#i contend that your drinking eye has never opened

[itzpris15634]

☎️ baby hotline, please hold me CLOSEEE TO YOUUUUU

[forzalando]

Seeing Someone

Lando Norris x friend!reader (female reader)

summary: Lando is finally ready to tell you how he feels when he overhears you say that you've started seeing someone - but overheard conversations aren't always what they seem. wc: 5.5k author's note: a few disclaimers: 1. let's all pretend that everyone has to spend a few weeks at MTC before the start of the season and they commute to/from London. 2. therapy and mental health help are so important - i purposefully left some things vague because people go to therapy for a variety of reasons and it should be normalized! i also didn't want things to get too heavy or potentially upset anyone by choosing to elaborate on something they relate to/hits a little too close to home. 3. this was inspired by a post i saw on my dash that said "when you said you were seeing someone i was hoping you meant a therapist". this originally started out more light-hearted, but the angst came out and i couldn't stop. feeling a little insecure about this one - thoughts and feelings in the comments/reblogs/my inbox would be so cherished and appreciated :) once again, special shoutout to @sof1shticated for being my beta reader. couldn't do this without you, Mel! warnings: mentions of reader going to therapy, mentions of reader drinking, a few curse words (i think), and angst! but there is a happy ending (even if it's a little open-ended)

Lando had searched the entirety of McLaren HQ at this point and started to worry – you were quite literally nowhere to be found. Usually, this wouldn’t phase him, since you were notorious for getting distracted or caught up in conversation with everyone you came across. You especially found ways to delay leaving MTC when you had to be there physically – the commute from HQ back to London each day was objectively the worst part of everyone coming together in the weeks leading up to each new season.

Today, however, the two of you had plans to get dinner at your favorite restaurant in London and you would never miss a chance to devour your favorite scallop risotto, cheese garlic bread, several glasses of wine, and a heaping mound of tiramisu for dessert.

He stopped speed-walking abruptly when he saw a familiar head of brown hair out of the corner of his eye.

“OSCAR,” Lando shouted, his speed-walk turning into a run. “Oscar, have you seen Y/N? She told me to meet at her office at 5:00pm but it’s 5:30pm and she is literally missing. She better have a good excuse, I hate being late.”

“Missing? Are you sure she’s not just caught up in a meeting? I saw her heading to Zak’s office around 4:45pm, did you check there?”

“Zak’s office, of course! The one place I didn’t check. Thanks, Osc, you’re the man.”

Oscar rolled his eyes – “Anytime, Lan. What are you running late for? Hot date?”

Lando didn’t miss the wiggle of Oscar’s eyebrows and slight smirk. It wasn’t a secret to the Australian that Lando had a crush on Y/N – although Lando had never confirmed or denied it, it was pretty obvious to anyone who spent more than 30 seconds around them.

“Ah, something like that,” Lando said nonchalantly, a bashful blush making its way to his cheeks.

“Good luck, mate!” Oscar threw a wave over his shoulder as he heard the retreating sound of Lando’s trainers smacking against the floor.

In truth, although you and Lando were just friends and Lando was terrified he may ruin that, he had plans to tell you about his feelings for you that night at dinner. It had been almost a year since you started working for McLaren, and almost a year of Lando pining after you in secret. He spent most days trying to convince himself he was content just being your friend, but he was determined to make 2024 his year. His first win, hopefully of many, maybe even WDC contender material, and finally plucking up the courage to be honest with you.

As Lando hurriedly approached Zak’s office, he could see that the door was slightly ajar and heard your voice trailing through the opening.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Zak. And a massive thank you for approving the time off on such late notice.”

“Anytime, Y/N, you know you’re like family to me and everyone here. You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m seeing someone. It’s still new so I’m not set on him yet but I have a really good feeling about it, I’m really starting to wish I had called him sooner. He actually suggested the days off, I’m seeing him on Tuesday and hopefully things continue to go well.”

Lando’s heart dropped to his stomach – all week he had been thinking about tonight. How to tell you, how you might react, how nervous he was, and each day he grew even more anxious. He was panicking – what was he supposed to do? How could he sit across from you all night knowing that he’d missed his chance?

“That’s so good to hear,” Zak said earnestly. “Keep me updated and enjoy your days off.”

Lando could hear chairs scraping and scrambled to leave the scene before you walked out of Zak’s office to find him eavesdropping. He got about 50 feet down the hallway before he heard your voice from behind.

“Lan,” you shouted. “I’m so sorry, I’m totally late but I had to meet with Zak about something and his last meeting went way over.”

You jogged a little to catch up to him – a bright smile on your face that made his heart rate skyrocket and his palms grow sweaty. He couldn’t see you feeling like this. Not tonight, not when he could barely keep himself from telling you that he would be a much better boyfriend than whoever you were dating.

“We still on for dinner? I grabbed everything I needed from my office before I met with Zak so if we leave right this second and ignore the speed limit, they may seat us,” you bumped his shoulder as you joked.

Unable to help himself, only thinking about how hurt he was even though you’d done nothing wrong, Lando blurted out an excuse. “Actually, I was trying to find you to tell you I can’t make it.”

He tried not to react when he saw your face fall a little, but he told himself it was because you were disappointed about the last-minute change in plans and not that he wasn’t going.

“You should still go though,” he offered quickly. “I’m sure you have someone you could take with you!”

Your eyes spotted Oscar across the hallway and you smiled slightly – it had been a while since you had spent time with him and you knew he was having a rough week.

“Yeah, I have someone in mind,” you mused, focusing your eyes back on Lando. “Is everything ok? Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine, I just forgot I have plans.”

“Well, we had plans. You scheduled over me?”

“It’s a last-minute thing. Date thing. Last-minute date thing.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “Oh, that’s great!” You plastered a fake smile on your face – hoping that he was just as oblivious now as he apparently is to your feelings. “I hope you have a great time, she’s a lucky girl! I’ll see you on Wednesday, I’m taking a couple days off!”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you sped off in search of Oscar to bribe him to accompany you to dinner. While you set off across the room, Lando smacked himself in the forehead and groaned.

“Why did you tell her it was a date, you idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Now, it was his turn to speed walk through McLaren HQ, but if he had turned around just for a moment, he would have caught you stopped in your tracks staring at him longingly as he walked away.

You shook your head and sighed, continuing your quest to find the younger McLaren driver and rope him into an evening filled with good food and, if you were being honest with yourself, probably a few tears.

A few moments later, you spotted floppy brown hair bouncing as Oscar walked toward the employee parking lot.

“Oscar!” You yelled after him, increasing your pace to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he said, confusion evident on his face, “I thought you were going out with Lando?”

“He’s got a date,” you blurted. “He has a date and he canceled on me and it’s fine. I am fine. But I want my scallop risotto and tiramisu so you’re coming with me.”

“Sure, Y/N, lead the way.”

Oscar was, to put it extremely lightly, confused. Lando was completely enamored by you – anyone with eyes could see it. Oscar was wholly convinced that Lando was going to officially ask you out at dinner tonight, especially after the brief conversation they had while you were late to meet up with him.

Yet, here he was, sat across from you in a dimly lit room as you sipped on your third glass of wine and, with all the subtlety of a neon sign, wiped a tear from your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for him, I’m so happy for him. But canceling last minute is a dick move, right? It’s a dick move. I know I’m just his friend, sometimes I feel like just a colleague, but I’m not being dramatic, right?”

Oscar stared at you blankly – his eyes wide and a look of pure fear on his face. He considered himself good at most things, great at quite a few, but comforting a crying woman was bottom of the list of Oscar Piastri’s skills.

“It’s totally a dick move,” he nodded his head eagerly in agreement. “I just don’t get it – when I saw him earlier he was frantic trying to find you. I think he’d scoured the entirety of MTC, he was out of breath when I found him.”

“Well, at least he had the decency to find me and tell me in person that he planned on ditching me.”

“Yeah, but that’s just it, it didn’t seem like he was trying to find you to tell you that. He complained about being late and when I asked him if he had a hot date, he blushed.”

“He is literally on a hot date.”

“Ok, well, when I asked him I meant did he have a hot date specifically with you.”

You scoffed and set your glass down – as much as you loved Oscar and you knew he’d never judge you, if you had any more wine you’d end up sobbing and not just wiping stray tears away.

“As if! Lando has never once made a move on me even though I flirt, or at least try to flirt, with him any chance I get.”

“You flirt with Lando?”

“I made him a personalized Spotify playlist, had Stroopwafels overnighted to him from The Netherlands after Vegas, bought him a sweater for his birthday with a card that said ‘to match your eyes’, and I compliment him every time I see him.”

“That’s your idea of flirting?”

“Well, yes.”

“Y/N, that’s just being nice to people. You’re nice to everyone. Lando is not going to understand that you’re a little extra nice to him and that means you’re trying to woo him.”

You huffed and slumped in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ok, well, how would you flirt with Lando?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that question?”

“Yes because apparently you know all about flirting! And by the way, Logan thought I was coming onto him when I was just being nice so some people would consider my actions flirtatious.”

“That doesn’t count, Logan thinks Uber drivers are flirting with him when they say ‘have a nice day’.”

You and Oscar shared a laugh at the mention of your mutual friend – somehow an even more hopeless case than you in the world of romance.

Your laughs turned to giggles and eventually died down completely. A sigh climbed its way out of your throat, the sudden change in your mood evident to Oscar.

“It doesn’t matter anyway – he’s seeing someone so no more trying, and according to you failing, to flirt.”

“You don’t know how serious it is, maybe this was a first date and it’ll go horribly. He definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re worried about, he was just saying the other day that Lily and I make him feel painfully single. We can ask him about it on Monday!”

You frowned a bit and tried to recover, but Oscar noticed the way your face fell slightly. “I’m actually taking a few days off, I need some personal time. I won’t be back at MTC until Wednesday.”

“Is everything ok? You don’t have to tell me but if you need anything, you know I’m there for you, right?”

You smiled at Oscar – it was a rare thing to find such great friends in the people you worked with, but you got so incredibly lucky with the McLaren team, especially Lando and Oscar. “I know that, Osc. You’re a gem.”

With a nod of understanding, Oscar changed the subject to something more pleasant, and you enjoyed the rest of your evening with your friend.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, you felt like your stomach might explode from nerves. You had resisted texting Lando over the past few days to ask about his date, you didn’t want to seem too eager and hoped it would come up naturally in conversation during the day. You hadn’t talked to Oscar much, though he’d texted you a few times to check in, but you wondered if he had talked to Lando at all and if he had details on how well Lando’s date went.

You arrived at MTC fairly early, hoping to get a head start on your day. Winter break was nearly over, and you were swamped with finalizing everything for the start of the 2024 season. It wasn’t until lunch that you saw Lando at all and he just so happened to be waiting in your office, sitting comfortably in your chair, while you were walking back from your latest meeting.

“Lando! What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he scrambled. “I was just…I don’t know really. I guess I wanted to see you, we haven’t talked in a few days since you’ve been out.”

“Well, we’ve both been busy. You could’ve texted me. How was your date?”

“It was good. Great. How about yours?”

You smiled remembering your evening with Oscar, assuming he had told Lando at some point that he had accompanied you. “Honestly so fun, we had the best time. I hope we get to do it again soon.”

Lando cringed – jealousy rearing its ugly head as he looked down at his feet before answering. “Same, I’ll probably go out with her again this weekend.”

“Good for you,” you gritted. “I’m glad you had fun. I actually have a million things to do so if there’s nothing important…”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to see you. I guess we’ll catch up soon? Hope you enjoyed your days off.”

Mustering up a fake smile, you told him definitely, awkwardly standing as he rose from your desk and left your office. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear you, you groaned. The tension between you and Lando was unbearable, though you didn’t understand why it seemed to mostly be coming from him. Before you had a chance to think any further, you could hear your phone buzzing from inside your bag and begrudgingly pulled it out to see a text from Oscar.

did you go on a date over the weekend?

no? why are you asking me that?

well then why did lando just sit across from me and say ‘did Y/N tell you anything about her date?’

he was just in my office, I asked him how his date went and he asked about ‘mine’. i assumed he was talking about Friday and that you told him i brought you?

i never told him, i guess he thought you brought a real date?

You paused before responding to Oscar, confusion evident on your face and in your lack of response. Before you could type out a reply, two more texts came in.

ok something is up because i just told him that i went with you on friday and he said “i know, i saw you in her insta story in the reflection of a wine glass, i’m talking about yesterday”

insane that he looked close enough to see me in your wine glass but not the point

i literally haven’t been on a date in two years

let me figure this out

You slid your phone back into your bag and pulled out your laptop – your Lando problems would have to wait until you were at least somewhat caught up after missing two days so close to the start of the season.

Meanwhile, at a conference room table in MTC, Oscar was confused. Which, as of late, was a common occurrence when it came to you and Lando.

“Mate,” Oscar addressed Lando, “if you’re not talking about Friday, what date did you ask Y/N about? She hasn’t been on a date in forever.”

“Well then he must have canceled on her because she was supposed to have plans yesterday, it’s why she took days off.”

“I don’t know the exact reason why she took days off but she told me on Friday that she was and didn’t seem too happy about it. Said it was personal reasons.”

“Going on a date is personal.”

“Not ‘take two days off of work’ personal! Where are you even getting this information?”

Lando looked away sheepishly, afraid to admit to Oscar that he had eavesdropped on a private conversation between you and Zak. With Oscar looking at him expectantly, and a bit like a pissed-off Mum, he blurted it out.

“I heard her talking to Zak! Last week on Friday, when I was looking for her, she was in his office and the door was cracked. She had asked him for a couple days off and talked about how she recently started seeing someone and was seeing him again on Tuesday aka yesterday.”

Now Oscar was really confused. You had cried over Lando publicly on Friday, and he knew you fairly well, which meant there was no way you would be crying over Lando and going out with someone else four days later.

“I think you need to just talk to her because I promise you, she is not seeing someone. Also, what do you care? You ditched her for a date on Friday.”

Oscar had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched Lando’s face fall.

“Lando, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have.”

“Jesus, Lando, you heard 30 seconds of a conversation and decided to lie to her? Because what, your ego took a blow? Some caveman instinct?”

“No, I don’t know, honestly. It just slipped out! I had planned to ask her out for real and when I heard her say ‘I’m seeing someone’, I just didn’t know how to be around her. I couldn’t be around her that night.”

“You need to go talk to her. Apologize. Preferably, immediately.”

Lando jumped up from his seat and sighed. “You’re right. She might kill me, and she has every right to, but I have to talk to her and apologize to her. Wish me luck!”

Before Oscar could do what Lando had asked, Lando raced off towards your office, barely stopping himself from tripping over his own two feet.

Across MTC, you had just settled your mind and gotten into a groove of catching up on emails and making progress on deadlines. As soon as you thought to yourself that the day was going better than expected, your office door flung open and Lando Norris was standing stiff in your doorway.

“Lan, I told you that I’m busy. What is going on?” Annoyance was evident in your voice and Lando cringed knowing that this conversation was probably not going to be very pleasant.

“Why did you take time off?”

Your body straightened in shock, of all the things he could have asked you after bombarding you in your office, you wouldn’t have guessed he would pry into your personal life.

“That’s none of your business, Lando. If you were worried about me, you could have reached out, but I haven’t heard from you since you ditched me on Friday.”

Lando could see the hurt on your face, he could see it evident in your body language. He thought back to how you had looked upset immediately when he told you on Friday that he couldn’t go with you – when he told himself it had nothing to do with you wanting to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry for that, it wasn’t – I mean I didn’t, I didn’t want to not go. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Ok, I’m totally lost. You didn’t know what to do about what, Lando?”

He steeled himself for your reaction – something he had learned by being your friend for the past year was that you held trust and truth in high regard. You didn’t like being lied to, and you didn’t like people trying to dig into your life or get information you weren’t willing to share.

“I heard you in Zak’s office. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, I swear, I was looking for you because you were late meeting me. Oscar told me you might be with Zak so I went there and the door was open. And I heard you. So I lied and told you that I couldn’t go to dinner, I don’t know why I said I had a date. All I could focus on was how hurt I was, I just couldn’t be around you and then I felt so stupid and terrible for lying so that’s why I didn’t text you at all.”

You were completely and utterly perplexed – you couldn’t even react with anger at the thought of Lando listening to a private conversation and outright lying to you. What could he have overheard that he was so upset about?

“Lando, I’m still confused. What did you hear? How did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. You have no idea how I feel about you – I was going to tell you that night.” Lando was word-vomiting at this point, he never wanted you to find out this way but he couldn’t stop rambling. “I have had feelings for you for so long, and I finally decided that I was going to tell you even if I was convinced you don’t feel the same. And now I know you don’t because you’re seeing someone and – ”

You interrupted him sternly, allowing the anger you were feeling to come forth and shoving down your confusion. “I’m not dating anyone? Is that why you asked Oscar about my ‘date’? Where did you get that idea?”

“You told Zak that you’re seeing someone and that it’s new but things are going good. I heard you say you were seeing him again on Tuesday.”

Your eyes doubled in size – if you weren’t so pissed off, you might have found humor in this, but you felt heat rising to your cheeks and your stomach churned at the thought of divulging your personal struggles.

“Lando, I’m seeing a therapist,” you hissed.

He froze for a moment, then scrambled to shut your door which was still ajar from him barging in.

“A therapist? Are you okay? What’s going on, why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been struggling?”

“No, no, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to make me less angry by being kind and caring.”

“I’m not doing it to make you less angry, Y/N, I genuinely – ”

“I don’t care, Lando! You eavesdropped on my private conversation, misunderstood the context of that conversation, and then you lied to me. You hurt me. And now, because you got your feelings hurt and did things you shouldn’t have done, I have to share something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with you just yet.”

Lando was speechless – you could see the remorse on his face, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but in that moment you wanted him to feel even worse than you were.

“And you want to know the worst part,” you cried. “I feel the same way about you. I cried to Oscar at dinner because I thought you were with someone else, that you would have rather been at dinner with a different girl.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Can we please just go somewhere and talk? Really talk this out? I know I messed up, but this doesn’t have to change things or how we feel about each other.”

You wanted to, god, did you want to – you knew Lando hadn’t done any of this on purpose. You knew he didn’t have malicious intent and you knew how hurt he probably felt at the idea of you being with someone – it was exactly the way you felt when you thought the same about him.

“I think you should go, Lan”. Despite every part of you wanting to sit and talk, you knew that you needed some time to settle down.

“Ok,” he whispered. “When you’re ready,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “if you’re ever ready, you know where to find me.”

His posture made you feel sick as he left your office – Lando was always confident, shoulders back and head held high, but as you watched him through the glass walls surrounding you, he was hunched over. Dejected. You’d only ever seen him that way a few times – after he was torn apart by the media or after making a mistake during a race.

It hurt you to see him that way. But, he had also hurt you, and you needed time.

It had been two weeks since “the incident” with Lando – that’s what Oscar started calling it and it stuck. Fight felt too strong, disagreement felt too weak, so it became something nameless. Undefined. Indeterminate. Exactly like what existed now between you and Lando.

Oscar and Lando were set to leave for Sakhir in a week and you wouldn’t see them again until you joined the team for the Australian GP. If you didn’t work things out with Lando before they left for testing, it would be well over a month without a resolution.

The thought made your eyes burn with tears – you were still upset but more than that you missed Lando. You didn’t even have to wonder if he felt the same because you’d seen him around MTC. He looked just as awful as you, if not worse, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation.

You began packing up your things to leave the office, grateful beyond belief that it was a Friday and you’d have two days without seeing Lando’s familiar curls everywhere you turned. At least at home, you would only see them behind closed eyes and wouldn’t have to blink back tears.

A knock at your door startled you, but you assumed it was your team lead looking for your latest analytics report. At least there was one thing you could be happy about – the car data was phenomenal and all signs were pointing to an amazing season for McLaren.

You told whoever was knocking to come in, not looking up from your bag as you rifled through your files. “So sorry, Tom, I meant to bring this to you earlier but I – ”

A throat clearing cut you off, and you looked up to see Lando standing in your doorway with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and one of those cheesy “I’m sorry” balloons in his left hand. You almost giggled, but then you looked at his face and your heart dropped. Dark circles under red-rimmed eyes - he looked awful. 

“I know you said you’d reach out when you’re ready to talk, and I wanted to respect that and give you all the space you need. But, we’re both miserable. At least I think you’re miserable, I know I am. I miss you terribly. I miss my friend. And if that’s all you’ll ever be to me, I can respect that and I will cherish it because the past week has been the worst week of my life.”

“Lando, I – ”

“Please, please let me get all of this out. Please let me apologize.”

You smiled slightly, nodding your head for him to continue.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy. It wasn’t on purpose but I should have left as soon as I heard you talking because I know how important trust is to you. I violated yours and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you. It doesn’t matter if I was hurt, I could’ve just said I wasn’t feeling well or asked you about what I overheard immediately. After apologizing for overhearing, of course. I’m sorry that it took Oscar talking sense into me for me to come to you in the first place. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that I behaved like a child instead of talking to you about my feelings. My actions made you feel forced to tell me something personal that you weren’t ready to share. I’m so sorry, and I hope you know that I’m here for you always.”

He let out a deep breath and you watched his shoulders relax slightly for the first time in two weeks. You knew he was sorry – you’d known how sorry he was immediately when he started explaining and apologizing the first time around, but you just weren’t ready to hear it yet.

“Thank you, Lan,” you whispered as you walked towards him and took his free hand in your own. “I know you’re sorry and I know that this was all a misunderstanding that just got out of hand.”

“I am also sorry for springing my feelings on you. I wanted to tell you properly, ask you out properly, but I couldn’t explain myself without telling you. I ruined everything, it was woefully unromantic.”

“Yeah, that was a bit shit, I didn’t get my big grand gesture or anything.”

Lando’s eyes grew wide, a hopeful gleam in them. “I mean, would you – is that something you would still want? I don’t want to pressure you and I don’t want to assume that you still feel the same.”

“I do,” you said softly. “But, I think we should work on really moving past this before we officially jump into anything more.”

“I completely agree. However, I do have a reservation for two in about forty minutes to make up for ditching you, if you’d like to join me? Otherwise, I’ll have to bring Oscar. He won’t stop talking about the cheese garlic bread.”

