#i wish i could be more detached and normal

[g0thsoojin]

🦴

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer

859 words

Steve watches a lot of people. He sees girls as their eyes linger on him. He sees some boys do the same. 

If Tommy caught them, he’d probably do what he always does; humiliate them, hit them. He’s always been a bit protective of him. Steve doesn’t know why. He’s known Tommy since middle school because their lockers were next to each other since they were assigned alphabetically. It’s been like that every year since then, too. 

Sometimes he wonders what his best friend would do if he stopped averting his gaze from places it shouldn’t be yet always strays to. 

More and more lately he finds himself watching someone in particular. 

Steve has to be careful. He can’t let his gaze linger and he has to make sure his face stays neutral, almost as if he’s looking through him and not at him. He forces himself to laugh when someone cracks a joke about The Freak as if Steve isn’t one himself. 

He knows he’s a hypocrite - a coward. He wishes he could be more like Eddie. Just be himself and not care about judgment or criticism. 

It’s his biggest dream and greatest fear. 

Steve’s seat in the cafeteria conveniently (strategically) puts Eddie directly in his line of sight. Aside from the singular elective they share, it’s the only time Steve gets to see him. He’s only been watching him since school came back after winter break and he’s captivated. 

He wishes he had somewhere to expel all of the thoughts he hoards in his brain like a dragon does gold. (Something Steve only knows because he - like a stalker - saw a book Eddie was carrying around for a week or so and checked it out of the library himself as soon as it was available. On the log card inside the cover, E. Munson was written a few times along with some other names.)

He gets an idea on Valentine's Day when he opens his locker after last period and a couple of pieces of paper fall to his feet. Steve watches as Tommy picks one up and coos, “Someone’s got an admirer.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and snatches the paper. He doesn’t necessarily care what these girls have written to him, but he feels weird letting anyone else see something that was intended for his eyes only. 

Tommy only snickers and pats him on the shoulder a few times in approval. Steve puts the valentines in his backpack to look at when he gets home. He zones out as Tommy starts talking again - something about taking Carol Perkins to Benny’s. 

At home, Steve reads the cards with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful given these girls are putting themselves out there and making a move on someone they like. It’s just. 

He feels completely detached from it all. None of the messages are personal. They could have been given to anyone.

He - somewhat guiltily - throws them away. 

The next day, Steve excuses himself during morning practice and slips a piece of paper into a beat-up locker.

Eddie you’re really pretty i wish i could tell you to your face -H

He signed the note with his last initial to be a bit more inconspicuous and perhaps give him some plausible deniability lest he be found out. He’s sure he’s being too precautious - paranoid? - but it gives him peace of mind nonetheless. He couldn’t imagine the dreadful things that would happen if someone traced this back to him. He’d have to run away. 

He’d have to kill himself. 

As much as he wants to, Steve doesn’t hang around Eddie’s locker to see his reaction. Though he does think about it all morning. They don’t have class together until later in the day. When the lunch bell rings, Steve has to force himself to make his way through the halls at an acceptable pace and pats himself on the back when the cafeteria is mostly full when he strides in.

He takes his place at the table where all of the more athletically inclined people tend to congregate and takes a deep breath.

When he chances a look, Eddie is already at the head of his table. He seems quieter than normal. Steve’s always been good at reading people and he can tell the difference between a good quiet and a bad quiet. Eddie’s quiet in a bad way. 

He languidly flips through a book with a faraway contemplative look. 

Steve looks away with a ghost of a frown on his face. 

He tries again the next day. 

Eddie i like your hair is it as soft as it looks? p.s. you didn’t look happy yesterday, sorry if it was my fault -H

That day at lunch, Steve doesn’t look at Eddie as frequently as he usually would, which is unfortunate. 

Eddie has taken to scanning the lunchroom with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest and despite him being affronted, Steve can’t help but think he’s kinda cute. 

He smiles to himself and tries to listen to his friends for once to aid in avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

two

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous(first) part - next part | all chapters list

>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

TAGS!! im sorry for those that don't work its tumblr's fault i checked all of them multiple times

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[luveline]

hi my lovely!! maybe bombshell!reader and spencer struggling to adjust to daily life after his prison stint? maybe he feels suffocated and an argument ensues?? i feel like it would be difficult to just get back to normal after everything that happened !! love you <33

love you!!! fem!reader

“You’ve always had terrible posture.” 

“What?” Spencer asks. 

You wrap your arms around him from behind. You’re more gentle than anyone he’s ever met, though you're teasing, whispering in his ear, “You sit forward so far you must get knots.” 

He’s immediately tense. You take little notice, your nose in his hair, your hand riding up toward his neck, which you spoil with soft touching. He tries to relax. It's all he wanted only a week ago, to have you holding him, to smell your perfume, the stick of your hand lotion or the traces of mint in your lip oil as you kiss the skin just behind his ear. But now it feels like too much. You’re never too much, not for him, and yet. 

“Ready?” you ask, bracing your hands against his chest. 

You pull him back until he hears a solid click emanating from the mid of his spine, and you laugh quite nicely in his ear. You’re his showful girl, but you’ve taken care since he came back to be careful. This is the cheekiest you’ve acted. His ears are ringing as your fingertips draw a path down his chest. This is a proper hug. His chest compresses tightly, he can’t draw breath. 

“Love you,” you say, kissing his cheek. You show no signs of detaching. “You smell really good. Maybe we can get some Indian takeout tonight and just stay all comfy and stuff…” 

He can’t answer. He wishes you’d stop touching him. It’s an unfair wish. 

“Does that sound okay?” you ask. 

He nods, hoping you’ll get off of him once you know the answer. When you stay, he shifts his shoulder and forces out a tight, “Yeah, that’s good.” 

“I love you.” 

He loves you so much it hurts to say. “I love you too.” 

“You’re not feeling okay?” you ask quietly. 

“I’m fine.” 

You climb off of him quickly. He knows he’s been too mean, worse when you say, “Okay,” in a tone like you’ve choked on something. “Uh, well, I’ll go find a menu.” 

You’re not one for filler words —it’s how he knows he’s thrown you for a loop. 

Spencer isn’t trying to be spiteful. He’s constantly overstimulated, he has been for three or months now, weeks and weeks of being in fight mode and now he’s home he doesn’t feel home, you’re here but he’s struggling to just accept that things are fine again. They don’t feel fine. 

He knows he’s lucky. He feels sick, is all. 

After a phone call he hears from the couch where you place an order for all his favourite mains and sides, you return to the living room of his apartment (of which you practically live in) and sit on the far side of the couch. Not too far to miss, but enough to betray how he’s made you feel. 

“Don’t sit so far away,” he says. 

“You’re being snippy, Spencer. Which is fine. But I don’t want to fight.” 

He holds out his hand. “Don’t sit so far away,” he repeats, preface to an apology. 

You shuffle across the couch on your knees. Spencer doesn’t want a hug, but he takes your hand and holds it to his chest where his heartbeat goes a tick too fast. Your frown softens as the bump of his pulse registers. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“That’s okay.” You’re lying at first, then not, “It’s okay, honey. I know you’re– I know this is still bad. I know I’m not being the most help I could be for you right now.” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists. 

“Well. Don’t be sorry. But please don’t say you love me if you don’t want to say it, Spence.” 

He could bite off his own tongue. “I feel like I can’t speak. I think I need to talk to Dr. Kelly tomorrow. I’m so anxious I feel like I can’t breathe.” 

He figures he owes you some honesty, but he’s wishing he kept it to himself when he sees the stricken look that lights your eyes. Your mouth turns to a line. 

Spencer grabs for your other hand. “I’m fine,” he says again. 

“Oh, sure.” You massage his fingers with your thumb on automatic. “You seem totally fine.” You lean in. “I don’t expect you to be fine, you know that? If you’re moody, that’s okay. You can be mad at me if you want, I think you deserve it. But I’m serious, don’t say you love me if you don’t mean it.” 

“I always mean it,” he says honestly. 

For a moment, you bite your lip, your eyes on his, and he worries he’s not as forgiven as he wants to be. 

“I’ll call Dr. Kelly,” you say finally, pulling your joined hands into your lap. “I want you to feel better, babe. That’s all I want.” 

He nods, lifting his chin for a kiss you give immediately. The suffocating feeling abates.

[happiest-hotch]

The Brink of Collapse

Summary: Aaron and reader have been on the brink of divorce for a long time. And then suddenly he's there, and feelings come to a head.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: very angsty, talk of divorce, mentions of strippers

It's been an odd month.

Surreal, in some ways.

You and Aaron have been on the brink of divorce for a while, but once you finally said the word, everything changed. It opened up a new world of feelings and even more hurt.

It didn't seem possible to feel more hurt, but here you are, sitting on the couch, feet tucked beside you, and a glass of wine on the coffee table. You need it for your nighttime reading, the first draft of a separation agreement, your and Aaron's full names on the top.

It feels like physical proof that you and Aaron have failed. Every sacrifice that was made in the decade you had been together wasn't enough. All the love in the world wasn't enough.

It hits you in a deeper place in your chest than you knew existed, and it makes breathing difficult.

Those papers are a taunt you've been putting off confronting, but it's time. It's something you have to do.

Your eyes gloss over the words, but you catch yourself slipping into a defense strategy where your name is removed from you, and it's a draft divorce settlement of detached clients.

"Late-night reading?" His voice makes you jump, startled by his appearance in front of you.

You had spaced out, thought he escaped through the front door to avoid whatever this awkward situation could be categorized as. You find yourself wishing that he did as he looks at you, trying to profile your thoughts. Dick.

You're both trying to keep life somewhat normal for the children, not wanting them to be caught up in your mess which means when he's in DC, he picks them up for the day and drops them back home. You just thought he'd leave out the front door rather than come across the house to talk to you.

"It's not that late." You reply. "Do you actually want to do this?" You're not sure why you ask, not when it's going to hurt.

"Do what, Ms. L/n?" Aaron asks, but he knows. He walks behind the couch and into the kitchen, taking the open bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass without invitation.

"Get divorced." You answer before adding something you probably shouldn't since there's no need. "I'm still technically Mrs. Hotchner."

He doesn't chuckle at your quip, but he looks close. "You wouldn't be holding that if we didn't." Carefully chosen words, as expected. "I've always loved that part of your name."

You scoff, shaking your head. "That's a conflicting message."

Aaron shrugs, sitting down on the couch next to you. You kind of wish he hadn't. He could have just gone back to wherever he's staying and you wouldn't have to do this metaphorical dance.

"They're not mutually exclusive." He explains. You try to keep a neutral expression, but it's hard to hear that your soon-to-be ex-husband likes that you have the same surname. "I love the name, doesn't mean we can't get divorced."

"I won't be Mrs. Hotchner then." You remind him, but you keep it lighthearted in tone.

The air is getting too grave and when things get too grave, you both say too much. It's painful conversation, of late. No more 'I love you's and bleeding heart promises of fixing it. You both know you're beyond repair so you talk about that, and it's getting depressing.

He shrugs. "Not necessarily. Plenty of women keep the name after divorce."

Divorce.

That dirty word that's become your reality.

"I've not considered it." You confess. It seems easier to be honest about something little. "Would it bother you? If I kept it?"

He waits a beat, staring into the semi-opaque wine. "No. Not in the slightest."

"I feel it could get real awkward." You admit and he frowns, not understanding what you mean. "When someone says, 'Oh, are you related to Aaron Hotchner' and I have to say, 'Yeah, he's my ex-husband.' I mean, you know half this town."

Aaron considers it for a second, that thoughtful frown on his brows. "I hadn't considered it." Obviously. "You have my blessing if you keep it."

You chuckle humorlessly. "Thanks."

"This whole thing doesn't have to be adversarial." He reminds you, but it's not condescending. He's almost smiling, lips tugging up at the corners.

Your eyes narrow at him. "Have I done something to make this feel adversarial?"

It's snider than it needs to be, but he comes back professionally. "No. But I've seen couples in our situation start arguing, even yelling, at every step."

You snort out a laugh. "The life of divorce attorneys, right?" He's telling it like you don't know like you're not still in the job he left for the FBI. You bite your bottom lip, considering whether to drive the conversation in a different direction, and come to the conclusion that it might make the conversation lighter and with it, stop the clenching feeling of your heart. "Do you still remember the Beamounts?"

He laughs louder than you've heard in a while. That does the trick and gives you a quick breath of relief, but it's gone as soon as it's there. "I couldn't forget it." He assures you. "Do you still have her little card? The one you kept in your wallet?"

You're almost giddy listening to him laugh, and it makes you giggle as you recall it. "Yes! She ran those exotic dance clubs, I remember. I'm still not sure if I'm offended she gave me the card… like, I can't work out if she thought I might be interested and would want to come watch, or if she thought I'd like to leave seven years of school and a law career behind to strip."

