter and conversations of the fae in attendance. Fae of all courts glided across the floor in a whirlwind of flowing gowns and finely tailored suits, the vibrant fabrics swishing and swirling in time with the music. The variety of attire was dazzling, each ensemble more intricate and resplendent than the last.

You marveled at the Autumn Court attendees, their attire reflecting the splendor of their season. Gowns of fiery red, rich burgundy, and shimmering gold adorned the fae, their outfits detailed with delicate embroidery depicting leaves and vines, and accented with gemstones that sparkled like embers. The Night Court fae wore attire that mirrored the midnight sky, with deep blues, blacks, and silvers, their clothing often adorned with subtle, luminescent patterns that caught the light like distant stars. Spring courtiers flashed about in pastels and soft silks, while Day court attendees were drenched in golden jewelry.

You took in the sight of the dancers, their movements graceful and fluid as they twirled and spun across the floor. The room was a kaleidoscope of motion, the fae weaving in and out, their laughter a musical accompaniment to the live orchestra that played on a raised platform. Couples waltzed beneath the glittering chandeliers, their steps perfectly synchronized with the lilting strains of the music, their faces illuminated with joy.

Azriel’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you gently from your reverie. He led you into the room, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. His eyes, always sharp and vigilant, softened as he took in your wide-eyed wonder. “You look like you’ve seen magic for the first time,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of fond amusement.

Your gaze darted around the room, trying to absorb every detail. “It’s just… it’s so much more than I imagined,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Azriel smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Nesta outdid herself, didn’t she?”

You nodded, your eyes tracing the path of a garland that wove its way around the towering columns, each leaf seeming to flutter in an unseen breeze. “She did,” you agreed, your voice filled with awe. “It’s like stepping into a dream.”

It seemed that merely speaking her name conjured her, as Nesta, the ever-diligent hostess, glided through the throng of partygoers. Her face lit up in a bright smile the moment she spotted you, her eyes sparkling under the golden faelight. Her gown was nothing short of breathtaking: a flowing cream masterpiece with a high neckline and intricate pearl embroidery that darkened elegantly as it reached her neck. Her hair was an intricate marvel of its own, braided into a low bun adorned with tiny golden stars that shimmered delicately between the plaits.

“Y/N!” she greeted, her voice breaking into a smile as she reached out and clasped your hands, her touch warm and reassuring. “You look stunning!” she exclaimed, stepping back to take in your ensemble, her eyes dancing with delight as she looked you up and down.

“Look at you?!” you countered, motioning with a sweep of your hand over her exquisite gown.

Nesta smirked, gracefully lifting the skirt of her dress and giving it a playful twirl. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” she said, her voice brimming with pride and amusement.

From behind you, Azriel chimed in, his tone softer, “You look beautiful, Nesta.”

Nesta’s gaze shifted over your shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Azriel’s appearance. Her tongue pressed into her cheek, and a mischievous glint lit up her eyes. “Well, well, well, the Shadowsinger cleans up nicely.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Nesta’s expression softened, her smile turning genuine as she gave Azriel an appreciative nod. “You look great, Az.” Then, her attention snapped back to you. She lifted the upper skirt of your dress lightly, examining the material with a keen eye. “The House really outdid itself, didn’t it?”

You felt a small rush of gratitude, though it quickly turned to mild embarrassment as Nesta’s eyes narrowed slightly, her brows knitting together when she noticed your lack of heels.

You quickly smoothed down the dress, offering her an apologetic smile. “I couldn’t do the shoes.”

Nesta's eyes twinkled with amusement as she tilted her head. “I’m just impressed you convinced it to let you wear flats. The House usually prefers heels.”

You sighed in relief, your shoulders relaxing. “Well, I think it saw me struggling to take steps and decided not to let me scuff the floors all night.”

Nesta laughed, the sound warm and light. “I guess I’ll have to complain more.” She glanced over your shoulder, her eyes catching someone’s attention as she raised a hand to wave. “I have to do the rounds,” she said, already moving away, her attention shifting to the fae she was flagging down. “But I’ll see you a little later?”

You nodded, returning her smile. “Definitely.”

As she disappeared into the crowd, you turned to find Azriel leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed yet alert, his eyes scanning the sea of bodies. You joined him, standing close to his side. “I said hi to Nesta. Can we leave now?” you joked, a playful tone in your voice.

“I wish,” he grumbled, though his eyes softened as he looked at you.

You took a moment to absorb the scene, the room alive with color and movement. Gowns of deep emeralds, shimmering golds, and striking crimsons twirled in the warm glow of the chandeliers. The soft strains of violins wove through the air, mingling with the quiet hum of laughter and conversation. It felt as if you had stepped into a painting.

As you turned to comment, Azriel muttered something under his breath, his eyes narrowing. Before you could ask, he gently grasped your arm, pulling you closer with a surprising urgency.

You were about to protest when another male approached, cutting a striking figure in a white tunic with a low-cut V-neck, embroidered with swirling red and orange leaves along the collar, and a deep maroon jacket that framed his muscular frame. His skin, a creamy canvas, was freckled like a dusting of autumn leaves. The voice that crooned like smoldering embers purred, “Azriel. It’s been too long.”

You glanced up, taking in the male’s sharp, chiseled features—a jawline as defined as his toned chest, russet eyes flecked with gold, and ginger curls styled back with a hint of rebellion. His lower lip, full and inviting, curved into a smile that revealed dimples at the corners, adding a touch of charm to his otherwise imposing presence.

Azriel’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a barely audible growl rumbling in his throat. The red-haired male’s grin was sharp, laced with a poison that seemed designed to provoke Azriel.

“Philip,” Azriel responded, his voice strained, almost choking on the name.

Philip’s eyes flicked over Azriel with predatory ease, sizing him up with a single glance. “You look halfway decent,” he said, his tone dripping with calculated condescension.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his response terse, “As do you.”

Philip’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lingering on where Azriel’s hand rested on your arm, as if he were contemplating where to place his own claim. His smile widened into a feline curl. “And who is this,” he paused, eyes sweeping over you, “stunning creature?”

Azriel took a deep, steadying breath, his fingers tracing the length of your arm to settle possessively on your lower back. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet restrained, his jaw clenching ever so slightly.

Philip’s smile broadened, his long fingers extending towards you. “Exquisite,” he murmured, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to it that lingered just a fraction too long. Azriel’s muscles tensed beside you, his grip tightening as Philip’s lips touched your skin.

When Philip straightened, his eyes darted back to Azriel, a flicker of satisfaction in their depths. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you?” he purred, his voice a silken caress.

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath a barely restrained growl. “I’m a friend of Nesta’s,” you interjected, your smile syrupy sweet. You sensed the animosity crackling between the two males and refused to become a pawn in their unspoken battle.

Philip’s auburn brows arched, his head tilting in feigned curiosity. “I wasn’t aware Nesta kept such,” his gaze swept over you again, “delectable company.”

Your smile turned razor-sharp, your voice laced with saccharine defiance. “I like to think I elevate her tastes.”

Philip’s eyes glittered with amusement, his smile twisting into something more predatory. “Azriel,” he said, his tone almost playful, as he shifted his attention back to the Shadowsinger, “would you mind if I borrowed this,” his eyes flicked back to you, “most enchanting creature for a dance?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched visibly, his eyes narrowing as he fought to keep his composure. “Actually,” he began, his voice low and measured, “we were just about to—”

You placed a hand on Azriel’s chest, feeling the tension radiating from him. “It’s alright,” you said softly, though your eyes remained locked on Philip’s. “I wouldn’t want to deprive him of a dance.”

You felt Azriel’s fingers flex lightly on your back, a silent plea for caution. Before he could respond, you cut in, your voice laced with a subtle challenge, “I’m sure I don’t need Azriel to give me permission.”

Philip’s smile widened, a wolfish grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Quite right,” he purred, extending his hand with an elegant, yet predatory flourish. You slipped your own into his grip, which tightened more than you liked, a vice masked as politeness. As he led you into the undulating crowd, you glanced back at Azriel. His eyes blazed, shadows pooling around his feet, his jaw set in a rigid line. You gave him a small nod, brows arching in reassurance, though it felt like a lie even to yourself.

Philip maneuvered you through the mass of swirling fae, his hand sliding possessively low on your hip, just shy of indecency. The kiss he planted on your hand was a charade of gallantry, a veneer over his palpable menace. He drew you close, the fabric of your dress whispering as it brushed against his maroon jacket, which seemed almost aflame under the ballroom’s lights.

His gaze pierced yours, an intensity that made your skin prickle. “So, why are you really here?” he murmured, his breath warm and dangerously close to your ear.

You moved with calculated grace, the swish of your dress a soft counterpoint to the music. “I’m sorry?” you replied, maintaining an air of innocent confusion.

“You’re not a court member,” Philip continued, his eyes flicking over you, assessing. “I’ve never seen nor heard of you. Your dancing lacks formal training,” he added, his voice dripping with condescension, “and you’re not even wearing heels.” His gaze flicked to your flats, though you resisted the urge to look down. “But most intriguingly, Azriel seems to have an interest in you. So, tell me, how did you infiltrate this social circle?”