“No, Lando, you don’t understand. He ordered three baskets. I went home and typed an apology email to Zak for ruining his diet.”

You both erupted in giggles, leaning into each other for support and out of habit. It felt so good to laugh, the weight and stress of the past two weeks rolling off in waves as Lando’s shoulder bumped yours and you heard the unmistakable laughter that you’d come to love so much.

“Maybe we should bring him anyway,” you pondered. “He’s been an exceptionally good friend to us both the past couple of weeks.”

“He can come next time, I’d like you to myself for the evening. If that’s ok?”

“More than ok, Lan. I’ve really missed you.”

He leaned in quickly, kissing your cheek gently and then nuzzling his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume he’d gifted you for your last birthday. “Not as much as I’ve missed you,” he objected, his eyes glimmering slightly. Wet eyelashes fluttered against your neck as he stayed tucked into your side for a few more moments.

“We’re going to be late,” you whispered, with a sincere lack of urgency.

“Can we go back to my hotel room instead? Watch a movie and order in? Jus’ wanna hold you.”

Your heart constricted – as much as you wanted to tease him and say he owed you a night out and your favorite meal, you wanted nothing more than to spend the night in Lando’s arms.

“Of course, Lan. I think I need that too.”

On the way to Lando’s car, you passed Oscar who gave you both a knowing smile and a short wave. If you asked him if he had been waiting for you guys to leave, he would deny it. He would deny being so invested in your reconciliation that he waited close to an hour after he could leave for the day to make sure you were both ok. He would also deny that he tracked both of you and when it dawned on him that you were skipping your dinner, he sped to that little Italian place and stole your reservation for an order (or two) of cheese garlic bread.

He couldn’t resist sending a poorly taken picture to the group chat with the three of you and you burst out laughing when you opened it.

“Lan, Oscar somehow stole our dinner res,” you giggled, turning your phone to show Lando an unmistakable basket of bread and a follow-up text with several heart emojis.

Lando held his phone up to snap a quick selfie of you two cuddled up in bed, him leaning in for the second time that evening to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. Almost immediately after it delivered, your phones lit up with another text from Oscar.

HOT DATE FR THIS TIME?

You and Lando looked at each other and smiled, the mutual understanding of where you stood with your feelings evident.

not quite yet, but soon :)

[flonkertainment]

I contend that your drinking eye has never opened

Wohoo! The pickerwheel strikes again and this time it's Poppy's turn! So what made me choose the card of the Empress for our beloved feathered neighbor? Well, The Empress embodies sensuality and nurturing as well as creativity, but she can also hint at insecurity and disharmony. Poppy seems like one of the most caring neighbors, always happy to provide with her baked goods as well as her creative abilities such as crocheting. As much as she has this nurturing soul, her personality is also flawed by traits such as insecurity and especially her inability to not worry about the littlest things, even though she mostly does that out of fear for her mutuals, such as offering Frank a third pair of oven mitts. Her scepter is her baking spoon. I had a lot of fun with this one especially since I don't usually draw Poppy, not because I don't like her, but because I have so many ideas that include other neighbors. But it was very refreshing to not draw a kind of human looking face and body, especiallyy the wings were very interesting, I found it quite fascinating to imply that she has some sort of hand? I just needed her to be able to hold the spoon properly xD Also, I'm sorry for posting less often, Flonkie's got lots in his life going on right now!

Aaaaanyways, my usual disclaimer: I am not experienced with the usage of tarot cards, so please don't expect me to know more than their basic meaning. Also, if you think that I should've chosen a different card for Poppy, don't come at me, I just picked what I thought fit best!

[ladyfogg]

Perfect Fit

Fic Summary: Since the first time you let him bite you, Astarion knew seducing you would be easy. What he didn’t anticipate were the feelings that came with it.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Drow!Monk Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Warnings: Biting, Blood Drinking (Vampire and all that), Male Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex, Grinding, Cuddling

A/N: I’m really glad I took my time with this one because I absolutely love how it came out. Enjoy! I don’t know if I’ll write any other Astarion fics but we’ll see.

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Just a taste, that is all he needs.

Boars and wildlife will not suffice, not if your little troop of weirdos keeps going at the same grueling pace. Since the moment he had been snatched up and that damn tadpole shoved into his eye it has been one battle after another.

The diet Cazador forced him onto had already weakened him. And Astarion knew that if he did not do something soon, if he couldn’t keep up with the others, you will turn your back on him.

After all, why keep him around if he isn’t useful?

No, he needs to stay in your good graces. More than that, he needs you to trust him, to care for him. It’s the only way he can ensure that when his former master comes knocking, because Astarion is not naïve enough to assume he is completely free, you will be there shielding him, to knock back.

Which you are obviously capable of doing. He’s seen you fight enough times to know you have a quick temper and an even quicker right hook.

You are the defacto leader, the one who always seems to do the talking even though you’re not the most charismatic of the bunch. Yet, when you open your mouth, the others listen, take your word as law even when they don’t agree.

Astarion finds himself falling in line along with them. Then again, he has two hundred years of conditioning to contend with. He wonders what excuse the others have.

Regardless, the plan remains the same. Seduce you, get you on his side, save his spectacular, frankly tight, ass. Simple. He’s played this part more times than he can count and can do it in his trance.

Of course, none of that matters if he starves to death. The gnawing hunger deep in his belly is distracting and has been for days. He’s used to ignoring it, even in the thick of combat. But he can’t, not tonight.

Tonight, it’s bad enough to get in the way of hunting. He can’t keep up with a lame doe he stumbles across. It bolts before he is even close enough to lunge. Not good. He returns to his tent frustrated and desperate.

Red eyes scan the still camp, predatory and sharp. He told you all he would keep watch because he needed time and space to think, which is partially true. However, that was when he hoped to catch dinner.

How in the Hells can he bloody think when he’s starving?

There’s a rustling near the fire, immediately drawing his attention. His gaze falls on you while you shift, your back to him as your body rolls towards the warmth of the campfire. A breeze glides through their encampment, bringing your tantalizing scent towards him, beckoning, teasing.

Astarion takes a deep inhale, eyes closed as he unwittingly gives into his instincts. Hunting pushes them away. But with no wildlife to sate him, his feet move on their own, dragging him closer to your prone body. When he opens his eyes, his vision blocks out everything that isn’t you.

The hunger is all that matters and right now, the hunter has finally found his prey.

His steps make no noise as practice and skill take over. He’s close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the dim firelight framing you with its eerie glow, leading him like a beacon in the never-ending dark.

Astarion takes a knee, arms out for balance and eyes closed as he moves purely on instinct. He opens his mouth, fangs dripping with saliva at the promise of a meal, a real meal…

A second later he feels you move and his eyes snap open, only to find yours staring up at him. Cold realization slams into him like a heavy maul, making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shit.”

Immediately, he backs away as you quickly rise to your feet, eyes narrowed in distrust. You don’t even have a chance to speak before he launches into an explanation, trying to keep his voice hushed to avoid waking the others.

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he insists. “I wasn’t going to hurt you I…” He pauses, taking a breath to ground himself. The bloodlust isn’t satiated, not by a long shot but it is tempered by a furious-looking monk. “I just needed…well…blood.”

It sounds lame even to his own ears. Not his best work but, then again, he isn’t at his best.

You swear, burying your face in your hands. “Fucking unbelievable!” you exclaim in a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! We even found the boar you snacked on. And you were so quick to brush it away.”

“It’s not what you think!”

Astarion’s voice goes up and you motion for him to be quiet. A quick glance confirms the others are still fast asleep.

The next thing he knows, you’re grabbing his sleeve and tugging him away from the fire, away from the others, which is not at all what he's anticipating. He doesn’t even have a chance to register you’re touching until your hand is already gone, leaving a phantom of its warmth.

“I’m not some monster,” he persuades. “I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m…I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” He pauses, the hunger taking hold once more. “If I just had a little blood, I could fight better. Please.”

There’s a sharp pain between his eyes, the familiar trigger of the tadpole lodged in his brain. He recognizes the sensation, knows it’s you reaching out, asking, and after a moment of hesitation, he lets you in.

Unlike your companions, you’ve embraced the new connection, used it to convince others to move out of your way or do as you say. Not within the group of course. He suspects you’re too noble for that.

Astarion hasn’t had much time to practice himself. No time like the present. He needs you to see, needs you to understand that what he says is true.

The trust he is trying to build is at stake, no pun intended. You need to see that this is an anomaly, an unfortunate side effect of the intense fighting you both had to endure the last few days.

So Astarion shows you, lets you see fleeting images of what he’s hunted in the woods. But this is all still new. He does not know how it works, does not anticipate the flood of other memories, personal ones he isn’t ready to share.

A dark street, a willing mark, a soft supple body for Cazador’s dark needs. They flicker one after another, a blur of faceless victims he’s lost count of. Yet, none of them with his fangs at their throat or their blood on his lips. It becomes too much too fast.

He gathers his strength and throws up those mental blocks, the ones he’s had for decades yet seem to be crumbling in an instant. With a mental shove, he pushes you out.

While Astarion's body reels from the onslaught, you remain stoic, arms crossed as you stare at him with that intense gaze of yours. The only indication anything is amiss is a head tilt.

How? How are you already so used to these damn tadpoles? You don’t even blink, and with the shadows of the night wrapped around the both of you, he can’t read your expression even with Darkvision. But he can assume and right now, he’s sure he’s fucked up. All he needed was you to trust him and because of this insistent hunger, he’s failed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This is not the question he expects and he blinks, taken aback. You don’t sound angry, hells it would be easier if you were. Anger he’s used to, can handle with poise. But Astarion thinks he can work with this, whatever it is.

Because it’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it’s something he does not have a name for.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no, more likely you’ll run a stake through my ribs,” he explains. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

Of course you can’t. Anyone who ever put their trust in him came to bloody ends. Yet, he’s seen you drop a gnoll with nothing but your fists and an insane high kick, so he feels you may be sturdier than most.

You study him closely, and Astarion does everything to appear docile and properly chastised, hunching his body to make himself smaller. There’s a beat where neither of you blink or speak. However, he catches the subtle slump of your shoulders and a sigh escapes your lips.

“I believe you,” you say. “And I do trust you.”

Astarion slowly exhales his own sigh, this one of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

Then, because he can’t help himself, because his empty stomach twists, because you’re still close enough for him to inhale your scent, he pushes his luck.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he bats his eyelashes at you. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

He fully expects your refusal and wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. As much as this hunger is driving him to madness, he is fully prepared to slink away with his tail tucked between his legs if it means he lives to seduce you another day.

Yet the next words out of your mouth throw him off his game.

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”

There’s no hiding the surprise on his face. He knows you see it yet you don’t gloat or react, only smile.

“Really? I—” He clears his throat and recovers, swagger in place as comfortable as a well-worn mask molded just for him. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He motions towards your bedroll with a bow. As you brush past and turn towards the fire, your smirk is wider, as if you can tell how much excitement is building within him. Then again, with the tadpole and your uncanny ability to read people, you probably do.

The others are still silent and sleeping as you lay back on your bedroll. Astarion’s chest heaves and he licks his lips as the prospect of blood, humanoid blood, becomes all he can focus on. He’s salivating again, red eyes drawn to the smooth expanse of your neck.

At first, all he can hear is the crackling of the fire. But when he leans in, the steady beating of your heart breaks through the noises of the night. Bloody Hells, he can hear the blood rushing through your veins. It hypnotizes him, draws him forward as you roll your head to the side.

White fangs pierce dark skin, sliding clean through to find a thick, pulsing vein. Underneath the rush, he almost misses the soft gasp push past your lips.

Almost.

But he doesn’t have time to process it because the first drops of blood touch his tongue and nothing else matters. Not mind flayers, not tadpoles, not Cazador, nothing but the sweet, red liquid that is sliding down his throat carrying your scent.

Everything else before pales in comparison.

There’s no fear. When he hunts he can taste the deep fear of his prey in their final moments. But this is different. You are different.

It’s such an onslaught of emotions he can’t process them right away. It’s secondhand, like trying to grab a rapidly fading echo in a dark cave.

Astarion doesn’t anticipate it and can’t recognize half of them at first. Sensation is what he does recognize. Pain is immediate, followed by warmth leading into heat in his cheeks and stomach. So much heat. He’s been cold for two hundred years, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have body heat, to be hot.

His body naturally curls around yours, one hand sliding under your head to cradle it close. The fingers of his other hand dig into the packed soil, gripping for something solid yet finding nothing.

Your body arches into his, breasts pressed to his chest and for the briefest moment, he imagines how better this would be if he could feel your bare skin to his.

Then another splatter of blood hits the back of his throat as your heart rate increases and the thought is lost.

Instinct wins out once more and Astarion groans, sucking at the wound with renewed fervor. This is better than he could have imagined. You’re better. All robust and tantalizingly smooth, finer than the finest wine he’s ever sampled. He licks at your skin, gathering as much of the precious liquid as he can. He knows it’s supposed to be a taste, but he needs more. Wants more…

A hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor and a firm shove has him breaking free with an orgasmic gasp. Life now drums through his veins, yours and his comingling into a surge of energy that has his dead heart thrumming harder than he ever remembers.

“Enough,” you say, your voice gruff and small, though still commanding. He thinks for a moment you might have actually cast Command on him, until his addled brain remembers you don’t use magic.

Astarion pulls himself together, comes back into his body in a way that’s far more pleasant than it has been in the past. He’s sure he’s made a mess but when he looks down, all he sees are two small puncture wounds with the barest hint of blood. Small specks of his spit glint in the firelight.

He resists the urge to kiss them away, instead stumbling back onto his haunches to give you space.

You slowly sit up and he catches you wincing. It’s the brief flash of pain that helps him reign himself further in. You said you trusted him, let him drink from you, he will not, could not, betray that trust, the gift you’ve given him.

“Of course,” he says, voice breathless as he tries to remember how to speak. “That was amazing.” He smiles wide, feels a droplet of blood slip away from the corner of his lips as he does. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” The faintest hint of emotions still lingers. “…happy.”

You both sit quietly for a moment, air thick with tension and a hint of copper. Your scent is even stronger now and Astarion thinks he could track you from miles away if need be.

“I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Right, the whole reason you did this. To help him be stronger, useful. It’s those thoughts that ground him once more, snap his head out of the clouds and onto the hard forest floor.

Astarion stands while you remain right where you are, watching every move he makes. He wonders if you are waiting for him to pounce, waiting for the monster he assured you does not exist. When he speaks again, it’s the light, easy tone he’s perfected, like sliding the mask back into place.

“Shouldn’t take long so many people need killing,” he says, flippantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”

Nothing will escape him now. He swears he can take down a bear should he be lucky enough to find one.

He turns to leave, yet something stops him from taking the next step. When he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, the mask slips and he allows you to see the genuine gratitude he feels.

“This is a gift, you know,” he tells you. “I won't forget it.”

Not staying for a response, he turns away and stalks toward the darkness of the waiting forest. When he’s sure you can’t see him, he swipes that drop off his chin with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to enjoy the final taste of your essence.

He is content for this to be a one-time thing, a special circumstance he is lucky enough to experience. And though he already longs for more, he enjoys the heat while he can, letting it carry him through the night as he hunts his next prey.

So imagine his surprise when you approach his tent only two days later, wounds barely visible under your collar. Astarion is readying his weapons, preparing for yet another trek through the wilds.

You’re in your vestiges, your arms free say for the thin bracers protecting your wrists. Your stance is sure and confident, eyes alight with something he hasn’t seen in them yet.

“We’re ready to head out,” you say. “Got everything?”

“Prepared and ready for the inevitable descent into violence.”

“How are you feeling?”

For anyone else the question wouldn’t be so loaded. He gathers you’re probably wondering if he’s going to try to steal another bite at some point.

“Fit as a fiddle. Your donation was much appreciated and helpful,” he says, sliding his daggers into their scabbards. “The effects are mostly worn off but such is life. I’m not weak if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not. But, if you need to, you can feed on me tonight.”

Astarion can barely contain himself, thrilled at the prospect of another surge of power, and that his seduction skills are working, though not entirely as he expected. Still, it’s an opportunity he will not squander.

“My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more,” he purrs, stepping in close. He catches the darkening of your cheeks and lets himself smile in triumph. “I’ll come to you tonight, when you’re snuggly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy. And this time,” he drops his voice for added effect, “I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest.”

It's not lost on him that the night after his first taste you took to sleeping in a tent rather than under the stars. The added privacy had him wondering about its purpose.

Now he knows.

Taking another step closer, he drops his voice even lower, keeping the moment between you two. “Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up,” he promises. “Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Your breath catches in your throat and he knows right then that he has you. Even as you smirk and roll your eyes, his pleased smile never falters.

“Great line,” you say, walking backward towards Karlach and Shadowheart, who are waiting for the two of you. “Has that ever worked for you?”

“Numerous times. And trust me, you haven’t heard half my lines.”

“Is that what you do in front of the mirror now that you can’t fawn over yourself?”

“Hurtful!” he gasps in mock outrage. “Also, need I remind you, you came to me just now.”

“And you came to me the other night.”

“Fair point,” he begrudgingly admits, slinging his bow onto his back. “Although, I did ask for just a taste. If you’re wanting another nibble, that says more about you than it does about me. I’m a vampire spawn. What’s your excuse?”

By you’ve turned your back on him and though he can’t see your face, the middle finger you aim his way lets him know he’s won the argument.

The anticipation of his next feeding carries him through the day.

It’s ever-present in the back of his mind, fueling his hunger and drive. He fights harder because he knows that come nightfall, he won’t have to hunt for his meal. You’ll be there in your bedroll, ready and willing.

Astarion can’t suppress the shudder of longing every time he thinks about it.

Waiting never felt so long.

You’re moving closer to the goblin camp with every step, picking off stragglers as you find them. Shadowheart asks the corpses for information and you’re able to narrow down the location of the druid right down to which building he's in.

When you make camp, you’re only half a day’s travel to your destination. Everyone is exhausted and moody, with little talk this time over the campfire. It doesn’t bother Astarion, who felt you all were becoming far too chummy for his liking.

He waits and watches from his tent, taking note as one by one, the others peel off to their respective spaces. You’re one of the last, your eyes straying across the camp in his direction, meeting the gaze that has been transfixed on you the entire time.

As if to tease, your scent finds your way to him on the wind, making his head spin. He gives you a wink and a smirk. You smile back and quirk an eyebrow before disappearing into your tent like the others.

Astarion bides his time, waits until everyone stops rustling and the collective silence of sleep washes over the camp.

Wyll is on watch tonight, though his back is to your tent. Astarion keeps to the shadows and easily dodges him, making no sound as he slips past.

You’re fast asleep, buried in your bedroll with a blanket loosely draped over you.

Astarion feels that familiar tug low in his belly, lets his feet guide him closer. He doesn’t need the fire to see you there, peaceful, almost angelic. You changed into a looser tunic which has slid down to reveal a shoulder.

And the faded markings he left on your throat the other night.

Astarion kneels and then crawls up behind you, slow and careful. He said he wouldn’t disturb your rest and he meant it. No need to wake you when you’ve given your consent.

Besides, as sneaky as he is, Astarion wonders if you’re that light of a sleeper, considering how easily you awoke the last time. He lays behind you, gently peeling the blanket away. Your tunic slips lower when he does and at this angle, he catches just the faintest glimpse of the top of a breast.

It makes him pause, give an appreciative glance, before your neck beckons him.

The hunger urges him forward, begging, pleading with him to drink. You’re so close and warm and vulnerable. He does his best to lean over without touching you, but you automatically tense in your sleep when you feel the coolness of his body draw near.

Leaning down, he lets his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “It’s just me, darling. Go back to sleep.”

You hum and relax once more, dropping your shoulder in the process. The angle is too good and he is too famished to wait any longer.

Astarion bites down, his fangs lining up exactly where they pierced before. His mouth fits against your throat like it was made for him.

A perfect fit.

There’s no need to rush and he is able to savor the experience. This time, a sense of calm washes over him, making his eyes droop closed as the now-familiar yet no less exquisite rush of your blood fills his mouth. Deep down there’s a sense of injustice for being denied this experience for so long.

However, he wonders if it would have been the same without the anticipation and thrill of the chase. Without you in the equation. After all, you’re a powerful person, unyielding in your convictions.

Yet, here you are, offering your blood to him. Giving him power.

He keeps his fangs buried for a moment longer, holds himself there until his mouth is brimming with the taste of you.

Only then does he retract them, sucking softly on the reopened wound to drink his fill. You’re fast asleep, which means that he has to stop himself this time. You’re not aware enough to do it for him.

When he wanted to earn your trust, he did not think you would give it to him so freely. What else will you give him? What else can he get away with? Questions for another night.

Thankfully, he can force himself to stop once that welcoming heat spreads through every part of him.

Every part.

Fucking Hells he is hard as a rock.

It catches Astarion by surprise and he immediately draws away. He finds himself panting, his lips still coated in red as he glances down at himself.

Is it the act of drinking blood or the blood itself? Feeding on animals certainly never drew this reaction.

His head is spinning from bloodlust and arousal, and he feels the need to leave your tent as soon as possible. You signed up to be his meal, not to get him off.

Not yet anyway. Shame, if you were awake he could make his move. He briefly considers rousing you with honeyed words and lustful promises but he decides against it in the end.

Maybe next time.

As he cleans up the mess he’s left on your throat, licking away the remaining drops of blood, he can’t help palming himself at the same time. He’s barely able to contain a hiss at the sensitivity.

Fuck, if this is just from feeding on you, what’s going to happen when he gets to have you another way?

Astarion reluctantly withdraws, readjusting your tunic before draping your blanket back in place. Your breathing never hitches and remains steady, even when he slips out into the night.

With fresh blood pumping through his veins, his body is strong and alive. He feels so fucking alive. He barely takes a few steps before the hardness in his trousers proves too distracting, forcing him to rest against a tree.

If he turns his head, he can still see your tent through the bushes and trees. It surprises him that he wants to go back. Then again, you are the most interesting prospect around and a part of you is within him now.

Soon, a part of him will be in you, he promises himself.

Astarion unties the laces of his trousers and pulls his cock out, finally allowing the hiss he held back earlier. It throbs persistently, begging for him to do something, anything for release. He gives himself an experimental squeeze, wondering if he has the mind for this right now. But it’s too good and he’s too worked up to deny himself.

