#imagine spending hours upon hours on something as a job

[blues824]

I saw your sheep mc posts in the request masterlist and imagine if sheep mc couldn’t talk like in the manga but can only bleat like a regular sheep. So the brothers got them Dog Buttons that people sometimes use to get their pets to communicate with them. Imagine a scenario where mc uses one of the buttons that say a swear word to cuss out a brother🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Gender-neutral reader.

Lucifer

He had seen a video of the talking buttons on Devilgram, sent to him by Levi, and had asked if you would like them to be able to communicate properly. After you sat on the piece of paper that said ‘yes’ rather than ‘no’, he put in an order for them. A few days later, he got a notification on his DDD that they were delivered.

Upon opening the box, he saw that the buttons were brightly colored, and thus you would be able to distinguish them. Also, there were labels for the buttons as well. He sorted the buttons from normal words to curse words, and for the rest of the day it was a reliever for everyone that you were able to finally communicate in a somewhat normal medium.

However, the peace had not lasted more than a couple of hours. He was sitting in the living room when you were pressing two buttons over and over again. If you couldn’t tell already, it was ‘fuck’ and ‘you’. He looked and saw that you were cursing out Mammon, and he had to refrain himself from laughing out loud as he went to solve the issue.

Mammon

He let out a very loud laugh as he heard that Lucifer ordered the buttons for you, but you rammed into his shin with your horns and that got him to shut up. He helped set the buttons up, and labeled them for you. He pressed a few, and said ‘love you’, and you said ‘love you two (too)’. 

For the rest of the day, Mammon pretty much spent his free time sitting with you and communicating with you through the buttons. It was a lot more fun than he originally anticipated, and he could see why you were enjoying them. The Avatar of Greed was happy that you could finally ‘speak’ to him.

But, Satan came out of his bedroom in a rage and stomped on and broke the ‘outside’ button. You, being the chaotic sheep that you are, immediately started pressing buttons. You said ‘fight, bitch’, and got yourself ready to ram into the Avatar of Wrath. Mammon had to hold you back as Lucifer restrained Satan before any damage was caused.

Leviathan

He originally saw the video and sent it to Lucifer, saying that a system like that could be used for you to communicate your needs in a more efficient way. He also sent the link to order the buttons if the eldest agreed, and he was very excited to help set them up once they had arrived. You had the job of pressing each of the buttons to make sure that none of them were defective.

This was probably the longest amount of time that he had spent outside of his room, just watching you have fun pressing the buttons and asking for random things like water and snacks. He catered to your every desire because he knew that you were enjoying getting something akin to your voice back.

But, the fun was over when Mammon ran into the living room trying to escape Lucifer and accidentally broke one of the buttons. You were upset and said ‘Fuck you, Mams’. That sentence alone had the Avatar of Envy rolling on the floor in tears just laughing as you continued to press those three buttons over and over.

Satan

Each of the brothers pitched in and helped with the labeling of the buttons. Satan thought that the excited sparkle in your eyes was absolutely adorable as you started pressing the buttons. The first one you had pressed was ‘cat’, and he knelt down to the ground to say ‘love you’ as he left to go do something else.

He was sad that he couldn’t spend too much time with you and your buttons, but he had to do the grocery shopping for the HoL, as it was his turn to cook and he found a recipe that he wanted to try out. Unfortunately, he did not have all of the ingredients, and thus needed to go to the store. He did ask if you wanted anything, and you responded ‘snack’, and he made a note on the list to get your favorite snack.

When he came back home, he heard you in the kitchen saying ‘shit’ over and over again. He looked and saw that you had spilled a glass of water and you couldn’t wipe it up because your hooves did not allow you to grab anything. He laughed as he went to clean up the spill, and stated that it was no big deal.

Asmodeus

He was probably more excited than you, to be honest. He loved the videos of the dogs pressing the buttons, so he was very happy that you would be doing it to be able to communicate better. That means you could help him choose between two different clothing options, and you would be able to say ‘one’ or ‘two’.

The first buttons you had pressed were ‘Asmo, beautiful’, and the Avatar of Lust let out a squeal as he canceled all of his plans to just hang out with you for the remainder of the day. He took many videos and posted them to his Devilgram. All the comments were just things like ‘so cute!’ and ‘nice to see that Avatars are accommodating the exchange student!’.

But, the excitement was short-lived when Mammon was running from Levi and crushed one of your buttons. Asmo gasped as you immediately pressed the buttons ‘shit head’, and he had to hold in the laughs he wanted so desperately to let out. His older brother looked like a kicked puppy, but since he saw that the Avatar of Envy was also distracted by what you said, took advantage and continued to run.