The sugary sweetness in your tone dissipated, replaced by a cold edge. “Are you implying that I don’t belong here?”

Philip spun you into a light twirl, his grip tightening as you moved. “I’m simply saying it’s curious that the Night Court is now taking in strays.”

You swallowed the sting of his words, your voice icy. “Perhaps I’m just good company.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Philip conceded, his smile curling like smoke. “But good company doesn’t grant one the right to sit at the high lord and lady’s table.”

You matched his calculated turn with your own precision. “I’m not at their table.”

“But you’re living in their home,” he countered smoothly, pulling you closer, his chest brushing against yours. His eyes bore down on you, every inch the predator.

“Nesta and Cassian’s home,” you corrected sharply, trying to create even a semblance of space between you, though his grip remained ironclad.

Philip’s gaze never wavered, his expression one of calculated menace. “And what exactly is your business with Azriel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, your heart pounding, your composure slipping for just a fraction of a second.

A low growl rumbled from Philip’s chest. “My initial question was how much he was paying for your company tonight.”

The shock of his words hit you like a blow, but you recovered swiftly, though your pulse thundered in your ears. Your voice as sharp as broken glass. “I appreciate that you think I would be worth paying for, but I’m afraid I’m not in that business.”

Philip's purr deepened, an unsettling sound as he spun you again, his grip unyielding. “How much would you charge?” he asked, his words laced with a sickly sweetness that made your skin crawl.

“More than you could afford,” you snapped back, your smile a brittle veneer as he pulled you into him once more, the heat of his body oppressive.

“You may underestimate my affluence,” Philip countered, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“Philip,” you retorted, spinning out and back in, your movements more forceful. “There’s no amount in the world that would make me climb into your bed.”

For a moment, his mask slipped, irritation flashing across his face before he smoothed it away, his predatory smile reasserting itself. “You think highly of yourself.”

You lifted your chin defiantly. “Like I said, I elevate Nesta’s standards.”

“Indeed,” Philip said, his teeth flashing in a grin that was all sharp edges.

The music tapered off, the notes fading into a hum as applause rippled through the ballroom. Yet, Philip’s hold on you didn’t loosen, his eyes locked onto yours in a predatory stare, each of you testing the other’s resolve.

A familiar voice, deep and commanding, cut through the tension. “Philip,” Cassian announced, his presence a sudden, imposing shadow behind you.

Philip’s eyes flicked up above your head, his cocky grin faltering as Cassian loomed behind you, a massive figure even compared to the imposing Autumn Court heir. “Cassian,” Philip greeted, his tone strained but polite.

“I’ve been sent to retrieve this one,” Cassian announced, his heavy, reassuring hand settling on your shoulder like a comforting anchor.

Philip’s gaze returned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to find a reason to hold on just a bit longer. The rumble of his voice vibrated through you. “Well then, thank you for the dance,” he purred, the murmur originating from deep within his chest where it pressed against yours.

You felt an odd mix of relief and lingering discomfort as Philip finally released you, the phantom sensation of his hands still lingering on your hips and back. You stumbled slightly into Cassian, who steadied you with his hands, broad and firm, gripping your shoulders. “The pleasure was all mine,” Philip finished, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

Cassian turned you from Philip, effectively blocking him from your view with his substantial frame. The sensation of taking your first full breath in what felt like ages was almost overwhelming. Had you even breathed since you set foot on the dance floor? You weren’t sure.

Cassian leaned in, his voice low and reassuring, “Way to hold your own out there.” You could hear the amusement in his tone, a contrast to the dread still buzzing in your veins.

As you navigated through the crowd, which parted effortlessly before Cassian like waves before a ship, you scanned the sea of faces for Nesta, expecting her to be at your destination. But instead, the crowd parted to reveal Azriel, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a shadow of tension easing from his features as his eyes found yours.

Turning to Cassian, who, you now noticed, wore a suit that clashed hilariously with Nesta’s meticulously chosen ensemble, you asked, “Didn’t Nesta need something?”

Cassian chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. “I have no clue. I’ve been avoiding her all night.” He steered you right up to Azriel, flashing him a triumphant grin. “Mission accomplished.”

Azriel merely rolled his eyes, though his posture relaxed a fraction. “What mission?” you asked, still feeling the residual tremor in your voice.

“The one where I get you away from Philip so Azriel doesn’t rip his spinal cord out and beat him with it,” Cassian replied cheerfully, clapping a hand on your shoulder as if you’d just completed a particularly grueling training session.

Azriel let out an exasperated scoff, his eyes darting to you with a mixture of apology and frustration. “No, I asked you to see if they were almost done dancing.”

Cassian shrugged, holding out his hands in mock innocence. “You asked me to ‘check in’ and ‘intervene’ if I thought things were going poorly. With my expert training,” he puffed his chest out slightly, a theatrical gesture, “I assumed things weren’t going well.”

You felt Cassian’s grip loosen slightly as he craned his neck around. “I gotta go,” he said hurriedly, his eyes wide with a flash of panic. He quickly melted back into the throng of party-goers.

Turning to see why he left so abruptly, you spotted Nesta bearing down on him with a glare that could cut diamonds. Her eyes were narrowed, a storm brewing behind them. It was clear that Cassian had sensed the oncoming tempest and had wisely chosen to make a swift exit.

You shifted your gaze back to Azriel, who was chewing on his lower lip, his leg bouncing restlessly against the wall. His eyes met yours, concern etched into his expression. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

You nodded, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Yeah.”

Azriel’s gaze sharpened, reading the unease in your stance. “Need a break?” he suggested, his tone laced with understanding.

You nodded again, more fervently this time.

“Let’s go get some air,” Azriel said, his voice soothing as he pushed off the wall. His hand found its way to your lower back, guiding you gently but firmly. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the lingering chill left by Philip, and though you flinched slightly at first, you allowed Azriel’s hand to remain there.

He steered you through the crowd, his path straight and purposeful. The swirl of colors and the murmur of conversations blurred around you as you focused on the cool promise of the outdoors. Azriel navigated through the sea of fae with ease, his hand never leaving your back.

Reaching a set of glass balcony doors, he pushed one open, and the rush of cool air hit you like a soothing balm. The tension that had coiled around you inside the ballroom began to unravel. You stepped out onto the balcony, the night air crisp and refreshing against your heated skin. The moonlight bathed the balcony in a soft glow, casting long shadows that danced gently with the breeze and as you took a slow breath out, the tendrils of mist curled out into the night. 

To my readers, I promise I will get consistent with my 12:00 posting again. Life has just thrown a few curveballs my way: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00 @caninne

[greentrickster]

For the Great God Airplane AU, this time I've been thinking a bit more about Airplane and Shen Jiu having another, proper meeting after Shang Qinghua's regained his divine memories. Because, while it was... nice to hear that open acceptance, that Shangdi was glad that Shen Jiu managed to become Ninth Road, that even his creator thought the fate he'd written for Shen Jiu was too harsh... the fact remains that he still wrote it. Still allowed it to happen.

(He came down from Heaven and incarnated to witness these long-destined events, and to save the world... but not early enough to save Shen Jiu.)

And that sort of thing leaves questions, especially after having had a bit over ten years to think on it (to stew on it (for, for all that they love him, his heavenly siblings openly love Airplane Shangdi best of all things, so he's never even considered speaking to them on this subject))). And the most important question is simply...

Why?

Why allow this to happen?

If you love this world and its people so much, if you wanted to save them from destruction, why let the events leading to it play out in such a way? Why try and change it as a man instead of an all-powerful god?

Why?

They're sitting in one of An Ding's gardens, near enough Shang Qinghua's leisure house to ensure privacy, but nowhere they ever encountered each other in Ninth Road's first life. Shang Qinghua had been getting a breath of fresh air before his newest Official chose this moment to pop up next to him again, as refined and skittish as a street cat still learning how to trust. And, as the one who created him, Qinghua knows exactly how close to truth that comparison is, and mentally rearranges his schedule to prioritize this discussion before doing his best to answer in a way someone who hasn't been there from the beginning will properly understand. In the end he pulls a book out of his sleeve, holding it in his hands.

"Okay, so, books have a lot of words in them, right? And when you're first writing the book, it's fairly easy to go back and check over what you've written, make changes, correct mistakes. But once- once it's published? And there are people out there reading it, buying their own copies? After that it's- I can edit my own copy as much as I want, and it'll be the most accurate version, because I'm the author, but I can't go and just... edit everyone else's copy as well, you know? Maybe if it was just one or two copies that I gave to friends, but not-not everyone's.

"And this- my story. About you and Luo Binge. 'The Grand Fate of the World,' if you want to use your heavenly siblings' term for it... Imagine that as a book. Not just one book, a whole series of books, a series that's millions of words long, and everything in this world has its own set of them. Like, look," he bends down and scoops up a handful of dust, letting it sift between his fingers to blow away in the breeze once he's upright again. "Every single particle of dust I just picked up? Had the equivalent of its own copy of that story inside it. And it's the same for every speck of dust, every drop of liquid, every sliver of bone, every breath of air, every tiny piece of anything that makes this world. And- and I couldn't go through and edit every single copy of those stories, not even as Shangdi, not without- ...not without taking the world apart into nothing again and completely remaking it.