His eyes never leave your tent as he strokes his cock. Slow at first, but that quickly proves not enough and he speeds up.

Astarion has had too many lovers to count but it has been some time since he’s had to take matters into his own hands. And yes, he plans on seducing you and may even find you attractive, but this is not in the plan.

It certainly didn’t happen the other night.

Moving purely on urges, Astarion lets his head fall back against the tree trunk, and his eyes close, picturing himself back in your tent.  

If only you’d been awake, he could have pressed against you, let you feel the length of him as he drank his fill.

Would you grind back? Would you gasp? He’s more than sure that he can get you to do both. When he finally gets you where he wants you, when he finally has you writhing and moaning his name, he's not going to let you cum until you beg for it, beg for him to fill you as he drinks from that delicious throat.

With a strangled moan, he cums onto the forest floor, his knees buckling under the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Putting his full weight against the tree for support, he takes a moment to catch his breath mind, and senses hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves and gust of wind. With his lust now stated, there is an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt.

What the Hells is with all this wanting and desire? He is not allowed to want. Seducing you isn’t about desire. Neither of those emotions should be there and yet they are.

Let’s just push those way back where they belong, he thinks as he tucks himself back into his trousers.

His head is clearer now, his focus as sharp as it was the previous night. Brushing the incident off, Astarion switches into hunting mode, his grin wide enough to verge on the side of madness as he bolts into the forest, with nothing but the thought of his next kill.

Your offer of blood becomes a regular occurrence.

Not every day but often enough for Astarion to notice a significant change in himself, his power. He is faster and stronger than he has ever been. There is still the situation of becoming immensely horny when he does feed on you, but he looks on the bright side and accepts it as an unexpected bonus.

On days when your party runs into a fight, he finds himself drained but not enough to impede his hunting.

A fact he brags about one night when he stumbles back to camp, brimming with excitement and pride.

“Guess what I just did!” he exclaims, plopping beside you on the ground by the fire that seems to have your attention.

It’s your night to keep watch which means he is out of luck for his midnight snack, as he’s taken to calling you. Much to your chagrin.

You chuckle and motion towards his mouth. “Judging by the blood I’m assuming you caught a nice dinner,” you say.

Astarion impatiently wipes it away. “Not just dinner, a bear! A whole bear!”

“Gods, you drank a whole bear?”

He nods proudly, grin wide and sloppy. “Now, it wasn’t as good a vintage as Drow,” he concedes with a wink your way. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was able to kill it all by my lonesome and nary a curl out of place.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kind of,” he slurs.

In truth, he is euphoric, untouchable. Between proper feedings and the tadpole, Astarion feels he is the strongest vampire spawn there may have ever been. Tonight, like the first night he bit you, there is no Cazador, mind flayer, or other threat. There’s only him and the blood of the black bear that he’s taken for himself.

And you, of course.

You smile in amusement, turning your attention to the fire.

Astarion leans back on his elbows, his body wonderfully loose and relaxed for the first time in decades. He takes the time to study your profile, his delirious mind focusing for the moment. He is acutely aware that it is only the two of you, a rarity considering the size of the camp.

Between the adrenaline of the hunt and the opportunity that comes with privacy, Astarion shifts closer, not enough to touch but enough for you to know he’s done so.

“You know, darling,” he drawls. “I don’t think I’ve told you how devastatingly beautiful you look by firelight.”

You don’t respond and at first, he wonders if you heard him. When it becomes apparent you haven’t, he clears his throat and tries again.

“The way the flames reflect in your eyes is hypnotizing,” he continues. “I can get lost in them, have been lost in them ever since we met.”

Still nothing. Astarion feels you’re miles away, which his pride will not stand for, not when he feels as good as he does and is throwing you all the signals.

He sits up and waves a hand in front of your face. “Helllooo? Devilishly handsome roguish vampire here giving you compliments. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

You blink and tear your eyes away from the flames, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m not very good company tonight, I’m afraid.”

Astarion shrugs and sits up, interest piqued. “That’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other’s company.”

You roll your eyes as you look back at the fire with that amused smile you seem to reserve only for him. “Hey, if I could turn my brain off for the night, I’d take you up on that,” you admit.

Finally feeling like he’s getting somewhere, Astarion leans in closer. “You’re in luck because I happen to be a delectable distraction. All you have to do is say the word.” He pauses before adding. “I’m talking about sex of course. We should have sex.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what you meant.”

Astarion grins, reaching out to walk his fingers up your forearm, playfully tugging at the sleeve of your tunic. “So what are we waiting for?” he purrs. “A midnight snack is all well and good, but I wouldn’t mind sampling what else you have to offer.”

As full as he is, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in another nibble. There’s something special about your blood, enticing. When he’s this close to you it becomes all he can think about and he has to stop himself from nuzzling your throat. At least until he knows he has you.

“I want to,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. “I really really want to.”

“Then what’s the problem? I am ready, willing, and certainly able.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

Astarion frowns, confused. This has always worked before, there’s no reason for it not to work now. He doesn’t get it. You’re clearly attracted to him and he’s doing everything but presenting himself on a silver platter. By now you should be throwing yourself at his feet.

And there’s no way he’s lost his touch because that would be like saying the sky is no longer blue.

You take a deep breath and when you start to speak again, it comes out in a rush, like you’ve been holding the words in for far too long and can’t any longer.

“There is so much at stake and so many people are depending on us, on me. It’s all I think about. I can’t focus on anything else. For days it’s been one crisis after another. On top of that, everyone keeps saying that we need to get rid of the tadpoles and that we should have turned already. We rescued Halsin but he can’t do what we hoped he would and I’m just…”

You let out a noise of frustration and Astarion is back to grinning because this he can work with. This he understands.

“Aren’t monks taught to still their minds?” he teases.

“I didn’t become a monk to still my mind. I became a monk because I like punching things. It’s honestly my favorite thing to do.” You take a deep breath before falling onto your back to stare up at the stars. “But now everyone keeps looking to me for answers and I just don’t have them. Nor do I want to be the one to figure all this shit out.”

Perfect, a new angle.

Astarion leans over you, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It’s just as I feared. You need me more than I thought.” He bends his head, delighted when you instinctively present your neck. He places the gentlest of kisses to bite mark, nuzzling into your soft skin like he’s been wanting to do since he sat down. “If you need your mind on something else, let it be me. Let me touch you, taste you. Let me bring you to such unbearable peaks that you forget everything that isn’t my mouth, fingers, or cock.”

You moan softly, shuddering at the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know if you can.”

Astarion draws back, a wide smile showing off his sharp canines. “Trust me, darling, I can.” He slides a hand up to cradle your head just like he did the first night he bit you. But it’s kisses he lavishes your throat with, with the occasional scrape of his teeth.

A gentle hand on his shoulder has him pulling away.

“You seem pretty confident about that,” you say, eyes searching his.

“Because it’s true.”

He knows what you’re searching for and does everything he can to make sure his gaze speaks for him. Lust and desire, mixed with a touch of hopefulness. Disarming and endearing, exactly who he needs to be for you.

“Here is what we’re going to do,” he continues, putting all his weight on one hand so he can use the other to take yours. “Tomorrow night, once everyone is asleep, I’ll slip into your tent, and I will make it so that pretty little head of yours can focus on something else. Something much more pleasurable.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss, first to your fingers, then your bruised knuckles, and finally to your inner wrist where he can feel your pulse racing. The sound of your rushing blood makes his own body thrum with desire. His hunger returns, but not enough to distract him.

But enough to make him twitch with anticipation.

At this angle, he knows you can feel it when his cock hardens. Your eyes widen and you bite your lip to stifle another moan when he teasingly grinds down against you.

“I…” You try to speak but need to take a second to catch your breath. “I would like that very much.”

“Good.”

Astarion leans down and captures your lips in a harsh kiss. It’s meant to be quick, a tease, a way to continue the seduction and leave you wanting more but it immediately becomes something else. You match his energy perfectly, your tongue slipping past his to explore. He isn’t expecting such a hungry response after the way you seemed so controlled, fully expecting it to take time for him to get you to this level.

Apparently, you’re closer to the edge than he thought. But it’s more than that. Kissing you makes him feel…something. He just doesn’t know what in the Hells that is. It makes it difficult to pull away, to stop, and make you wait.

So he indulges, deepens the kiss by leisurely licking the inside of your mouth once you actually let him. It’s good, really good. Enough to lose himself for the moment, to cup your cheek and hold you close.

His head is spinning and in his excitement, one of his fangs nicks your bottom lip.

A drop of your blood is enough to snap him out of it. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to ruin everything. He’ll either fuck or drain you and right now he’s not sure which.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss, not before his tongue at your lip to steal another drop. “Until tomorrow night,” he promises.

He leaves you there, dazed and staring after him as he casually strolls back to his tent. Leaving you wanting more, just like he planned.

And definitely not because of any other reason.

Needless to say, trancing doesn’t come easy that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he envisions is you in the firelight, looking up at him like he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Granted, he knows he is, but that’s beside the point.

If he’s honest with himself, there may be a small, tiny part of him that feels bad for deceiving you this way. Granted, he is attracted to you and the idea of having sex sounds incredibly appealing.

So what if there is another motive? You both will come out on top in the end, metaphorically speaking. Although, the mental image of you riding him is quite good. Body rocking, breasts bouncing, wet heat enveloping his lap…

Astarion needs a distraction himself at this rate.

The next day he maintains his distance for both your sakes. For one thing, he knows being apart from your object of desire only makes the chase that more thrilling. And for another, he is dealing with a storm of emotions he is not prepared for nor interested in.

On occasion when he can’t help but slide his gaze your way, you seem thoroughly focused every time. He doesn’t catch you looking longingly his way, not even once, and finds it frankly insulting. How can you be so engrossed in what you’re doing even though you know he will be in your bed later?

Unacceptable.

When you both find yourselves set upon by cultists, Astarion is relieved. He needs a good bloodbath to pull his shit together.

His daggers get quite the workout, slicing enemies left and right.

Lost in the thrill of the kill, he forgets about the weird feelings and the way his seduction of you seems to be more complicated than he thought it would be. He forgets about his hesitations or questions.

Nothing is weird and nothing is wrong.

A familiar scent breaks through the gore that stops him in his tracks. Your scent. Your blood.

You’re bleeding.

Like a hound, his head whips in your direction. He sees you across the battlefield, knocking a man to the ground. But one hand is pressed to your side, bright red visible even at this distance.

Shit, you’re further from him than he realizes and he has to scramble over a few boulders to be able to close the distance. His sharp eyes catch movement in the trees, and before he even has a chance to grab his bow, the hidden archer takes aim.

Everything happens so fast.

The arrow fires, Astarion eyes land on you, knows you don’t see it and as he raises his hand towards you, has your name on his lips—

Your hand snaps up, catching the arrow an inch before it hits your temple. With a glare, you look up at the archer, swing around, and throw the arrow right back at him.

Astarion watches the archer fall from the branches, landing in a heap on the ground.

Dead.

You grin in Astarion’s direction, face smattered with blood and he wants nothing more than to fuck you on top of that corpse. But then you stumble and concern takes over. If you fall in battle then he’s shit out of luck and he can’t let that happen.

“Whoa now, none of that!” he scolds, rushing to your side to catch you. “Where the Hells is that cleric when we need her?”

“Did you see me catch that arrow?” you slur, grinning. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Yes, yes, it was very hot, now hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Even better, gives you a free meal.”

It’s Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes as he helps you lean against a tree for support. “I prefer the more intimate approach we’ve established.”

Once he’s sure you’re not going to collapse, he digs through his pack for a healing potion.

“Shame to let all this blood go to waste but to each his own,” you say.

He uncorks the potion with his teeth and holds the bottle up for you to drink. It’s not until it’s empty that he allows himself to calm down. You slowly remove your hand and the two of you watch the wound start to close. Not all the way, you’ll need Shadowheart for that, but enough to stop the bleeding.

Astarion spits the cork aside and throws the empty bottle. “There, almost good as new. Maybe don’t get stabbed again.”

“There go the rest of my plans for the day.”

“Lunatic.”

Something comes over him, making him grab the back of your head and yank you into a kiss, too wrapped up in his bullshit to overthink or consider his actions. With one arm around his waist, you kiss him back and it’s sloppy and messy and everything he needs it to be.

Nothing happened. You didn’t die and you’re still able to be seduced. Good.

When you draw back, gasping for breath, he grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks your fingers into his mouth, one by one, swirling his tongue around the digits to gather every drop of blood he can. You’re right. It seems silly to let it go to waste.

Your pupils dilate, your breath coming through your lips in a rush as you watch, transfixed.

He doesn’t need the tadpole to know what you’re thinking, or imagining. It’s a precursor to what he plans to do to you later. But with your thighs squeezing his head as he brings you over the edge.

Astarion releases your finger with a pop and a smirk. You lean in to steal another kiss when you’re stopped by the heavy thud of Karlach’s footsteps. You just manage to pull back when she bursts through the foliage.

“You guys alright?” she asks, also splattered with blood. “We just got jumped by some assholes.”

Astarion gestures to the bodies littered at your feet. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you ask.

“Right here,” Shadowheart speaks up, approaching from a different direction. “One tried to run away but I took care of it. Shit, are you bleeding?”

“Not anymore, thanks to me,” Astarion says.

When you wince and stumble towards her, Shadowheart catches you. Her hand glows with radiant light as she casts a healing spell.

“Easy there, soldier!” Karlach says. “You stay put. We’ll deal with these.” She gestures to the bodies, where Astarion is already digging through the pockets.

He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let good gold go to waste, and definitely not because you two were interrupted. Not because being close and alone with you makes his head spin. Not because he doesn’t know why he kissed you like that. And certainly not because the brief taste of blood is threatening to send him into a frenzy.

By the time the bodies are searched, Shadowheart is done with her healing and you’re able to stand up straight.

“Let’s get back and tell the others,” you say. “With these guys gone, we should be good to keep our camp for one more night. But tomorrow we have to move on.”

Astarion is starting to feel peckish and welcomes the chance to be alone. “I’ll do a little scouting to check for stragglers,” he offers, tossing you the heavy bag of coin he collected. “You know, make sure there isn’t anything lurking before dark.”

“You sure? You really shouldn’t go alone,” you say.

He’s already headed in the opposite direction and turns to face you as he walks backward. “If they hear me, they deserve to catch me. You don’t need to worry, darling. I won’t be late for our date.”

Your cheeks darken and he watches Karlach break into a wide grin while Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. He’s already gone by the time they bombard you with questions.

That moment you two just shared plays over and over in his head. With the taste of your blood still on his tongue, he gives into baser instincts.

Tonight, he will fuck you, and you’ll be so enthralled by his talents, he’ll have you eating out of his hand in no time.

Astarion’s mission turns up no more cultists. And after a brief tussle with a boar, he’s recharged and ready to seduce the pants off you.

Literally.

Night has already begun to fall when he returns to camp. At first, he doesn’t see you anywhere, but then you emerge from the brush, in a clean tunic and trousers with your freshly washed clothes under your arm.

He sneaks up behind you as you lay them out on a nearby patch of grass to dry.

“If you waited we could have had a little dip together,” he purrs, only half teasing because bathing naked with you sounds enticing right now.

“That wasn’t funny,” you glare over your shoulder, although he doesn’t sense or see any real malice on your face. “They gave me shit the whole way back.”

“I’m fairly certain they knew something has been going on. You haven’t exactly been hiding the mark.”

You tug on your collar in a vain attempt to do just that. “Still.” You turn to face him and cross your arms, a neutral stance that conveniently highlights the muscles in your arms. Not that he notices.

“Darling,” he gasps, “are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like people knowing my shit.”

Astarion glances around and can see multiple pairs of eyes on you both. So rather than close the distance, he settles for eye-fucking you instead.

“Tonight, all you need to worry about is relaxing and letting me take care of you. Thoroughly. Properly. Until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.”

Even from this distance, he hears the rush of your blood and it makes him grin wider. You shake said pretty head at him, turning away under the pretense of fixing your clothes.

“So long as you bathe beforehand. Blood may be your thing, but it’s not mine.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

He’s got you flustered and can’t help laughing as you shoo him away. After a brief stop at his tent for fresh clothes and soap, he finds a secluded spot by the nearby lake and takes time to pamper himself.

This part of the seduction ritual he likes, finds comfort in. Washing away the grime and viscera from his skin and taking the time to wash his hair puts him in the proper mindset. While he can no longer see his reflection, you can and that’s all that matters. He knows his looks are unparalleled.

So he primps and preens, cleans himself thoroughly before stepping out to dry off. The full moon casts the world in an otherworldly glow and he stands for a spell, taking in the night. Less than a week ago he was scrambling for rats in the dark, trying to sate the ever gnawing hunger. Now he can stand in the sun, sample the delicious blood of a thinking creature.

What a difference a few days makes.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep inhale to steady himself, to focus. And by the time he exhales, his eyes are open and he’s ready.

Camp is still very much buzzing with activity when he returns, bare-chested with loose trousers. Your scent wafts his way, making him subconsciously turn in your direction. His eyes meet yours over the fire, and he throws you a wink. You smile and duck your head, something he never found endearing until that moment.

Just like all the other nights, he waits for the activity to die down, waits until almost everyone is asleep, before sneaking into your tent.

Except, this time you’re awake. Your back is to him as you sit, still and silent. At first, he wonders what you’re doing, until he recognizes the steady breathing that comes with your meditations.

Silently, he ties the tent closed before kneeling behind you. He sees your pointed ear twitch, knows you’re aware of his presence.

Astarion lays his hands on your shoulders and leans down to nuzzle your temple. Your body is tense. He can feel the knots even through your tunic. Carefully, he digs his thumbs into them, rubbing in circles which forces a soft moan out of you.

“You are far too tense, darling. I don’t think the meditations are working,” he says with a low chuckle, smirking at the way the skin of your neck raises with goosebumps.

You lean back against his chest, making it harder to keep massaging you. So he slides his hands down your arms to hold you instead.

Astarion isn’t one for hugging or cuddling, but this feels nice, having your weight on him like this. It only lasts a second. You lean forward once more, this time with your face in your hands. He lays a hand on your back, recognizing that you need a minute, and more than happy to give you such.

He feels slightly out of his element. Normally when he arrives for the seduction, it’s hasty and eager, with the mark throwing themselves at him. You aren’t doing that, you haven’t even turned around to face him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you tell him, your voice muffled. “If you’re looking for something carefree and light, I’m sure you can find someone with less baggage.”

Astarion can’t help bursting into laughter. He pulls your arms down and leans around to look you in the eye. “Have we been traveling with the same companions?” he asks. “If you can find this mythical baggage-less person then I salute you because from where I’m sitting, we’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”

That breaks the tension in you. Laughing, you lean into him again and he savors the closeness, recognizing that it stirs that same unknown sensation within him. He kisses your neck not only to move things along but for another reason.

Yours is the first thinking-creature’s neck he’s ever sampled and the novelty is fairly potent. He’s left his mark on you, not once but several times. It’s enough to drive him to distraction. The scent of your skin causes his body to react, his mouth already salivating while his cock twitches with interest.

Astarion finds you relaxing while the time slips away, and it isn’t long before his hands are reaching for the laces of your tunic. He unties them with deliberate slowness, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

In fact, your hands join his to help, and when they are finally undone, you draw away to lift the tunic over your head.

Now you’re both shirtless and when your warm skin touches his it’s like a pleasant balm to his cold flesh. He continues lavishing your throat while his hands cup your breasts, thrilled at the way your nipples pebble under his thumbs. He kneads and tweaks, pinching until just on the edge of pain before backing off.

“Astarion?” you ask, voice already breathless and husky with desire.

“Mmm, yes?”

“If we do this, I only have one request.”

He’s not surprised at this, even anticipated as such. There’s always a request or demand of him and he will dutifully oblige. Anything to keep this going, to seal the deal.

“And what’s that, darling?”

“Stay with me after? At least, just for the night.”

That…is it?

Astarion draws away, prompting you to turn to face him. Your eyes are hooded, lips wet from being swiped by your tongue. But there is a vulnerability he has never seen before that has him answering immediately.

“I will stay,” he promises, and means it. “For tonight, I am yours and you are mine. Nothing else outside this tent exists. It’s just us.” He gently cradles your face. “Just this.”

You lean in and he captures your lips.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to reassure you that your humble request will be fulfilled. But as it continues, it switches, changes into something else entirely. One of his hands drops to your trousers, yanking at the laces with the same fevered energy that’s taken over your mouths. He is suddenly filled with the urge to touch, to make you shudder and moan not for his sake, but for yours.

Astarion sees in his mind’s eye every choice, every decision you have had to make. Always for others and never for yourself. Hells, do you do anything for your own well-being?

He hasn’t seen it. And if this night with him is it, if being with him is how you want to indulge, he’s going to make damn sure he makes it worth it.

When his hand slips below your waistline, his fingers slide through the mound of curls to the petal-soft flesh waiting for him. Feeling the wetness on his fingertips makes his eyebrow raise as he breaks from your kisses.

“Already, darling? I’m flattered.”

You huff, flustered. “It’s my neck,” you mumble, prompting him to latch his mouth there once more. “It’s really sensitive.”

You gasp when his fingertips stroke through your folds, spreading your arousal with practiced ease.

Astarion has a realization. “All these nights, when you knew I was going to be paying you a visit,” he says. “Did you by any chance feel aroused?”

“Every fucking time.”

He slides a finger into you, relishing the low moan and how eagerly your body pulls him in. That explains the intense hard-ons and need to get off immediately after feeding on you. He was unknowingly drinking your arousal, which he plans to do in a very different context tonight.

You’re warm and wet, and the sound of your rushing blood is making it so difficult not to seek his—your marks. The ones he feeds from every time, the ones that never seem to fully fade even with healing magic.

Sliding his finger out, he presses firm circles around your neglected nub while his free hand reaches for your breasts again. Your chest heaves and your hips begin to rise and fall along with his ministrations. When he pushes two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Astarion!” you gasp.

“That’s it, darling. Let go of everything else. Just think about me.”

In this intimate moment, he becomes acutely aware of two things: one, his name has never sounded sweeter, and two, this is going to be different for him.