"Do you want me to take care of that card? It's been in there for what? Twelve years?"

His offer throws you a little, but your reaction comes out as teasing. "Oh, do you need her card? Now that we're about to be divorced?"

"I certainly don't." Unsurprising, he has no trouble with women. "But I do want to preserve your wallet's purity."

"I think she gave me the non-explicit version." You explain to him. "I'm sure there are some racy ones out there for guys that are into that stuff..." Something prompts you to push it further. "Like you."

Aaron laughs again, and you get another breath. "Very occasionally." He assures you.

"There's photographic evidence, Aaron." You remind him, smiling softly at the photos Morgan showed you of some BAU boys' nights out. Aaron looked so uncomfortable, and you're sure he spent the entire evening refusing to look at any woman's assets. It makes your stomach churn knowing that, if the situation arises again, he won't act the same way. "Unfortunately, good old Mrs. Beamount is spoken for these days, so I guess the card has no use to you."

He hits you with something you don't expect, although maybe you should have since it's in line with your mutual reminiscing. "That was the first time we met. Just baby lawyers thrown into the craziest case."

"I remember laughing with you about how ridiculous it was." The first time you laughed together about that, you breathed deeper than you ever have before. "Do you remember the thing with the dog?"

He snorts with laughter. It's probably not meant to be as attractive a sound as it is. "That damn chihuahua he insisted was possessed? I remember being so annoyed because I knew the dog couldn't be possessed. I kept asking myself what I'd done so wrong in my life that I had a client expecting me to argue it." Hearing his thoughts now is different than just laughing about back then. "Then when we got there, the damn animal was barking and growling in a demonic way. That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life. It was possessed."

The passion with how he talks about a damn dog makes you smile. "Now imagine everyone seeing that and having to argue it wasn't demonic." You remind him of what your position was as his opposing counsel. "I felt so ridiculous arguing it. And she wanted the divorce settlement to include him taking it to the groomer." You shake your head disapprovingly at the memory. "It creeped me out that she kept it in her purse. That was the ugliest dog I'd ever seen."

It's odd to be laughing with him, considering your precarious relationship circumstances, and even odder that it's about the first case. Surely it should be about what Eden said today, bonding over your kids seems less intimate than talking about when you met.

"I remember she even tried to make herself look more motherly and nurturing in court, by taking care of it during the proceedings." He continues.

It's like you're watching the whole thing again, but you know how it ends. "I was just praying she wouldn't start breastfeeding it." You say. "Her boobs were so plastic that I think if she put that rabid dog near them, he'd chew them."

Aaron loses it laughing, clearly seeing the mental image that worried you 12 years ago. "Okay, okay, that's enough." He finally manages to get out.

You finish off the laughter, letting it die down rather than continuing the conversation.

"What did you think of me?" He asks, a surprising tangent. "When we first met?"

You know he knows since it had been discussed it a few times between dating and marriage, wanting to reminisce. Why he's asking now, you're not sure, and why you're answering, you're even less sure.

"I thought you were a jerk." You admit.

He laughs, but he's thinking about whether you think that again now. "Yeah?" He prompts you to go on.

"That's what happens when you arrive at a mediation meeting five minutes late with Ferrari keys." You remind him with the same disapproving frown.

You can still remember when he walked into the big boardroom, dressed in a perfectly fitted dark blue suit with his hair longer than it is now and parted down the middle. Compared to now, he looked so young, just 25 and straight out of law school, not having seen the most awful parts of the world. He's different now. His shoulder bag switched out for a briefcase being the most minor change.

When he walked into the room that first day, you were equally as pissed off by and attracted to him. It's full circle that you feel that way again.

"I had to find parking." He reasons.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "You didn't valet your car?"

"After the Ferrari, things were tight," Aaron says, but it's a joke. You both know he has money, the separation agreement dividing your assets wouldn't be so long if neither of you had money. "What about after that?" He asks. Sadistic or masochistic, you're not sure. It hurts you to relieve it in your memory, but is it hurting him?

"I was leaving that meeting. As fast as I could, of course." You pause for his laughter. "And you were already in the elevator." It hurts to recall, just like you expected. "I wondered if I should join you."

You still wonder now, if you made the right decision that day. On one hand, you'd have none of the good memories, but on the other, you wouldn't feel like your chest was clenching and your heart was threatening to shatter with each breath.

You decide to keep telling the story. "And I did. And you made me laugh, right off the bat, both of us giggling about the ridiculousness of our clients."

"Not very professional." He notes with a smirk. "Opposing counsel gossiping about their clients."

Your eyebrows pull together in a frown. "Why'd you make the first joke then?"

He wants to tell you it's because he needed to make you laugh, just to hear it and see you smile. His fear takes over and he settles for a quip. "I mean, you looked uptight, but I could tell you weren't."

Your scoff is accompanied by you hitting his shoulder, both of you laughing and it suddenly hits you that you're flirting with him.

It must hit him too because what he says is out of left field. "Part of me wonders if the reason you're only just looking at that is because, on some level, you're hoping we'll fix things and get back together." Fuck! Aaron has always been a straight shooter, but that was far too much honesty.

You gulp, the saliva in your mouth drying up. "Hey, let's just not go there, okay?" You offer. It's not a conversation you want to be having. Your mixed emotions coupled with his ability to push you, it's not a good combination.

"Sure." He admits, but his tone suggests he's unhappy, and so does his sigh. You're begging him with your eyes not to push it, to leave the house and the conversation, and not make it awkward and hurtful. "I never wanted this to be an argument. Do you know that? I know I've never been great at communicating and all this, but I've always tried to do the best for you, always tried to... I mean, I've never gotten divorced before, so I'm still feeling out the right way to do it."

You're not impressed he's lying through his teeth. Both of you know he didn't "always" do his best at communicating. Those last few months, he barely spoke to you. In fact, this conversation might contain more words than an entire few months.

And is there a "right way" to get divorced? You don't know, but you wish you could stop picking apart everything he's saying, overanalyzing.

You're caught on the first statement. "This isn't an argument, is it?"

"I guess not, but there's a vibe." He points out. "Maybe I'm being hypersensitive. Listen, I know this is hard. I think we both knew this probably wasn't going to be the easiest thing, right?"

You avert your gaze from him, a few tears welling in your eyes. "Yeah, we knew that."

"Hey, look at me." He implores.

You tilt your head to the ceiling, trying to stop crying before you start.

"If you're not ready to do this, then please just talk to me." He says- begs. "Please talk to me."

It's ironic really, him sitting there begging you to talk to him when formerly, it's been you doing the begging for him to share his feelings with you. An embarrassing amount of begging, really.

"Please don't do this." You beg back. "I'm not interested in the idea of being vulnerable in front of you, okay?"

He sighs a bit, hands falling to his side. The look on his face you can read. He's upset about not being able to comfort you, and he's begging himself not to show it. What the fuck does that mean?

"Fine." He agrees. "It's... I don't think I ever fully realized how much this whole thing would hurt, but I'm seeing it now."

You don't thank him sarcastically for being obvious. It's twisted that he's spilling his emotions now, and it's hard not to be resentful about it. If he had just fucking talked to you when you begged him to every night in your last month together, you wouldn't be here. It's too little, too late.

"I guess." You agree. "We'll just get it over with."

It stings his heart, so he stings you back. Whether it's intentional or on reaction, you can't tell. "Maybe you're right and we should get it drafted and signed so we can be finished as soon as possible." But, most surprisingly, he flip-flops. "I miss you, Y/n."

It's the same rollercoaster of emotions that your brain is riding in your head, but at least you're not saying it out loud and confusing the shit out of him. "Don't say that, Aaron." You warn him.

He has the nerve to be surprised by your harsh tone. "...what? It's just a fact. I miss you. Why is that bad to say?"

"Because I missed you for four months while you had one foot out the door of this marriage." You finally snap.

Aaron looks stunned and it only makes you angrier and more upset. "I know," He tells you.

He knows, but he'd never do anything about it. You try to act casual, taking a deep breath. "Okay." You attempt to leave it at that.

He won't let the conversation go. "I should have fought for us."

"You still can." You're not sure why you say it, but you do. Maybe you give him one last chance because you'll regret it forever if you don't.

"I am more in love with you than I have ever been." He bursts out, unable to help himself given the chance.

It makes your heart soar and your eyes water. You sit there silently, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly like it might protect you.

"I never should have put you in a position where you felt like something was wrong with us." Aaron looks at you so sincerely that you can't help the tears running down your cheeks. "It got to a point where I felt like I couldn't fix it so I didn't try, and I'm aware that was the wrong choice every day."

"I don't know what to say." You tell him. "Why bother coming to this conclusion, and telling me about it, when it's too late?" Maybe you're protecting yourself more than you need to be.

Aaron shakes his head. "Because it isn't."

"Aaron." You shake your head, holding up the literal divorce papers that exist to remind him. "So much has happened in the last four months."

"Not too much, though." He emphasizes.

He's pushing a button that makes your emotions boil over. "I don't even know where you're sleeping." You remind him firmly.

"Holy shit, Y/n!" Aaron's quick to assure you of what might have been going on in your head. "No." He pauses. "I'm sleeping at my office." You can't say that doesn't relieve you. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. Since the day I met you, I've never looked at anyone the same."

His strong assurances make you cry more. "I don't know if we can fix this." You admit, disappointed in yourself.

"We absolutely can." He pleads to you. "You said we should get a divorce because love isn't enough to make this better, but there is more than love here. I am committed to you and I want to fix this."

You continue your tears and he reaches out to touch your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb. You lean into his soft touch. "I do too." You admit, the realization alleviating some of the aching in your chest.

"You mean the world to me," Aaron tells you firmly. "I will do anything to get us back on track. I wasn't before and I know I was stupid for it, but I'm listening, Y/n. To everything you need and want."

"I think we need help." You confess. "Like professional help."

He can't nod fast enough. "I agree. We can get that."

You stop him before he can pull out his phone. "Tomorrow." You request. "I just want a hug."

He hasn't had you in his arms in far too long, and he reaches out for you. You lay on his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Wow, I've missed you." He hums, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

You sniffle your tears, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

"Y/n, I will never let it get this far again," Aaron assures you. "I was stupid and I can't lose you. I love you."

You're sure you feel the same way. Everything definitely wasn't fixed and there was a lot to do, but one thing you're sure about is being married to Aaron Hotchner. "I love you too."

[riveroftales]

•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Stressed!Sanemi who was continuously assigned missions one after another, leaving very little to no time for you

Stressed!Sanemi who seemed to snap a little more often than normal

Stressed!Sanemi who only ate, bathed and slept when he came back home to you

Stressed!Sanemi who told you that he was going on a mission and left by giving you an abrupt peck instead of the normal good-bye kisses he gave you, which often lasted a few seconds

Stressed!Sanemi who you saw with Mitsuri and Shinobu at town the day he left for his ‘mission’

Stressed!Sanemi who broke your heart by lying right at your face through his teeth and going behind your back to see other women

Stressed!Sanemi who you broke up with the night of your 3rd anniversary since you started dating

Stressed!Sanemi who cried himself to sleep for the first time in years

Stressed!Sanemi who visits Tengen’s estate a few weeks after your breakup to deliver a tiny box

“Huh? What’s this?” Tengen asked, taking the small box.

“I don’t need it anymore. It’s shiny, so I thought it’d suit you” Sanemi murmured before he left Tengen’s estate as quickly as he entered. Tengen could hear how Sanemi’s voice quivered and sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

He opened the box out of curiosity

Stressed!Sanemi who was so stressed in the first place because he was going to propose and wanted everything to be perfect

Stressed!Sanemi who asked Ubuyashiki to give him extra missions since he wanted to gift you a really expensive engagement ring to show his dedication for you

Stressed!Sanemi who was a little snappy because he couldn’t find any real diamond rings for you

Stressed!Sanemi who was afraid he’d ruin the surprise engagement if he spoke to you, hence resulting to ignoring you at home even though it hurt him at times

Stressed!Sanemi who lied to you, saying that he had a mission and gave you only a mere peck because he was already late to meet up with Shinobu and Mitsuri who promised to help him find the perfect ring for you

Stressed!Sanemi whose heart shattered when he saw you crying the moment he got home

Stressed!Sanemi whose world stopped when you broke up with him

Stressed!Sanemi who looked at the ring which costed him several months of his work which now served no purpose

Stressed!Sanemi who decided to finally detach completely from the world when he saw you with a new, incredibly wealthy man with a ring worth more than his

Stressed!Sanemi who still loves you and wishes he did things differently and maybe, just maybe, you’d still be sleeping in his arms as his wife

[cryptidghostgirl]

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

[artethyst]

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!OC/Reader

“Enjoying fatherhood Brother?” Came Lucien’s sarcastic voice at the sight of Eris- High Lord of Autumn, nothing less than dishevelled.