Beelzebub

He set up the food-related buttons, obviously. It was funny to hear his voice come from the buttons rather than one that matched you, but at least you could communicate your needs and wants in a clearer and less tedious way. You seemed very excited about it as well, so he was just happy that you were happy.

Almost immediately, you asked for a snack, and he went to the kitchen and brought back a sweet snack and a savory snack so that you could choose what you wanted. You actually really enjoyed the buttons, and you had your very first full-blown conversation with Beel. It was a very moving moment for the big demon, as he had never been able to hear you before.

But, happy time was over when Lucifer accidentally stepped on and broke one of the buttons… ‘burger’. You pressed ‘bitch’ over and over, and you did not allow the eldest brother to get a word in. The Avatar of Gluttony set out about purchasing an extra button to replace the one that broke, but he found the situation absolutely hilarious.

Belphegor

He was honestly confused, but recorded the sleep/rest-related buttons. It was weird to hear his own voice whenever you asked if you could nap with him, but he would never refuse a request from his beloved Y/N. Honestly, he didn’t mind the buttons. He always made sure that he minded where he stepped to make sure that he didn’t break them.

There were times where he would wake up to you pressing a button, be it ‘school’ or ‘breakfast’ or something of the sort, and he low-key preferred it where you did not have any buttons and thus couldn’t wake him up. But, if there was any way he would rather wake up, this would probably be what he chose.

One time, Beel accidentally broke one of the buttons, and before he could apologize, you said ‘want, fight, piece, shit?’, and the twins got the idea. Belphie started laughing so hard, and the Avatar of Gluttony was just looking like a kicked puppy as you continued to cuss him out.

[bunny-yan]

Stalker!Yandere x GN! Reader

Tw: Stalking, slight NSFW themes, Minors pls go away, Happy Valentine's Day

—

“What the fuck?”

Walking into your apartment you were shocked to find it spotless. You noticed a nice scent wafting throughout and upon walking further in you realized it was due to the lit candle on your counter next to a note with elegant handwriting.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” it read. “I wish I could spend today with you, but our reunion will happen in due time. Relax in the tub after eating the meal I left for you in the microwave. Enjoy, my love - V.”

Everything made sense now. You don’t know why you hadn’t realized it before, probably too tired from the double you had to work, but the answer was obvious. It was your stalker. 

It’d explain your tidy apartment despite the fact that when you had left this morning it looked as if a hurricane had past through. You had no doubt your bed was made and all of your clothes were cleaned and folded neatly waiting for you in the places you kept them when you got around to cleaning. You didn’t consider yourself a messy person but sometimes things got a little out of hand.

No worries though. Mr. Stalker had come to your rescue on multiple occasions. 

You tried reporting it to the police, but there was no point. You could complain about feeling as if you were being followed or getting weird text or phone calls at random hours of the night, but no harm had come to your person. And you could only imagine the crazy looks the cops would give you if you complained about a secret admirer breaking in to, what? Clean your apartment? Yeah, that wouldn’t make you seem crazy at all. 

There wasn’t any evidence of him stealing valuables which made sense considering your job barely paid you enough to afford rent every month. He actually left gifts for you to find. 

Watches, jewelry, little trinkets, and notes that often confessed his undying love for you. At first you’d thrown them away, horrified that someone had been in your apartment, feeling unsafe and unable to sleep for the first few months, but that didn’t stop him. Oh no. If anything, it made his gift giving more obsessive. Little notes turned to pages expressing his disappointment that you didn’t seem to like the gifts that he took so much time to pick out for you. But you didn’t have to worry. He understood that you were at the beginning stages of your relationship and it would take more time for him to figure out the things you liked. 

Today was no different. You set down the note, sighing as you picked up the red jewelry box. Opening it, you blinked at the diamond encrusted anklet. Your name was engraved on the back. 

Snapping the box shut, you set it on the counter as you moved toward the microwave. It would go with all of the others. You dropped your bag to the ground, slightly spoiled due to your anonymous housekeeper, but your shoulders ached and you’d initially planned to dump everything and sleep. You wouldn't feel bad for making a mess. 

Opening the microwave, you reached in to pull out a plate covered with plastic wrap to keep your favorite food warm. You took off the plastic wrap before putting the plate back in the microwave and slamming the door closed to warm it up. 

Was it the smartest idea to eat something that your stalker had prepared for you?

No.

But you were tired of throwing away perfectly good food and you didn’t feel like cooking for yourself. You didn’t think this guy would hurt you. He’s had plenty of opportunities so far and you were still alive so you gambled that you would be fine. 