Astarion doesn’t find himself slipping away like he’s done in the past. Prior, his body would go on following the script while his brain retreated elsewhere. It was a part he knew all too well and had perfected over the centuries. A moment of disgust at himself then powering through just to get it done.

Yet, it’s not happening. Tonight, he is very aware of where he is and who he is with. Somehow having you be the one to moan his name is keeping him grounded, in the moment.

And he doesn’t want to lose that.

His fingers speed up, alternating between rubbing your nub and burrowing deep into that addictive warmth he wants around his cock. You’re gasping and moaning, seemingly uncaring if anyone hears.

Let them hear, he thinks. Let them know I’m the one making our fearless leader cum.

Suddenly, this angle isn’t right. It won’t serve his needs.

Because now that he’s aware of them, aware that he needs your body, needs your little gasps and moans, he won’t stop until you’re both in a breathless, mindless heap of body and limbs.

Astarion tries to draw his hand out of your trousers but you scramble to keep it there, until he nips at your ear and says, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. We just need to get a little comfortable.” Only then do you let him pull away.

He maneuvers you onto your back and is able to fully take in the delicious image you make. Eyes glassy with desire, lips parted, breasts moving as you try to catch your breath. Without warning, he grabs your throat, not hard. Just enough to angle your head up so he can steal a few more kisses.

Then his attention falls to your trousers and he has them off your legs a second later. You’re not wearing underwear, never bothered to put them on after your bath. Hooking his hands under your knees, he spreads you wide, takes his first look at all of you, and promptly descends.

Astarion doesn’t try to put on a show or warm you up with a few practiced licks. You are more than ready for him and he finds himself starved in a completely different way.

A welcomed way.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily, humming with satisfaction when your thighs clamp around his head. It keeps him exactly where you want him, not that he plans to leave any time soon.

This taste of you is so different from your blood yet equally addicting. Heady and sweet, invading his senses until nothing else exists but you. His tongue snakes long your seam, parts your swollen lips, and seeks the hole he teased earlier.

When he finds it, your hips shoot up and he tongue-fucks you, eyes drifting up to meet yours as he does.

You’re propped on your elbows, watching his every move. The vision you make is breathtaking and as he watches your head fall back and your arms buckle, he smirks because he is the one making you feel this way.

Astarion slides a finger into you, this time deeper than the other angle allowed. Your thighs are already quivering and the moment he crooks his finger in just the right way, your arms finally give out and you lay flat on your back.

Hands tentatively find their way into his curls but instead of pulling like he anticipates, they stroke and burrow, holding on for the sake of staying grounded, not for control.

A second finger joins the first and his mouth returns to your aching nub, sucking as greedily as he wants. You’re shaking and moaning, your hips starting to grind against his face the longer he goes on. With the tadpole, he can sense you’re still holding back, still not entirely lost yet. He tries to get you there, increases the pressure of his mouth, and rubs harder against the special place inside you he’s found.

With every twitch, he feels you let go a little more. And when you’re almost there, he switches tactics. For the second time, he reaches for your mind, tries to show you images. This time of yourself, of what he is seeing right then and there.

A beautiful, wanton, deity of a person whom he worships. At least for right now, in this moment. One whose legs fit perfectly over his shoulders and whose shining eyes have him transfixed.

But then what happens next fundamentally changes Astarion and turns his world upside down.

Because, now he isn’t seeing you. He is watching a pale elf with glowing red eyes whose mouth is devouring your slit. Whose cheeks are ruddy with fresh boar’s blood and whose white curls are wrapped around dark fingers.

Astarion is seeing himself for the first time in two hundred years.

And bloody hell he’s magnificent. Not just because he’s beautiful but because he can feel what you’re feeling when you look at him. He can sense the warmth, affection, lust, and fierce protection you’re experiencing here and now, with him.

He’s already achieved his goal. Now he can move on to more important things.

He draws an orgasm out of you only minutes later, not needing you to beg. Not when you’ve given him yet another precious gift.

What a breathtaking sight the two of you make. You, bowing your back into a beautiful arch, and him, sucking greedily at your clit while his fingers stroke deep inside you.

Astarion comes up for air only when your sweaty legs glide off his shoulders, leaving you spread and satisfied.

“How’s that mind of yours now?” he asks, licking your slick off his lips.

It takes a moment for you to answer. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” you gasp, a hand pressed to your forehead as you try to collect yourself.

Astarion smirks and pushes himself up onto his knees, carefully slipping his fingers out of you. He can feel your walls clench, automatically trying to keep him there. He’s tempted but has a better idea.

“I told you, I’m quite good.”

While you lay there, watching, waiting, he makes a show of unlacing his trousers. By now his cock is desperate for attention, straining against the fabric. Each move he makes is purposeful, each look calculated, letting you know exactly what he plans to do next.

He thinks of the previous nights when he crawled into your tent and slid up behind you. And once his trousers are gone and his cock is free, full and leaking at the tip, he nods his head.

“Turn on your side, darling.”

He strokes himself while you do, using your arousal to make the glide of his hand easier, better. He lets every lustful thought invade his senses, lets his eyes shamelessly rake over your body as he realizes this is a fantasy he will get to live out.

Astarion knows this night is about you, should be about you, but he can’t help but feel that it’s now also about him. About having something, even if it’s for a night, that gets to be his.

He spoons up behind you, tucking his cock snug under your backside. His hand comes around and slides between your legs once more, picking up right where he left off. You gasp at the sensitivity, your body tensing for only a second until you manage to relax again.

This time with the added bonus of you rocking against him.

Time loses all meaning. He can not be certain how long you both lay this way, grinding and moving together while his fingers make you cum for a second time. It takes longer but absolutely worth every moment. His mouth is permanently attached to your throat lavishing it in kisses and love bites, leaving even more marks. Not as deep as the mark. He'll only drink from you once he’s good and ready.

And when neither of you can take it anymore, when the friction of your skin isn’t enough and you’re positively soaked, he whispers into your ear.

“Lift your leg.”

You do and he takes hold of himself, coats himself in your slick again, then pushes into you with a smooth, quick, thrust.

A perfect fit.

Being inside you, having his cock enveloped by that fucking heat is better than he would have ever thought. After that, he can’t take his time, won’t until he’s emptied every last drop into you.

Your moans are constant, muffled as you bury your face into your thin pillow, your hand twisting the bedroll, reminding him of how he twisted the soil when he had his first taste of you.

Taste.

Gods does he want to taste you again, drink you as he continues pounding into your eager body. As if struck by the same thought, you reach back to slide your hand into his curls.

“Bite me,” you urge. “I need you too. I can’t…”

He hears the rest of the thought in his head.

I can’t cum again if you don’t.

Astarion bites down on the mark, having half a mind to press down on your swollen nub at the same time. You cry out this time. Loudly. Properly. Not his name yet even more beautiful, a cry of pure ecstasy.

Your blood seeps into his mouth just as a fresh wave of your slick coats his cock, and he is done for.

Thrusting wildly, still rubbing your sore clit, Astarion spills himself into you, lost in a frenzy of blood and lust. He’s aware enough to yank out his fangs but after that, it's a blur as he sucks at your throat while his cock spasms and fills you with his seed.

It's too much and coats his lap and your thighs while trickles of blood dribble down your neck. He’s aware of you pushing his hand away from the overstimulation. So he grabs your hip for leverage during his final, weak thrusts. Spent, you both cry out a final time and then grow still.

Eventually, you roll onto your stomach while Astarion collapses onto your back, crushing you against the bedroll.

You don’t seem to mind in the slightest, letting him lazily lick away any remnants of blood. Only then do you hum with satisfaction stretching underneath him as much as the position will allow.

“Fuck, Astarion.”

“That you did, love. That. You. Did.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss or a nibble.

“You were right,” you purr, sounding infinitely more relaxed than he’s ever heard. “I needed that.”

He places a final kiss to the mark before rolling onto his back. “Mmm, me too.” He tucks his hand under his head, staring up at the canvas of the tent with a lazy, satisfied grin. Like a cat who’s just found a sunbeam.

You roll to face him, draping yourself across his chest in a graceless heap. Your face is glowing with post-coital bliss, eyes still shining as they take him in. You reach up to wipe away a spot of blood from the corner of his lips, which he sucks off your thumb.

Astarion is aware you both should clean up but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Your scent hangs around him, not just your blood but your arousal and release. When mixed with his own, it stirs something primal inside, a sense of claim he’s not sure he has a right to feel.

But he’s far too satisfied to question it.

“That was amazing,” you slur. Already your eyes are drooping and your breathing evens out.

Astarion draws you close, feels around for a blanket he manages to drape over you both. “You’re amazing,” he responds, and is surprised he means it.

Even he is ready to trance, the normal rush of adrenaline after feeding is gone, channeled into the thrusting of his hips during those last precious seconds before utter bliss.

For once, no thoughts or machinations enter his mind. Unless it’s your soft body atop his, he has no interest, lazily stroking your back until you fall asleep.

And as he lets his trance carry him away, he has one final thought, an observation his waking mind will remember vividly the next morning when he finds you in the same position, curled around each other even in sleep.

Having you in his arms seems to be another perfect fit.

---

Taglist: @frankie-mercury @miniminx

[jolapeno]

9. breath of fresh air

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Baby, where are you?

I’m coming now just needed to get some plants.

If you’re the forest on wheels coming towards me line up somewhere else.

Wow, that's mean, Morales.

I am. But also, that’s a fuck load of plants.

It is and we’re going to have so much fun naming them.

Surrounded by unopened boxes, and paint tins that are due to be put on the wall, you both sit cross-legged on the floor of your soon-to-be office floor.

It's hard to stop it, the smile which spreads across your lips. The scent of fast food flows from your ripped-open bag and his neatly opened one, as you watch him turn his cap backwards and dig a hand into the paper bag as he pulls out a sauce pot.

Of course, he still finds a second to glare at the plant behind you.

“It’s up for debate, but french fries might be the way to my soul.”

Dipping his own into the sauce, he smirks. “What’s the other contender?”

You, you think.

It's there, threaded inside of you. Sewn in now. Stitched so deep into you that he’ll be remembered forever, no matter what.

Meeting his eyes mid-chew, the word you reverbing around your skull. Echoing. Practically marking itself against any surface space it can in there.

“Your mouth.”

Choking, his hand is quick to cover his mouth, eyes alarmed, quickly filling with tears as he continues to hack. Sliding his drink towards him, across the floor of the project that brought him here today.

“You can’t…” he begins, taking another mouthful, “Do that to me.”

Smirking, you grab another handful of fries. “From the gleam in your eyes, I say you like it.”

“I am not gleaming.”

“No? Damn, I’m disappointed.”

Rolling his eyes, he nudges you with his foot—your eyes glancing at the dinosaur-covered socks for the twelfth time since he’s been here.

“Luca has good taste in socks.”

“You’re telling me,” he replies, “I also have Batman ones, some cartoon ones and ones with flowers on.”

Smiling, you continue to chew. “Which ones are your favourite.”

Scrunching up the paper your food came in, you throw it into the bag. Watching him take a final bite of his own as you smirk.

“It’s the flower ones, isn’t it?”

“Definitely the flower ones.”

Laughing, tongue peeking between your teeth, you lean back on your hands, legs outstretched. “Saving them for a special occasion?”

Nodding, he takes another slurp of his drink, feeling his eyes drag up and down your legs. “Thought I could wear them for when I woo you later on this week.”

“Yeah? You want to model your socks for me, Morales.”

“Dinner and a show I heard is the perfect date night.”

Wiping his hands on his napkin, he stares at you—clean hand on your ankle, massaging it.

“You keep doing that, and we won’t be building furniture.”

Groaning, he sighs. All deep, layered with confliction—until he whispers it: after. It’s low, practically dragged through the gravel of his voice by the time it reaches your ear. Heat spreading through your stomach, not able to tear your eyes from him, just thankful that he does when he goes to stand.

A moment of reprieve, a chance to collect yourself.

That is, until he stretches out his hand, sliding yours into it as he pulls you up to stand. For a moment, just paused—staring at him, a tuft of curls poking through under the rim of his hat.

“I told you how handsome you are,” you say, arms sliding around his neck, leaning close—just enough, to press your mouth to his. “Cause you are.”

Biting the edge of his lip, he smirks. “I’ve got a utility knife in my pocket.”

“Oh?”

Brows lifting, grinning, Frankie pulls you closer. “You into that?”

“On you? Fuck yeah.”

Your lips glide over his, tasting the salt from his fries and the onion from his burger. Not caring, not as you hold him close, keeping him flush, deepening it until he clutches your jaw, walking you both back, kicking a box.

“Fuck.”

Almost laughing, you smirk. “We should…”

Tongue swiping over his lip, Frankie nods. Gaze unmoving even as you step back, bending to tidy the wrappers and bags as you glance back periodically.

“What?”

Shaking his head, he shrugs one shoulder, eyes widening as he smiles. “Nothing. Jus’… hurry back.”

It leaves your lips breathlessly, the word sure. It flows through the air to him, before you leave the room, before giddiness swallows and smothers you up. A grin not easily wiped by your knee connecting with the cabinet as you skid into the kitchen. Dousing your hands in cold water, hoping the temperature will touch your cheeks and cool them.

Thinking of him waiting near the checkout—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his worn

You do. Almost skidding in your kitchen when you throw the trash away, pausing at the sink to wash your hands, before you’re casually walking back. Doing so, just in time to see him slide that knife along the flat-pack furniture, unboxing the drawers—staring at them all crouched wearing a furrowed expression with an IKEA pencil behind his ear.

And you’re glad he doesn’t look up at the doorway, because it gives you a minute, to lean, head resting as your heart skips a step, feeling all large and full and full of happiness. A feeling, one surging up inside of you—full of lightness and truth—swirling around your breath and trying to form into words.

But, then he looks at you. Lifts his chin, the biggest brown eyes smoothing out to look at you—and you’re sure the words are going to rip out of your throat. Forced to greet the air, and burn themselves into it.

I really like you, Frankie.

I really, really do.

Each letter swallowed back, sight dropping to the knife he holds back—an act you’re apparently quite into from the way you feel the heat in your stomach, a little ripple of want starting to stir as you slowly edge your way into the room. Listening, hanging onto his words as he offers suggestions of how the two of you can do this.

It’s why it makes sense, at first, when he asks if you’d begin building the drawers while he begins the carcass. His toolbox he’d brought in with him opening, pulling various tools you’re not sure were listed on the instructions.

It continues to make sense until you realise you began constructing the drawer, incorrectly. A disappointed voice ebbing, beginning to nip. It breeds in doubt as you study the paper again, and again. Mouth opening and promptly shutting as you try to make heads or tails of what should be a very easy thing.

But that means confessing you’re about as hopeless at building as you are at the rest of the DIY project.

Peering at the instructions again, you try not to sigh. Try not to let a heavier exhale escape through your nostrils, and possibly showcase your growing anxiety-brewed annoyance.

Because you hope he’s not having you build drawers because it’s easier. Because he views you as this hopeless thing that can’t be taught. Even if, in some ways, that assumption would be correct. You just hope that it isn’t pity or any other negative connotation that has begun popping into your mind and bursting behind your eyes in sorrowful falling dark-hued confetti.

An increasing need to prove yourself rising, flooding you as though it wishes to drown you. Making it hard to swallow, never mind breathe—eyes glancing down as they begin to burn with worry, with annoyance and a lot of other emotions you’re struggling to handle—

“Hey,” he says, soothing—hand cupping your cheek as you're tilted up from diagrams to his eyes.

The ones that soothe, that calm—that feel like a safe place.

“Hi.”

Slowly smiling, he strokes your skin. A thing you’re not sure you’ll ever tire from. Not ever. Not as long as his eyes remain as kind and full of warmth.

“I was calling out for you.”

“I’m so—“

“Wondered,” he continues, interrupting, burying your apology before it meets land and plants itself, “If you wanted a go at helping me build this bit.”

Swallowing, both the emotions that remain fizzing and the worries, you smile. “You sure? I’m not… this isn’t something I’m good at.”

“That’s why I’m helping. To teach you, right?”

Nodding, you grin when his lips find your forehead, helping you up before grabbing something from his toolbox. If newer, shinier than the one you’d seen him using—a colour as close to the one you’d said was your favourite.

“Did you buy me a tool, Butterscotch?”

Scratching the back of his head, he tries not to blush. A thing you can tell from the way he averts his eyes, and pink creeps up his neck. “Yeah, it was nothing. Just thought it be easier for you to have your own.”

“My own… prodding device?”

Shaking his head, his eyes land on you. “It’s an electric screwdriver.”

“Of course it is, I was testing you.”

Snorting, he grabs a piece of wood, bringing it between the two of you. “I almost believe you.”

You think Harry would hire me even if I know absolutely nothing about hardware or tools?

To annoy me, most probably. You doing okay?

Not really.

They want more tweaks?

Yeah. I don’t mind making the changes, but wish they’d been more clear from the beginning. So I don’t feel like a failure.

You want me to call in half an hour? Can try and make you smile.

You make me smile effortlessly. But no, it’s okay. I’m going to enjoy a shower and have an early night. Sleep off my bad mood and rest my muscles from building all that furniture the other day.

You goof.

A goof who has your toolbox and her own electric tightener.

That will sound so wrong to anyone else.

Especially if I tell them it goes with my bedside power tools.

Are they what I think they are?

Maybe.

Fuck. Put thoughts in my head now.

Do I look hot?

Always. Will you message me in the morning?

Of course, baby. Try not to dream of me.

Impossible, baby.

Just got out of the movies, was able to eat half the popcorn tub before a jump scare made it mysteriously land on the floor.

Do butter-caked fingers have anything to do with it?

No. I believe the leading cause was a mean friend picking a movie that they knew would scare me. The jury is still out on whether I could have saved the popcorn if properly notified of the jump scares.

You both have fun though?

Yes, a lot. Even if I won’t sleep for a week. I’m excited to see you tomorrow. I’ve missed you.

You’ve missed me?

Try not to grin too much, Morales.

Too late for that, Rainy. I've missed you too.

I've missed butter-SCOTCH fingers.

Can tell me how much later, if you want?

Do you want to phone sex with me, Morales? I think I'd rather make you wait till tomorrow when I see you.

Now who's mean.

It’s hard to avoid the smile on your face, even in the fogged-up mirror. Water dripping down your neck, collecting in the towel wrapped around your chest as Frankie presses his lips to your hairline.

“You feelin' clean, baby?”

“I don't think what we just did in your shower could constitute as cleaning, Butterscotch.”

Smirking, skin radiating heat, Frankie tips your chin up, mouth sliding back over yours like he had done when the two of you had stepped under the shower. The intention innocent, until hungry eyes raked over bare skin.

"Robe's on the back of my bedroom door, baby," he whispers, leaving you to finish drying in his bathroom.

As though it’s normal, routine.

Your toothbrush beside his—the products you’d packed in your overnight bag on the side of the counter.

It's a thing that makes your teeth bite down on your lip and your fingers retraced the path he drew against the suds on your skin. Thinking about how the water fell down along his jaw, ran down between your bodies as he hiked your leg up—

You jump when a clatter pulls you to the present. Heart fluttering, body resting against the side of the basin as your breath dances with the steam. Even if he's rooms away, you hear him singing.

It travelling, calling to you.

A soundtrack to you re-dressing as you hang the used towel on the hook, sliding some clean clothes on, before padding out to wrap the robe around you and grab his t-shirt from the bed.

With each step to the kitchen, you're aware of how your body smells of his body wash. A scent you wish your skin only ever smells like now, if it can’t be his aftershave. Just so you could have a piece of him, a thing to go with the texts, phone calls and video chats when the two of you find moments in between the busy.

There's no need for that tonight, not as he’s cooking for you.

Shoulder resting against the door, you find yourself not wanting to announce your arrival. Just take in his frame, how his back is to you, allowing you to watch how his muscles flex along his bare back as he grabs a knife from a drawer.

“You know, if you posted this kind of video on your Instagram, I think you'd beat that one where you're showing people how to paint wood."

Glancing over his shoulder, you hold the top up. His face shifts into gratitude as he drops what's in his hand and takes it from you. Simple, a very nothing thing that his face seems to show the opposite of.

He fidgets uncomfortably, the shyest smile trying to appear. “Shut up.” 

“While you were very informative about preparing the wood before beginning in that video, I think I know how you got one hundred thousand views in a weekend.” 

Smirking, he folds his arms. “Because you watched it on repeat while you missed me?”

“No,” you grin, watching him run his tongue over his teeth to stop himself from smirking. “You like to do a little thot-shot.”

“A what-what?” 

Licking your lips, leaning against the wall, watching his fingers run up and down his bicep, arms still folded. “You wipe your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, Morales. Showing off your… physique.” 

“Mierda.” 

“You look very good. Had to watch it myself a few times, to be sure.”

His eyes dart away, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I mean it,” you add. “You look really good, Frankie.” 

Stepping forward, you kiss his cheek. The heat from it warms your lips as you try to hide your grin. Instead, pulling out a stool from under his island and sliding onto it, elbow on the worktop, you rest your chin. Watching him turn, facing back to the ingredients and pans.

That's when you spot it. The loose curl that has fallen over his forehead as he leans forward. It just hanging there. Slowly beginning to sway as he resumes chopping and slicing.

“What're you making me?”

“Special asado tacos.”

It’s hard to suppress the whimper in the back of your throat as your stomach rumbles, his chin lifting—brow raising as you try to clear your throat.

“Sounds delicious… what makes them special? Is it the chef?”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “It’s a family recipe. So, I hope I don’t fuck it up.”

“I doubt you could, right? It’s in your bones.”

Shrugging, he stares down at some paper—his pinky flattening it, before he brushes the chopped peppers into a pan and grabs something else.

“I don’t make it often.”

“How many times have you?”

Pausing, he doesn’t look up. Just stops his knife over the skin of the vegetable.

“Frankie. Is this the first time you’ve made it?”

“No,” he answers. Quickly, red rising up his neck. “It’s just… the first time I’ve made it for someone.”

Licking your lips, you smile—fingers outstretching over his counter, it cool under your touch. “Oh, you like me, like me.”

Smirking, he continues to chop and dice, shooting glances at you. “Maybe.”

“I think you do.”