Eris offered him no response, the circles beneath his eyes telling his brother enough before you swanned in with a fluffy bundle secure in your arms.

If his son were not so cute, he might have cursed the boy for robbing him of sleep for the past week, a new habit he had seemed to adopt whenever he was left alone in his cot at night.

Despite the Healer’s advising against it, saying it was very much normal and the boy would only grow needier, Eris couldn’t stand to hear his child’s pained cries.

He knew how it felt to feel abandoned.

Unloved.

His son would never feel the same.

Even if his Mate berated him for turning soft or some of the more traditional- slowly withering branches of Beron’s Advisory circle scathingly judged him for it.

Motherhood looked good on you- a warm glow to your unblemished skin and new life within those once lifeless cheeks that had struck Eris with horror as he had been forced to watch you- lying there, bleeding out.

The Healers telling him neither you nor your babe would survive.

And whilst he did not tell you, the memory of it, even now, months later, left him sleepless. And despite trying his very best never to think of how you looked- the thought of you ever being taken from him, he still felt sick at the thought.

He might have envied how naturally parenthood had come to you- how beautiful you still were despite it all, but he loved you too much to ever care about his own troubles in comparison.

As you approached, Eris instinctively wrapped a strong arm around your waist, if he had been protective before and especially during your pregnancy, it was nothing compared to now.

It was as though he still needed visceral proof- feel the warmth of your beating heart next to his to remind himself you were well.

Well and alive.

Lucien didn’t have the heart to tease his brother about it.

Baby Silas began to stir against your chest, his wide amber eyes curiously blinking as his little fist moved to his yawning lips, slobbering over his knuckles with a guiltless, dimpled smile.

He made little cooing noises, small tufts of red hair delicate and curled atop his head as he snuggled further into the winter fur blanket Kallias and Viviane had so generously gifted him.

You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his rosy cheek, wishing you could stay clasping him close forever.

“He is a curious child,” you began, passing over the bundle to your brother-in-law who had come to visit his nephew, “though, grumpy like his father,” and as if on cue, Silas’ small brow furrowed and pink lips pouted when he felt himself being jostled from the warmth of his mother’s arms.

The pair of them ignored Eris’ scowl as Silas wiggled in his Uncle’s arms, the Emissary chuckling as the boy began chewing on a strand of his long hair, face determined as he dribbled.

“Brainless, just like his father too.”

You laughed as Lucien bounced the boy, pressing yourself into your Mate’s side further, placing a light kiss to the underside of his jaw.

You noticed his withdrawal, and whilst it was not unusual for him to be detached, it was not like him to be so solemn.

Especially with you around.

“Er, are you alright?” He tilted his head down to face you, your twinkling violet eyes marred with concern and was forced to bury the thought of the Mother snatching his happiness from him along with his childhood traumas.

“I am fine, My Love.” He mused pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, you weren’t convinced but did not push him. “Are you?”

“How could I not be?” You teased, fondly watching as Lucien spoke animatedly to Silas, grimacing as the child tugged on his hair in excitement as the man he viewed nothing more than the tall person with the same hair as his daddy and with funny deep voice spoke to him. “I have all I could ever want.”

Eris smiled- a real smile.

He couldn’t help but chuckle watching his brother and his son, heart overflowing with love as his wife stood beside him, flooding their bond with the same mirth.

Everything he had gone through- all that he had fought had been worth it.

For this.

And watching his baby- a near copy of him with the woman he loved most’s infectious smile, bringing a childish peace to his brother’s all so often annoyingly smug face reminded him of all his sacrifices.

And he knew he would do it all again.

-

With Lucien cutting his trip short, having felt a desperate tug on the bond from a freshly Mated Elain, the three of you were left alone.

You were absentmindedly sprawled over Eris, lulled into a light sleep by the warmth he emitted.

He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Silas too was asleep against his chest, his little soft snores almost comically in sync with his mother’s.

Eris let his fingers run comfortingly along the back of his son’s head, relishing in the soft tufts whilst supporting his small neck with the other.

The babe whined contently in response, his drool pooling against his father’s tunic as the older male could only trace the boy’s perfect face with a calloused fingertip. Silas’ soft flesh a welcome sensation against his scarred skin.

The High Lord took a deep breath of his own, relishing in the scent of his beloved-a fresh jasmine and amber, and his son’s- a light cinnamon with hints of a fresh bloom.

A subtle mix of both of his parents’.

And with the two of you by his side, there was no longer a heaviness in his heart, but one in his throat as tears of relief and pure love gathered in his sharp eye.

[dyns33]

Family language

We love a man who can use his tongue in a lot of different ways, even if he's pretty annoying.

It had become a habit.

Of course, sometimes they did it on purpose, to share information without being understood, but most of the time the Shelbys spoke Romani among themselves without even realizing it.

There were often a few words, and sometimes entire conversations. The first few times, Alfie hadn't said anything.

Sitting amidst the screams and noise that always accompanied his in-laws, he silently recited a prayer that they would quickly leave his house, before he lost his patience and killed one of them.

This would probably not please his wife, who was laughing happily with her brothers. Or her fratii, as she said.

He was starting to understand certain things. Alfie Solomons was gifted with languages. But he couldn't guess all the unfamiliar vocabulary, and so sometimes he got lost in very annoying gibberish.

“Cred it soțul tău se îmbufnește.” Finn whispered.

“Nu. E obosit, lasă-l în pace.”

“El simte că oamenii vorbesc despre el.” Tommy said smiling, his eyes landing on Alfie. “Domnul Solomons este deștept.”

No doubt, they were talking about him, under his own roof, purposely making fun of him in an unknown language so that he couldn't understand.

When he asked Y/N, she said he was imagining things. And even if he was right, he probably pleased his brothers by reacting like this. He just had to ignore them and act like an adult for once.

He could have listened to his wife's good advice.

Aside from the threats he had made if anyone misbehaved with her, the community had come to adore Y/N because it was obvious that she knew better than anyone how to control the King of Candem.

There were still fits of rage, because the man remained mad, but she always managed to calm him down. Undoubtedly, taming wild horses as a child helped to acquire this kind of gift.

In a way, Alfie listened.

The normal reaction he would have had would have been to attack the Shelbys directly, getting revenge in some way for their insult. But he let the night pass, thinking about the adult way to deal with this problem.

“DДоброе утро, любовь моя.” he said to Y/N, continuing to read his newspaper with his tea, as she entered the living room, still groggy from sleep.

This seemed to wake her immediately. She stared at him, with a look that showed which family she came from.

"What ?"

"I said 'DДоброе утро, любовь моя'."

"I heard. What does that mean ?"

“Nothing bad, don’t worry, клад.”

Y/N grimaced, visibly irritated, but she didn't insist, announcing that she was going to take a bath. Alfie didn't continue his game right away, because he wished he could join her.

The afternoon arrived, and his wife visited him at the Bakery to check that he had eaten, that he had not died under a pile of files or stabbed by a competitor, and to massage his back very carefully.

“Tes mains sont magiques, mon coeur”

This time, it was Ollie who made a funny face, looking at his boss, then at Y/N, as if silently asking if she understood what he had just said.

“Italian ?” she asked, continuing to massage him, looking detached.

"No. Questo è italiano, mia principessa."

"Prinţesă ? I'm not a princess, and you're becoming a pain."

As painful as her and her brothers speaking Romani in his presence, but he didn't say it. Alfie wanted her to understand it on her own, and no doubt she had understood from the moment he spoke Russian.

But even if she was Mrs. Solomons, Y/N would always remain a Shelby, proud and stubborn, refusing to admit her wrongs, and she would not apologize for having secrets with her family.

That wasn't even the problem. He respected secrets even if he didn't have any for her, and he liked it when she clearly gave him affectionate names that he didn't understand.

Obviously she liked names too. Amore mio, אהובי, mon amour. Their nights were much more passionate when he didn't speak English, the bedroom being the only place where she forgave him for this change.

But in front of others, when she didn't have the slightest way to decipher what he was saying, she didn't like it at all.

"היא הולכת לכעוס, בוס… זה לא מאוד נחמד." Ollie said, very embarrassed at being forced to participate in what seemed like a lovers' quarrel, and not knowing if he respected or was more afraid of Alfie or Y/N.

"אני מקסים עם אשתי. זה המשחק הקטן שלנו."

“I know you’re talking about me.”

“Not at all, милый.”

“Your employees look frantic, staring at me, I know you’re talking about me.”

The game lasted several weeks, before stopping completely, except for the little nicknames. This seemed to surprise Y/N, who wasn't used to seeing her husband give up so easily. She had grown up with the Shelbys, she knew these kinds of men.

Alfie didn't know whether he should be flattered or annoyed that she read him so well, because if he spent less time teasing her, it was to concentrate on another project in secret.

If he was good with languages ​​and didn't like not understanding, the solution was simple. He could learn Romani.

And it would be much more fun if his in-laws and his wife didn't know.

“Pare mai puțin enervat decגt de obicei.” John observed.

“Și mai puțin deranjant.” Arthur growled.

“El plדnuiește ceva.” sighed Y/N, observing Alfie, sitting quietly in his chair, looking at them and smiling. “Nu știu de ce מl iubesc atגt de mult pe idiotul דsta.”

“Cu toții ne מntrebדm asta, surioarד.” Tommy sighed, patting his sister on the back.

Although he had never played poker, Alfie was normally good at hiding his emotions when necessary. But hearing Y/N say she loved him to her brothers, he couldn't help but smile even more, which was noted.

And oh, how he loved his smart wife.

While the rest of the Shelbys were bickering about their future jobs, she came up to him, looking less angry than he expected.

“Ințelegi foarte bine ce spun.”

"Yes, treacle. A little surprise, which I thought I would keep secret for a little while longer. I'm not completely fluid yet."

"It's not fair. I don't understand anything when you speak in other languages."

"Je pourrais t'apprendre, chérie."

Most of the lessons were done in the bedroom, despite Y/N's protests that he was absolutely not focused enough to teach her anything useful.

When she threatened to make him sleep on the couch, Alfie found some time in his busy schedule to give her real lessons, or at least to give her real words.

"… You lied to me, again."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” he said while continuing to count his coins.

"I wanted to greet Ollie, like you taught me. I said to him 'אתה מטומטם עם זין קטן'."

“He must have been happy.”

"I've never seen him so upset in my entire life. You know my brothers never really made fun of you now, and I'd love to make fun of others with you, but don't make me say horrible things without let me know."

"Okay. You should also stop greeting Italians by calling them 'Stronzo' then."

"… I knew they weren't answering me politely."

"No. I had their balls cut off for that, אף אחד לא מדבר ככה ללב היקר שלי."

"Your 'dear heart' will sleep with Cyril tonight, while you are on the sofa."

"Think about my back, cruel woman ! I'm sorry, okay ? Mоя жизнь, mia vita, החיים שלי !"

“Canapeaua !”

"Does that mean 'I forgive you darling, come kiss me' ?"

He called Tommy to ask him, without explaining why, and even though he had an idea of ​​the answer. At least, the fucking Shleby had a good laugh.

Fine, I won't like you all in the dark like that :

“Cred it soțul tău se îmbufnește.” - "I believe your husband is sulking." (romani)

“Nu. E obosit, lasă-l în pace.” - "No. He's tired, leave him alone." (romani)

“El simte că oamenii vorbesc despre el. Domnul Solomons este deștept.” - "He feels that people are talking about him. Mr. Solomons is smart.” (romani)

“DДоброе утро, любовь моя.” - “Good morning, my love.” (russian) “клад.” - treasure (russian)

“Tes mains sont magiques, mon coeur” - "your hands are magical, my heart." (french)

"No. Questo è italiano, mia principessa." - "No, this is Italian, my princess" (italian)

Prinţesă - princess (romani)

Amore mio - my love (italian)

אהובי - my love (hebrew)

mon amour - my love (french)

"היא הולכת לכעוס, בוס… זה לא מאוד נחמד." - "She's going to be angry, boss… that's not very nice." (hebrew)

"אני מקסים עם אשתי. זה המשחק הקטן שלנו." - "I'm charming with my wife. It's our little game." (hebrew)

“милый.” - "Dear." (russian)

“Pare mai puțin enervat decגt de obicei.” -"He seems less annoying than usual." (romani)

“Și mai puțin deranjant.” - "And less mad." (romani)

“El plדnuiește ceva.” "He's planning something." (romani)

“Nu știu de ce מl iubesc atגt de mult pe idiotul דsta.” - "I don't know why I love this idiot so much." - (romani)

“Cu toții ne מntrebדm asta, surioarד.” - "We're all wondering that, little sister." (romani)

“Ințelegi foarte bine ce spun.” - "You understand very well what I'm saying." (romani)

"Je pourrais t'apprendre, chérie." - "I could teach you, darling" (french)

'אתה מטומטם עם זין קטן'. - 'You're a moron with a small dick'. (hebrew)

'Stronzo' - assholes (italian)

אף אחד לא מדבר ככה ללב היקר שלי - Nobody talk like that to my dear heart (hebrew)

Mоя жизнь - my life (russian)

mia vita - my life (italian)

החיים שלי !" - my life (hebrew)

“Canapeaua !” - "The couch !" (romani)

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 17: SOMNO Portgas D. Ace 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: anon ➡ Hi! How have you been? I would like to ask for a day in the kinktober event 💞 Day 17 with Ace from One piece with a fem!reader, please 🙏🏻  Have a great day! And take small breaks, I know these events are tiring but I hope you have fun! 💞 tw: mdni. SOMNOPHILIA. very triggering to some, please stay away if is not ok with you. it is, however, CONSENTED and ASKED by reader. Though, I know is a very sensitive topic so please proceed with caution, it is written so that reader gets "surprised" by Ace after having a talk about her having such fantasy. thigh fucking. vag sex. wc: 1k masterlist

“Is there anything you like… you know… during sex that you haven’t told me yet?” Ace asked, during breakfast. You choke with a donut and then looked at him. You weren’t surprised nor scandalized, but it was weird to listen to your boyfriend ask such question at seven in the morning.