"And by the time it all started to feel really real to me, more than just a chance to tell a story I'd wanted to write more than anything in my last life, but tell it right this time.... by the time I reached that point, it was- hundreds of years had passed, and- and the world was full of people, real, living people, and I had my Officials, and they were part of this world too, and- and they were all real and I couldn't just... erase them like they were words on a page, you're all full of stories, but you're not just words on a page, you're real people."

He says it with such quiet intensity that it's startling. Ninth Road is so used to seeing Shang Qinghua as slippery, untrustworthy, nervous, perhaps overworked, he's never seen him talk about something he's truly passionate about.

About something he truly cares about.

And it is obvious, in this instant, that Shang Qinghua, that Airplane Shangdi, truly cares about this world and its people. Cares about them more than he has words to properly express, even as a god or a writer.

"And I couldn't fix it as Shangdi," Shang Qinghua continues, oblivious to Ninth Road's musings, "I couldn't- I'm really powerful like that, but for something so big and delicate, it's either scrap the whole project and start over or get right down deep inside and try to fix things from there. And I just- what would be the point of making it all again, if I did just start over? It wouldn't be the same, and this world's kinda a hot mess in a lot of ways, but... that's part of why I like it so much! But I broke it, or set it up to get broken, so... I had to come down and fix it. But then I couldn't do it on my own, so... so I asked for help. And you answered. And Cucumber-bro answered. And... now we're here, and- and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't- I should have done it better right from the beginning, I should have- fuck, thank-you. You saved my world. You saved everyone. You saved me. I'm so glad you're the one who answered when I asked, thank-you."

It's... sincere. Too sincere for one with a face as thin as Ninth Road's, and praise too high for the part he played. "It was Shen Qingqiu who did as you say, not this Official."

Shangdi fucking scoffs at this. "Cucumber-bro may have done the legwork, but he wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing if you hadn't answered my call. And I know you, Ninth Road, I know you didn't actually believe you'd actually get anything for doing what you got asked! Nothing can get done if there's no room to do anything, and you gave it all up to make room. And I'm god and I'm right, so just- just be polite and say 'you're welcome' for once, because I'm an obnoxious little shit and I won't stop thanking until you get that you genuinely did something worth being thanked for! So there!"

...

...there's not a lot you can really say to a rebuttal like that, other than the world's stiffest, most awkward, "You're welcome," to which he gets a big smile, another equally big "Thank-you!", and some free gossip on what stupid things Shang Qinghua's martial siblings have done recently.

It's... kind of nice.

Not nice enough for Ninth Road to feel inclined to inform Airplane that there are technically two Luo Binghes running around in this world now, but still... nice.

(And it's not like he needs to tell him, he'll figure it out for himself.)

(Eventually.)

[mehiwilldoitlater]

first part // second part

Despite his confession, there was still a rift between the former warlord and yourself, one that you made sure that he could never pass, even after all of his efforts. The night of your re-union, you spent it awake, really far away from that man and his bed. You were livid, and it didn't matter how many times he used his sand to bring you to his side; you kept getting out and just sitting on a chair.

"Came on, stop being so stubborn. I won't do anything." You just kept looking at him like an animal was ready to bite. "All right, then, suit yourself. Don't complain about some back pain tomorrow."

When you finally collapsed, dawn was appearing in the sky, and he was long asleep by hours at that time. You woke up in his bed at midday to the ruckus of the screams of the pirates outside the tent. He must have taken you to bed before leaving. That day, you decided to use what was left of the day to find a tent of your own, without the trace of Crocodile influence in your intent. For some reason that you couldn't grasp, everyone knew who you were and who brought you there, and they seemed so intent to please you in order to not anger Crocodile. You refused everything; you didn't care at all, and when you found something that was more like a rag than a fabric, you decided that was enough in that condition.

Out of Buggy Town, that was your idea of peace and quiet. The tents and the vessels were still in sight, but at least you knew that there was less probability of meeting Crocodile, his colleagues, and others. At least you thought so.

He kept on reading the newspaper, emitting a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. Of course he knew that you were out; someone was intelligent enough to snitch on you. You were enterprising; he gave you that.

"Out eh? ..." The man in front of him shifted his feet, waiting for something. Bonez, still near his boss, looked at him with the same intent.

"Would you like me to take her back?"

"No, let her have her camping experience. She'll be back eventually."

He was sure that, after some cold nights and a lack of basic needs, you would come back, maybe even a little more interested in remembering your old life together.

The days passed, and you were still stubborn as a mule. You refused everything—food, the possibility to take an actual bath, some warm blankets. He sent those staff, and they came back untouched, with the single message to leave you alone. How troublesome...

You found food on the island by yourself, and you even were able to fish without the help of anyone! A small water source was enough to clean you, and at night, near a fireplace, you enjoyed the starry sky. It was nice; you didn't need anything else.

You didn't need him.

Days turned to weeks, and he became impatient. Despite his schedule, he was able to take a small amount of time to go to your place and try to convince you to come back, or at least consider staying near the town! What if there was an emergency or something?! But you refused everything.

The visits became just a couple of hours where he just stood there, watching you do your work without caring about him around. It was almost normal. He didn't ask again; what he wanted was to have you back with him. Too bad that was the opposite of what you wanted.

You even tried to escape from the island during your first days, to be fair, and all of them were failed attempts.

Every time, it was someone else that caught you sneaking inside some boats, ready to depart, or it was someone that took you from the small ones that you were able to snatch away. After the first three times, sand was found in the ships, a small way for Crocodile to make sure to prevent you from leaving the town.

Every time, it was one of his mes, or Buggy's, holding you by your elbow and taking you to the main tent.

"Again? We've caught you almost thirteen times."

"...It felt like a fifteen."

He sighed by your remark, massaging his eyes with his hand. You gave up after it became almost impossible to get near the docks without being spotted or being catched by the sands.

At some point, you just renunciated the idea of escaping from him. He was smart; he always was, so your only last option was to wait for the Marines to finally take action and finally get you away. You just had to figure out a reasonable explanation of why you were there and that you weren't a pirate...

Well, you had time! It wasn't a big deal!

The weeks started to become months, and things started to become almost normal, and you kept ignoring Crocodile, his gifts, his attempts, and, of course, his visits. But you weren't lonely, at least.

During these days, you were able to get closer to a few of the ones that were near the leader of the Cross Guild. It was Richie's fault at the beginning; the lion was so curious about you and ended by reaching your maskeshift tent to the promontory.

Your first reaction was to climb the biggest tree that you could find, hoping that the big lion could just go away. Then you realized that it was just a big, silly cat—and an overweight cat too. It was cute, in some way, and it enjoyed some ear scratching too, blessing with some purrs from itself. After the lion, the other members of the troupe, such as Mohji and Cabaji, were forced to go, trying to catch the animal from you, hoping that the big cat hadn't eaten you already. It was a strange encounter, but at least you found some more people who didn't want to please Crocodile by forcing you to go back to him.

You could finally chat a little! ...at least until Crocodile himself doesn't show up and starts glaring at the men, forcing them to escape his gelousy. 

Ah yes, Crocodile and his possessiveness. One of the things that he liked about your arrangement was that no one laid their eyes on you, and everyone was scared enough to leave you alone. He didn't need to take care of some possible competition.

And so, everything seemed almost normal. Your days started and ended in a similar way. It felt normal.

Until Roy came.

The boy looked at you like he was seeing some kind of miracle. You were in those old clothes that you were able to find around, and he was covered in sunburn, exhausted, and so happy.

The boy who did not give up and still courted you came to you. And you couldn't be more scared for his life.

His hug enveloped you with a warmth that you hadn't felt in months, while your body couldn't even process the gesture of whatever was happening.

"W-why are you here?!"

"I came to take you back, Y/N! You were captured by the pirates!"

So that's what he believed? He still didn't know anything? Maybe he did know but decided to only believe what he wanted...

His eyes gleamed with joy, his hands grasping yours in a strong and gentle grip. Despite his glim of joy, you couldn't meet his own feelings. The only thing that you could feel was confusion and fear.

You were afraid because he had waltzed right into the lion den without caring about the dangers.

No, no lions—crocodiles.

"R-Roy, you need to leave now."

"Of course we're leaving this place! Everyone's worried about you!"

"Roy, I can't leave this place! It's-...hold on..."

A small thought started to pop inside your head. Roy wasn't a pirate, but he was able to come here. No one outside the ones that were under the Cross Guild was authorized to be on that island. Then how did he find you?!

"Roy, how did you find me?"

The young man scratched his cheek, clearly nervous about the whole ordeal.

"Well, you know, I was a good fisherman, and... I started to get better! I learned how to sail and how it works, and...well,your captors aren't quite subtle."

"Roy, you came here by boat?"

When the boy answered, you found something that you thought you had lost months ago. 

Hope.