The precision he cuts with makes you almost forget your teasing—your own name, even. The quickness of it, the perfect way they’re all cut. It’s enough to make your thighs press, a new competency unlocked it seemed—as though you were both collecting and becoming aware of them all at once.

Distantly, you hear your name. Briefly aware as you flick your gaze up, of the concern etched there—the sudden silence damning.

“Hm?”

Grinning, shaking his head as he slides the chopped food away. “I said, what makes you say that?”

Sighing, all deep—almost soothing, you smile. “Well, you named all my new plants with me.”

“I did do that.”

Nodding, you roll your lips as he uses his little finger to trace down the recipe in front of him.

“And you didn’t judge me for the fact they all needed a name.”

Casting a glance your way, he both frowns and smiles simultaneously. “Baby… I’d… I’d never.”

“I know,” you say, encased in confidence, sitting up straighter, “Because you like me.”

Shrugging, he begins moving around, collecting ingredients—the back of his hand brushing over his forehead. “Maybe you’re on to something.”

Humming, you shift on your stool—watching. Finding it hard not to keep your eyes on him, not as he moves around confidently, capably, sprinkling things in and adding pinches of others.

It isn’t until he seems more content, that things are doing what they’re supposed to, do you slip from the stool. Moving towards him, sliding between him and the worktop as your fingers brush over his cheek—an act so similar to the shower, before his hand slid between your thighs and made you struggle to stand.

“I like you too,” you whisper.

His eyebrows raise at the suggestion, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Is that so?” he asks. “Well, guess if we both like one another, that means I am allowed to ask something…”

Sucking in air through your teeth, you scrunch your nose. “I don't know, do you think you're allowed?”

Pinching your side softly, he smiles. “I wanted to ask... what we are, what are we?”

Narrowing your eyes, you roll your lips, fingers continuing to twist his curls around your nails. “What do you want me to be?”

Shrugging, he smiles—eyes slowly crinkling, all slow in the way they eventually narrow, mouth parting, basking you in human-made sunshine.

“You want me to be yours?”

He groans, it vibrating through you, hips rolling against his as he presses you to the counter. Body somehow humming, even after earlier.

“Want to be mine, Francisco?”

His hand grasps your hip more intently. “More than anything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Nodding, you tug him closer too, bodies flush, little space between the two of you. “All yours.”

His nose slides against your cheek, before his forehead rests on yours. His eyes almost blend into one large brown oasis—almost.

“Now I’m your girlfriend, do I get extra privileges?”

Frowning, he steps to the side, stirring the cooking food—one hand on your hip, as though not wanting you to move.

“You know, show me how to use your power tools?”

Snorting, he rolls his eyes. “You say mine like others are different.”

Smirking, looking at him with the most innocent eyes you can fake, taking his hand in yours. “They’re different from mine.” Frowning, he stares for a second, seemingly baffled. “Mine aren’t used to build things, rather… make legs shake and make me cry out your name.”

You hear his swallow, as well as see it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he lies, stirring again. “Jus... Y’just incredible.”

Picking up a piece of pepper, you smile—all wicked. “Oh, I know. And aren’t you lucky I’m yours?”

THEY'RE BACK, GOD I'VE MISSED THEM. next week, we enter a spicy chapter (muhaha) and a nice little announcement about them too.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[orqheuss]

In the pursuit of knowledge

(Ominis/F!Reader SMUT)

Summary:

“Have you ever been kissed, Ominis?”

***

It's after curfew, and you and Ominis are tipsy on firewhiskey in the Undercroft. The sexual tension is heavy in the air-- what are two teenagers secretly in love to do?

Ao3 link here

Smut based on a drawing by @gangstagandalf​

“Have you ever been kissed, Ominis?”

You were lying on the floor of the Undercroft, your legs crossed in front of you and your hands resting on your abdomen as you gazed upwards. A small smile creased your face as you asked the blond next to you the question that had been on your mind since the firewhiskey entered your system a few hours ago, your foot lightly tapping his where they touched. Ominis was leaning against one of the many columns in the space, his head resting heavily against the stone and his legs stretched as well, forming an L shape with your bodies. You both were pleasantly tipsy by this point, a soft warmth filling your bodies and a lovely little fog swirling through your minds. Sebastian had left not long ago, claiming that he was off to his bedchambers to sleep off his inevitable hangover; you had a sneaking suspicion that he was actually going to go bother a particular brunette Hufflepuff with a soft spot for beasts, though.

The boy pondered this for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing at his brow. He swirled the bottle of whiskey in his hand around, tapping the base of it against his thigh. A hum left his closed lips before he spoke. “No, never really had the inclination to.” He leaned forward slightly, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a small drag of the amber liquid before letting gravity pull him back towards the pillar with a thump. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Many have tried, but it didn’t feel right.”

A look of confusion passed over your face, your lips tweaking into a small frown as you raised up to your elbows. “What do you mean?”

He lazed his head towards your direction, eyes still closed but a close-lipped smile creeping up his cheeks. “I always thought my first kiss should be with someone I cared deeply for— maybe even loved, if it came to that. My parents have tried to set me up a numerous amount of times, but I didn’t feel anything for the girls they introduced me to.” He turned away from you again, his eyes opening and staring unseeing at the arched ceiling. “I want all the feelings people talk about— the butterflies, the fireworks, the encompassing warmth, not just my name signed next to some random woman that my mother deemed ‘appropriate’ for me so we can keep the bloodline strong.” He cleared his throat, swallowing around the sudden nervousness that rested there. “What about you? Has there been anyone?”

You hummed in thought, nodding along with his words. “I’ve been waiting for the same, though I can’t say I’ve had many strong contenders.”

You watched as a chuckle took over his visage, his perfect teeth glowing in the candlelight and his shoulders lightly shaking with mirth. “Yes, I imagine there aren’t many good choices in our current pool of suitors.”

A snort blew out of your nose against your consent, your expression twisting into one that said “no shit.” “Agreed. Most only want one thing anyway, and if I haven’t kissed anyone yet I’m certainly not doing that. At least, not with just anyone.”  

Ominis made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat, the smile falling from his face as fast as it appeared and his eyebrows pinching downwards. “If those neanderthals only care about getting their dick wet, they don’t deserve your time.”

You laughed loudly, the crassness of his words startling you. After a few moments, he joined you with his own sounds of joy, ending with both of you breathing heavily and a rosy flush across your cheeks. Your hazy, intoxicated eyes floated over to his form, taking a moment in the calm to drink him in entirely. Nearly everyone knew that you liked the blond boy— everyone except him, of course. No matter how many times you’ve tried to hint at your feelings, each one completely went over his head. Some had told you to just give up, that he was never going to get it or he was just trying to spare your feelings by ignoring your advances, but you truly couldn’t help it; the boy was beautiful inside and out. It certainly didn’t help your hunger for him that he had decided it was too hot earlier and undone the first few buttons of his shirt, unknotting his tie in the process and leaving it loose around his neck. You took in his birth marks first, tracing each and every little dot from the corner of his eye, down the tops of his collarbones, all the way to his long, lithe fingers still wrapped around the neck of the square shaped bottle. Merlin, even his fingernails were lovely; you had never admired the small details of someone before him— how his elbows sat outside of his rolled up sleeves, the length of his golden eyelashes, the curve and pale pink color of his cupids brow. Your eyes danced over the curve of his mouth, wishing desperately to know what he tasted like. Would he be sweet, like the candies he loved so much? Would he be bitter like the firewhiskey on his breath? Or would he be something entirely new, something you had never tasted before? Your cheeks burned at the thought. Moving slowly upwards his face, you got caught on the sharpness of his cheekbones next. One wrong move and you could cut yourself on those ridges. You thought that would be a beautiful reason to bleed. Trailing up the soft curve of his ear, you admired his flaxen hair under the low lighting. The tiny blazes of the floating wicks caught each strand growing from his scalp and transformed them into spools of pure golden silk. You wondered if it was as soft as it looked— if it would look as pretty grasped between your fingers, if the light would catch it the same from between your thighs—

Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest, a familiar warmth growing in your lower stomach.

Cutting off your lewd thoughts, you snapped your eyes to his, watching the pale blue irises dance in the firelight. They were almost ethereal— otherworldly, you would say. There was something about the color that drew you in like a moth to a flame. Or maybe it was the sparkle that resided inside, the hidden spark of mischief that rarely saw the light of day? Either way, you could stare into those eyes all day if he would let you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system or something about the intimacy of the situation at hand, but you wanted to swim in that blue. You wanted to jump in and dive all the way to the bottom of his mini-oceans. Drowning in his eyes would be your favorite way to go.

Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, your tongue poking out to wet yours as you pondered your next move. Crawling up to your knees, you shuffled towards the boy, reaching your hand out for the whiskey in his grasp. You gently unwound his fingers from the neck, minutely shuddering from the dizzying spark that passed between your hands touching, and took a long drag. Ominis laughed at the little cough that escaped from you, his hand reaching up and smoothing his hair before flopping downwards and landing right on your thigh. His fingers slid dangerously under the hem of your skirt, smoothing against the tops of your thigh-high socks. Color spread across your face and down your neck at the pure heat that radiated from his palm— a matching blush stretching across the boys cheeks just the same. Even still, he made no move to change his grip, going as far as to squeeze the skin between his fingers unconsciously.

You swallowed roughly, your gulp near audible as you lifted your own hand into the air, letting it hover for a moment with nerves before steeling yourself and letting it fall atop of his. Pure  need  burned under your skin. Perhaps it was time to be more direct in your approach.

Clearing your throat, you leaned slightly closer to the very handsome Slytherin. “Ominis, you’d say we’re friends, correct?”

Confusion creased his face, a question dangling at the tip of his tongue. “Yes, you know you’re my closest friend besides Sebastian. Why?”

You shift closer, causing the both of your hands to slip further up your skin. The blond swallowed thickly, shifting slightly to alleviate the pressure building in his pants.

“Would you say you care for me?”

Ominis can smell the tension in the air around the both of you. He inhales it deeply, his eyes fluttering closed at the enticingness of it. His voice comes out as a stuttering breath. “Y-yes, you could say that.” Care was definitely putting it lightly— he had been smitten with you for Merlin knows how long.

In a bold movement, you shifted your weight and threw one of your legs to the other side of his, straddling his hips and pressing your heat against his thigh. His other hand shot up to hold you still at the waist. Both of you were panting, heaving breaths mingling in the space between your faces. Your hands came up to drape around his shoulders, one of your thumbs smoothing back and forth on the skin creeping out from under his starched collar. Leaning forward a bit more, your nose brushed against his, igniting the fireworks in your chest and sending your eyes fluttering shut. There were mere inches between the two of you— one move and you would fall into the sweet oblivion of his kiss.

The boy could hear your heart pounding in your chest; It was a comfort to know that you were just as nervous as he was. His grip tightened at your waist as his thumb mimicked the motions on his neck at the center of your thigh. He could feel himself getting excited where the both of you were connected, and his heart skipped a beat when your lips very lightly brushed against his— barely a touch but still so very tantalizing.

Your words were nothing more than a breath. “Can I kiss you, Ominis?”

He loved how his name sounded on your lips.

A low groan came from his chest, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”  

And then there was no more space between the both of you. The kiss was gentle— lips carefully caressing against lips like two fragile pieces of glass. It felt like you were made to kiss him. Neither of you moved in fear of scaring the other away, your bodies stiff and hands trembling where they rested. After a moment you separated, breathing shakily against the other while your foreheads rested together. Ominis’ hands squeezed you harder, pressing his fingerprints into your skin and accidentally dragging his still moving thumb to your inner thigh. You sighed, a small moan humming in the back of your throat.

It was like a switch flipped in the blond at the sound— a primal hunger waking up inside of him at the sound of your pleasure. His lips surged forwards again, capturing yours in a searing kiss for the second time. He pressed you tightly to him, the hand on your thigh moving even farther up your skirt, passing over your bottom and pressing at your lower back. The other moved from your waist up to your head, weaving his fingers through your hair and gripping at your roots. You keened against him at the sudden pain, rolling your hips in search of a delicious friction you’d never known before. The blond’s tongue ran along your bottom lip, drawing a gasp from your throat and opening you up to his invasion. The absolutely sinful sounds of your tongues pressing together sent a shiver of arousal down your spine. Your hand snaked up the side of his neck, slithering into his golden locks and harshly tugging his head back so you could get to the supple skin at his collar. He hissed, mouth falling open in pleasure as you attacked the skin where his shoulder connected to his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses in the wake of each of your love bites. The hand at your back slid down and grabbed hold of your ass, grinding you down on his hard length and sending a tumbling moan from the both of your mouths.

The fingers tangled in your hair tugged you back lightly, dragging your face from his flesh and forcing you to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown out to their full size, the cicle of black nearly taking over the entirety of the soft blue pools in lust. His chest was heaving as he struggled to push air into his lungs and speak at the same time. “Wait— I need to know that you actually want to do this.” It felt like all of the air had been sucked out of your chest at the vulnerable look in his eyes. He was bearing his whole soul to you. “Call me selfish if you wish, but if we continue down this path I do not think I will be able to stop myself. Please tell me you want this as much as I do— that you burn for me as much as I burn for you.”

You breathed a laugh against his open lips, grabbing at the ends of his tie and pulling him closer once again. “I crave you more than I have ever craved anything else in this world.”

You cut off his sigh of relief with your mouth, teeth clashing together from the velocity. You use your hips to slightly rotate the both of you, pushing Ominis’ body backwards with your chest until you were lying back on the cold stone ground. He chuckled against you, biting your lip and pulling gently.

“Eager little minx, aren’t you?” You wanted to kiss that smug look from his face.

Your hands began to unbutton the rest of his shirt, leaning close and just teasing your lips on his neck. You felt wonderful against him. “May as well move to the next step— the pursuit of knowledge awaits no man.”

His barking laugh filled the chasmous space around you, ricocheting off the walls and echoing back to you before it was swallowed by a surprised moan from your teeth digging sharply into his collarbone, your hips rolling downwards in tandem. His large hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs, trembling in hesitation and restraint; he wanted nothing more than to grab you by the hips and drag you down across his throbbing length. You had similar plans it seemed as you pulled back and began unbuttoning your shirt. Ominis quickly captured your lips again, replacing your hands with his and all but ripping the fabric from your form, leaning upwards slightly on his elbows and shucking his own shirt from his body. You undid the button of your skirt as well, leaving you in just your underclothes. You moved to pull the long socks from your feet but a hand stopped you, a growl filled with pure, unfiltered want sending a pulse directly to your already dripping core.

“Leave them on.”

You frantically nodded, dropping your weight back onto his lap and grinding against him again. The sweet, sanguine sounds of each moan you dragged from his bruised throat furthered your movements. Incredibly annoyed at the fact that he still has trousers on, you reached your hands down and began to undo his belt, threading the leather through the buckle and tossing it in the direction of the rest of your clothes. You wanted to lick, to taste every single inch of his skin. Your fingers ghosted at the area where you connected, dragging your fingertips along his hard member and drawing an absolutely lewd whimper from his kiss-bruised mouth.

You whispered against the skin of his chest, taking one of nipples between your teeth and lightly biting. “May I?”

Ominis didn’t care what you were asking for, as long as you didn’t stop. “Fuck— yes, stars, please.”

Him begging for your touch was doing something to you.

You smiled against his ribs, pressing kisses to every freckle and mole you could find as you drifted downwards to his needy manhood. If someone were to tell Ominis that he died and had gone to heaven, he would have believed them— there was no way this was actually happening. A rouged blush dressed his entire body when he felt your fingers drag along the waistband of his trousers, your nails kissing his skin before popping open the button and dragging down the zipper. He lifted his hips to help you, hissing as you pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees and letting the cold air of his secret hideaway brush against his smoldering skin. His cock stood at attention in front of your eyes, the tip a brilliant pink and precum leaking from his slit. Your hot and heavy makeout session really got him going.

You licked your lips, your eyes trailing a particularly prominent vein along the underside. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”  

The praise drew another whine from his throat, and he threw one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound in embarrassment. You must have put some sort of spell on him, there was no way these sounds were voluntarily leaving him. You nipped at his hipbone in a warning, trailing your finger along the vein that was currently fascinating you.

“No muffling yourself, my love. Let me hear you— I love your voice so much.”

He hesitantly removed his hand from his mouth, choosing instead to run it through his hair and mess it up even more while his other hand reached down and threaded in your own locks.

You smiled wryly against the skin of his thigh. “Good boy.”

You punctuated your words with your tongue, dragging the appendage along the length of his twitching cock and drawing a long, thunderous moan from the boy below you. My, what lovely sounds he made. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his weeping tip before opening your mouth and taking him into your throat one inch at a time.

He made a choking sound in the back of his throat, pleasure flooding his system.  “Fuuuck, you’re lips feel so good around me, darling.”

Darling. The pet name only spurred you along even more, your eyebrows knitting together as you fought against your gag reflex to fit even more of him into your awaiting throat. You were going to take him all the way to the hilt.

A stream of moans and grunts fell from Ominis’ throat as you bobbed your head up and down, finding a rhythm that works for the both of you. His fingers tightened in your hair, struggling against his need to grab your head and fuck into your throat. It wasn’t like he hadn’t experimented sexually before, he was a teenage boy after all. Masturbation was normal at this point in his life, but his hand never felt this good. Each bob of your head, each twist of your tongue along his length, sent a bolt of electricity down his spine and directly to the spot in his lower stomach where a knot of pleasure was forming. You lifted off of him with a pop, heaving air into your lungs and tonguing at his slit, and the blond saw  stars. He wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate; his orgasm was fast approaching with every flick of your heavenly muscle. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for something as you inhaled and exhaled headily from your nose. He was about to ask what you were doing when you took him back into your mouth in his entirety, sliding his cock down your throat and letting your nose rest against the curls at the base. He couldn’t stop the sounds that came from him, each one higher pitched and more needy than the last. Ominis tugged at your hair, trying to pull you off before he finished.

“W-wait— Shit, I’m so close. Please, fuck, I’m gonna cum, wait—”  

You didn’t listen, digging your nails into his hips and holding on for dear life. Your throat pulsated around him as you struggled to not gag, drawing a particularly loud and high pitch whimper from the blond. You reached down and thumbed at his taut sack, and he was a goner. A hiss that sounded distinctly like your name flew from his open mouth as he shot down your throat. You swallowed around him, licking at his slit for every last drop and pulling overstimulated keens from your lover’s throat. He yanked you off of him, an absolutely glorious blush covering the entirety of his body. You watched his chest heave up and down for a moment before you made your way back up to his face, smoothing your hand over his cheek and pushing the sweaty hair off of his temple before capturing his lips into a kiss. Ominis squeezed you as tight as he possibly could to his chest. You couldn’t help grinding against his softening dick, coating it with the slick that had begun to seep through the crotch of your panties and run down your leg. The Slytherin hissed between his teeth, grabbing your neck lightly and pulling you away. You chased his mouth and he chuckled.

“I can’t decide if you were sent here to save me, or kill me.”

He could feel your chuckle against his palm. “Why can’t I do both?”

He hooked one of his legs around yours, using the leverage to flip you over and press your back against the floor. Your mouth dropped open in pleasure from the feeling of his fingers tightening around your larynx. Ominis chuckled again, feeling your heartbeat pick up against where his thumb was on your pulse point.

“Oh, you like that? We’ll explore that more text time, I think.”

Next time. You liked the sound of a next time.

He ghosted his hand down your chest, grabbing at your still clothed breast and kneading the flesh, and it was your turn to whimper. Ominis wasted no time reaching behind you and struggling with the clasp of your bra, curses falling from his lips in annoyed desperation. Just as you were about to help him, he retracted his hands and instead wrapped his hands around the band, growling in frustration.

“Blasted thing—”

With a hard yank, he ripped the fabric of your bra and tossed it across the room into some unknown corner. You opened your mouth to protest when he crashed his lips to yours, pawing at your now free breasts and drawing little whines from your chest.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

The pretty blond kissed down your neck, leaving a scattering of bruises like you did to him before making his way to your heaving chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and tweaking it with the tip of his tongue. You ran your hands through his hair in utter bliss, soft hums breaching the space around you. He let go of your peak with a sinful pop, drawing your attention to him as his other hand slid down to the waistband of your panties. Ominis pressed a kiss above your heart, letting his finger run along the underside of your final piece of clothing and listening to your breath hitch. That vulnerable look was back in his eyes.

“I want to return the favor. Please, please let me taste you.”

His sweet words were making your head spin more than the firewhiskey ever could. You made a noise of affirmative, not trusting your voice at the moment, and thread your fingers through his hair again. It truly was as soft as it looked. The blond smiled, his grin full of teeth and like he had just won the lottery, before he kissed his way down your stomach, stopping at your underwear and mouthing hotly at your hipbones. You whined in impatience, and he laughed against your skin before taking the hem of your panties and pulling them down your legs, kicking off the rest of his clothes in the process. Your breathing got increasingly shallow as he threw your legs over his shoulders, his lips pressing against the skin of your inner thighs and biting darker hickies in a spot no one else would see. He got closer and closer to your throbbing center, inhaling your heady scent and nearly losing his last little bit of composure. He looked up at you though his eyelashes, gazing at you like he could actually see how disheveled you were.

“I need you to tell me what to do, can you do that?”

You nodded, pulling lightly at his roots. He bit the mound of skin above where you wanted him.

“Words please, dove.”

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yes, I can do that.”

He smiled, turning your words from earlier back on you. “Good girl.”

A loud mewl spilled from you as he licked a hot stripe along your folds, the tip of his tongue catching on your clit and painting your vision white. He pulled back with an agonized groan.

“You’re so wet, my darling. Did I do this? Merlin, help me.”

He dove back into your sacred place, lapping at you like a man in a drought. You directed him to the best of your ability, telling him what spots made you see stars and the perfect rhythm to make you come undone. He was a quick learner, and soon you were writhing under him in the throes of pleasure. He had his lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves atop your privates, flicking his tongue every so often and sucking as his fingers teased your entrance. Whimpers of curses and his name streamed from your chest like a waterfall. Ominis carefully pressed one of his fingers into you, giving it an experimental thrust in and out, and your back arched off the ground in a desperate attempt to get closer as your thighs clamped tightly against his ears, suffocating him in your sweet center. You were a siren, and he was but a simple sailor entrapped by your hypnotizing song. What a lovely way to die.  