“Why you ask?” you inquire him, after taking a sip of your coffee.

“Because I am your boyfriend and… because you forgot to clean your browsing history of my laptop…” he scoffs, remembering you that he lend you his laptop because yours died a few days ago.

Your eyes widen… “What did you see?” you ask, flustered. How could you forget?

“Well… if it was normal that you want your boyfriend to fuck you while asleep…”

“Oh Jesus, Ace… I... ”

That day passed quickly enough for you to wish it didn’t. Work was over, and while you drove home, you definitely tried to convince yourself that Ace had forgotten. “I just pray he is just like his brother Sabo and indulge in that sweet amnesia of his”

But Ace could forget to clean the dishes, to buy toilet paper or even his own head if it was detachable… yet, never, ever the things that have to do with your pleasure.

He didn’t say much during dinner. It was like a normal night, and no “somnophilia” matters were mentioned. So, you breathed alleviated.

“Babe I am going to bed before you. I am tired…” you murmured, kissing his head while he played LoL with Luffy and Sabo

“Sure love, sleep well… I’ll be there after I beat their asses a couple of times”  he laughed, and while you walked away you could hear the insults of his brothers on his headphones.

Soon, and after your head hit the pillow, your eyes closed. The world of dreams engulfed in their magical arms and drifted away through its lands.

And then, something warm felt in between your thighs…

Ace slipped in bed; your ass looked way more interesting that it always did to him. Your body half covered by the sheets that promised to be tangled yet another night.

He came closer to you, grazing your buttocks with his crotch and nuzzling on your nape with total delicacy. His hand slid from your waist to your lower belly, enjoying the rhythm of your breathing cycles.

He usually wakes you up when he is hard, but tonight he wished to indulge in your dreams… your hotter and wetter dreams.

The idea of fucking you without permission floated around Ace’s mind before too. He didn’t want to keep thinking about it, he felt it by far illegal and gross… but still, his instincts, the precum sprouting from his tip and dampening his boxers, the way his hips moved on their own were screaming loudly “fuck her while asleep… use her body until you are satisfied… she wants it”

Ace’s lips reached for the crook of your neck, placing the softest peck on your skin. Perhaps his intention was to wake you up, but not really… after all, he knew that would happen sooner or later, as he lowered his sport shorts down and let his sex free.

When his tip grazed the back part of your thighs, he squirmed. Your skin felt warm enough, like fire engulfing his sex and then all of his body. His freckled cheeks become red, and his teeth began to chatter… should he touch you? Or should he slide his dick in between your thighs?

He did then, both. Slowly, softly, measuring everything with your asleep sighs… Ace needed to play it safe, for you to feel pleasure but not enough to wake up.

His fingers trespassed the boundaries of your shorts and then your panties, encountering in between your slit a sticky mess. You were clearly turned on, thinking that maybe such lewd actions were taking place only in your dreams.

Ace growled loudly when his hand came out completely dampened, and he enjoyed the way invisible strings formed in between his fingers. So much he liked it, he took it to his lips and swallowed the salty delight your core produced for him.

Soon, he realized his dick was forcefully slipping in between your thighs and simply let it happen. It was more than warm now; it was also tight as you moved and squeezed his hardness with your legs.

By now, you were sure -even if still asleep- that the dream you were having was more than just a dream… it was him, only him… the man you chose to spend your life with who had succumbed to your inert body and your “twisted” fantasies.

And just like Ace let it happen, you did too… perhaps moving your ass up with such delicacy he didn’t notice, but still provided a better access for when he got tired of your thighs and wanted your pussy.

Ace, whose trembling limbs he needed to calm down, began moving slowly, fucking himself with your thighs, coating your skin and shorts with the product of his horniness.

And by the time he couldn’t stop himself your senses came back… and still, you kept your eyes closed… and right there you understand the bases of how attractive this kink seemed to you; Ace praised your body even while asleep, he wanted you the whole time, asleep or not. Ace needed you, Ace’s body was obsessed by the touch of your skin.

You mumbled sounds, not even words. You wanted to keep him going, you wanted Ace to keep indulging in the lowest and most impure instincts… instincts that led him to unstoppably move your panties to the side to penetrate you deeply and hard.

You couldn’t help it but moan, louder. Ace didn’t stopped, he simply lifted your leg up to come even closer to your sex. His lips grazed your neck and then your mandible line, and whispering he moaned “shh babe, keep dreaming. I just want to use that sweet hole of yours … it’s ok… good night ~ ”

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife💖🙆‍♀️

[thelov3lybookworm]

Remember me? (Part 9)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: Aight y'all. This thing contains some heavy themes i guess, so this one can be skipped if you want. this part is basically a filler chapter.

This picks up one month after the last part ended.

Andddd....

Here we go.

•○🌑○•

Feyre's pov.

Feyre was walking home from her art studio, Nyx hopping along next to her. The day was beautiful, not too bright, not too cloudy. It was a perfect day to go out with her family on a picnic and simply enjoy their company and thank the mother for her blessings.

Or at least it would have been a good day for that if her family hadn't been falling apart.

Rhys had been pulling away more than ever. He had become detached from reality, drinking his days away and being locked up in his office all day. He had become more snappy than ever, yelling and throwing a fit at the smallest inconveniences.

A few days ago, he had punched and cracked a wall because his food was too hot.

Rhys was... he going mad. There was no other was to put it.

He did not want to be talked to, and if he found someone looking at him for longer than a moment, he would snarl like a wild beast. His appearance had also become... worse.

He looked so sick, like he would drop dead at any moment.

A loud gasp drew Feyre from her thoughts, and she looked down to find Nyx staring wide eyed at a spot on the ground nearby.

"Nyx?" Feyre questioned gently, trying to get his attention.

Nyx snatched his hand away from his mother's, sprinting away when Feyre tried to grab his hand again.

"Nyx! What are you doing?"

She followed Nyx, walking briskly behind him. She slowed to a stop when he did, watching as the little boy bent down.

A moment later, he drew up again, a huge, adorable grin on his face.

In his hands was a smooth, white rock. He held it gingerly, both his hands cupped, like holding it too tightly would shatter the beautiful thing.

"Papa would love this mommy."

Her heart melted and shattered at the same time.

But she couldn't bring herself to tell him that Rhys probably wouldn't care, so far lost in his head was he.

"Yes darling, he would love it."

Nyx gave her a toothy grin in return, turning back to the ground as he searched for something. He bent down again, and when he came up this time, he held a smaller rock in his hand and held it out to Feyre.

"This one is for Finnie. I will give it to him when we meet again."

Feyre nodded, plastering on a smile for the sake of her son as she agreed to meeting Fin soon.

But deep down, she knew she wished the two boys never met again. Because there were only two circumstances under which they could meet, and neither were favourable.

The first would be if Y/n returned to the night court, and Feyre knew that wouldn't happen as Y/n didn't want Rhys to mess with her or her son's life ever again.

And the second would be if Feyre left Rhys.

And she wished that it never came to that.

It wasn't that she didn't believe Y/n. At first she hadn't, but then Y/n had showed Feyre her memories, and Feyre had to believe her, no matter how much she wanted it all to be a lie. Because fabricating someone's memories was too hard and even unheard of.

Feyre told herself Rhysand's weird behaviour was only the result of heartbreak, of finding out he had another son all along.

She hoped he would go back to normal, that one day he would wake up and realise how bad his condition had been becoming, how he had been weeping and wasting away for something he could never have and throwing away everything he did have for the illusion of happiness.

As she reached the door of the river house, she wiped away all her thoughts and simply focused on getting Nyx to go to sleep. Or do anything but stay away from his father.

Rhys would probably yell at the little boy if he was in a foul mood, and Feyre simply could not handle watching her son cry.

"Hey Nyx, why don't we make cookies? Would you like that?"

Nyx nodded happily. "Yes mommy. We can do that after I give papa this stone."

"No Nyxie. Can we not give papa the stone later? Or I can give it to him." Feyre offered.

Nyx held the stone away from Feyre, shielding it with his body as he frowned. "No. I will give it to papa."

Before Feyre could try more to convince him, he ran off, climbing the stair as fast as his ittle legs would carry him.

She followed him, making as little noise as possible. Because in the past few weeks, even the littlest noises had been triggering her mate's urge to destroy everything in sight.

"Nyx! Nyx, slow down!" She whispered, frantically reaching for him. He had already reached the landing, and now ran to his father's office.

The door was slightly ajar, and Nyx pushed it open the rest of the way in his haste to give the stone to his father himself.

Feyre reached the door, her heart beating in her throat, just in time to see Nyx reach his hands up, the stone cupped in them, towards Rhys, who was staring down at the little boy, his eyebrows raised.

Rhys took the stone, inspecting it carefully before a nonchalant look crossed his features, and Feyre immediately knew that he was going to throw the rock away and either yell at Nyx or dismiss him entirely.

Feyre didn't want to see her boy sad, and so she reached out with her daemati powers and knocked on the mighty walls of the fortress surrounding Rhys's mind.

He glanced up, irritation evident in his eyes, but he let her speak to him through a small window that he created.

Please don't hurt him. Please pretend.

Rhys cocked his head, and Feyre could practically see the wheels turning in his head, and a sense of dread gripped Feyre when a slow smirk spread across Rhysand's face.

Sure, Feyre. He purred in her mind before he looked down at the little boy, who stared up at his father with a hopeful smile on his face.

"This is beautiful, my boy. Thank you so much." And with that, Rhys pocketed the rock, and Nyx giggled, turning to Feyre with the biggest toothy grin ever.

"Mommy, are we going to make cookies now?"

Before Feyre could respond, Rhysand cut in. "How about you do it with Nuala and Ceridwen? I have an important thing to discuss with mommy."

Nyx nodded, then sprinted away to the stairs, and as Feyre watched him go, the dread coiling around her heart felt like a vise.

"What did you want to talk about?" She asked once Nyx was out of sight, and Rhys gestured at her to come in and lock the door. She did so without questioning him.

The moment the lock clicked shut, Rhys prowled forward, his hands landing on the sides of Feyre's shoulders, caging her in against the door. He leaned down, his hot breath washing over the side of her face as he whispered directly in her ear.

"It's been so long since we've had some alone time," A pause as he began to peel her clothes off of her. "Y/n darling."

•○🌑○•

Feyre stared at the beams of moonlight across the ceiling, tears running down the sides of her face and into her hair.

She was ashamed and disappointed in herself, and as she curled into a ball on her side, she considered peeling off her skin and setting fire to it.

She sniffled quietly, her mind refusing to think of anything but the past few hours, when Rhys had touched her, worshipped her like he were a devoted male and she a goddess.

Except hers was not the name he chanted in his prayers.

No, it was of his former lover, and for some reason, she had not been able to push him off of her or do anything to let him know she did not want him to touch her while he was lost in the thoughts of another female.

Rhys had wounded Feyre's heart for nearly half the night, and she could do nothing about it.

Worse were the way he'd rubbed salt on her wounds after the whole ordeal, telling her she was nothing compared to her. That Feyre could never be her, and that it really was a waste of time to have pursued Feyre to see if a mate was worth loosing Y/n over when he could have been with Y/n all along.

Every muscle in Feyre's body clenched as she tried to quiet her sobs so as not to wake him as he slept peacefully at her back.

Feyre didn't know what to do.

Slowly, her mind drifted to that day a month ago, when she and Y/n had talked, and Y/n had showed Feyre exactly what Rhys had done to her.