It was risky and crazy, to be fair, but you still wanted to try it. You wanted that future away from the ex-warlord, his plans, and his control over you!

His boat wasn't covered in crocodile sand, and no one knew he was there!

"I'll go with you!"

___________________________________

It was easy, passing through the various tents, the already drunken pirates in the middle of the day, and the fights between the men. No one noticed two innocent people walking to one of the remote docks, the one that Roy had used in secret once he had found the island.

What you both couldn't predict was that the secret place where Roy was located on the boat wasn't so secret at all.

Two of their henchmen found the small boat almost by accident; maybe they were just going fishing, who knows? What you knew was that, in less than an hour, the entire guild was now in search of whoever entered their territory.

Roy tried his best, and so you did, but in the end, even the sand was sent in search of this mysterious presence, and after a small check at your small corner, now empty, Crocodile didn't need to make more assumptions than he should.

The crowd found you soon.

After you crossed the small town made of old tents and made-up houses, Roy tried to shield you from the pirates eyes. 

"He's a spy! Sent by the Marines!!"

"How dare he enter our territory!!!"

"Stupid idiot, you'll die like a rat for trying to take away Sir Crocodile Woman!"

As always, those idiots had the wrong idea, and now they were fuming with rage. And the worst part was a confused Roy looking at you while still trying to cover you. You couldn't look at him; even in this situation, you didn't have the courage to speak up and tell him the truth. 

"Now, what's the ruckus about?"

Always the perfect timing.

His own aura was enough to make everyone move; even Roy, who was unaware of who the giant was in front of him, sensed a sensation of alarm in his chest.

He moved slowly, more annoyed by the chaos that exploded, for what he found out was that he was a stupid brat with not so much knowledge of where he was. This was until he noticed your well-known figure behind that nobody. You swear, the smoke from his cigar was close to a fuming rage.

"And now, who are you supposed to be, boy?"

"I-I'm...I'm Y/n friend! You must be the pirate scum that decided to kidnap her!"

Crocodiles smile smugly. Poor boy, that facade of bravery didn't stand even for five seconds in front of him, even if the ex-warlord had to admit that he had some guts in him.

"Those are heavy accusations, especially if the one who spoke those staff is an unwelcome guest in my home." He finally decided to acknowledge your presence by moving his hand toward you.

"Your friend lack of good manners, darling. Maybe someone should teach him better, don't you think?"

Of course, he never believed that no one could be interested in you. Well, it was his little hope for him, but you were in a world full of plenty of fish, and you were a young, pretty thing for many of them.

He knew that there must have been at least one man interested in you, especially since you said you did a good job of eradicating the ex-warlord from your life. So, without his controlling presence around you, it was just a matter of time before you mustered some courage to actually start a new relationship.

And that was what made Crocodile's blood boil.

You really thought that forgetting about him was so easy? That you could just throw yourself in another man's arms without remembering that your rightful place was in his own?

His statement was more of a threat to both of you, one that you caught in no time.

"He's not my friend."

The shocked expression on Roy's eyes was enough to know that it was a lie, but Crocodile hummed, puffing some smoke from his lips, thinking about the drama that now all of those men were witnessing. You took some steps away from Roy, reaching the pirate side. 

"Y/n, you said you wanted to-"

"I was Crocodile woman before coming to your island. I was investigated by the Marines before the accusation fell, and you're just not my type, Roy, so please-"

Your voice cracked a little, but you kept your composure.

"Leave."

It wasn't even a command; it was a please. You knew what that man was capable of, and the idea of having Roy's life on your conscience was far too much. It was fine, like this. It was okay.

Roy Boat left the island with the young men, the silhoutte slowly disappearing from your view of your small heaven, away from everybody and from Crocodile, except that he was there.

He clicked his tongue, imagining the irritating voice of Buggy talking about the mess of the day, all for Crocodile Woman's fault. 

"Are you done with your sulkiung already? Today has been a mess. Can you-" How your hand reached his cheek bone was a curious question; what he knew was the stinging pain, the redness in that spot of his face, and the anger in your eyes, along with some tears from them.

"I'll never forgive you for this. You can keep me here and torture me as much as I care, but i'll never EVER forgive you!"

[a-writing-otter]

All Fire, No Heat

(follow link to read on AO3)

Astarion weathers his lower lip between his teeth as he gazes across the fire. Karlach is sitting close to Wyll, regaling him with her side of a famous clash with the Blade of Frontiers as he, for everyone else’s benefit, corrects with the actual events.

This little… whatever of Astarion and Karlach’s isn’t so weak that it flickers at the fact she’s talking to Wyll with an arm around him, that’s just Karlach. No, his attention is far more rapt on the way she tells the story.

She talks often about Avernus in that shallow, barely-there way that most of them talk about their lives. Karlach cracks jokes and blushes past the depths of her horrors, but Astarion knows. Oh, Astarion knows someone who’s faced the cruelty of the universe and come out broken and he smells it on her charred skin. But the horrors she speaks about tonight aren’t ones committed to her, they’re things she’s done.

Weeks together and he knows how to read between the lines. She’s talking rather openly, but keeping it light, playful banter that she passes between her and Wyll. It’s not her words that intrigue Astarion, but rather how she says it.

In the low light of the fire, juxtaposed with the dark of the night, Karlach glows. Well, quite literally, her ports sputtering and smoking as her excitement mounts, but in addition, her teeth are shining, eyes gleaming like a predator and something is beginning to connect in his head. He suddenly sees her as a beast, a creature bent low, the last thing seen before the embrace of the void with dripping maw and scraping claw.

And it clicks—she truly was the Fury of Avernus, Advocatus Diaboli, the Right Hand of Death.

When she glances up, turns that dark, ferocious gaze on Astarion and winks at him, Astarion feels his breath hitch.

While he’s a rather formidable foe for near every person he’s cornered, it’s not a new concept that he can’t win every fight. And he knows, objectively, he might lose a fight against a number of his cohorts, but looking at her, seeing the way she looks at him, imagining what she’d look like to others, Astarion knows he would have no chance against her. That concept makes his skin prickle, his throat feel dry, and something ache in his pants.

It isn’t terribly long before they all decide to retire, petering off one by one. Astarion leaves relatively early into the dispersal as watching Karlach grow more and more animated makes Astarion feel crazy, but his eyes don’t stray far from the campfire. Karlach and Shadowheart are the last to leave, the former gravitating towards Astarion’s tent in a way that has started to feel familiar.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks without looking up from the tome he’s been pretending to read, fighting to keep his voice even and his thoughts forward.

“Oh, I think so.” He can see her standing there from the corner of his eyes, bobbing on the balls of her feet (the damned woman really can’t stand still), something expectant on her features. It’s no wonder that Astarion can’t see her as the terror she used to be when she’s this godsdamned cute. To call it an act is uncharitable, Karlach truly is sweet and kind and warm, but tonight he’s been gifted a chance to see beneath it. It’s hard to square away the beast in the fire from the doe-eyed woman who’s looking down at him, eyes soft and lips tilted into that small, secret smile she reserves for him.

“And what might that ‘something’ be?” Astarion asks.

Karlach lets herself wander closer now, stepping into his space until she’s towering over him, the smile on her face doing just as much for Astarion as the flash of her teeth had. She gets close, but doesn’t touch—she never touches until Astarion instigates it.

In the beginning, it’d been frustrating, had wrapped around to endearing, but now it’s a touch frustrating again. After a lifetime of people clawing, pawing, gripping Astarion whether he liked it or not, it’s nice to have someone who asks, someone who cares, but in the same breath, now that his discomfort at her touch has turned to craving, her asking almost becomes a chore.

Almost.

“Is it this?” Astarion asks, raising a hand to hook it into the strap of her top, pulling her down as he leans up. She’s warm, he does feel that, and the pressure of her lips against his own makes his spine tingle. He can taste ale on her breath, a bitter sort of accompaniment to her otherwise oaky, burning taste.

When he pulls away, Karlach doesn’t go far, her forehead resting against his and he can’t help but to smile at her in return as they linger there together.

“You were terribly animated tonight,” Astarion says, breaking the quiet they’d wrapped themselves in.

“Oh? That?” Karlach laughs. “It’s Wyll’s fault, the right bastard. He starts spouting his ‘shite about his time in the Hells and someone has to right him.”

“And that someone is you, beloved?”

He sees Karlach’s skin glow a little brighter at that pet name and he can’t help but to chuckle in response.

“Well, I was the only one there!” Karlach clears her throat and starts to pull away, but Astarion puts a hand on her arm, keeps her close.

“The way you talked about your time in Avernus was fascinating, your behavior almost terrifying.”

“I’d never act like that towards you—“ she immediately goes to defend, voice a touch panicked.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Karlach falters for a moment as she tries to piece together what was just said. From here on out, he knows he has to tread lightly.

“What an awe-inspiring foe you must have been,” Astarion continues. “The Fury of Avernus, hm? The name alone must have inspired reactions, good and bad. What kind of terror were you?”

“I— Well, I—“

Karlach’s hands are a little uncertain on Astarion’s waist, like she’s not sure if she wants to pull away. Astarion takes the hand not holding her top to traipse fingers up and down her bicep, tracing the natural line of her skin while clearly avoiding the ports there.