Groans of satisfaction sent vibrations through your entire body, dragging you closer and closer to your release.

You keened feebly, begging the boy making you feel this good— for what, you weren’t sure. “Please, Ominis—”

He groaned again, and the knot in your lower stomach got impossibly tighter as he pressed a second finger into you and curled, pressing his fingertips into that delicious place that you had never been able to reach when you were alone in your dorm room. Incoherent whimpers screamed from your throat at the sheer bliss that flowed through your body, your hips wiggling sporadically as he scissored his fingers and prepared you for his length. One particularly hard bit of suction on your clit had you tumbling, your orgasm rocking through you like a speeding bullet and sending blinding fireworks through your brain. Ominis smiled as he worked you through your finish, proud of himself for making you cum on the first try. You tugged at his hair, pulling him up from between your legs and crashing your lips together in need. You could taste the saltiness of your slick on his tongue and you moaned into his mouth. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slipping through your folds and sliding slightly inside. You both groaned at the feeling, your fingernails digging into the blond’s shoulders at the minute sting. Ominis pressed his forehead to yours, trying to steady his breathing and heartbeat and whispered against your lips.

“Are you sure you want this, my love?”

You nodded your head, a plea slipping out. “Yes.”  

He moaned at how needy you sounded— needy and cock-drunk for him. He kissed you, spilling all of the love he felt for you into it.

“Please tell me if you want to stop; I don’t want to hurt you.”

You huffed, “Why would I ever want to stop?”

You both moaned loudly as he breached your walls, pushing his hot member into your equally sweltering core inch by inch. Your eyebrows scrunched together at the pressure, and Ominis kissed the pain away as he got deeper and deeper. Finally he bottomed out inside of you, and you both stilled for a moment to get used to the feeling. You had never felt so full before, it was like he was touching every part of your body at once. Everything was simultaneously overwhelming and not enough. The blond dug his fingers into your hips as he warded away his encroaching orgasm; he didn’t want to finish before he could even savor the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. You squeezed his shoulders, giving him the signal that he can start moving, and he began thrusting in and out of you at a carefully slow pace. It was like nothing you had ever felt before— the pleasure was immeasurable. How people weren't doing this every second of the day, you weren't sure. You craned your neck down to were you both were connected and you couldn't help the harlequin moan that ripped from your throat. Whatever you were doing before this moment in your life was a waste— every moment not connected to Ominis Gaunt was an absolute waste. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing him deeper inside of you and drawing a growl from Ominis’ very soul. He picked his speed up as his orgasm crept up on him again, needing to feel you finish around him more than anything.

"Merlin, you feel so good around me— like you were made to take my cock."

His uncouth words went straight to your core.

Your mewls and moans filled the room; he was glad the Undercroft was so far under the school, lest someone would have definitely heard your screams of ecstasy. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh, definitely leaving bruises that will only get darker the next day, and slammed his hips against yours. His own wanton moans sang along with yours as the knot in his stomach tightened. You could feel how close he was from the stutter in his rhythm, and you reached your hand between the both of you and rubbed at your clit, pushing your own finish closer to the surface. In a rush of animalistic desire, Ominis leaned forwards and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, giving you the last push you needed to spill over the side of the precipice. Your orgasm crested over the edge, dyeing your vision a stark black as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You squeezed impossibly tighter around the blond’s thrusting cock, sending stars to the forefront of his mind for the second time that night and causing him to speed up his thrusts even more, chasing his own orgasm as you milked the life from him. His hips grew sporadic at the feeling of your tight cunt swallowing him whole, bringing his finish just out of reach. He panted against your shoulder, holding you against his chest as he whimpered.

“W-where do you want me t-to—”

You cut off his sentence, the throes of your orgasm still shocking through your system. “Inside me. Please, Ominis, I want to feel you fill me— I’m on the potion— Fuck, please!”

That was enough to send him over, his orgasm crashing over him like a tsunami as he spilled his life force deep inside of you. He thrust a few more times inside of you, prolonging his bliss before he stilled, both of you heaving air into your lungs like you would never breathe it again. He rolled off of you, dropping his whole exhausted body weight to the floor and pulling you against his chest. You rested there for a moment, basking in the glow of your first time and listening to the rapid pulse of the blond’s heartbeat. It sang to you a sweet lullaby, lulling you to sleep in the comfort of your lover’s arms. Ominis sighed, completely content for once in his life.

“I have wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.”

Your head shot up in shock, your jaw dropping nearly down to your chest. “You mean we could have been doing that this whole time?!”

His eyes widened at your shout, processing your words for a moment before a blush spread down his neck again. He brought his hand up to his face, covering it in embarrassment as he laughed at how stupid the both of you were. You joined him after a moment, your head bouncing up and down against his vibrating chest. Once your cackles pittered off to soft chuckles, he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple and running his fingers through your hair.

“I guess we need to make up for lost time, wouldn’t you agree?”

You shuffled your body upwards, dangling your face over his and bringing your lips close for another sugary kiss. “Indeed we do.”

***

like what you read? here's more!

[wordsinhaled]

dream overworking himself and sulking and stressing everyone out in the dreaming until he basically gets sent on an enforced vacation, so he's all, well, i suppose i must go to the waking then. who do i know in the waking?

which of course results in dream showing up on hob's doorstep entirely unannounced, probably in the middle of the night too in true dream fashion, like, "i will be here a fortnight." and hob is all, okay, on the one hand, it is 3 in the morning and what the fuck, but on the other hand—delighted! this is lovely! this is amazing! because dream, who, miracle of miracles, just came back to him, is now back again and it hasn't been a hundred years, it's been a month. hob hadn't thought "come back anytime" would be taken with any sort of seriousness at all, and of course he's happy to open his home to dream (and also his heart, but he's very resolutely not thinking about that. at all)

so hob is all, "of course, love. my home is your home," totally also not dwelling on the fact that he's never actually called dream "love" before except in his head, and he ushers dream inside, and shows him around, and laments the fact that it's getting to be the middle of term so his flat is a bit of a mess. he gallantly offers dream his bed, no matter that his back is going to be protesting something fierce after two weeks of sleeping on the couch, it's dream, he should have the bed

and then hob remembers it's the middle of term and he actually has to work... he explains this to dream and assures him he'll try to be there as much as he can, and dream momentarily looks like hob's job had not occurred to him at all, but then adopts a look of utmost unaffectedness

hob told him my home is your home so dream just... hangs about in hob's flat while hob is at work. going through his refrigerator and trying all the random bits of things hob has in there, not because he actually needs to eat but because no one has offered him this type of hospitality before, their space, their home, and all the things in it. reading books from hob's bookshelves. talking to hob's plants. flicking through hob's vinyl collection; putting on random records. (incidentally, this is how he discovers glass animals...). drinking all the sparkling water hob has. feeling the dream-history of hob's presence in the space and in his possessions, and it feels almost like... being held by hob, even though that's never been something they've done

on the first night when hob wanders into his bedroom to use the bathroom at 1 am he learns that dream doesn't even sleep; he just sits up against the headboard and reads with the bedside lamp on or he literally... sits in the dark... and stares off into space, eyes glimmering faintly, like he can see things in the shadows that hob can't see

dream sticking his head out from beneath the blankets of hob's bed in the mornings, watching as hob meanders into the ensuite to shower before work and swears when he realizes that he's running very late for his first lecture. hob rushing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist and a hair-tie in his teeth. hob forgetting entirely in his haste that dream of the fucking endless is in his bed and is not actually averting his eyes. dream watching hob pick out his work clothes and making dry commentary; hob most assuredly not blushing about the fact that dream is unashamedly watching him get dressed from their bed like they're some kind of lovers when they're most definitely not that

hob comes home from work each day and his flat is slightly rearranged, but also marginally tidier than it was before, and he's a little taken off guard but also... he'd meant it that his home was dream's home and it warms a part of hob that's ached for far too long to mention to just... have dream here, to have evidence that dream has been here, even if it's temporary

hob also has to contend with the fact that apparently dream of the endless likes to go around barefoot in just skinny jeans and a t-shirt when he's neither centennial nor a stranger anymore, which is... a whole thing, a whole situation, dream's apparently got arms and a clavicle and ankles and lord... hob still remembers when dream had been buttoned up all the way to the throat centuries ago and looking at hob like hob was a fascinating specimen of insect pinned to a board, but now dream is here asking him about his workday and he has to focus on making dinner for them to regain some of his sanity about all of this

they watch a film together one evening a few days into dream's stay and at first dream is stiff on the couch but over the course of the movie he gradually relaxes into the cushions and the next time hob looks over dream's got his legs crossed and a throw pillow tucked against his chin resting on it and hob has a litany of i'm fucked i'm fucked i'm fucked just playing in his head because seeing dream for a few hours every century is one thing, but having dream in his home? having him just there? the first time dream laughs??? to have dream's coat hung up in his hall closet and his boots at the foot of the bed??? fucked

the two of them talking late into the night after the movie is over, until hob falls asleep and tips over onto dream, and he wakes himself up on the jarring boniness of dream's shoulder and the soft brush of dream's t-shirt against his cheek. hob opens his eyes to see dream's hand hovering over his head as though he'd been about to touch hob's hair, and he smiles before he can think better of it, and dream smiles, and it's so disarming... because now he knows what dream's smile looks like not just in the warm light of the new inn but also in the bluish light cast by the DVD pause screen in this small gentle moment - a tiny angular smile, so fleeting that looks like it exists just for this moment alone, but hob will remember it long after it's gone

hob also realizing dream said he would be here two weeks only so his time with dream is Finite, and reminding himself he should absolutely not get used to making breakfast for two people or to being able to just come home and tell dream things instead of jotting them in his commonplace book

dream realizing he likes being made breakfast, and he likes hob's little flat full of plants and books and music and old things lovingly preserved and curated. he likes hob's big bed covered in blankets and quilts and pillows. he likes the way the sunshine streams in through the windows of the flat. he likes the way hob makes his tea for him and the way the heat of the mug feels. he likes feeling not-alone even when he's by himself at hob's place because traces of hob are everywhere

dream realizing he likes hearing all the little things that happened in hob's day, even the things hob hesitates to tell him because he worries they're boring compared to the broad strokes highlights he used to give dream during their meetings every hundred years. he... likes... the way hob looks in the mornings, sleep tousled and yawning; and the way he looks focused and thoughtful when he's rehearsing a powerpoint presentation for a staff meeting; and he likes the way his voice sounds when he teaches zoom class; and he likes... a surprising number of things about hob gadling, really

to his immense surprise dream likes feeling like part of the human life hob gadling has built for himself

dream and hob both feeling like Something is Happening Here and not wanting to name what it is but also not wanting it to end. feeling like... something has happened but nothing even has happened, they've just been sort of... listing towards each other... and it's been no time at all but also feels like it's been all the time in the world

hob feeling upset with himself because once, he would have given anything to have two entire weeks with his stranger and now he feels like it wasn't enough. dream feeling reluctant to return to his responsibilities and unsure how such a short time around hob has unspooled him like this. it was supposed to be something that would ground and center him so that he could return to the dreaming and be his usual collected kingly self, and it has grounded him but perhaps... it has grounded him a little too much

I JUST NEED THEM TO BE DOMESTIC AND FALL IN LOVE .....glfkjlh AUGHHGHGHG

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Finding Peace Pt.10: Trust (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: No. Part 10 of the Multi Fic.

Summary: Spike wants more than he can have, but that has never deterred him before.

TW: Some sexy stuff.

Word count: 1.9k

Previous | Next

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Spike contended with the torture that he brought onto himself. His mind in disarray. His heart full of chaos. He craved peace, he craved her. He found himself at her house more often, and in her arms at a constant. He permitted himself to bask in her presence, in her touch. He lied to himself and wanted to believe that this was home. He could never be hers. Not after all that he has done. He believed that a soul would provide him with respite, with courage. All it brought him was torment and sadness.

Early morning he would wake up in her arms wanting to bask in her slumbered state. He drank her in like it was his favorite drink. He lived for her silence, her care, her presence. He would never speak the desire that laid in his heart. Instead, he was content knowing that he was the only one sharing her bed. He may not be able to claim her body, but he could claim her time, and her mind. And, hopefully, soon, her heart.

Y/n stirred in her sleep and opened her eyes. You take in Spike’s figure studying you, learning you.

“Good morning, baby boy.” You say groggily.

A smile crosses his lips, “Goo’ mornin’, love.”

His favorite part of the day was waking up in her arms. It was no secret that he was still fighting his own demons. You cared for him well. You made sure to calm his nightmares, to feed his soul and warm his skin. Though you wished for more, this platonic relationship was enough to bring you peace.

You both discussed the plans for the day. It being sunlight meant less time outside and more time together. However, today you had to leave Spike behind to be able to run errands.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” You wave at him goodbye as you exit the house.

Spike lounges around. He laid in your shared bed, taking in your mixed scents. He wondered what it would smell like after sex, lovemaking. He was careful to keep his thoughts kosher, lest he arouse himself and struggle to manage his needs.

A knock is heard at the door. Spike is irked that someone could be visiting y/n. He walks to the door and opens it to see Matteo. Spike smirks.

“Where’s y/n?” Matteo asks annoyed to see Spike.

“Out.” Spike answered.

Matteo runs a hand through his long locks. “When will she be back?”

Spike shrugs enjoying Matteo’s increasingly frustrated demeanor.

Matteo sighs and pushes a box into Spike’s hands. “This belongs to her. She left it at my place. Tell her I stopped by.” Matteo walks away.

Spike eyes Matteo’s defeated form, excited for what this meant. No more Loverboy, more time for Spike.

You eventually make it back home, hands full of bags. Night has fallen.

“The werewolf stopped by.” Spike said from the living room.

You put groceries away in the kitchen. “What did he want?” you yell back.

Spike gets annoyed and walks to the kitchen with the box that Mattero left. He slides it on the kitchen counter your way.

“You left your stuff at his house.” Spike says disdainfully.

You wait a heartbeat, two. You know that things are over between you and Matteo, but this was the final nail in the coffin. You sigh as you grab the box and walk towards your room to put it away. Spike trails behind you.

“You didn’ tell me you ended it with Mr. Dog.”

You turn to him, annoyed. “It didn’t work out.”

“Too much hair?” Spike teased.

“He wanted more. Too much.” You sigh.

Spike is reminded that your heart is out of reach. Damaged by the curse, you choose to keep others at bay. He worried that was your plan with him as well. He knew he had to try harder, find a way into and towards you.

“Spike… Can I ask you a question?’ You say getting up from where you stashed the box.

Spike braces himself, “Anythin’, doll.”

“Did you… did you… get a soul?” You look into his blue gray eyes.

Spike is taken aback. “Yes.”

A swirl of emotions overtakes you. You’re confused and enraged. Relieved and happy.

“Why?” You try to hide your feelings.

Spike doesn’t speak, too afraid of letting himself be discovered. You had to know, right? Yet here you are asking, probing. He walks closer to you, closing the space in between the two of you. He grabs your hips and places them against his, making your bodies flush against one another. He takes in your breaths, counting them.

“You know why. I wanted to give you what you wanted. What you needed.” He says against your lips.

Your mind goes blank. Your legs get weak. You want this moment to last. You want him to repeat those words again. You are caught in a swirl of sensations. You ghost your lips against his. You tease him, wanting him to hurt and yearn as much as you do. You decide that you can’t. You wanted it just like this, but you could never forget who you are and what you have to do.

You place your head on his chest. You hold him closer. Spike can read your intentions. Being rejected twice burned a whole in his chest. He knew he would try again but for now he would lick his wounds. He eventually lets go and leaves the room. He needs time for himself.

Spike walks down to his crypt in search of more clothes and respite. He did what she asked. He got a soul, just for her. It was hers to have and his to keep. As he is sulking, knee deep in his pity Buffy bursts into his crypt. She pins him against the wall, hand on his neck.

“Some things never change, eh slayer?” Spike coughs out.

“I need information.”

Buffy proceeds to drill him with questions. Spike insists that he doesn’t’ know anything. To be fair he had spent most nights hunting with y/n and sleeping by her side. All he knew was that he was in love, but he couldn’t let Buffy know that lest she turn against y/n.. Buffy is frustrated with him, angry. She leans in and gives him a rough kiss before letting him down. Spike wipes his lips with the back of his hand. A gesture that is not lost on Buffy. Her eyes widen in disbelief and anger.

“You’re quitting me? You can’t, because I’m done with you!” Buffy says defensively and walks out of the crypt.

Spike is left feeling ugly and gross. He hates Buffy’s desperate need to be felt, to be perceived and validated. He understood that she was going through things, but he was done being her escape. He was no more than a toy to her. He had no real standing or value to her, he was simply dirt, and she loved rubbing herself in it.

Spike get his things ready and walks back to y/n’s house. He may be rejected but he wasn’t done being hers. He knew what she felt. He knew her fear. He was ready to withstand it to get her to be his.

Spike barges into the house. He hears heavy breathing, slight moans. Instantly, he is enraged. Was it that damned werewolf again? Did she lie and get back with him? He could only think on how their shared bed would reek of dog and not of him. He inches closer to y/n’s room, hoping to catch her in the act. The door is slightly cracked and he can see you laying there, wearing only a t-shirt. His eyes almost roll to the back of his head in pleasure when he sees that it’s you pleasuring yourself. No werewolf but no him either. He can’t see your precious hole, hidden by the shirt… his shirt. However, he can see you writhing in pleasure, small moans escaping your lips. He is hard and uncomfortable. He is desperate to jump in, to teach you what he really felt like. But he opted for watching. He felt dirty but excited. You gasped as you reached the most sensitive parts of yourself. You deliberately teased yourself, edging your release. You continue to rise in pleasure, getting closer to the end. You take one big breath and exhale Spike’s name as your body convulses in pleasure.

Spike stands at the other side of the door, shocked and giddy. He knew it! He knew that you were as caught up in him as he was caught up in you. He now needed to find a way to make you fold, to give in and want him openly. He remembered to walk away before you got up from the bed. He ran to the bathroom to hide. His raging erection an evident problem. He wanted release but knew he could not work on himself as fast as he would like. He tried to think of things that grossed him out, but his thoughts kept being interrupted by the sight of you writhing in pleasure to the idea of him. He caves and unbuttons then unzips his pants. He springs his cock free, large and hard. His tip is red and angry. He spits into his hand, his least preferred method of lubrication. Again, he catches a glimpse in his mind, of your fingers coated in your slick. He pre-cums. He gets to work making fast work of his erection. Fast and deliberate strokes. He would like to slow down and savor it but he was worried you might catch him. He rubs a thumb over his head, teasing himself. He breathes through gritted teeth with his head thrown back. He feels himself at the verge of pleasure. He feels his hard cock filling with his seed. His balls are hard and ready. He replays the image of you saying his name as you release, over and over again in his mind until he himself finds release.

“Y/n…” He whispers your name so as to not get caught.

His seed spills over his pants down to the floor. A knock is heard at the door. He quickly cleans himself up and the floor. Flushes the evidence and washes his hands. He is satiated for now. Touching himself will never compare to the real thing.

He exits the room, eyes half lidded and breath shallow.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Are you?” He asks back, a half-smile on his face.

You blush and rush into the bathroom to wash your hands and get rid of the evidence of your night of pleasure.

"Nice shirt." Spike grins, when you come out of the bathroom, as he points out that you're wearing his shirt.

"It-- it's comfy." You stutter as you walk away.

The rest of the night is spent in silence. Silence while hunting. Silence while dining. Silence while laying down in bed. Spike knew a secret that he struggled to keep it. You felt the suspicion that he knew something. Spike replayed in his head, all night, your solo extracurricular activities.

“Wha’ did you do while I was gone?” Spike teased.

You blushed in the dark. “Nothing, just blew off some steam. Took care of myself.” You found ways to not lie.

Spike smiled, his shit eating grin. He knew she couldn’t see him in the dark but he smiled, nevertheless.

“Sounds like a good time.” Spike cuddled closer to you.

Your back was to him. His arm was wrapped around your body. Spike knew what it felt to touch heaven but not get in. He knew what it felt to touch grace without giving himself some. He hoped that one day he could be the one inside you, making you writhe in pleasure and breathe labored breaths. He hoped that while he thrusts into you, you can feel his love and his intentions. Lovemaking was his goal. Sex was reserved for those lesser than you. He hoped that you would surrender to him, to let him rule you, and through that trust he would be your slave.

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (6)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Hazing, torture and mild gore ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 6: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

“Ada,” it came out as a caution, both warning her to back off and reminding you to tread carefully.

That didn’t faze her; she maintained her usual sociable disposition, though something about it seemed ingenuine, as if she were the lead actress in a stage play. “Is that how you greet your sire?” she teased.

Leon had briefly told you about her; how much she enjoyed political intrigue and mind games, how cruel she could be and the way she traded secrets and declarations of love like currency. You sensed there was more than he was letting on, especially when you’d asked him those famous words, “Did you love her?”

He stiffened, his hollowed-out stare burning a hole in the wall before him, and the only sound you could hear was the clock ticking in the background. “I thought I did,” he finally replied.

And that was the end of the conversation.

“We were just in the middle of something important,” Leon contended. The pregnant pause that ensued hinted that her intrusion was unwelcome.

Undeterred, she slinked down onto the velvety couch beside you, draping her arm across its back near your shoulders. “What’s more important than introducing her to our clan members?” She toyed absentmindedly with your hair between her fingers, grooming you like a house cat, frowning whenever she saw a split end.

“She’s not—”

“Ready?” Ada suggested coyly. “You really need to have more faith in your progeny.”

“My dear.” She framed your face tenderly with her palms, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek. “You did so well in front of the Prince.”

Taking one of her hands away, she rummaged through her satin evening clutch, decorated with pearls. “I heard you’re a fan of these…”

Your eyes perked up at unmistakable French Blue paper packaging, with its distinctive winged Gallic helmet logo on the front. How did she know? You might have risked being labeled as a snob, but if there was a brand of cigarettes that made you weak in the knees, this would be it.

“Gauloises, unfiltered.” She smiled knowingly, passing you the packet you often associated with the likes of Camus and Sartre, intellectuals you admired. “Flown in all the way from Paris.”