Feyre... you can come with us.

You can live with us.

Look Feyre, you are Nyx's mother. You know what's best for him. If you need time, then take some time. Think about this if you want. But leave him Feyre. He does not deserve you or Nyx.

I can't force you to come with us but... I beg you Feyre. Think about this. And when you are ready, write to me. I will ask Eris to make arrangements for your safe travel to autumn court.

Feyre sniffed, wiping her tears with her palms as her path forward became clearer.

Write to me.

A pen and paper appeared next to the bed on the nightstand, and Feyre picked them both up, scribbling down a quick message and then winnowing it away, hoping her friend was awake and found it.

Though that would be a miracle, as it was quite literally the middle of the night, and not many people stayed up crying over their pathetic lives.

But there was nothing else Feyre could do except hope, because anything else had been stolen away by her mate. The one who was supposed to never harm her.

With one last look at the sleeping form beside her, Feyre stood, gathering all her discarded clothes and pulling them on, trying not to cringe in embarassment.

Then, she grabbed a bag, stuffed all her clothes and Nyx's inside of it, especially all the expensive gowns of hers. She could maybe sell them to make a little extra money.

Just before se left her and Rhysand's room, her gaze snagged on a bundle of money Rhys stored in his drawer, and a plan formed in Feyre's mind, and her lips lifted in a small smirk.

It seemed that the meeting with Fin would happen sooner rather than later.

And that a visit to the bank was necessary.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @holb32@awoa1@cleverzonkwombatsludge@luvmoo@we-were-beautiful@eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913@j-pendragonx@thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz@esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow@bubybubsters@eos-princess@nightless@bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten@txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman@leeknows-wife@aria-chikage@amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover@kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay@acourtofbatboydreams@stained-glass-eyes0708@glaciuswduo@wallacewillow0773638@cassie6392

Y

[discordantwritings]

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 2. The Vocalist

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: afab gn!reader, facesitting, PiV sex, slightly subby Buggy, I know the title says cross guild but this part is just Buggy

WC: 2.4k

Summary: You will not fall to the clown’s charms you will not fall to the clown’s charms you will not-

Oh shit you fell for the clown’s charms.

Notes: Finally found an excuse to write facesitting lets goooooo

You were less of a manager to Buggy and more of a babysitter. If you could get away with getting him one of those child backpack leashes you would. Within a week you got the passwords to all his social media so you could stop him from posting dumb shit like “I wish my dick could detach” and “I could fist fight The Rock and win, give me a date and time”. It was exhausting. Hilarious, but exhausting.

It would be worse if he wasn’t so damn charming. Ever time you find yourself getting mad at him he would grovel and bat his frustratingly perfect eyelashes at you and all the anger you have fizzles out. It was a game you played- Buggy tested your limits and then you reigned him in before he could do any lasting damage. You’d get mad, he’d get cute, and then you went back to the beginning.

It would be worse if he didn’t do such good work. Buggy was the only band member you could get to do any sort of press (Crocodile and Mihawk claimed that that was what Buggy was there for, so they didn’t have to talk to the public) so you had to lean on him heavily for public relations. It turned out not to be a problem though because he could charm just about anyone. Even the most cynical of interviewers would be at least softened by Buggy’s crazy stories and silly jokes by the end of their time.

And that’s what you’re watching now at The Cross Guild office. You got this interview on the the interviewers misguided thought that he could run into Crocodile or Mihawk. Jokes on him, you planned this for a day neither of them were in the office. Because of that the interviewer came into the set annoyed, and Buggy shot you a look from where he was sat. You shrug and give him a thumbs up as the cameras begin to roll.

Watching him turn on the charm was mesmerizing. The way he leans in towards the interviewer and smiles, the way he never backs down from a question or accusation, the silly physical gags he manages to weave into a normal conversation, it’s all so impressive. After about an hour the production finally wraps up and Buggy bounds over to you.

“He was an ass.” He whispers to you and you nudge him on the shoulder.

“Can’t you wait a few minutes.” You eye the interviewer who is still in the room.

“Can we just go back to my office and debrief or whatever so I can go home?” Buggy says in almost a whine.

“Yeah, yeah.” You follow behind him through the hallways until you get to his office.

Gaudy is the best word to describe his office, right next to messy and a fire hazard. No piece of furniture is the same color and various rugs and discarded clothes cover the floor. You’re bound to trip over something before you leave but for now you find your way safely to a chair to go over the events of today and what’s on the schedule for tomorrow.

“So we did three interviews today, tomorrow we have a meet and greet and then a radio show. And then-“ You look up to see Buggy on his neon green couch and on his phone. “You’re not listening to me.”

“No I am!” He says, not looking up from his phone.

“Then what’s on the docket tomorrow?”

“… more talking.” He clicks his phone off, knowing he’s been caught.

“Look, seriously I just need five more minutes of your attention and then you can do whatever. You’ve knocked it out of the park today, so I just need to keep that going until this press wave is over.”

Buggy pauses and smiles wide. “I knocked it out of the park?”

You sigh. It was hard giving Buggy any kind of praise, the way it went straight to his head. But you felt bad for the way his fellow band members treated him- like he had no redeeming qualities. “You did good today Buggy.”

He stands up and walks over to you holding out a hand, indicating for you to stand up. Confused but curious you do, and are pulled up close to him. “Now see, if you just kept telling me how good of a job I’ve been doing I’d pay attention all the time.”

You did your best not to react at how close you are to him- keeping your breath even and hoping there was no flush to your cheeks. “But then it would all get to your head and I might have to knock you down a few pegs.”

“I don’t know about you- but that sounds like fun to me.” One of Buggy’s hands skirts over your hip while he gets somehow impossibly closer to you.

“Buggy.” You say sternly, a warning.

“What?” He stops moving, one eyebrow raised.

“I know playing around is fun for you, and you’re not serious, but nothing even close to this can happen.”

“And what is this?” He’s clearly feigning ignorance and you put your hand on his chest and push.

“Nothing.” The word comes out a bit more hurt than you would have liked it to sound. Of course Buggy picks up on it.

“It doesn’t have to be nothing. I know you say I’m not serious but-“ He opens his arms. “I like you.”

“You like a lot of people.” You fire back, jabbing your pointer finger into his chest.

“Maybe that’s true. But c’mon we could have so much fun together.” He steps back closer, your finger digging deeper. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Embarrassment quickly colors your features as he hits the truth right on the head. Of course you’ve thought about it. The way he looks at you, the charm he has, his voice, the way you quickly counted him as your friend here. You really wondered what that stupid mouth could do but admitting that you fantasized about him? “No.”

“You’re an awful liar.” Buggy calls you out, brushing an errant hair behind your ear. “Now c’mon, I’ll even let you knock me down a few pegs.”

It was an awful idea. The worst idea you’ve even considered. You could tell Buggy no one more time and you know he’d respect your choice. But both of you know your heart isn’t in your reflections. Kissing him, doing anything with him as a bad idea.

So of course you grab him by his shirt collar and pull him in for a kiss. He’s shocked for a second- like he can’t believe all that stuff he said actually worked- but quickly melts into the kiss. His hands find your hips and he pulls you flush to him as he tries to take control. But you’re not going to let him win that easy.

You walk forward, forcing him to take steps back until his legs hit the couch. You finally break away from the kiss, panting and grinning wide. Placing your hand on his chest you lightly push and Buggy gets the message, sitting down and letting you crawl onto his lap. He looks up at you, eyes wide and pupils dilated and you want to ruin him.

You kiss him again, aggressive and greedy as your hands hold onto his shoulders for balance. Buggy’s hands, still at your hips, pull you down so he can grind up into you. You gasp as you feel Buggy’s hardness against you through layers of clothing. Bringing your mouth down you kiss along his neck as he continues to grind up into you, small whines leaving his chest.

You lose yourself for a while, switching between his neck and mouth while you grind against each other like horny teenagers. But it’s not enough and you’re starting to get a bit frustrated.

“Hey Bug.” You bite at his earlobe.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Wanna be knocked down a peg still?” Your hands travel his chest as he nods furiously. You stand up and Buggy is clearly disappointed but you motion to the floor. “Lay on your back for me?” You ask sweetly, undoing the buttons on your pants.

You barely finish your sentence before he’s eagerly sliding off the couch and onto the ground exactly like you asked. He props himself up by his elbows though to watch you, and you decide to give him a good show. You face him as you unzip your zipper and grab at your waistband but then turn around and bend over slightly as you drag them down over your ass and legs. You can’t see Buggy’s face but you can hear him groan as your pants and panties are taken down in one motion. Turning back you step out of your pants and get on your knees over him, straddling his chest.

“Can I sit on your face?” You ask sweetly, smiling down at him.

Buggy’s pupils are blown out, almost none of that bright sea green remain. He doesn’t say anything, he just grabs your thighs and pulls you up closer to his face. You can’t help but chuckle as you help him out, sitting up on your knees as you position yourself right over him.

“Fuck- I mean- goddamn-“ Buggy curses and you wish you could still see his face. “Please cmon just sit baby-“

Not wanting to wait either you lower yourself and the second you so Buggy dives in. There’s nothing neat or slow or thought out about the way Buggy eats you out but fuck if it isn’t good. His tongue works its way inside you quickly as his hands dig into your thighs. As he haphazardly goes between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit you have to lean forward and use the couch for balance. You start to get dizzy with pleasure and end up focusing a lot of your energy on staying up and not actually sitting on Buggy, which he seems to notice.

He breaks away from you and you whine but hear his voice. “Just sit on me baby- I’ll be fine please cmon-“

He sounds just as dazed as you and the lust and whine in his voice make you relent, fully relaxing and focusing on the pleasure he was giving you. As his tongue finds your entrance again you grind down, rubbing your clit against his nose. Your moans fills the room as you chase your pleasure and use his face to get yourself off. While one hand stays on the couch to keep you balanced the other goes to Buggy’s head, gripping his hair and tugging.

“‘M close Bug-“ You manage through gasps.

Buggy doesn’t let up- one of his hands comes down to join his tongue inside you, filling you up more while you grind on him. The edges of your vision go white as your orgasm flood over you, slick gushing onto Buggy’s face as you ride it out. When the high is over you slide yourself off of his face and lay down next to him. As you do you see that Buggy’s hand is shoved down his pants and he’s grinding up into his palm.

“Fuck- you been getting off on eating me out?” Your voice is breathy and needy.

“Fucking of course.” He says and you finally get a good look at his face- slick from your juices and completely fucked out. You can’t help but capture his lips in another needy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Snaking your own hand down you grab his wrist, gently pulling it out of his pants. He whines but you quickly shush him.

“Need you inside me- now.” You plead and Buggy wastes no time.

He sits up and shoves his pants down while you get on all fours in front of him. He growls when he sees you presented for him like this, one hand going to your hip while the other grabs his length so he can line himself up. He drags his tip through your folds, gagging up your wetness and teasing you.

“Buggy-“ You tried to be annoyed but your voice just comes out like a whine.

“Alright, alright.” Buggy finally presses into you, stretching you out as you both groan.

He takes his time, letting you adjust as he sinks into you and holds himself still for a few seconds when he bottoms out, waiting for your breathing to level out. But after that all of his patience ends. His hands grip your hips tight as he repeatedly slams into you, hitting you deep every time. You try to meet him half way, thrusting your own hips but one of Buggy’s hands leaves you hips and goes to the small of your back and pushes down- he starts hitting spots you didn’t know existed and you give into him.

You know he’s not going to last long from the way his thrusts are already stuttering- but you’re not far behind, already sensitive from the orgasm he gave you not minutes ago. He must know you’re close too, the hand on your hip leaves and travels downwards towards your clit.

“C’mon I want to feel you come all over my cock please baby-“ He babbles as his fingers work on your clit driving you closer and closer.

With one final thrust and his pleads in your ear you cum again, walls contracting around his cock and squeezing him tight. You let your front half fall to the ground as Buggy pulls out just in time to paint your folds and ass with his cum. You both sit breathless for a few moments, regaining the ability to think.

“I can’t say I feel knocked down in any sense.” Buggy comments from behind you and you whip around and hit him on the shoulder.

“Really that’s what you’re going to say?” You want to sound angry but you can’t help but laugh at his stupid grin.

“It could have been a lot worse?” Buggy offers and you just roll your eyes and loop your arms around his shoulders.

“Look- that was-“ You almost give him a compliment but think better of it. “You cannot tell anyone. Seriously.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Buggy’s arms wrap around your midsection and he pulls you in. “Seriously, I think Crocodile and Mihawk would actually literally kill me.”

Yeah.

He’s probably right.