“My name carried weight,” she starts slowly. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

Astarion hums, encouraging.

“Even the great ‘Blade of Frontiers’ had reason to fear you. I’ve seen the glint in your eyes before, the way you bare your teeth. Sometimes I see why people mistook you for a devil.”

When he feels Karlach tense, he’s afraid he’s stepped too far.

“Devils are terrible damned things.”

“Yes, yes. Horrible,” Astarion agrees. “And you waded through them like they were nothing, didn’t you? They must have had nightmares about you, you the story that they breathed to one another in their camps, promises that if they saw you, you’d be the last that they’d see.”

He’s close to her now, speaking against her throat. It’s only recently he’s gotten the benefit of tasting her ichor, body safe enough to take from burning, smoky blood, heady like he remembers a good whiskey tasting. There’s solace to be had in the fact that she’s shuddering, that her breath hitches ever so slightly as lips and teeth and tongue tickle a place she’s so sensitive.

“I… had a way with them,” she begins, Astarion seeing how she’s feeling out the words and where he’s going with this. “I could be cruel, oh, gods, I could be so damn cruel. It wasn’t always my axe that did them in. Plenty of times I was without it and had to make do with my bare hands.”

Now it’s Astarion’s turn to shudder.

“You were ruthless.”

“Bloodthirsty.” And this time Astarion sighs which makes Karlach laugh, though it’s quiet, like she’s trying to keep it between them.

“Were you that way with yours lovers, too?”

Kalarch hums and he imagines she’s seeing the through line. Her hands are suddenly firm on his hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, were Astarion able to. The pressure is all the same and he feels his stomach flip in response.

“Is that it? You’re looking for something a little more… forceful?”

“I’m looking for anything you can give me.”

And Astarion knows she can give him so much, wants to give him so much. He’s waited for her for so long and he’ll wait for her longer. Never before has he had the build up before the taste. So much of being with Karlach had been patience and restraint and it had been nice, but now? Now, he wants reckless abandon.

Her hand comes up off of the bruising grip of his waist to wrap around his throat. Both of his hands come up, grip her arm out of instinct, but there’s no panic. He trusts her. Oh, he trusts her with his everything. So when she squeezes, he feels his stomach flip and hears a keening noise escape that takes a moment to register is him.

“I can give you anything,” she purrs, a low rumble to her voice that makes Astarion absolutely throb. “But what about what I want to take?”

“Y-You—“ Astarion pants, licking his dry lips with drier tongue. “You think you can take it from me?”

And when she tightens her grip, a masterful hold on his jugular with her middle finger and thumb, Astarion can’t help the way that he full-on moans, especially when she pulls him, lifting him onto his toes and closer to her face.

“I don’t think you could stop me.”

It’s how he ends up in his tent, down against the bedding, Karlach’s tongue in his mouth and her body pinning his down. She’s always been stronger than him, but this feels different. Karlach is cutting off his air with her strong hand, grinding her knee into his crotch in a way that has him wordlessly begging for her. She doesn’t even seem to care that he’s coming apart at the seams as she pulls back, mouth a red, wet mess.

“Oh, look at you,” she taunts, squeezing his throat and laughing when he gurgles. “There’s nothing you can do, is there? Just lying there, taking it. Gods, you’re so pathetic.”

And he claws at her hand, trying and fighting to find air or form words, but elated at the fact he’s helpless to do anything. He feels pathetic like this, tears pricking his eyes as he writhes beneath her.

“Held down and captive, yet you’re getting hard. I can feel it, love. You’re grinding into my knee. Do you need it that bad that you’re prostrating yourself for your captor?”

Yes, yes, yes! He does need it that bad and he needs it from her, gods, he only ever needs it from her. He bucks his hips, grinding into her knee and when she pushes down further, harder, sharper, he bucks and cries, swearing he could cum on the spot just from this.

Karlach shifts her weight, pushes down harder on his throat and his head starts swimming. It’s not the lack of air that’s doing him in, it’s the pressure and the voice and the cut off of blood he’s drank no longer swimming through his veins. Her blood, held back by her hand: he sees the irony in it.

“Are you that depraved that you’ll cum like this? Not even touched, not even relieved, just in your pants like some desperate whore?”

He doesn’t even want to deny it. If she talks at him like this, strings him out, he will cum and be as pathetic as she or anyone else has seen him. While he pretends to be better, he knows better—Astarion is pathetic beneath it all.

“Go on, then,” she baits. “If you’re so damned desperate, show me.”

He stares at her, vision swimming with tears as she cocks an eyebrow at him. Swallowing thickly, he feels her thick fingers on his throat and gasps beneath it. She’s not moving her knee anymore, holds it stationary against his crotch and, when he bucks, she doesn’t lean into it.

Oh, she actually means it.

He lifts and lowers his hips, rubbing against her knee like some kind of dog in heat. Over and over, he gyrates against her. His breath is coming in pants as a bastardized pleasure crawls through his body. He’s leaking into his pants, against her knee, but he can’t stop. She’s laughing at him, flexing her fingers to remind him who’s in charge, who’s the one controlling him. All he can do is pant and whine and continue to grind his cock against her.

He croaks out, tries to give her some kind of warning, but the grip on his throat has made his head fuzzy and pleasure made his tongue useless.

“Oh, already? Gods, you can’t even hold it together. If you’re that fucking worthless, spray like a bitch, then. I told you to show me.”

He pants, moves his hips faster and sharper, the rough fabric of his pants grating against his cock, but Karlach is staring down her nose at him and tightening her fingers and her knee is firm and— and— and—!

Astarion’s back arches as he humps her leg, cumming against her as he dirties himself for her pleasure. He knows it’s going to stain his clothes, that it’ll take awhile to clean out, but all he can do is pant as he pumps his hips weakly before falling back.

When his vision clears, he sees her annoyed, critical stare. If it wasn’t for the thumb stroking over his pulse point, the other hand rubbing his sternum, he’d think she was serious. Even in her pretend, she has to remind him she still care for him and that makes him smile a bit.

“What’re you grinning at?” She sneers. “You think you’re done? Might be so useless you can’t keep your cock up to let me fuck myself, but it doesn’t mean you’re free. Get up.”

She gets off of him and this, this, is his favorite part. Karlach gets on her knees, hooks her thumbs into the top of her pants and starts to slide them down.

His mouth fills with saliva, his belly with want, and all he can do is gaze as she puts herself on display. She’s a woman carved of muscle, her firm stomach, thick thighs, and powerful arms all rendering most useless, but his eyes fasten instead on the bush of hair surrounding her pussy, wet and wanting just from the display that Astarion’s put on.

It takes effort not to immediately try and dive his face into there, but he knows better with the way Karlach’s been barking orders. She strips her pants and sits back, legs closed while his eyes focus on what he can’t quite see. He looks up to see her bored expression, ruined only by the way she’s weathering her lip in the way she does when he’s between her legs and she’s wanting more.

“Come here. No—“ Astarion stumbles to a stop, on one knee and halfway up before falling back.

“Crawl to me.”

Gods, if that doesn’t make his spent cock twitch again. He lowers himself, on his hands and knees, dragging himself to where she’s sitting ramrod straight, legs out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. He frames her legs, looking up at her while she continues to stare down at him critically. Through it, though, he can smell her want, can see the dilation of her pupils, and he knows she’s enjoying this.

She brings her legs up to her chest then draws one onto one side of Astarion and then the other. He doesn’t dare break eye contact they’re holding, but he can’t help the quiet noise that escapes as he’s suddenly bathed in the scent of her sex. Once again, his mouth waters, enough this time that drool escapes down his chin.

“Clean it up.”

He blinks, eyes sliding back into focus as he stares at her, confused.

“You heard me. Clean it up.”

Finally, he glances down, sees the splatter of saliva on the tent between her legs. There’s hesitation there and Astarion opens his mouth to make some kind of catty comment when there’s suddenly a fist in his hair and his mouth and nose are shoved against the ground.

He means to complain.

He moans.

His tongue lolls uselessly out of his mouth, spreading more of his mess onto the floor as Karlach clicks her tongue.

“Fucking useless, can’t even do a damned thing I tell you right. For fuck’s sake—”

He’s dragged back up, his mouth and chin a mess as Karlach searches him with a critical eye. There’s a growl that escapes as he’s jerked around again by his hair, this time ending up on his back, looking up at her.

“Can’t even trust you to use your mouth correctly.”

No, no, she can’t. God, he can’t say the last time he’s had a partner get him this strung out, degraded and humiliated, all for their taking.

Well, he can—

His mind starts to sharpen slightly before she pulls on his hair again and forces him to look up at her. His vision sharpens on her, radiance and death all in one, a perfect red sun on a dull horizon, like another.