Another hand grabbed your shoulder. “Don’t,” Leon urged, reminding you of the vow you had taken earlier to listen only to him.

A nagging voice of reason in your head concurred with him, but the hurt you felt from learning the true nature of your Embrace was louder, drowning it out with its howls. You weren’t about to be the better person and let things lie, you were a creature of passion after all. 

Shoving his hand off you, you accepted Ada’s gift graciously, thanking her as you peeled the top of the packet open. Sniffling softly, you dried away the rest of your tears with the back of your hand before offering her a cigarette from the pack. “She’s got manners,” Ada remarked appreciatively.

“Only to you it seems,” Leon grumbled as he folded his arms like a petulant child.

Fishing one out with her slender fingers, she placed it between her lips and you did the same after. It was only when she struck the match to light your cigarette that you involuntarily shrank away from the flame in slight terror, like some sort of survival instinct had kicked in. It reminded you of the time Leon flinched in the cafe when he opened his lighter.

“Rötschreck,” she commented. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

The aromatic taste of strong, dark tobacco hit you and you almost cried for a second time that night. You had only just begun to adjust to your new diet of blood that you thought you’d never be able to savor anything else remotely human again. As you shared a silent smoke with the woman who’d been demonized by your sire, she grazed your hand with her fingertips, speaking up, “Come, it’s time to meet the rest of your family.”

At this, Leon got to his feet, standing between you and Ada. “No,” he protested. “I’m her sire, I will take her.”

Ada looked between you and Leon with an amused expression on her face, until focusing her attention entirely onto you. “Well?”

Rejecting his advances, you glared at him with scorn, while circling around to join Ada by her side. Perhaps it was immature and you would live to regret it, but at that moment, you wanted nothing more than to stick it to him after what he had done to you. A look of incredulity and betrayal was plastered across his face, while on Ada’s it was one of smug triumph.

A sire who can’t control his childe? Ada’s voice gloated in his head as she strutted off with you.

He pushed it back with a hostile snarl, following close behind so as not to lose sight of the two of you.

The clan meeting that Ada had raved about was designated in the bioreactors room within the West Area. Odd choice for social networking event. Then again, there weren’t many options in this monolith of steel and concrete.

“Welcome to the Rose Garden,” she declared proudly, as two men in uniformed suits and Venetian masks swung open the doors, bowing and inviting you inside. 

“Metaphorically, not literally, of course — especially in this mind numbing place,” she whispered the last part of the sentence to you in jest, as a slight towards Wesker. “We usually host them in more… inspired locations, but this was the best we could manage on such short notice.”

The room was decorated with romantic rose tendrils, and an ethereal canopy of soft white fabric draped from the center of the ceiling, cascading down the walls. Cocktail tables were scattered along the sides, lined with antique lace cloth that would have cost a fortune to procure. 

The minute you set foot in the venue, everyone turned towards you and the room fell into a hushed silence. They stood still like mannequins, pausing halfway between chatting and drinking. It was different to the maliciousness you had experienced with the cliquish vampires before by the rampway. Here, they observed you instead with a look of compulsion, curiously appraising your worth like a prized lamb brought to slaughter.

“Go on.” Ada nudged you forward gently. “Say hello to your elders.”

Glancing over at Leon, you noticed the agitation in his eyes. He remained mute, aware of the impending debacle yet powerless to stop it. You didn’t quite know what to expect as you edged forward hesitantly, while the rest of the crowd parted slightly like the Red Sea, eyeing you as if you were being auctioned off to the highest bidder.

The first of them started to sniff you impulsively and when you shied away, the others held you in place, pushing you along. The unsolicited violations of your person continued, growing with intensity as they prodded at your body, pinched your skin, and licked your face. You would have wrestled your way out of their grasp, if not for those wearing long brass fingernails, their tips sharpened like knives, threatening to slice you if you dared to resist. Instead, you stifled a whimper, masking your fear and revulsion to maintain a facade of confidence and composure.

As your superiors, they were allowed to do anything they wanted to you, and you couldn’t complain. You were insignificant; a drop in the ocean. Just another fledgling who had barely survived a few nights in the world of darkness, invisible in the grand scheme of things until you proved yourself.

From afar, Leon watched the degrading display as the other Kindred ripped at pieces of your clothing, claiming the fabric for themselves. They waved them in the air, tucking them into their purses like souvenirs they’d won at a fairground. Through gritted teeth, he admonished the woman beside him, “Did you really need to bring her here to be humiliated?”

She let out a huff of criticism. “Your short-sightedness in such matters is disappointing. I merely wanted to see how she would react, and if she was good enough, as you claim.”

“For what?” he seethed. “To be used in one of your schemes?”

Coughing out a derisive laugh, she traced his jawline with her index finger. “Now, now, I suggest you handle yourself as well as your beloved fledgling is doing.”

“I’ve had enough of this sick show.” Twisting his head away from her caress, he stormed off, heading in your direction as the attention began to draw towards him instead.

Without a word, he removed his blazer, placing it over your shoulders to protect your modesty. A couple of ridiculing giggles and endearing ‘awws’ erupted from the audience. 

At that point, you’d zoned out as a defense mechanism to cope with the embarrassment. After all, it was kind of like acting sometimes, wasn’t it? Their voices sounded distant to you until you slowly came back into your present body. As you peered up at the man who had come to your aid, his unwavering demeanor grounded you, filling you with a sense of gratitude. Why did he have to lie to you about your Embrace? He had promised to earn back your trust, but all he managed was to deliver a slap to the face. And now, here he was, steadfast like a rock by your side. You couldn’t understand him.

He was about to drag you away when a man with shaggy, medium-length hair, stepped forward. Dressed in a burnt caramel leather jacket and a matching embroidered waistcoat, he seemed to have quite a taste for fashion and being in the limelight.

“Ugh, not this guy again,” Leon muttered under his breath.

“Hey, Sancho, come on. Let the señorita stay, the party isn’t over yet!” The man beckoned the both of you over enthusiastically to join his social circle at one of the drink tables.

“Only for a moment, Luis,” Leon negotiated. “We’ve got things to attend to — Prince’s orders.”

Luis raised his arms in mock surrender, but continued to implore you with more exaggerated hand waves. 

“Avoid agreeing to anything with him at all costs,” Leon warned, keeping his voice low as he spoke in your ear. “He’ll indebt you for the rest of your unlife.”

You nodded compliantly, having had your fair share of deals for tonight.

The crowd went back to whatever they were doing as chatter and excitement filled the room again. When you approached, Luis made a grand gesture of taking your hand in his, kissing it as he bowed before you. “What a fine Princess!” he swooned. 

“No wonder this Yanqui here wants to keep you all to himself, eh?” Giving Leon a cheeky wink, he settled into conversation by introducing you to the other Kindred around him.

It was then where you understood how it was like to be privy to all the gossip surrounding you. Luis invited you to the Balls and Carnivale the Toreador were organizing this year, which you held off on giving a definite answer to for now. Some popular topics that came up included: a Kindred artist’s recent foray into photographing bodies in various forms of bloated decay, with rumors that she kept her subjects in her basement under suitable conditions; and another Kindred who had made substantial progress in molding himself to resemble a stained-glass panel that had captivated him. It was only a matter of time before Leon was subjected to similar scrutiny.

“Did you know your sire doesn’t keep any ghouls or retainers?” one of Luis’ friends mentioned. “I have no idea how on earth he gets things done!”

“Who watches over him when he sleeps?” another gasped audaciously. “I could never!”

You spotted Leon pursing his lips in guarded response, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with his hands behind his back. They were insulting him for not having human servants and bodyguards, some imbued with more power than others, but all blood bound to ensure their loyalty. He had informed you about blood bonds in passing, and from what little you knew, it wasn’t pleasant. For once, you admired him for standing up for what he believed in and not taking advantage of others in this regard — even though he had ironically done so with you, a fact that still pained you.

“Perhaps he’s capable enough on his own,” you countered. 

All eyes were on you. Luis cocked his head, revealing an intrigued smile on his lips.

“I find it impressive,” you added, feeling the ghostly trail of Leon’s pinkie finger against your own in appreciation.

“How about you, señorita? Will you follow in your sire’s footsteps, or will you ghoul?”

Before the discussion could go on further, you heard the Sheriff's distinct voice at the entrance, summoning you and Leon to accompany her for a briefing. Saved by the bell, you sighed in relief as you made your way out of the garden, which was teeming with hidden thorns.

━━━━━━━━━━━

As you wandered back towards the server room in the East Area, Leon had kindly given you a heads up about the Kindred who often holed herself up there. Belonging to the Nosferatu clan meant that she would bear certain deformities. Even so, when she swiveled around in her armchair, you couldn’t contain the tiny gasp that escaped your lips. 

Most of the woman’s head was covered in bald patches, leaving only a few straggly strands which fell in a matted mess. Her face was filled with ulcerating sores which leaked pus down her otherwise pristine, crisp white shirt. When she grinned, you see her two front teeth, elongated and jagged compared to the rest. Peering at you through her spectacles, her spindly fingers, shaped like claws, drummed rhythmically on the computer desk.

Hm, so the tech ban didn’t actually apply to the Prince’s entourage, you thought.

“Afraid?” Jill snickered, glancing at you briefly before resting her back against one of the many blinking tower servers in the room.

The other woman cackled, seemingly enjoying an established rapport with Jill. “Name’s Hunnigan, lick.” You learnt that was a rather derogatory slang for Kindred. Guess she didn’t like your reaction to her looks much.

“Typical Toreador,” she tutted. “Vanity won’t get you anywhere.”

Leon stepped in before the conversation could take a turn for the worse. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Shall we get down to business?”

“Copy that,” Hunnigan relented, though not without flashing you a cursory glance. With a tap of a button, a dozen different mugshots of people you didn’t recognize, along with their identification particulars were projected onto the screens in front of her.

“The assailants,” she presented. “All fake IDs unsurprisingly, but I’ve still included the intel along with what Jill extracted from them into your briefing files.”

At this, Jill snorted, her mood souring as she bellowed, “Got fuck all from these guys. Kept repeating the same tired shit over and over again.”

“Like what?” Leon pressed.

“See for yourself.” Jill signaled towards the screens as Hunnigan brought up a video of what looked like an interrogation taking place.

There were angry snarls and barking followed by tortured screams from the man’s mouth. You saw Jill's shadow captured on the side of the reel, along with her trusty companion, the Doberman, blood and froth dribbling from its mouth. The man was chained to the ground and sobbing violently. Pockets of flesh on his chest had been mauled by the animal.

“Answer me! Who the fuck sent you?”

“Nobody,” the man blubbered mindlessly. “Nobody said they were nobody…”

Hunnigan raised an eyebrow at the screen, muttering, “He’s gone mad.”

You heard a jarring crunching sound and wished you hadn’t looked at the recording again. Jill’s boot was planted on the man’s wrist, which had been twisted and broken in a weird angle. You winced and felt Leon interlace his fingers through yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand soothingly. Somehow, you couldn’t bear to pull away, finding solace in his touch. It was disconcerting how much you wanted to feel more of him — the man who had a hand in making your unlife a living hell. Maybe there’s a truth to people bonding after experiencing trauma.

Another harrowing scream and a series of rapid fire questions followed.

“What were your orders?” Jill snapped.

The man’s breathing was ragged, interspersed with whimpers of pain. “Em-embrace them a-all…” he repeated continuously like a fervent prayer.

She interrupted him sharply, her words slicing through the air like a blade. “Where were you before this?”

He looked up in confusion, his eyes glazed and blank, as if he were stumped and at a loss for words. “I-I don’t… remember.”

There was a heavy sigh as her final question resounded across the four walls of the room. “Identify yourself.”

“I don’t—”

With a flick of her hand, the Doberman pounced forward, lacerating the man’s throat with its teeth, tearing it out as he gurgled on his own blood and the light gradually faded from his eyes. The recording stopped.

A wave of nausea enveloped you as you tried not to hurl whatever you had drunk that night. Leon hand tightened in yours as he gazed at you sympathetically before pulling away to address the two women. “Seems to me like they were tampered with. Someone wiped their memories and Dominated them into servitude.”

“Maybe even a bit of Dementation,” Hunnigan added insightfully, folding her hands into a contemplative, triangular pose under her chin.

Dementation, the power to shatter minds and inflict them with madness. A very smart observation from the Nosferatu, Leon reflected. But that could mean a Malkavian was involved, or someone who’d picked up the skill. “How many of the captives are left?”

“Three,” Jill replied plainly.

From a dozen to three. “Seriously?” he chastised. “Was it necessary to off all of them?”

Raising a finger to silence him, she insisted, “Three is more than enough.”

“As long as you keep it that way,” he argued, placing his arms akimbo and shaking his head in annoyance. “We need to recover their memories somehow.”

“Well, you’re in luck, Leon,” Hunnigan simpered. “We have a memory expert right under our noses. One of the scientists working here for Wesker.”

Resting her hands behind her head, she leaned back lazily, exchanging wry glances with Jill. “Thing is, she’s a little hard to pin down. You might have to go through her Regent, though that’s another slippery one.”

“A Tremere?” he blurted out caustically. That just made his job ten times harder.

“What’s wrong with the Tremere?” you posed innocently.

“Everything,” came the unison reply, as three pairs of eyes darted in your direction.

“Oh, you have a lot to learn, lick,” Hunnigan leered. You guessed that nickname wasn’t going away anytime soon, though you were beginning to understand when to pick your battles and when not. “But that’s your sire’s job.”

“Fuckin’ usurpers, witches in disguise,” Jill spat, her insults laced with venom. “Don’t trust ’em.”

“At least they make themselves somewhat useful,” Hunnigan countered, pushing her glasses up along the bridge of her nose.

“Anyway, I digress,” she said, rapping her fingers on the desk again out of habit. “Another tip for you, because I’m nice: the Bakers.”

“God, no,” he groaned, rubbing the temples at the sides of his head. He’d never met them personally either, but had heard the literal horror stories.

“They’re your port of call for Dementation and the Cobweb, also known as the Malkavian psychic network,” she instructed, clicking away furiously at her computer to add in further details to the files she intended to handover to him.

“More like, madness network,” Jill interjected, sharing a cynical laugh with Hunnigan before giving her a high five. You didn’t see the humor in it at all, but they appeared to gel with their inside jokes like long-time pals.

“Just in case, I’ll send out some feelers and keep my ear to the ground.” An evident buzzing sound followed as a small swarm of flies emerged from underneath Hunnigan’s blouse into the space. 

You looked on in shock, your mouth hanging open.

“I must admit, I’m a bit of a show off.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you brazenly before turning towards Leon. “And you know how to reach me.”

“How could I ever forget your rats, Hunnigan?” He forced out a tight-lipped smile.

“So, both of you can control animals?” you proposed, still coming to terms with what you had just seen displayed in front of you.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jill grunted, pushing herself away from the tower as she paced around the room in agitation, seemingly growing impatient with your ignorance.

Hunnigan, however, appreciated your interest in the topic and proceeded to explain, “Slight difference there — mine are mostly for communication and info gathering. Jill likes her dogs; they’re better for attacking.” 

Gangrels like Jill tended to be closer to the Beast than most Kindred were, and also considered themselves as survivalists and fighters. That, coupled with her job as the Sheriff, explained why her approach to Animalism was on the more aggressive side, as compared to Hunnigan’s.

“Right, got it,” you nodded tersely, grateful for the clarification but unsure of what to make of her. “Thanks.”

She nodded back before handing over a thumb drive to Leon. “Guard this with your life.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he promised, swiping the device and tucking it into one of his pockets as he gave her a mock salute.

What a goofball. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you tried to suppress a snicker as he winked at you. Your heart skipped a beat, figuratively speaking, and you lowered your gaze. Needless to say, another bout of conflicting feelings bubbled to the surface. How could someone you detested moments ago also arouse such warmth and affection within you? Why did you have to meet him in this unfortunate way? If the world he lived in didn’t exist and he was just a normal patron, maybe the two of you could’ve stood a chance. But then again, nothing was normal these days. You kicked yourself for even considering it. The man had actually turned out to be a monster after all, though at the same time, he wasn’t.

Jill watched the entire exchange, unimpressed. “Jeez, get a room already. The next thing you know you’re both biting each other and turning this place into the bloody Nile.”

“Not on my watch,” Hunnigan threatened, the flies around her buzzing indignantly.

Leon appeared to take their complaints in his stride, flipping his bangs to the side and breaking out into a charming, boyish smile. “Anything else you ladies need from us or shall we take our leave?”

“Yeah, you still think the Sabbat did it?” Jill inquired before jabbing her thumb in your direction. “Trying to turn her into a shovelhead?”

“What’s a—”

Leon glared at Jill as he interrupted you. “It’s one of the ways the Sabbat, a sect of vampire supremacists, prefer to Embrace their kind. After a Mass Embrace, they’d bash you on the head with a shovel and throw you into a pit to bury you alive.”

“See who manages to crawl out,” she added, running her tongue over the sharp edges of her teeth with a sadistic glint in her eye. “Survival of the fittest.”

“And to answer your question, Jill,” he continued, “the Sabbat’s probably involved one way or another, but something tells me there are more players in this.”

“Good guess, pretty boy,” she purred. “I’ll be expecting regular updates on this case.”

“Noted,” he replied bluntly, turning on his heel and briskly guiding you out of the room.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On your trip back to his apartment, Leon suddenly breached the uncomfortable silence that hung heavily between you. “Stay with me for now, so I can watch over you.”

You eyed him skeptically. Did he really think he could pull this trick on you? “Yeah, fat chance. I’m fine where I am.”

“You know when Luis talked about ghouling? Well, you won’t have to do that, as long as I’m there,” he tried to persuade you.

“I could be just as capable,” you contended, though the fear of entering uncharted territory played on the back of your mind.

“Could be,” he stressed, as you pinched your lips together into a disgruntled frown. 

“There are many who know how much you mean to me.” His honeyed voice filled your ears and again, your stomach fluttered at his confession. 

You imagined his lips searing kisses onto your skin and hated yourself for it. He broke you and made you who you were. Fucking bastard. You wanted to lash out and hit him again and again, until you didn’t have to see his handsome face under a layer of blood and bruises, but you couldn’t. When push came to shove, you were weak.

“They’ll use it against us,” he claimed. “Let’s not even talk about the Sabbat, who won’t give a shit about killing you on sight.”

Leon 1, you 0. The bell had sounded and he was the winner for this round. Your mouth twisted in displeasure at the unfair results. There was a long pause until, eventually, you spoke up, “I’ll stay, but the cafe is my turf. You’re not going to order me about there.”

He gave you a sidelong smile. “I guess we can come to an agreement.” Noticing your restlessness, he quirked an eyebrow and appended his statement with, “Anything else?”

“There is,” you began tentatively, the urge to rile him up was getting the better of you. “But first, a smoke?” With lightning speed, your packet of Gauloises was already pressed flat against his chest. Good ol’ Celerity — you could get used to this.

He glanced at the offensive Cornflower blue packet and scrunched his face in resentment. Placing his hand over your ‘offering’, he pushed it down coolly and snorted, “Cute, but I’ve got my own,” while tapping at the pack in his trouser pocket.

“Suit yourself.” You shrugged, lighting your cigarette with the box of matches Ada had left you. The flinching wasn’t as bad this time, like she’d said.

Exhaling thick plumes of smoke like a femme fatale in an old noir film, you declared, “I want separate beds, non-negotiable.”

A sardonic smirk crept onto his lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

[fantasy-things-and-such]

OC questionnaire

Thank you for the tags Here, here and Here by @the-golden-comet, @the-ellia-west and @willtheweaver. sorry for being late >~<

My questions:

1. What is one hobby you have that may surprise others? 2. What is one possession that you would not part with under any circumstances? 3. What is one supernatural ability you wish you had? 4. Who do you trust the most? 5. Where would you like to live, if you could choose? 6. What keeps you motivated 7. How much water do you drink on average? 8. Favorite phase of the moon and why? 9.Who's your favorite person and why?

Lets get started!

1. What is one hobby you have that may surprise others?

Lilli: "I weave. People aways find that surprising 'cause my hands are soft."

Tira: "uh... I play the guitar! I don't come off very musical, though."

Camellia: "Singing." *Lilli laughs* "What?! Cheverouse likes it too."

Erain: "Hobbies? man... Its not really a hobby, but I dooo bake."

2. What is one possession that you would not part with under any circumstances?

Lilli: "this pendant. It's the only thing i have from my mother."

Tira: "hmm... oh! Probably this

Camellia: "don't be ridiculous."

Erain: "one thing? Practically, the E.S.K- but if we're talking personal belongings, this little doodle that my baby sister drew before i left. I keep it right here, in my shirt pocket. For good luck."

3. What is one supernatural ability you wish you had?

Lilli: "healing."

Tira: "Flight! well, i guess its not really a wish anymore."

Camellia: "Foresight, i guess."

Erain: "healing. by far the most useful, in my eyes."

4. Who do you trust the most?

Lilli: "...Millie, my sister."

Tira: "the most? mmm... Lilliwiess is a contender, for sure. I think she's number one, actually."

Camellia: "is 'myself' an acceptable answer? no? fine... i guess anyone in my squad, then."

Erain: "Jayson. He's a good leader."

5. Where would you like to live, if you could choose?

Lilli: "with Tira, so probably Eastern tarn."

Tira: "With Lilli! ...she said with me, didn't she."

Camellia: "er... i dunno. home? I've never thought about it."

Erain: "Northern or eastern tarn. actually, Kjerag might not be too bad...hmmm."

6. What keeps you motivated?

Lilli: "my squadmates."

Tira: "My unborn sister. or brother, i don't know, actually. I'll get to see them once I graduate here... I cant wait."

Camellia: "spite." *Tira and Lilli both laugh.* "of these two fuckers. i swear."

Erain: "Family. gotta keep pushin' for them, y'know? its the least i can do after everything they've done for me."

How much water do you drink on average?

Lilli: "uh... alot. im not sure. I drink when I'm thirsty and after sparring, so..."

Tira: "oh, probably... 4 liters? rough estimate? that feels like alot, is that a lot? I'm probably totally wrong."

Camellia: "fuck if i know."