[everythingmp3]

all I need ✧

adult!Van x fem!reader

you and Van have been hooking up for a while, things are casual, the way she prefers them to be. then, one night, she catches you crying, which leads to something softer than what you’re used to with her.

author’s note: this is just something I quickly came up with bc I was having a rough night and wanted to write some hurt/comfort (I combined it with the idea of her wanting more than just surface level connections) so, if you’re also going through it rn, this is for you <3

warnings: none, just angst and brief mentions of sex, but I’ll still say minors dni

your visits at Van´s place always played out the same way:  

it was usually after 8 pm, you´d talk for a few minutes, nothing too deep, then you´d either go to her room or stay on the couch and hook up. afterwards you´d stay for another ten to fifteen minutes, getting yourself back to a presentable state and wishing her a good night before making your way back home.

she was not entirely careless with you, she did offer that you could take a shower or stay a little longer, she was polite, but you were too prideful for that, you weren´t going to admit that you wanted to spend more time with her, not unless she explicitly asked you to do so.

your arrangement worked, it was a formula that was reliable and efficient, her calling you about once or twice a week, you always giving in even when you were tired or wanted to play hard to get because your chemistry was undeniably perfect. the way you two initially met, had been rather unspectacular: you´d been bored with dating and decided to set your age range higher just to see who was on the apps, and got close to deleting all of your accounts after coming across one too many married couples who wanted a “third” or women who texted you with odd phrases and strange emojis, but just before giving up, you got a message from Van, which was refreshingly straightforward and normal, something along the lines of “you´re very pretty. would you wanna meet up sometime tomorrow?”. 

the first time you were at her place, the initial nerves you felt were quickly replaced by the thrill of how well you matched each other´s style of intimacy. neither of you had gone into the encounter hoping for too much, but somehow you both seemed to know right from the start just how the other person wanted to be touched, how they liked to be kissed, how slow and soft or fast and aggressive they needed certain movements to be, there was a wordless understanding that you shared, that was magnetic and made her abandon the other women she´d been talking to online, knowing that they wouldn´t offer the the same thing. after that first night, you both agreed to see each other again a few days later, which quickly turned into a regular hook-up situation. 

the one problem she had with you was that the more she saw you, the fonder she grew of you, which hadn’t been the plan at all.

a few weeks in, she started looking forward to hearing you come up the stairs of her apartment, helping you undress, feeling you eager on top of her, hearing you sigh her name, all of it, which had never been the case with other hookups she´d had, with other women it had truly just been an anonymous exchange, a quick way to get off, nothing emotional about it, she´d never dreamed of them after they left her place, had never wondered what they were doing during the day, but with you she did, all the time. and yet, she couldn´t bring herself to ask you out, to suggest that you should get to know each other and meet outside of her apartment, during the day, over coffee or a meal, something was stopping her, a final push was needed for her to break her promise of swearing off love. 

over the years Van had reminded herself again and again to remain detached, to never let any woman close enough to have the power to hurt her, it was a little immature and she knew it, her vehement refusal to open herself up to any possibility of more than just flings and short-lived affairs, so whenever she saw you, she tried hard to convince herself to finally drop the whole “fuck romance” act, but it was easier said than done. 

then, one particular night, something happened that she wasn´t prepared for. 

after having sex, you´d put your clothes back on again to go to her kitchen and get yourself a glass of water, while she kept laying in bed for a few more minutes. 

you´d had a rough week and were worn out from the constant effort to appear fine, so as you stood there, alone in her silent living space, suddenly overwhelmed by the pain that you´d stomached on your own for so long, contrasted by the joy you´d felt for the hour that she´d just touched and kissed you, you found yourself tearing up, the thought “nobody knows how badly I am actually doing. not her, not anyone” forcing you into a state of weakness.

at first you tried to get it together, you tried to think of other things, but once the first tear hit your face, it was like something deep inside of you broke open and refused to close up again. you looked up at the ceiling and tried to fight it, but it was pointless, so you steadied yourself against the kitchen counter and tried to be as quiet as possible, hoping and praying that you could just get it over with before she´d come out to join you. about two minutes later, when you were still lost in your sudden outpour of emotion, you heard her saying something to you while stepping out of the bedroom, her tone light and humorous, the way you usually talked to each other, which startled you into a frantic attempt to appear okay, the words on her dating profile ringing in your ears : “strictly casual.”

you knew that she had not signed up for intense emotional connections or for being the one to console someone mid-cry, so you wiped your eyes, trying hard to regain some composure, but she knew the moment she approached you that something was off, one look at your face was enough to know exactly what was going on, her stomach dropped at the sight of you.

she rushed over immediately and her voice dropped into such a soft, sympathetic tone when she said “hey, what´s wrong?”, that your crying started all over again, harder then, the kind that had your lungs compressed and your breath all messed up, the kind that forced your body to surrender, like a higher power was zoning in on you and demanding “feel it all” , at the worst possible moment.

nobody had asked you that question all week, and her of all people being the one to do it was a knife to the heart, it was all you´d wanted from her and everything you couldn´t have, her love, her care, so getting a taste of it was enough to push you even further into your spiral of despair. sometimes, kindness at the right moment, after going so long without it, hurts even more than cruelty, the ache of a tired, frozen body stepping into a warm, inviting room, the ache of suddenly getting it, the one thing you´ve been dying for.

you were leaning on the counter, your forearms straining, facing down, a position of defeat, of hopelessness, thick tears dripping onto the flat surface, like rain splashing against windows. she placed her hand on your back, ever so gently, standing there next to you, gauging your reaction and rubbing up and down in a soothing motion, not talking for a second, not pushing for an answer, just being a quiet witness for a moment. 

she knew that she should let you get the worst sobs out first, that she should save the questions until talking was possible for you again. you felt a sense of shame bubbling up inside of you as you heard the sounds that were coming out of your mouth, cries of pure desperation, undignified, almost choking on air, your chest hurting from it; you hand´t cried in weeks and in that moment it all came flowing out at once, every single suppressed emotion, every single sting of frustration and pain that you´d taken without flinching, suddenly sharp and excruciating, catching up with you, coming back to haunt you;  it was a full on breakdown and Van almost teared up herself as she kept her hand on you, on the body that had been flush against her own mere minutes before, that had given her something she so desperately needed, again and again, intimacy, gentle touch, an intense connection. it was all disguised as a casual hookup, but for her it was more than that, always. you weren´t aware of it, the soft spot she had developed for you, the fact that she did not kiss just anyone the way she kissed you, often and with feeling, you´d told yourself that it was just something she did with every girl, passionate kissing, but it wasn´t, usually she kept it limited, the amount of times she allowed herself to place her lips on someone´s cheek, their neck, their shoulder, she normally kept her hookups impersonal and focused on getting off, but with you, she used it to also get the kind of romance she was starved for without explicitly asking for it, while letting you believe that it wasn´t meaningful. 

in that moment it dawned on her, that she did really care about you, that it wasn´t a “no strings attached” situation, not at all. she wanted nothing more than to ease your pain, to treat you the way a girlfriend would, to make you a tea and take you back to bed and listen to your worries, to help you in some way. she felt painfully useless just standing there, and even worse, seeing you cry like that made her feel awful, guilty even, because she had never stopped to consider that you might be going through some serious things, that you might have been hiding a good amount of pain from her whenever you saw each other, probably out of fear that she´d get turned off by vulnerability. she thought “you fucking idiot” about herself in that moment, realizing that she had never bothered to earnestly ask you how you were doing. 

you seemed like such an easy-going and chill person to her and she was so caught up in feeling sorry for herself most days, that she´d been blind to the fact that being young didn´t mean that you didn´t know suffering too, a little too intimately, judging from the utter devastation she could read in the intensity of your sobs, the kind that she´d only seen from others maybe once or twice in her entire life. she knew how exposing it must have felt for you, to have her present for all of that, so she did her best to just stand there and act like a kind of guard, to shield you in some way, to make you feel less alone, without coming on too strong, since she couldn´t read your mind, couldn´t know for sure that you wanted her to comfort you. still, she was pretty certain that you did, since you hadn´t moved an inch away from her.

eventually, you got through the worst of it, your face all red and puffy, your eyes bloodshot as you stood upright again and wiped your tears, a sudden ache on your lower back once she let go of you, you wanted her to keep touching you, but of course, you wouldn´t ask her to. 

“god I´m so sorry. I don´t know what just happened”, your voice still shaky and weak as you said this, your sleeves damp from your attempt to wipe the moisture off your cheeks. she was standing close to you and sounded serious then, “there is absolutely no need to apologize, okay? I´m just…” she didn´t know how to say it, seeing your fragile expression, the way you were holding yourself, broken open, raw like a wound, it all went straight to her heart, so she threw her rule about not getting emotionally involved out of the window for good and stepped forward to pull you into a tight embrace, her arms around your back as you instinctively went to rest your head against her shoulder, stunned by the sudden gesture of tenderness, moved to tears yet again, a silent, barely audible crying as you held onto her shirt, hard enough to make it clear for her, that you wanted her to be there for you, that you needed her to be.

she could tell from the way your body was trembling that you were dealing with tears again, so she stroked your hair and whispered “hey, it´s okay, I´ve got you, you can stay here for as long as you want”. you let the smooth sound of her voice and the sensation of her embrace lull you into a state of exhausted relief, your muscles slowly loosening up again, your thoughts becoming quieter, which was what she´d hoped would happen, and for a second she had no idea how to handle it, the overwhelming affection she felt for you, the visceral need to keep being the person you went to with your troubles. 

for a few minutes you just stood there together in her kitchen, chest to chest, the familiar scent of her soothing you, and the sensation of being as close as possible, heartbeats mere inches apart, it all managed to slowly stop your crying for good, replacing the pain in your chest with the haze that clouds your mind after sobbing that hard. 

once you were in a somewhat stable mood again, you let go of her and looked at her, rather shyly, a soft smile on her face when she saw that you seemed a bit better, calmer, reaching for both of your hands then, holding them reassuringly, “how about you go sit down on the couch and I get you something to drink, okay? you can use whatever blankets and pillows you want”, you nodded, a quiet “okay, yes, thank you”, which she waved off as she went over to the fridge, “no need to thank me, really. you´ve been nothing but nice to me, even when I was unreliable and flaky, so I think this is the least I can do” she had a point, it had happened more than once that she´d randomly blown you off, often on days where she was so depressed that being with you would´ve cracked her open, would´ve made her confess to you that she liked you, not just for your body. 

you were sitting on the right side of her couch, a blanket over your lap for comfort, as she sat down on the other side and handed you a cold glass of something fizzy with ice cubes, watching you gulp down a good amount before setting it down on the coffee table and exhaling deeply, relieved to see that your eyes were dry again and that your spirits seemed to be rising.  

she kept looking at you, her hands in her lap, an unusual earnestness to her, which you weren’t used to but grateful for. “so. do you wanna talk about it, or no?”, you did want to offer her an explanation but you also wanted to keep it rather brief, unwilling to exhaust her patience. “I´ll spare you the boring details, but I´ve just been going through it lately. personal things, family stuff, things keep stressing me out left and right, and it´s just all a little too much right now.” she nodded, listening intently, not breaking eye contact, so you went on “I´ve been feeling anxious pretty often lately but I just push it down most of the time, to function and get through my days, and most of the time it works, but yeah, sometimes it just…”, “gets a little too heavy” she completed the thought for you, not unfamiliar with what you were describing. “yes, exactly. so that´s what was going on when you walked in. and sorry again, I know that must´ve been a bit weird”.

a deep feeling of protectiveness overcame her at the thought of you out there on your own, pretending everything was fine, her hand on your cheek then for a moment, unbearably tender, “please don´t say sorry for things like that, okay? it wasn´t weird at all, I just got really worried there for a second because you looked so…”,  her voice cracked and it got to you, that she apparently really felt for you, “I know.. but I´m feeling much better now, thanks to you”, the first smile from you then since she´d caught you crying, which immediately made her face light up too, your hand on her thigh, an appreciative squeeze as you said that. the way your face looked then, softly lit by the orange lamp nearby, that post-crying glow giving your face an endearing, achingly lovable look, it made it crystal clear to her: “I don´t want to go back to “casual” after tonight. I want more with her”. 