“Karlach?” he croaks with something like a tremble in his voice that she must understand is not arousal because her hand comes up, sweeps across his cheekbone. There’s a momentary crack in the facade as they meet each other’s gaze. She does understand. Karlach bends low, foreheads together for a moment and Astarion breathes in deep, trying to soothe the knot in his chest. Her earthy scent washes over his pallet and the places in his memory that were sharpening, stabbing into the softness of the moment start to dull. And when she raises her head to kiss his brow, his nose, and then his lips, he smiles at her in return. Astarion’s hand comes up and he squeezes her hand still holding his face, the pair sharing a nod before he lies back and her expression returns hard and haughty, the switch so instantaneous that it makes Astarion shiver again.

His hand comes up and before they sink into it, his fingers catch on her top and he pulls slightly. Karlach looks down at it and then at Astarion who offers her a cheeky smile.

The way she rolls her eyes and how her lips twitch is nothing short of affectionate. She knocks his hand away and takes a second to slide the top off, now completely bare for his gaze. Astarion feels his cock twitch, but Karlach pays it no mind.

“So damned fucking demanding. Demanding a lot for someone who can’t do shit for himself.”

He reaches out for her again, but she takes both of his wrists into one large hand, pinning them above his head.

“Oh, I don’t think I can trust you with those,” says Karlach. “You had the time to prove you were worth something and you left me fucking cold, so now I’m taking you out of the picture.”

He turns his head to see where she’s holding a vibrant red toy phallus. It’d been an... investment of sorts, one that the poor smithy probably wishes he knew less about, but one they haven’t used as much since they found Dammon and were able to get Karlach a proper tuneup. Well, not on her, at least.

She holds it up, makes sure that Astarion catches full view of it before she releases his wrists and reaches behind herself. Astarion doesn’t have to be told not to move to keep himself still, far too enraptured by what he’s watching happen.

Karlach props her hand against the floor. With the hand holding the phallus, she brings it in front of her and between her legs. A soft, feathery sound escapes as she rubs the head of it against her clit. Astarion watches, enraptured, as it dips between her folds, Karlach grinding against the toy in slow, steady motions that cover it in her own juices.

He whines for every moan that escapes her, watching as her own pleasure mounts. While he would be so content to watch her grind herself to completion, he knows that Karlach is too invested in putting on a show, almost as much of an attention whore as Astarion is. The toy creeps back further and further until Karlach lifts herself up onto her knees, lines up, and then sinks back down.

They moan in unison as Karlach takes the phallus into her, slick covering her hand and now pooling onto the stomach of Astarion’s shirt. His fingers scrape above his head uselessly as he watches her.

“You like it?” She’s breathless sounding as she starts to ride the toy, its red length disappearing and reappearing with every stroke. Astarion’s eyes are focused on the way her pussy hugs onto it, makes room for it and then tightens up when it’s no longer inside of her. He nods mutely.

“This could have been you. Fuck, you would have liked that, wouldn’t you, fangs? Your cock in my cunt, filling me up, feeling how tight I am. Not a lot of folks can say they’ve fucked a girl like me.”

And Astarion nods again. He loves it, loves when she lets him fuck her. But tonight, he’s not for that. He’s for lying back, watching as she fucks herself over and over, the wet sound of the toy pounding into her hole making him harder. Her scent is all around him and he wishes she was dripping down his chin, that he’d been good enough for her earlier to feel her cum on his tongue. And yet…

“Oh, but you like this, don’t you?” Karlach looks over her shoulder and laughs at what she sees. “Fuck, getting hard watching me fuck myself. Here.”

And she arches her back and spreads her legs wide, pussy on full display from its dark red, swollen clit, to its puffy lips spread apart, to the hole sucking on the toy inside as she pounds it deep. Her other hand comes up as she starts to stroke her own clit, her voice getting loud. Both hands are soaked with her own slick before long as she pants and moans. He doesn’t miss the way she says his name, a crack in the armor of the game they’re playing.

“Do you like this, Astarion? That you’re— you’re my toy, that I— I get to decide what you’re good for. You like being my— my bitch. You’re my fucking bitch. Shit, I—“

She’s pumping her hips now, pushing herself further onto the toy as she furiously strokes her clit. He sees her pulsing around it, can smell the way she’s close. Her voice is getting higher, her movements messy, and Astarion is whining with her. He is her bitch and her bitch wants her to cum for him. He can’t say it, can only stare at her, and look at her glistening pussy while he drools on himself.

Karlach bends low and fucks the toy, head against Astarion’s as she growls and grits. And then all at once, she whines, whole body spasming with Astarion’s name hugged in her cries. Astarion’s body burns, his cock aching, and he swears he almost cums untouched just from hearing and seeing her.

Then they’re both there, panting and wheezing for a moment as Karlach comes down from her high. When she lifts her head, her chest is glowing blue, the light shining on both of their faces. Her expression is soft and he doubts she can help it when she leans forward and kisses him.

It’s quick as she regains herself and sits up, sweeping the hair from her face with her free hand as she pulls the phallus out of her pussy. The toy glitters with her juices and Astarion doesn’t bother hiding his hunger as he licks his lips.

Karlach looks at him, tilts her head slightly as a wicked smile crosses her face. She takes his jaw in her hand and pushes at the space between his teeth through his cheeks, opening his mouth. Wordlessly, she feeds the soiled toy into his mouth and Astarion whines as he greedily takes it in. Even through the taste of the toy, her taste it divine. His tongue swirls around it as he eagerly sucks it clean, eyes focused on Karlach’s face, watching her watch him.

“Good boy,” she soothes, massaging his jaw as she slowly starts to work the toy in and out of his mouth. Astarion falls into the pattern of sucking it off without qualm, cheeks hollowing and filling every time she pushes it in. It’s a slow, methodical sort of motion and, before he knows it, it’s filling his throat, its base to his lips as she gazes adoringly up at Karlach.

“Hold it there,” she orders, letting it go. Astarion is quick to obey, holding it for her as she gets off of him.

He’s hardly aware of what’s going on until he feels a coolness on his skin. Still wearing his shirt, he’s been relieved of his pants and underwear, heavy cock hard and curled against his stomach.

Karlach pokes at it with a bare foot and he whines around the toy, humping the air.

“No, no, you’re not using that for anything tonight,” she chides, walking the length of his body and turning around so he sees her ass and tail. Reaching back, she takes the toy and he pants slightly, eyes on the web of saliva connecting his spread lips and the toy.

Standing above him, he’s got a perfect view of when she pushes the toy back inside of herself with a luxurious sort of sigh.

There’s a moment of confusion as he assumes he’s going to watch her fuck herself again, but this time, she sits and straddles his chest and he feels it poke into his sternum. Quickly, the toy is forgotten as she leans forward, her ass in his face as she grabs his legs and pulls them back towards his chest until he’s bent in half, cock now deliciously pressed between her tits and his legs over her shoulders. In spite of that, he can’t help but feel a little silly, ass in the air, Karlach on his chest, the toy inside of her poking him. His vision is cutoff by her figure, but some things start to suddenly click as something wet and warm lands on his asshole, belatedly realizing it’s saliva. He lets out a curious note and then feels something shift on his chest, Karlach sighing as he realizes she’s fucking herself once, twice, three times with the toy and then pulls it out.

“Bitches don’t do anything but give whatever is asked of them,” Karlach informs as he feels the head of the dripping wet toy, wet with her slick, circle his wet asshole. Immediately, he’s twitching and pulsing, not sure if he’s trying to push her out or suck her in when he realizes what she’s about to do.

“I— I don’t know if—“ He begins, but suddenly Karlach shifts her weight back and suddenly her pussy is on his face. Like a child latching onto a bottle, his mouth opens, his tongue flicks out, and he’s wrapping his lips around her hole, pushing his tongue inside of her. The sigh she lets loose only encourages him as he starts to fuck her with his tongue.

When the toy starts to push inside of him, he’s almost too distracted to care. It’s tight and uncomfortable, but he feels her slick dribbling down the toy and onto his skin and the idea that she’s pushing herself inside of him makes him comply. There’s no delicacy to this tonight, Karlach bottoms out inside of him and Astarion’s toes curl in delight. As much as he loves when he gets to fuck her, Astarion is just as delighted as when she fucks him.

They both settle into it as Karlach moves the toy in and out of his ass, spitting on it every now and then to ease the way, but Astarion taking a bit too much relish in the pain and what that’ll mean tomorrow. Karlach herself seems to be getting into it as she drops her weight, smothering his face and rocking against him as she idly rides his tongue.

Astarion is hardly present anymore, sucking and lapping and moaning against Karlach’s cunt as she continues to fuck him. Every now and then she’ll dictate orders—“Come on, I shouldn’t have to tell you to suck my clit.” “Fucking useless, stick your tongue back in.” “Lift your chin, if you’re going to make me do all the work.”—and all Astarion has to do is listen. He’s floating in the moment, hardly able to do anything other than be taken completely by the Fury of Avernus. All he can do is be a passive body as she grinds against his mouth and nose, using him for her pleasure while she continues to fuck his hole and otherwise take him from the equation.

He knows she’s playing dirty when her hand moves, the angle shifts, and suddenly the ruthless pounding of the toy is hot on the core of his pleasure. Astarion sobs into her pussy and tries to move, tries to bounce on the toy, but all he can do is wiggle pathetically as she keeps him in place. In his haze, he tries to plead, tries to say her name, tries to beg, but all he can do is wiggle his lips and cry under her. He’s completely as her mercy and that reality would usually terrify him, but now, it’s got him completely boneless and passive.