Erain: "based on the amount of excercise we do as knights, probably alot. i'd say alot, though, mabye somewhere in the ballpark of 3-ish liters."

Favorite phase of the moon and why?

Lilli: "mmm... Full. its majestic."

Tira: "...I dont like the moon, actually. it.. has some bad memories. so New moon, i guess?"

Camellia: "probably half moon. I was born under a half moon."

Erain: "Half moon, mostly for practical reasons... it gives light on a good night. Plus, it's damn pretty to admire."

Who's your favorite person and why?

Lilli: "Tira. why is this a question?"

Tira: "...Why is this a question...? my answer's obviously Lilliwiess, but..."

Camellia: "favorite person? fuck me... Cheverouse isnt too bad."

Erain: "uhhhh.... My baby sister. she's just... so cute."

Your questions:

What's your favorite letter? do you read? if so, what's your favorite book? Who's your favorite Least-favorite person?

Tagging(gently):

@wyked-ao3 @aesthetic-writer18 @emilynotfound @agirlandherquill +open tag

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Hi Shalom, I am the anon who sent an ask about calling a shul last week. Before giving updates I would like to apologise for vomiting my anxiety all over the ask. We're strangers and you didn't ask for the job of calming my anxieties. I apologise for that.

Also, thank you for your faith in me, it gave me strength, because I did go to the shul. I was incredulous at myself, but I did do it. I had to go back to my home during the day as I had forgotten my ID but I still went back instead of giving up (the journey was one hour and a half total, next time I will remember).

The security literally used interrogator techniques on me, which I realised only later. I totally understand, I didn't know anyone there, I was not Jewish by my own confession, I could have been anyone. Anyway, I said if I shouldn't be here that evening it was fine (I didn't want to pose a security risk) he said "No! You can go tonight we talked about you."

What can I say about the experience but that it was- so much better than I expected. First, everyone was so opened and relaxed. I talked with two women behind me. I said it was my first time and asked some questions, and one of them was so nice. Said she couldn't read either the first time, that she had learned. Turns out she was a convert. I hesitated to tell her I wasn't Jewish, but I did. One thing I want to be is honest. Those people are literally putting themselves in danger, opening their space to a stranger, I owe them at least three time my honesty.

At one point during the office, I got teary eyes. The emotion of being there, honestly it surprised me, I don't really now what got me so emotional. Another moment, I felt like I was flying, wrapped in the singing of everyone around me.

Another thing is I was finally hearing people say Hashem, and Shma Israel and Shabbat Shalom and talking about the destruction of the Temple. It was as if I had finally found the correct dimension, you know?

It was so good. At the end the lady gave me her number told me I could text and we could drink coffee this week so that she could answer my questions.

The guy at the entrance told me to call the secretary to begin the procedure of conversion. I never said I wanted to, but apparently me wanting to assist to an office count as wanting to convert.

So, this has been a wonderful experience. I still I'm not sure if I want to convert or not. I will contact the lady. What I know is I want to learn everything, I want to go back to shul. What I don't know is, what level of observance can I sustain realistically over the term of my life? am I ready to confront my relatives reaction to this? And am I ready to put my children in danger over my calling to Judaism?

I will reflect and ask questions and think.

Thank you for reading, have a great day!

I want to start with: I am, genuinely, very proud of you. It might sound odd, but it is such an intimidating first step to take, and I can empathize with how scary it is. Additionally, I understand where you were coming from, and understood that these anxieties are hard to talk about with, really, anyone, but they need to go somewhere. Every step of the conversion process is a community project, even questioning if judaism is right will take a community to address. We can't survive alone in this, and I think part of exploring conversion is learning how to be in community. I think many of us grew up in hyper-individualistic communities to the point where we internalize shame by "stooping down" to seeking help. I don't want to assume what your situation is, but it's definitely been something I personally have had to contend with (and frankly, I still am contending with). So I truly understand why you went about your feelings the way you did - you didn't cause harm to me, I didn't feel like a therapist, and you it seemed like you needed community. That's nothing to be ashamed or guilty for. So long as we all remember that I am not an expert, I think we can at least have a heart-to-heart. My overall point is: I don't want for you to feel ashamed of needing community and asking for support, and I hope you don't feel that way. I'm glad you contacted me, and feel honored that you chose me to speak about it with. That's crazy to think about (in a good way, of course)!

I truly have so much faith in your path, and I found myself relating heavily in what you've expressed. I absolutely don't want to tell you what you ought to do, but I really hope you continue this journey no matter where it leads you. Keep asking those big questions - learning about what your needs are is so important. I can't answer them for you, and I don't want to assume that you want me to answer those for me, but if you ever want to talk, know that this blog is an option if you want it to be. All of this is a community effort. Chase the happiness. You deserve that, literally, at the very least

[eventually27]

Do hurt/comfort for JPM! I mean when he is very very sad (maybe something about his mother and his childhood?) He’s very fluffy after all and needs hugs too! 🤣

Oh! so fluffy and needs alllllll the cuddles.

Comfort..

Comforting James Patrick March when he's having a bad day, it was his mother's birthday.

As you and James sat in room 64, you could tell something was wrong. You didn't normally sit in this room either, but maybe he found comfort in here. James held his glass in his hand, watching the alcohol swirl round and round. He wasn't himself. New guests had arrived today, and it was his opportunity to have some fun. He should have been in a good mood.

"James, what's the matter? You don't seem like yourself, my love, " you said with concern.

" Ah, yes, today is a day that brings back many memories for me. After all these years, I am still affected by such days. Today is my mother's birthday," he said, still swirling around his drink. James hadn't really spoken about his family much before, but you knew it was a sore subject. Especially by the look on his face. You knew it was a big contender to why he revelled in darkness. You moved and sat closer to him, "i dont like to see you unhappy, you know you can talk to me about anything. Talk to me about how you are feeling, it might help you to feel better, " you said while placing your hand over his.

James gripped your hand and started to talk, " My mother and father were religious, very strong beleivers, its why I loath it the way I do, my mother done as she was told, left my father to act how he did, with no consequences, he was the meanest man alive and she was his sidekick. She was no mother, she did not care for her son as she should of, Thou shall not bear false witness, but they spread their corrupt beleifs like disease, a disease which I was immune to. The worst thing in the world is religion. Let me tell you that. "

You felt the coldness in his voice as he spoke. It sent chills through your body. You had never seen James this way before. You had never seen him affected by something so much, he had never really opened up to you before, never expressed his deepest emotions, you had revelled in darkness together, you had seen eachothers darkest thoughts but never experienced his sadness, you could not begin to imagine what his father must have done to create such resentment.

" I'm sorry you experienced that James, you didn't deserve to be treated that way, you deserved to be treated with love, but this helps me to understand why you have such a tight grip on your feelings" you said, squeezing James hand. You wished you could go back in time and change things for him and protect him.

"A man only has a grip as tight as he does because he knows that if he let's go, even slightly, he will hurl himself into the abyss, but my dear, you are a revelation, your just like me but at the same time your filled with so much light, a light that guides me" James finally took his eyes away from his glass, he spoke while looking you at, something about him saying this while looking in your eyes made it have more meaning, his tone of voice, his words, they bought warmth to you. You took James drink from his hand and placed it on the table. You took your arms and placed them around him, and in return, he placed his around you. You wanted him in your arms, you wanted to take away some sadness, you would absorb it from him if you could. He sunk into your arms, and for a moment, you just sat in silence wrapped up in each other, and that was enough. You didn't need to speak to feel eachothers love.

"I'll always be your light James, I'll always be hear to guide you, care for you and love you, now your new guests arrived this morning, so let's go and have some fun shall we?" You said with a devilish look.

"Ah Dearest this is why I love you, in your black heart or hearts your just like me"

[swampstew]

Roronoa Zoro the hunter

Oh shiiit its Yandere time! Zoro was lost when he stumbled across you and all bets are off. What's a mere mortal to a beast like him?

WC: 821 CW: Spicy; not-gender specific reader; Yandere Roronoa Zoro; kidnapping reader; consent/non con/dubious consent and maybe Stockholm syndrome?; unhealthy relationship dynamics; reader is a pirate now.

To be fair, Zoro was already kind of insane. He just carries that aura of a man operating on a completely different wavelength. He doesn’t question his own thoughts, just follows them blindly and it’s been working well for him. Zoro didn’t think anything of it when he thought about taking you as he laid eyes on you, feeling a possessiveness he’d never known overcome him entirely. Watching you with a hunter’s eye for an entire day as he formulated what he was going to do about you. By day’s end, Zoro is on the cusp of madness – he cannot leave you behind to fend for yourself, to fall vulnerable to weaker men than him. He waits until you’re asleep and in the dead of night steals into your bedroom and whisks you away.

A miracle you hadn’t woken up, truly. Zoro had gotten lost for two hours heading back to the ship and he had to fight off a pack of wolves and a bear before he made it back; all while carrying you over his shoulder. When you finally open your eyes, his meet yours as he hovers over your frame. You’re tucked in his cot and he’s watching you with a scowl on his face, the bottle of liquor within drinking distance. “Finally!” he exclaims as you blink in confusion, then horror as you realize you’re not at home anymore and this isn’t a dream. “So yeah, sorry this isn’t ideal for you but the world is a hard place and you’ll be a lot safer within my reach. Sit tight and meet the crew, you’ll be great at this.”

Zoro met you later with a bruised and bandaged face, swollen lumps all over his head as he showed his injuries. “They told me I’m an asshole but I stand by what I said. The world is about to go through radical change and you’ll survive by standing behind me.” You get to land your own hit before he pins you to the bed under his brute strength. “Try and get out from under me using all your strength, I won’t do anything except be dead weight. If you can’t, accept that you’re mine. If you can, I will deliver you back to your home.” Low and behold, you cannot free yourself. Over the course of twelve hours, you lay pinned underneath the marimo who had long grown aroused over your efforts. Finally losing his patience, “you lost, little one. Accept that fate has put me in your path because you will never be safe without me,” all the while grinding against you. You quiver as you rapidly decide how you’ll respond.

It didn’t matter in the end. He holds you against your will/you join in as the crew continues their journey for the One Piece. Aside from you never having sailed or pirated in your life, you are quick to adapt and the crew is excellent at keeping you alive, none more so than Zoro. He doesn’t bother you all that much in the beginning, preferring to watch you from a distance throughout the day and sometime throughout the night as he watches you sleep from his makeshift bed on the floor since you’re in his. He won’t make a move until further into your captivity when you have a better mutual understanding and respect for one another. He’s a blood lusting monster and you’re his innocent pet. It inflates his perverted ego as he privately revels in how he’ll devour you when he breaks through that last boundary.

It’s like a switch flipped inside him – Zoro had a consistent schedule of sleeping, exercising, eating, napping, training, engaging in buffoonery and then the drinking in between all that and after. Now he has you to contend with and it invades his every sense. He wants to prioritize you and lock you in his bedroom to play but he has a duty to serve and he takes it seriously, confidently. The days at sea can be numerous and its on those when a darker side of him comes out. One that wants to corner you and mount you. He’ll play cat and mouse, let the tension rise as he shows up everywhere you are with that lustful gaze – not doing anything just watching and drinking – until finally when you think you’ve escaped his sight, he pounces on you and whisks you to his bedroom. He’ll always treasure those first few times he did that: your startled and scared cries as he snatched you up, throwing you on his bed and beginning a slow grind on your body, showering you in kisses until your fears turned into curiosity, acceptance, to pleasure even until he finally had his way with you. After that, you knew his schedule and played his game – having a happy and content Zoro is better than a moody or grumpy Zoro.

[letters-from-dekarios]

(post-game, half-elf wizard formerly too poor for schools stayed with Rolan and his sibs to help in the shop)

Dear Gale-

So good to hear from you again, I'm glad you're really loving being a professor! Astarion is gaining quite the reputation in the Upper City for his bespoke couture. I saw him the other day when I picked up a couple robes for Rolan. (can you see my eyes rolling?) Sorcerous Sundries is doing well, as is the new magickal lending library Rolan's instituted here. He's also sponsored a good handful of kids with potential via a scholarship and letters of recommendation. He's even thinking about hosting some intellectual wizarding salons once a month and wanted me to pass that on to you. Wine, wizarding chat, nibbles... whee. I know, it's a great opportunity to network and learn, blah blah blah.

Don't get me wrong, I deeply appreciate his offering me a place and a job here, I just... Rolan rarely has time outside all this and his own learning to have the kinds of in-depth chats we used to have. I know he's worked so hard to get where he has and is incredibly talented (I mean, his Thunderwave is amazing), but I- I cannot complain. I will only say that I didn't really foresee a future working retail, no offense.

In truth, Gale, I find myself often reminiscing about our Fine, I shall say it. I miss you. I miss our talks, our discussions of poetry and the theater, history, even our favorite drinks. While I am most grateful we no longer contend with tadpoles, goblins, daily death threats, or even gods (mostly), I do miss our time together. You are witty, funny, kind, considerate, brave, talented, compassionate, erudite- Oh dear, I think this Esmeltar Red is a bit more vintage than I'd planned.

Ah, yes, quite old. I stole it from the cellar, shhhh. Perhaps I could nab another one if you'd like to visit? I'll see if there's a nice place in town than the Elfsong. I know you appreciate the finer things in life, perhaps even more so now. I must end this so I don't weight down the pigeon enough for Tara to pounce, eh? Hope to see you soon, Gale.

Yours,

Tavelyon Shit. Tav. Pretend I didn't write that.

Dearest Tav,

I’m glad to hear Astarion is doing as well as I assumed he would. I’m sure it’s refreshing for him to experience the city in a new light now. Figuratively, of course. I am also elated to hear Sorcerous Sundries has flourished! Turning it into a more casual lending style will open the way for more magically inclined persons to learn more freely. I am quite happy to hear that. Perhaps Rolan can write recommendation letters for students to come here to Blackstaff. We could use some younger minds every now and then.

Do tell Rolan I’d be all the interested if he does decide to pursue hosting those meetings. You’ve got me pinned quite nicely, as it would be incredibly nice to collaborate with like-minded individuals.

It is normal to find irritation in mundane tasks after the journey we had. There is nothing to quench the appetite of an adventurer quite like, well, adventure. Placing yourself back in such a position for boredom can cause the mind to wander.

For what it’s worth, I miss you as well. While I love my professorship with my entire heart, I do reminisce often about the conversations we’d have. I have yet to find someone on such a level who can compete with you, someone who makes me question things in ways I’d never considered before. You made me think, you made me consider the whole universe in my answers. There is nothing better than the company of someone you can analyze the air with. I am glad to have had that with you.

Please know you are welcome here in Waterdeep whenever you’d like. I’m sure if you wished to stay for some time, you could gain a short position at the Academy if you needed to.

I will be visiting the city soon, rest assured. I must see what Rolan has done with the library and I do owe Astarion a visit. But, most importantly, I owe you a visit, too. I aim for next tenday to make my way to the city, but we shall see where life puts me by then.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[pantoneyoongi]

neon signs | those are called dates

title ; those are called dates pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you 

notes ; 

this is part of the neon signs drabble series, where drabbles are released in random order (but listed chronologically in the masterlist!) 

series description ;

namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi. 

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.) 

word count ; 1.5k

tags ; fluff, they’re just so soft, there’s a pov switch, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags 

the only reason yoongi thinks this class is worth it is because you’re in it with him. 

yoongi’s resting bitch face is particularly aggressive in the mornings, largely because it’s not resting, it’s active. he hates mornings. with a passion. if someone who isn’t you talks to him (hoseok and namjoon included), they’re bound to be on the receiving end of a very sharp glare. 

so it’s fortunate that you’re smart. smart in a way that nobody else he knows is, though he supposes hoseok might contend as a runner-up. 

chinese cinema runs from 8am to 11am every wednesday, but because the building is so far from his dorm hall, yoongi has to wake up at an unholy hour just to get there. but on what was supposed to be a miserable first lecture in a series of miserable lectures thereafter, you’d showed up like sunlight breaking through gloomy clouds, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

“i knew you’d choose sleep over making coffee,” you’d teased that day. “you can’t be mean to me today, okay? i got up early to make it.” 

(yoongi’s never mean to you. he simply doesn’t know how to be.) 

he swears he could’ve melted into the ground that day. granted, it took him a couple minutes’ buffer time to understand the picture before him, of your sleepy smile and the coffee your hands presented to him, but when it finally clicked that you - who barely even likes coffee and only drinks it when desperate times call for it - brought it just for him - yoongi’s pretty sure his heart jumped the gun from crush to in love for a hot second. 

honestly, he still has that image of you memorized, tucked close in his memory bank of moments with you that feel like they belong just to him. your rosy cheeks, still flushed from the early morning cold, the way your eyes were hardly open, the warmth that emanated from you in spite of the temperatures outside. everything about you from that day sits sweetly in his chest, a reminder that pushes him out of bed every wednesday morning to come see you. 

a month and a half later, your weekly chinese cinema lectures have now become a trade of food and drink between you and yoongi. you bring the drinks; yoongi prepares the snacks. he spends a little extra time the night before to pack them up, making sure not to forget them in the mornings (if they need to be fridged, he sticks post-it notes to every possible surface he might walk into so he won’t forget them). 

“mmph,” you don’t even say words when you walk into the classroom today, just make a noise and hold out the thermos for yoongi. your eyes are practically glued shut today; you almost miss the seat when you go to sit down, yoongi narrowly grabbing onto your elbow in time and tugging you just enough so you don’t tip over. your head lolls forward, and yoongi kind of wishes there weren’t arm rests between seats. maybe you’d lean on him the way you sometimes lean on namjoon when you’re tired. 

“late night?” yoongi asks gently, resisting the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear. you look terribly cute like this, lips pouting slightly and head bobbing. 

“mhm,” you hum. your head swings slowly up to look at him through half-lidded eyes. “i don’t think i’ll make it through this movie today. will you take notes for me?” 

yoongi would do absolutely anything for you whether or not you asked. 

“sure,” he says instead, because that’s what normal people do. he can’t help it when he reaches over to pat your head, and you lean into his touch a little. yoongi’s heart might give out. 

professor li gives some vague speech about today’s film, then dims the lights and starts the movie. on cue, your eyes fall shut, entire body tipping slightly to the side. 

it takes yoongi an embarrassing amount of willpower to pay attention to the movie. he could blame it on the godawful time of day, but truthfully it has less to do with his anti-morning agenda and more to do with how utterly distracting you are beside him, curled into your chair as small as you can get, a soft cardigan wrapped around your body. you just look so cozy. he wants the rest of the room to disappear, have you tuck yourself into him, like it’s weekly movie date night and you’ve fallen asleep watching like you always do. 

except you and yoongi don’t have weekly movie date night, and he has no idea if you actually would fall asleep every week if you did. the desire to know makes his heart feel a little tight in his chest, like it’s been looped on a string and is being tugged towards you. 

he doesn’t mind. he’s come to terms with his heart being subject to your any and every whim - and he has no qualms with it. 

as the movie slowly comes to a close, yoongi finds his gaze dragged over to you once again, resting his cheek against his palm, trailing his eyes over your features. the lights from the movie cast different colors over you, until it turns into the dim lighting of the credits rolling across the screen. yoongi gives you a slight nudge, one hand resting on your shoulder to gently shake you awake before the harsh lights are flicked on by the professor. 

god, there’s no way his heart can handle the way you blink slowly at him, hands coming up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. he chuckles softly when you squint a little when the lights flick on, yoongi himself blinking a couple extra times to adjust. when you catch his eyes on you, he clears his throat quickly and lifts his notebook, waving it slightly. “i took notes,” he mumbles. “i’ll type them up and send them to you later.” 

“i could just take a picture,” you offer, but yoongi raises a brow at you. 

“you sure you can read my handwriting?” 

your hand which is holding your phone freezes mid-air. your lips flatten together. “never mind.” 

he grins, beginning to pack away his things as professor li lets the class go. “come on, sleepyhead,” he swings the bag over his shoulder. “let’s go get lunch.” 

.

.

.

you wouldn’t say you’re a morning person, but it’s not nearly as offensive a time as yoongi makes it out to be. then again, you’ve never met someone more averse to being awake during the day than yoongi, so maybe he doesn’t make for the best example. 

regardless, there’s something about knowing you’ll meet up with yoongi first thing in the morning that never fails to get you out of bed on wednesday mornings just a little extra early to make him coffee (it’s instant coffee; you might like him but you’re still a broke college kid). it makes you feel a little fuzzy inside knowing you almost always go to lunch together after, both of you free for the afternoon. 

“dates,” namjoon always insists. “those are called dates, y/n.” 

you always wave him off. “i go out to eat with you all the time, joonie.” 

the resounding groan he responds with every time makes you smile even when you’re just thinking about it. exasperating namjoon may very well be one of your favorite pastimes. 

besides, it’s not like you’re wrong. you eat one on one with namjoon all the time. sometimes hoseok, too. there’s nothing date-like about grabbing a meal with one of the boys, so you don’t see why it’s any different with yoongi. 

you know, minus your stupid huge crush on him. 

your eyes follow yoongi as he heads up to place your orders at the counter. it makes you feel insane, the way he makes even a simple grey hoodie and jeans look incredible. you have to busy yourself with your phone so you don’t stare too long. when he returns with the food, he comes with a glint in his eyes that makes you tilt your head at him. he smiles like he’s got the best secret stored away, and reveals it in time with his grin as he pops a bag in front of your face. 

“matcha cookie,” he looks at you like he’s extremely proud of himself. matcha is your favorite anything. he sets the wax bag down in front of you. “copped the last one.” 

it’s not a date. you don’t go on dates with min yoongi. but he does things like this that namjoon and hoseok and sometimes even seokjin don’t do, and it makes you wonder if this is exactly what going on a date with min yoongi would be like. when he sits down and leans forward on his elbows against the table, the way you look back at him hides nothing of your adoration for him, entirely enamored by him and the way he remembers even the tiniest of details about you. his eyes crinkle back in return, and there’s simply no denying the way your heart flutters for him. 

series masterlist ; neon signs

taglist ; @thelilbutifulthings​ @bbsantc​

[echodrawsthings]

”I contend that your drinking eye has never opened.”

“I insist somebody will die and I hate hoping.”

I like Jack Stauber

More vent art *dab*