“listen-” she said, clearing her throat, averting her gaze for a moment, trying to find the words, “I know I said I was just looking for fun, for something casual, and it was true at first..”  your attention was gripped then, you leaned closer to her, her eyes finding yours as she continued, “but I don´t think that´s working out for me. not with you, because I do want more. I really like you, and I want to be there for you, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about this stuff , you know? and I want to spend more time with you in general.” she knew she should just say it plainly then, “what I mean is that I´d be lying to myself and to you if I kept acting like I don´t want to be with you, for more than just sex.” a brief pause before she added “if that´s what you want too, of course”.

you had to process for a second when she was done speaking because you were not used to her being open and honest like that, especially not about her innermost feelings, but once the words settled in your mind, your smile widened and you grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers through hers as you answered “yeah, it´s absolutely what I want, no doubt. I wasn´t gonna push for it, but I like you a lot. I always feel better when I see you, when I´m here”.

that way of putting it struck her right at her core “no, stop, that´s way too sweet, I don´t deserve that yet. I´ve gotta make up for not doing this sooner”, you laughed then, a tired laugh but a genuine one, it made her heart swell, to see you like that after seeing you hunched over in pain, “okay, sure, I wouldn´t mind that”. you leaned back , thinking of something, “so, you´re gonna break it off with the other girls you´re seeing?”, she laughed, running her hands through her hair, “the other girls, right”, she thought for a moment before admitting, “well about that…it´s kinda just been you for a while now.”

at first you thought she was bluffing, but you could tell from her slightly nervous demeanor that she meant it,  “so we´ve been exclusive all this time without knowing it?”, she didn´t know that you were also not seeing anyone else but she was glad to hear you say it, a satisfied smile from her, “guess we have, huh?”. you moved closer to her then and she pulled your legs onto her lap, “well then, how about I take you out on a proper date. we could get dinner on saturday?”, it all seemed so easy all of a sudden, “I´d love that, yeah”. 

you shook your head an laughed to yourself then, so she nudged you, “what is it?”, eyeing you curiously, “oh, I was just thinking about how desperately I wanted to hug you the last times we saw each other, but I knew it was off limits. so that was nice, felt good”. “oh yeah?. well it´s not off limits anymore, so”, she put her arm up on the couch cushion to make space for you, pulling you even closer, letting you nestle yourself in there.

“can I ask you something personal?”, she said, your head resting on her chest then, “yeah, sure”, “is there a specific person that´s making your life difficult?”. someone did come to mind, even though they weren´t the only issue you were dealing with, but you were unsure about telling her, “why do you wanna know?”, she shrugged, “well, if there is someone, I might have to ask you for a full name and address.”, that made you laugh, amused by her mafia-like way of putting it, “so you can do what exactly?”, she almost slipped up then and made a joke along the lines of “well, I hunted and ate people when I was a teenager, so I might be a good candidate for helping someone out with revenge”, but she stopped herself in time, instead saying “I´m not telling you. wouldn´t want you to be complicit”, and you knew she was not actually offering to kill someone for you, but still, you liked it, the fact that she was signaling to you that she was deeply troubled by the idea of someone messing with you. for a few minutes you closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her lightly stroking your hair, until you grew heavy and willed yourself awake again. 

as you got up from her chest and rubbed your eyes, she realized that she hadn´t told you yet that you could stay over, “do you wanna go back to bed?” she asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world, like she´d asked you a bunch of times before,  “you´re letting me sleep over?” you asked, slightly surprised, she nodded, “I´m letting you do whatever you want from now on”, a playful smile as she got up and held her hand out to help you do the same, “careful with that promise”, you said, but she insisted, “oh but I mean it. I wanna be fucking smothered, I kept you at arm´s length for way too long”. it was easy for her to charm you, so you felt all the previous weight on your shoulders falling off as you followed her back to her room, relieved and content, glad to actually lay down and rest under the sheets that you´d previously only been on top of. 

the moment she laid down next to you, she moved onto her side to face you, staring at you with a lovestruck expression that she´d never let you see before. it was a little surreal to you at first, how much she´d hidden behind her convincingly nonchalant exterior, how successfully she´d made you believe that it was one-sided, your attachment to her.

you looked at her for a moment, soaking up the attention and comfortable silence before saying, “thank you. for all of this.”, she nodded, “any time, really, I mean it”.

you were already half asleep by then but you used the bit of energy you had left to pull her face closer to yours and give her a kiss, a soft, heartfelt one, the kind you don´t just give to anyone, your hand on her face, a faint humm of pleasure from her, the warmth of her lips against yours leaving you weak with everything you felt for her, a glow to both of you as you got comfortable under the covers. you closed your eyes before she did and she couldn´t help but look at your peaceful expression, the outline of your facial features for a few minutes, whispering “you´re so beautiful” before she turned off the light and moved herself close enough to you to feel your body, even when you weren´t touching. you let her believe that you hadn´t heard her.

Van was good at beating herself up over all things she´d messed up in the past, she was prone to self-flagellation, but that night when she fell asleep, she knew that she´d done things right for once.

she´d gotten over her aversion to emotional intimacy and it had resulted in you not having to brave through your pain on your own anymore, so in a way, the regret she had about not opening up sooner was not about what she´d denied herself, not at all, but about what she´d denied others, what she´d denied you. 

she vowed to herself to be whatever you needed her to be in the coming weeks, months, however long it was that you´d let her be part of your life.

nothing made her feel better about having survived all of the horrors, nothing made her feel more convinced that it had been worth it to stay alive despite it all, than to feel it at her core, that her presence was a light in someone´s darkness.

it was a full moon that night, so your sleeping silhouettes were illuminated by the silver streaming in through the window, even though it was pitch-black outside. the symbolism was not very subtle.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 2: Whither is thy beloved turned aside?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The invitation to the Withers’ party arrives at the Crimson Palace during a ball. Astarion allows her to go, with some caveats. Angst and smut.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The invitation could not have come at a worse time for Astarion. They read it after the party, as the last of the guests prepared to depart.

He glanced at Ban, who was still staring at the letter. She looked a little lost, and he immediately knew she wished to go. If it had been up to him, the letter would have been tossed into the fireplace immediately. Seeing them, his old friends, would be an unwelcome reminder of who he’d been. He knew they preferred that Astarion: weak, someone who acquiesced to their wishes - with snide words, perhaps, but nary a protest. They had all slowly stopped talking to him after the rite. Not that he cared, he reminded himself; he needed no one other than his consort.

“So.” He broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne. She was perched on his lap, still staring at the parchment, as if she hadn't heard him. He hated being ignored. Especially by her.

His hand slid down to grip her muscled thigh, squeezing a little harder than he normally would, aiming to draw her attention back to him. Ban’s eyes flicked up in surprise, then settled back into that detached expression she usually wore when talking to him in the presence of others.

“Yes, my lord?” she said mechanically. There were still some guests mingling in the ballroom, so she maintained the decorum befitting the Ascendant’s consort.

“If you wish to go to the reunion, pet…” he said, weighing it even as he spoke. He’d let her go. As much as he disliked the idea, she’d probably be delighted. But there was no way he'd let her out of his sight, especially not across that sort of distance. And especially not around the people who knew him before - people who had less than stellar opinions about his improved self.

“I would be glad to accompany you,” he drawled, masking the amount of time it actually took for him to decide. He stretched his legs as he spoke, as if it was a trivial matter and he’d decided on a whim.

He knew she exchanged letters with them, and it had never bothered him before. It did well to give her entertainment in between their work and overseeing the renovation of the palace. None of them had paid her a visit, however, and he found himself glad of it. Gods forbid they came and tracked mud on his carpets, touched his furniture with grubby hands, or worse - spewed supercilious, self-righteous drivel.

Ban put the parchment down. She was dressed in a tight dress with thigh slits that went up all the way to her hips, revealing the long, hard planes of her thighs. Astarion had chosen it, of course. It reminded him of the one she used to wear, the one that was given to them by Umberlee’s priestesses. His hand moved higher, rucking the dress up several inches, letting his greedy lust take over momentarily.

“We can go, pet, if you’ll let me have a little more than I usually get tonight,” he purred.

Ban nodded. Of course he’d ask for something in return. But this opportunity was far too important to pass up, especially after Gale’s most recent letter.

I may have come across some information that might be useful to you, he’d written. I shall look into it further and will update you soon.

“What… more… would you want to have?” she asked. Her pulse picked up slightly in apprehension, but also arousal. He could ask for anything, really, and if she were to deny him or push him too far, she worried it might finally be when he chose to compel her. And yet her body still responded to his words, to the mere idea of what he might ask for tonight. Still her beloved, even as they stood in the ruins of what they had built.

“I’ll let you know when we’re there.” He gave her haunch a light slap, indicating she should stand. She did, and he headed into the thinning crowd to see off the last of the guests.

She watched him go, his sharp figure cutting across the ballroom gracefully. As was their protocol during events like these, she headed for the doors, seeing the guests out and thanking them as they slowly ambled out of the palace. Her face felt tight, her smile too stiff. No one noticed. To them, she was simply the Ascendant’s plaything. No one was aware of exactly how much she contributed to his endeavors - just the way Astarion preferred it.

Before long, the ballroom was empty, and Ban headed back to their shared bedroom. The moment she opened the door he was upon her, his clothing already discarded on the floor. He growled as he pushed her against the wall.

“I have been wanting, my love. Waiting all night. I wanted to take you right in front of everyone,” he hissed against her ear, hands greedily grabbing every square inch of bare skin he could reach.

Ban arched her neck, moaning when he spoke. It was well-rehearsed and well-executed, and he usually bought it - or at least found it sufficient. Tonight, however, he did not. He drew back, arms on either side of her face, caging her against the wall.

The eyes boring into hers were as hungry and feral as ever, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. His erection stood proudly out from his abdomen, but he made no move just yet.

Ban eyed him warily, tonight’s discussion on her mind. She braced herself. “What did you want then, Astarion?”

As she said this, she slowly began to move to her knees. It was a pretty good guess; he did seem to like her in that position, to remind her who exactly was in charge. But she immediately realized it couldn’t be this. This was… normal, and he had asked for more.

Astarion’s hand on her shoulder stopped her, helping her back up. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Not that.”

Instead, he pressed closer. When he cupped her cheek, it was surprisingly, achingly tender. He pursed his lips, a small moment of uncertainty passing over his features.

“Love me,” he said, and it was a challenge. “You have not done that in so long, my treasure. Love me.”

It was one of those rare moments when he acknowledged that things had changed. She didn’t answer, but neither did she flinch. And he took that as his cue.

Hot, searing lips met Ban’s, yet another reminder that he was different. His free hand took hers and placed it flush over his heart. In the wilds, his slow, undead heartbeat had been a source of comfort to her; she had lain against it, listening to it night after night. Now it pounded and raced, something it had been incapable of before. She fought down the urge to draw her hand back.

“You haven’t done that in ages,” Astarion whispered as he broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked at her with desperate, longing eyes, but she missed it, her own eyes closed. “You haven’t listened to my heart, haven’t felt it beat for you. You used to,” he hissed, and there was anger there.

Did she prefer it when it was slow and abnormal? Did she prefer it to this one - strong, racing, living? It hurt him to think about it. Gods, it hurt him to think of before. The hand on her cheek tightened for the briefest moment, but he mastered himself. No.

“I need it again, Ban. If only for tonight.”

The words were a plea. Laced with demand, yes, but a plea nonetheless. His voice threatened to crack at the end of his sentence.

Ban exhaled roughly at his words. She was torn; a part of her wanted him to know exactly how to make her love him the way she used to. The other, larger part of her merely wished to pretend and get it over with.

“I love you,” she countered, “always have. Forevermore will.”

And that was the truth; for however changed and twisted he’d become, she would always harbor feelings for him.

Astarion wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. It was a far cry from the time they’d slept together in the clearing, when he had hopped into her arms. He carried her to the four-poster bed effortlessly, setting her down on her back. He climbed over her, kissing his way up from her abdomen to her throat.

“You do?” the Ascendant said quietly. Inside, he was pained; he knew this to be largely true, but that resignation was there. That distance. Part of him wondered if that was the actual price of ascension.

Part of him thought that had he known, he would have refused it.

He kissed her throat, hiding his face. He let a growl escape him, let his hands grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He was not, would not, be weak. He wasn’t that mewling cur. Not anymore.

He had ascended. Now he must pay the price.

He brought a hand down to cup her breast. She whimpered when he gripped her wrists a little too tightly, and he instantly eased his grasp, sensing her discomfort. He lifted his head from her neck to watch her face. She had her eyes squeezed shut, face turned to the side to give him access to her throat. It was as if she was in the act of turning away from him.

How pathetic, he thought. I’m the king of my own little kingdom, and I feel as if I have lost everything.

But the Ascendant refused to let these thoughts rule his deeds. Vulnerability was something he had cleansed from himself. He released her wrists, his hands deftly undoing her dress. She shifted to help him strip it off of her.

As they finished, she finally spoke up.

“Yes, I do,” she said carefully, her face guarded and neutral. “I have loved you from the day I first laid eyes on you.”

And what a stupid godsdamned idea that had been.

Astarion wanted to push her, to force her to admit that the love they shared had been changed. By her. Because she wouldn't accept what he was. Because everything he’d given her - riches, power, sex - wasn't enough. Because she wanted the one thing he could not provide - doing so would pave the way for the ghosts of who they used to be. So he’d force them both to settle for this farce.