“Did I find it?” Karlach taunts, fucking that spot harder, the base of the toy slapping against his asshole with a percussive noise that echoes in their tent and likely the camp. “Is this the spot my bitch wants me to fuck him at?”

She lifts her hips off of his face and Astarion wants to complain, but all he can do is lie back, tongue lolling out, and eyes shut as he pants, focusing on where Karlach is fucking him.

“I asked you a question,” she snaps, pushes the toy in deep and grinds it against his prostate. Astarion cries out, back arches, and all at once, it’s over. His hole is hugging the toy, spasming around it as he holds it deep against his core, his own cock Karlach so repetitively called useless sprays all over their stomachs, and Astarion sobs like a child before going completely limp.

Belatedly, he feels his legs and ass come back into contact with the ground in a gentle sway, the toy still inside of him pushed that much deeper, releasing a whimper from Astarion. Then he feels a hand come down between his legs, hears a grunt and keening noise, and as he opens his eyes, he sees Karlach’s cunt right in his line of sight, her hand furiously working her clit over as she lets the high heavens hear her thoughts about fucking herself. He wants to help more than he has the words to say, but he’s unable to do anything other than stare.

It’s not a long stare since Karlach quickly goes rigid, he sees her body tremble in another wave of pleasure, and then she falls to her knees and elbows.

Panting reverberates in the tent for a few minutes as they both come back to themselves. Astarion, despite cumming first both times, is still in a boneless pile by the time that Karlach is twisting around. He can’t do more than whine when he’s pushed and prodded, but when his face ends up between her breasts, her hand in his hair, and her body against his, he can’t help but feel content.

They lie like that for days, months even.

Or, rather, several minutes before Astarion is able to lift his head just enough to look at Karlach. Who’s smiling at him, expectantly.

“That was fine,” he dismisses her unasked question, stretching his arms above his head and turning so he can lie on his back. A quick glance to the side earns him an affronted looking Karlach before his lifts his arm and, like a wild cat, she pounces to lay on his chest.

“‘That was fine’. Fucking bullshit,” she gripes. “You were completely into it and were completely starstruck to be pushed around.”

He makes a balking sound at her only for her to grip his face and force her to look at him. Her grip is hard and his mouth closes with a ‘snap’ of his teeth. Karlach holds him in a harsh gaze before she breaks and laughs.

“Damn, if I knew you were that into me fucking you, I’d have done it sooner!”

“You have fucked me before,” he points out, shifting so he can remove the toy phallus from his ass.

“Yeah, but, you know, not like that.”

When he looks up, he sees Karlach looking pensive, away from him.

“What is it, darling?”

Karlach doesn’t meet his gaze, instead burrows down further into his chest as she wraps her arms tight around his waist, hugging him close. It’s moments like these that Astarion remembers that she cares about him. She really, truly cares.

“You know I don’t think any of that shit about you, right? The ‘useless’ and ‘pathetic’ and stuff?”

He lets out a huff before wrapping his arms around her shoulders, kissing her broken horn.

“No, Karlach, I don’t think you think any of that.”

One day, he’ll find the words to tell her what she means to him. One day he’ll tell her that he feels safe, she makes him feel safe in a way he’s never been before. Maybe it’ll be poetic, maybe it’ll be while she’s drunk and he’s feeling vulnerable, or maybe, just maybe, it’ll be in some meadow with flowers and birds and he can give her a scrap of the romance she deserves, that she’s always deserved, but has been robbed of by the likes of Gortash and Zariel.

He knows his time in the sun is limited to when they remove the tadpoles (and they have to remove the tadpoles), but he wants to spend every golden minute with her until they both burn up and their ashes can be mingled together.

And one day he’ll find a way to say that.

But tonight, he pushes at her slightly and smiles when she whines.

“Get up, I’m not sleeping covered in dried fluids.”

Karlach groans loud and annoying, flinging her limbs all over him again and again until he’s forced to pin her down to get out from under her. And, after tonight, he knows that she’s letting him win.

“If you’re terribly kind and behave, I’ll bring you a towel so you don’t even have to move,” Astarion offers, looking her in the eyes.

Karlach pauses and he knows what she’s doing, her gaze flickering over his face little by little, taking in his lips, his nose, his eyes, the points of his ears and the points of his teeth. Before, it’d made him feel exposed and gawked at, but now he’s understanding that it’s her horribly sappy way of committing this, committing him, to her memory.

“Don’t take too long,” she relents.

“And spend a minute longer away from you than necessary.” He kisses her palm when she touches his face again, offering her a quiet, genuine smile of his own. “I’d sooner face off with the Fury of Avernus.”

Astarion walks towards the river with a towel, the sound of Karlach’s laughter ringing in his ears and his dead heart terribly, wonderfully full.

[bloodpen-to-paper]

For those not watching, Forever is currently explaining how he went on a panel with the CEO of Microsoft and prematurely left before shaking the hosts' hands or saying a proper goodbye because he was so damn nervous he heard them say "thanks for coming" and instantly left

[flowercrowngods]

i don't know how to be merely acquaintances when we used to be friends. or i think we used to be. i don't know how to yearn for a simple hello when you've been heaping your affection on me months ago, and i don't know how to talk to you when you won't say anything. when suddenly it's all about me. you know i have nothing to say, you know my brain is void of everything but horribleness and i cannot tell you about my day because i don't even know about my day. i cannot tell you about my day when i know you won't listen, when i know you'll apply your philosophy to my world and don't believe me when i say that everything is terrible. i don't know how to be the person you seem to think i am, or the person you want in your life. i don't know if you want anyone else in your life now that you're in love and sappy, found another recipient for your affections, leaving me empty and wounded and yearning.

you said you missed me. said it many times, while i was gone. now i'm back, have been back, and i wonder how you missed me, why you missed me, when you won't talk to me. i think you mistook missing for worrying. i think you mistook caring for a feeling of obligation. i think you like missing me more than talking to me.

and i think i can't breathe with how much that hurts

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

"i know we shouldn't be killing rhea and i personally am against it and my gut tells me this is wrong but i'll do it anyway because nobody else uses logic on this route anyway!"

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[overthinkingtaleblr]

I’ve been busy the past few days so I haven’t been able to draw much, finally decided to design Billy— here he is in comparison with Maxwell.

I want them to be alike enough that people who knew Maxwell do a double take when they see Billy.

… which would only consist of Papa, Jose, and Princeton nowadays. But those are the only people it needs to impact anyways so whatever.

[suguann]

FUCK IT, I WANT YOU—JJK MEN. * ˚ ✦

✎. jjk men who are infatuated with you. | wc. 2.4k+

tags. fem!reader, bsf sister, cockwarming, slightly rough sex, best friends to lovers, exhibitionism, breast f*cking, domestic nanami, pet names, praise, mild dark content, dubcon, stepcest, stuckage

featuring. gojo, higuruma, nanami, geto, sukuna

an. banner is from hare kon okawari | masterlist

↬ GOJO

He shouldn’t even entertain the thought of wanting you—somewhere in the world, there’s a book of rules that says you shouldn’t develop a crush on your best friend’s little sister. 

It doesn’t stop him from letting you talk him into shopping (as if he’d ever tell you no) and watching you try on tiny, flowy sundresses that make his jaw ache, how he’s just on the side of too-weak for those low-scooped tops you’re always wearing whenever he’s at your house. 

At first, Gojo wonders if you do it on purpose—the bashful smiles and bumping shoulders if he’s close by—but you’re painfully shy for that to be the case. It’s why a smirk tugs at his mouth after leaving love bites across your chest when he finally gets you alone in his room so that he might see the adorable little face you make as you try to cover them up afterward. 

He has you perched in his lap on the bed with an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you rooted on his cock buried deep inside the hot-wet heat between your legs. His mouth sucks marks into your skin wherever he can reach, deep groans rumbling in his chest every time your pussy clenches down on him—a sweet reminder that he hasn’t let you move for a while.

“Toru, not there,” you squeak, fingers knotting in the hair at his nape to gently pull him away. “People will see.” 

But he doesn’t listen as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, mesmerized by the sight of it pebbling into a tight peak—your thighs shaking around him when he pinches too hard.

“So fucking pretty,” he growls, biting his lip as he finally looks up at you. “Just let me play with them a bit more, and then I’ll fuck you. I promise.”

A white lie, but he’s done and said worse, and this isn’t that. This is him savoring a victory he never knew he had until you fluttered those long lashes and asked for a kiss.

You’re gasping and writhing, unable to do anything except sit there while he overstimulates you with his mouth and fingers. When he finally rolls you over onto your back, you’ve already cum twice, but that doesn’t stop him, greedy hips churning against yours and stealing another.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, loving how you quiver underneath him, your soft socks slipping where they try to rest around his waist. “You’re so sensitive, huh, baby?” he rasps, nosing the soft swell of your breast as he crowds you underneath him. 