“And I love you, my dearest consort,” he said thickly, letting it go. He crawled his way back to her, settling his head between her legs. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her muscles tighten under his lips.

“I am nothing without you,” he whispered, and they both knew it to be painfully true.

He sunk his teeth into her thigh.

It wasn’t horribly painful, and Ban forced her leg to stop twitching. She watched her lord suckle at the wounds, his fingers gently making their way to her mound and finding her clit. He thumbed a soft, circular pattern he’d mastered long ago. Licking off the last of the blood, he met her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. The sanguine hunger had been cured in the ascension, but he still craved her blood, simply because it was a part of her.

One dark, hungry look was all the warning he gave before he spread her folds and dove in, his tongue lapping needily at her core.

Ban hissed at the sudden warmth of his tongue, growing wet almost instantly. Sex may have lost most of its passion, but that didn’t mean there was none, or that it wasn’t enjoyable. Astarion was still Astarion, after all.

What Ban worried most about were his thoughts during the act. Did he still dissociate? They had been sleeping together almost every night since the rite, at his behest, but she had never dared ask. Before the rite, he’d finally been able to let her touch him, and even still it had been fraught. It was one of those topics she worried would hurt his ego and remind him of his past.

But Astarion was incredibly present; had been for some time now. He’d vowed to erase his past, and that had included the damage done by the parade of bodies he’d had to lie with. There’d been a learning curve, but it hadn’t been too difficult. Being in the moment was no longer challenging, not something he had to work at. Not when there was no longer anything to fear. He was the master now: he took what he wanted, in the time he wanted and in the manner he wished it to be.

And of course, because it was her. His Ban, the only one he’d ever allow to touch him, see him, know him this way, and she was the strongest balm of all. He knew he would be likely to relapse if they invited others to their bed - that shared event in Sharess’ Caress had proved as much - but alone with her, in his palace? Surrounded by everything that was his? It was effortless to be present in the moment.

He licked at her clit eagerly, alternating soft, feather-light touches with longer, harder laps. Then he wrapped his lips around it, letting his teeth graze her bud gently. He was rewarded with a low whimper and he chuckled darkly, satisfied. As broken as their love was, at least he knew he was still able to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. He snaked a hand down, palming his cock, grinding into his fist and the bed.

He licked her a bit more, bringing her close to peak, and then slowly slithered up her body. He met her gaze and saw a mix of lust, love, and that ever-present and all-encompassing resignation.

“Let me make love to you?” His tone was gentle and a little uncertain. He disliked the way it had slipped out of him, but found her reaction - surprise and… hope - well worth it. He figured that if he wanted her to at least pretend to truly love him tonight, then he may as well give her something to work with.

She gulped, the facade broken. “Yes, Astarion. Just like before.”

At any other time that would have enraged him, but his need to feel her love was too great tonight. He bit back a retort, watching her face as he stroked his cock a few more times before lining up and slowly sinking into her wet heat.

As she watched him slide into her, a small thought occurred to her: there’d never been a time they’d made love without something being off. The first two times they’d been together, he had been manipulating her. Their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands and even those final days before the rite had been filled with exploration, but also with worry. His ability to enjoy intimacy had still been fraught with setbacks. Every time after that had been after he’d changed. It was ironic, she mused bitterly, that the closest they’d gotten to healthy sex had been him seducing her for protection.

And then all thought was quickly chased away by the sensation of his cock burying deep inside her.

Astarion began thrusting. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Ban’s pained expression. He needed to think of her as she’d been, laughing as they made love - that genuine joy in simply being with him. He imagined her in the clearing, wincing a little as he remembered uncharitably thinking her gullible. Shifting course, he brought forth memories of their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands, when they had finally started something real and stopped having sex, but had found other ways to be intimate. When he would touch her, make her come undone, and she would look at him like the sun rose in his eyes. Those, he realized belatedly, were the happiest moments of his cursed existence.

He would give almost anything to see that again. Almost.

He rarely allowed himself to think of the past, but tonight was an exception. He’d asked her to love him again for one night, and so he indulged himself. He thrust faster, driven by his memories, trying to use his body to love her broken pieces back together; trying to give her what he couldn’t back then.

Ban noticed, saw Astarion’s eyes were closed. He was usually very visually greedy, eyes eating up her every reaction as he fucked her senseless, but tonight he seemed like his old self. His thrusts were hard, but with the intention to give, angling himself so that he hit her spot with every pass. She felt tenderness breaking through her apathy and was unable to stem the flow. She couldn’t help it; she stroked his cheek, surprised when he whimpered in response.

His eyes remained shut, but his face was less pained. “Stay with me,” he said, his tone entirely different. It was softer, more earnest. “Just like this, forevermore.”

“I will, if you stay like this too.” It wasn’t a demand, rather a plea. A prayer, one she hoped her Astarion could answer from across time and whatever distance now separated them.

They were both nearing their peak, Astarion thrusting as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. He shook his head at her words, an agonized expression on his face. In those few moments he’d stolen from the Ascendant, he wanted to grant her wish. But he knew once he came, he wouldn’t be able to.

He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.

And if that broke her heart, well, the Ascendant could live with that. She’d still be here, and they could both continue the dance they knew all too well.

Ban decided to try again. It was a risk, and she feared being compelled, but if there had ever been a moment in the past six months that it could work, it would be this one.

“I would stay. If you let me be free, Astarion, I would st-”

“No!”

His eyes flew open, the moment evaporating instantly. Freedom? What? So she could run away from him? So he would be left with absolutely nothing, a wretched creature in far worse misery than he’d been in as a spawn? No. She could not be freed.

For a split second, he wished he’d made her into what he was under Cazador. But the thought was instantly swallowed by disgust and self-loathing. No. He would never.

But she couldn’t know.

Ban deflated at his outburst, the resignation returning to her eyes as she nodded. “Fine. For tonight, though, I can.”

He’d settle for that.

The Ascendant closed his eyes again, hips resuming their movement. He wanted to drown in his memories again, and so he let his mind fill with them, let his mind be caught in their current, allowing them to drag him under.

Her, laughing at some silly prank he’d pulled. Her in their tent, coming undone as his fingers touched her and his lips kissed her. Her, telling him she loved him for the first time, but not asking for anything in return.

The power of that final memory unraveled him. His climax washed over him, and the low whine that escaped his lips sounded nothing like the Ascendant. It was in that moment that his mind inadvertently reached for his creation - his bride.

They both gasped at the contact. He tried, frantically, to stem the flow of thoughts, and was mostly successful. Only one slipped through to her, the one which brought him to his peak.

He was reading a book while she rested on his chest, part of their usual nighttime routine. He looked down at her, brushing back a lock of her hair.

“You should sleep,” he said. “If we’re going to push for the nightsong tomorrow, you’ll need all your strength.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. Tomorrow could decide the fate of the Shadow-Cursed lands, and she did need rest.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. Just in case things go wrong tomorrow.” Her hand splayed over his chest, and his undead heart sped up at the contact. He smiled.

“Once this is all done, darling, you’ll have eternity with me. I promise you that. As for tomorrow, we’ll be fine. I've got you,” he assured her lightly, miming shooting his twin crossbows.

Ban laughed, and her next words came forth unbidden.

“I love you, Astarion. You don’t ever have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

The memory washed over Ban and she felt the wild, intense surprise, the joy he’d felt at her words. The strength of his remembered elation stole her breath, and she stared at Astarion in shock. When the alien presence of his mind had entered hers, she’d thought he was finally going to bend her to his will. She had been prepared to fight. Instead, she’d seen this memory, one she had thought rejected by him.

Was he thinking about that? Was that on his mind as he came?

Astarion jerked back quickly, feeling threatened by this sudden, unwanted vulnerability, and much like a cornered animal, his only recourse was to lash out.

“How dare you,” he hissed. “You ask for freedom, but invade my mind. Look at me.”

He grabbed her by the jaw, turning her to face him. He was aware that it had been his mind that had reached out for hers; she didn’t even know such a thing was possible. But his need to never show weakness was too great. Indignation won out; he took umbrage at this evidence that she could coax that sort of softness from him still, that even the Ascendant could be swayed by her love.

”You will never be free. You understand? Everyone - everything you need is here. In. This. Palace.” He let go of her, his chest heaving. Tears threatened to prick his eyes but he refused to consider why, holding them back by sheer force of will.

“You’ve done as I asked. We will go to the reunion. And then you’ll see,” he sneered, “exactly how pathetic the past was, compared to now.”

With those venomous words, he turned away from her. He missed the determined gleam in her eye, the one that he used to find so vexing and yet so alluring, the one that had never failed to charm him.

Later that night, whilst the Ascendant was in trance, his creation began to prepare a bag. She packed her old armor and weapons from their adventure. In the morning, she would say that she was giving them to Karlach for her battles in Avernus.

And he would believe it, because he’d forgotten her strength, forgotten the stubborn determination that had lured him to her in the first place. He’d believe it because he would be there, watching her. Because he, in his insistence on keeping her a caged bird, had forgotten what she was capable of.

[the-clumsywitchtarot]

Pick-a-Card Reading: What Makes You So Loveable?

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

Cards

Two of Wands (Reversed)

The Devil (Reversed)

Ten of Swords (Reversed)

The Lovers

King of Wands

The Hermit

I didn't necessarily intend for these readings to be about what makes you lovable romantically but that is what came out. I see that you are someone that has great boundaries when in a relationship or you are currently working on developing strong boundaries before entering your next relationship. I see that you aren't someone that let's a relationship bind you or change who you are, you remain true to yourself and wish for the other person to do the same. That's one of the things your partner loves about you, you don't change yourself to please them and you don't expect them to change themselves to please you. You prefer a relationship where you can help each other grow and become better versions of yourselves but you aren't looking to remake them just as you yourself aren't looking to be remade. With the hermit I can also see that you aren't clingy in relationships and you enjoy your alone time and pursuing your own hobbies but at the same time you are still capable of showing love and passion towards your partner. I keep hearing that you are the dream partner! You're not detached but you also allow room for your partner to breath and not feel guilty for not calling or being with you every second of every day.

Cards

Five of Wands

Queen of Pentacles (Reversed)

Four of Swords

Four of Pentacles

Ace of Pentacles (Reversed)

Ace of Wands

I see that this pile is willing to fight for what they think is right even if it is futile or unlikely to have the outcome you are desiring, you still go for it. I feel like some of the people that chose this pile are into activism. With the queen of wands and ace of pentacles in reverse I feel like you are someone that isn't super into material wealth and would much rather focus on what feels good to you. This is one of the things that makes you so loveable, you would gladly turn down an opportunity to make money if it meant compromising your ethics or hurting someone. Even though the four of pentacles typically means holding onto money, I can see this more so being about you holding on to experiences you've had and valuing that more than having lots of money. I feel like you have recently been gaining a new zest for life or something you've just discovered and it has made the energy you project even more amazing than your energy normally is.

Cards

The of Cups

Ten of Wands

Knight of Pentacles (Reversed)

Five of Pentacles

Eight of Pentacles

The Sun

I see that this pile gives off a joyous energy no matter what they're going through, the three of cups is really standing out to me I can see you being the life of the party. For some of you this comes out in a very flamboyant wild way and for others it's like a get together just wouldn't be the same if you didn't show up. I see you being the kind of person that could even make a funeral more pleasant as strange as that may sound. For half of the people that chose this pile, your wild vibrant energy is what makes you loveable and for the other half that chose this pile your peaceful energy is what makes you lovable. I'm getting that some of you are like taking an upper and some of you are like taking a downer (in the best way possible).

Please let me know if your reading resonated and always remember not to make a decision based on a reading unless it's one you feel completely comfortable with. Thank you for visiting my tarot page!

All the best to you,

- Erika, The Clumsy Witch

[donutdrawsthings]

I hope one day the general view on feet in art changes online, both because they're just a normal part of our body, but also because you can create such beautiful symbolism around them in narratives.

They're our connection to the earth and everything that is our reality (and the reality of generations to come). The state of one's shoes (how worn they are) could speak for not only the character's wealth, but also how in touch/detached they are with/from the world around them. In that same vein how often a character is seen walking around barefoot could also say a lot about how free they are compared to characters who cringe at the thought of touching grass without anything on. And then that also gets me thinking about the state of a character's feet themselves. How worn are they? Are they well taken care of?

I'm thinking about this, because I've noticed older stories aren't afraid to mention feet at all. And by mentioning a character has sore feet or blisters, they become more like real people to me as a reader/watcher, too... Instead of being these invincible fictional creations you know will win at the end of a story no matter what.

We used to laugh about how people used to freak out about seeing an ankle, but sometimes the reaction to feet in non-sexual art feels the exact same. I wish it weren't so!