You mewl out a broken version of his name, hot pants against his neck that make you sound so desperate—not really answering him as your nails bite into his shoulders—and he can’t get over the way you look right now, how you sound. He’ll never be able to go back to pretending that you’re Geto’s annoying little sister (as if he ever thought you were) as Gojo watches drool trail from the side of your mouth from how good he’s fucking you. 

“Do you know how filthy you look right now?” he grits between his teeth. “Been thinking about this for so long—fuck—can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

↬ HIGURUMA

It’s an accident the first time it happens. 

You’re at the beach, playing with him in the water, when a wave hits you and washes your bikini top away. You squeal, and because he’s your best friend and has always looked out for you, he doesn’t realize right away he used his hands to shield your bare breasts from everyone else on the beach—eyes round when Higuruma does.

It’s innocent—his intent—yet alarm bells are ringing in his ears.

He expects you to shove him away—you don’t. Instead, you give him a sweet smile with a soft, muttered thank you and let him carry you back to the towels. 

He’s still reeling at how you fit perfectly in his palms, skin against skin in a way he’s only ever shamefully imagined alone with his fist around his dick. It has him shifting his trunks uncomfortably, and he wants—no, needs (a definite need) more.

Higuruma spreads you out on your towel under the canopy of the large beach umbrella, the shirt he gave you pushed up and held out of the way under your chin as you watch him. His shoulders block out anybody from really seeing how he’s teasing your nipples into his mouth—your fingers digging into the hair at his nape to keep him there. 

He never thought he’d get this far after years of watching you dance around the periphery of his life without ever really being his. How seeing you like this—whimpering his name under your breath, eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks, and grinding onto his thigh pressed up between yours—only ever existed in a fantasy or two. 

There’s nothing to do but watch as the lines of an eight-year friendship crumble into the sand with your soft squeaks of more, and his low groans fuck, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a small flame doused in kerosene. 

If this is the sacrifice for holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your sweat-slick skin, he’ll gladly burn.

He’d keep you like this forever if he could, and the way you look at him, pleading with your eyes, makes him think you’d let him if he asked (or maybe he wouldn’t have to).

He releases your nipple and smiles when your shirt falls from your teeth with a whine, your foot stomping against the towel in a way that’s too fucking cute.

“Why’d you stop?”

All the blood and heat in his body rush to his dick at how needy you sound—for him, all for him—and his breath fans across your spit-slick skin shakily, pent up and overflowing with nerves he’s held onto for as long as he can remember. “Sweetheart, you have to be quiet.”

You nod eagerly, your grip tightening in his hair to bring him back towards you. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be quiet. Just please don’t stop.”

Never. 

When your leg brushes the tent in his trunks, it feels like his eyes roll into the back of his head from the contact. He greedily takes your tight, sensitive peak back into his mouth again—hardly paying attention to the wanton moans you fail to suppress as you continue grinding onto his thigh.

↬ NANAMI

Nanami stares at you more often than usual after you have his son—at how your chest fills out every top you wear, and your hips become the perfect place for his hands—a strange new obsession that develops overnight without a manual or an off switch.

One day, you’re his beautiful wife. The next, you’re his beautiful wife holding his baby, and suddenly, he’s seeing the world through a clear lens, and he can’t stop looking.

His hands are always on you just to curb the constant ache that never really fades, brushing hair out of your face, massaging your lower back, shamelessly letting them wander too close to the underside of your breasts whenever he can. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and sometimes it’s all he can think to do.

Some days, after a stressful work day, he’ll lay atop your chest and pepper kisses against whatever skin he can reach, wandering, eager hands getting their fill until he falls asleep. On other days, he stays up long enough—baby tucked away in his crib and the monitor softly humming on the coffee table—to peel your clothes out of the way to get the full picture.

“Just like that, darling,” he groans, watching where you’re kneeled between his legs, unable to take his eyes off the way his leaky tip peeks out from between your soft, bare breasts. 

You stick out your tongue to lick away the pearl of white drooling out of his slit, only to spit it back onto his cock to help aid your up and down movements. It has him throbbing at how messy it is, liquid-hot heat pooling in his stomach at how good it feels. He knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he’s torn on whether or not to stop you or let you keep going.

“How does it feel?” you peer up at him through long lashes like you don’t already know what you’re doing to him.

“‘Good, darling. So fucking good—fuck, keep going—pretty little wife on her knees for me,” he curses, hips shuddering when he thrusts up, watching his length disappear and reappear again and again.

The delicate smile that adorns your lips makes his heart flutter, and balls draw up to his body. “Yeah? You gonna cum, Kento?”

“I don’t—I, fuck, yes.” He’d much rather finish with his face buried in your tits, but he’s already too far gone to pull away, to shove you down onto the couch.

You hum softly. “I want you to cum on me. Please.”

That’s his final undoing, groaning at the thought of him marking those cute tits that take up his every spare thought, cumming unexpectedly in a rush of white-hot pleasure before he can stop it. His cock jerks until viscous streaks of white paint your chest, and it makes everything sticky and sloppy, sending a weak burst of liquid pleasure rushing up his spine before he slumps against the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

↬ GETO

He loves it when you’re like this. Soft and pliant beneath him, eyelashes spiked with tears.

He doesn’t know where to look—can’t decide between the smattering of possessive marks littering the inside of your thighs or the ones that travel across your chest. 

A decision easily made for him when he presses the tip of his sensitive cock back into your fluttering cunt, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts bounce with every one of his harsh, desperate thrusts. His thumb smooths over a peaked nipple—bitten raw and pinched tight—and he curses under his breath at the feel of you clenching on him like a vice.

You tell him how good he feels under a hitched breath, and his chest tightens because he can’t remember the last time someone used an adjective like that to describe him. Good. It’s weird how such a simple word can make Geto’s head spin and make him feel like anything other than the man he is outside your bed.

He ducks his head down to suck another little bruise right above your nipple, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, knowing that he’ll be the only one that’ll know it exists. 

“Prettiest fucking girl I know,” he breathes harshly, already close. “I wish you could see how perfect you look.”

Geto slips his fingers between you, playing over the tiny, sensitive bud at the peak of your thighs.

“Oh.” A soft sigh.

“Maybe I should take a picture, huh? Would you let me? So I can look at you like this,” —he thrusts deep, making sure you’ll be able to feel him afterward— “all damn day, every fucking day.”

And like a tightrope snapping loose, you fall apart around him, practically choking his cock, and he fills up your cunt for the second time that night.

↬ SUKUNA

You're cleaning the apartment you share with your step-brother until it's spotless because the guy you’ve kind of had a crush on since the start of the semester is coming over today to study, and the butterflies in your belly tell you today is the day he’s finally going to ask you out. 

What you don’t anticipate—between throwing away Sukuna’s collection of energy drinks on the coffee table and doing a load of laundry—is the possibility of getting stuck in the too-small dryer while reaching for a sock or that your brother would be the one to find you bent over with your shorts riding up your legs.

You suppress a groan at the sound of Sukuna's patronizing voice behind you. "What do we have here?"

"Don't just stand there, idiot," you hiss. "Help me."

He chuckles in that mean, condescending way that always sets your teeth on edge. "You're really bossy for someone with their ass hanging out of a dryer. Maybe I should leave you here and wait for Mick—”

“His name’s Mitch—”

“—to find you."

"No!" you say almost too loudly, wincing as your voice echoes around the dryer. With a small sigh, your head hanging, you add, "Please help me."

"That's better." 

It's quiet for a moment, and you start fidgeting again to free yourself until you feel a pair of large hands palming your hips, and you can't stop the squeak that escapes the back of your throat—not expecting the terrible-hot-wrongness of it to feel so good.

A feeling stirs in your belly that you’d tucked away long ago, and only returning to under the safety of the baby blue twinkle string lights in your room—hand in your sleep shorts and teeth digging an imprint into the palm of your hand to hold back the name you only chant in your head.

“You’re s-supposed to be helping,” your voice wavers, dizzy with what’s transpiring in that cramped laundry room.

He huffs a soft laugh behind you, pressing a kiss to the base of your spine where your shirt rode up. “Give me a minute.”

It's embarrassing when you feel wetness pooling in the seat of your underwear, heat rushing from the roots of your hair and down to your toes when his hands travel over the swell of your ass in your tiny shorts. 

You're almost compelled to tell him you’ll get out on your own because it’s the right thing to do—to put a stop to something that shouldn’t happen except in cheap porn. Then his hand comes down against your backside, hard, and every single thought in your head scrambles like an egg on hot pavement.

You whimper, the force of his slap jolting you further into the dryer, sweaty hands scrambling against the metal walls to keep your face from crashing into it.

"Fuck, I've always wanted to do that,” he breathes before tugging the crotch of your shorts and panties out of the way, and you feel something wet and slick drip against your cunt. "Maybe I'll just keep you here for a bit. What do you say, sis?"

His thumb runs along your slit and presses inside you.

“Ah. W-wai—”

“Shh. Just—fuck, so fucking tight—just let me enjoy this pussy, huh?” And quieter, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You shiver and swallow around the words threatening to escape: me, too.