It’d been so long since your shadow had joined you that he felt like a roommate at this point. A roommate that wasn’t deterred no matter how many times you changed the locks on your apartment door. It was money coming out of your pocket so you said, fuck it. If he wanted to follow you, break into your apartment that you couldn’t afford to leave, and act as your creepy housekeeper, so be it. It wasn’t like any of the things you’d done to avoid him had worked out in the end for you anyway. 

The beeping of the microwave drew you out of your thoughts. 

Plate in hand, you walked to your couch, finding a box with another note on top of it. 

Setting the plate down on the coffee table, you picked up what was a box of heart-shaped chocolates and flipped open the note. 

Skimming over it, you tossed it and the box of chocolates to the side after seeing that it was a declaration of love with him hoping that you liked your gift. You didn’t particularly enjoy this holiday. Having no one to share it with  made it obsolete and only reminded you that the one interested party you were aware of visited you regularly without your knowledge or consent. 

You lazed about on your couch, happy plate you wouldn’t bother cleaning as you grew bored of watching tv. You dragged yourself to your bedroom, pausing in the doorway before walking towards the bathroom without a glance to your rose covered bed. 

“Of course.” you muttered, pushing the door open to reveal another candle lit with a bubble bath waiting and ready for you. 

Rolling your eyes, you began to strip before sinking in the satisfyingly steaming water. 

You don’t know how he did it. You used to exhaust yourself trying to figure out how he did these things, knowing intimate details about yourself that you only revealed to those close to you. But again, there was no point. 

Any attempt at avoiding your mystery stalker would only further aggravate the situation. All you could do was continue living under a false pretense of security. 

Happy fucking Valentine’s day. 

~*~

The lock on your front door clicked open, handle turning before the door was pushed open. A gloved hand removed the key to slide it back into a pocket before the door shut behind the suspicious figure. 

He walked further in, smiling at the sight of an empty plate on your coffee table. Grabbing it, he brought it the kitchen before turning on the faucet to run hot water. It didn’t take long to clean your plate, grabbing your bag after drying his hands, he hung it on the door so you could grab it on your way out. You were prone to rushing in the morning and your bag was always the last thing you grabbed. It’d be easier for you to just grab it on the way out. He walked towards your bedroom, opening your door slowly, despite knowing you wouldn’t wake up if a tree were to crash through your apartment. 

He peeked at the sight of your sleeping face, feeling his own flush. You hadn’t bothered to clear the roses off of your bed, or maybe you’d fallen asleep too soon, but your were picturesque. He felt an ache in his crotch, but told himself to calm down. He didn’t want to have to worry about cleaning up too much. It could wait for later. 

First things first, he slowly opened the door to your bedroom, unable to keep his eyes off of you as he creeped in before moving towards your bathroom. You’d emptied out the tub this time. 

Tsking at the sight of the candle still lit, he blew it out making a mental note to blow out the one in the kitchen before he left. 

One clean tub later, his shadow fell over you as he stood at the foot of your bed, watching you sleep. One leg was tangled in a blanket, shirt rising to give him a glimpse of your midriff. 

He bit the inside of his cheek as he circled the bed slowly, piercing you with his pink eyes that threatened to undress you. 

Climbing in the bed, he pulled the blanket off of your leg before draping it over the two of you as he encircled your waist with his arm and pulled you closer. 

Head buried in your neck, you scented of bubbles and it made him smile. He had to press down the urge to grind against you, to rip your clothes off and have his way. To pound into you until you were awake and moaning his name… but it could wait. 

He was patient. 

You didn’t like the chocolates and that was fine. There were plenty of holidays to win you over. It was only a matter of time before his fantasies became a reality.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 2564

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sorry that this one feels like a bit of a filler - but I’m seriously hoping to get some spicy content out in the next chapter so pls pls stay tuned! Also this is only proof read by myself so pls let me know of any errors!

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Please read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

I���m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 4

We spent a few hours researching and looking into the First Blades whereabouts after dinner, Dean and I only making work-related conversations after the pie ordeal. Every now and then when I looked up from the book I was reading I’d catch him looking in my direction, but I was far too tired for any more confrontation - I knew he'd act like an ass if I said anything. I decided to head to bed at around midnight, unable to read more than a few words and actually process said words in my brain. As Sam was still asleep, Dean showed me to my room which was tragically opposite his, and I could only imagine the noises that I’d be hearing coming through that door. Getting ready for bed, I dug out an old boyfriends T-shirt that I was still in possession of and threw it on, making sure to remove all other items of clothing except my panties. I climbed into bed - which was surprisingly more comfortable than I’d anticipated, though the sheets smelt a little musty - and set an alarm on my phone so I could hopefully rise before the boys in the morning. The moment my head hit the pillow, sleep whisked me away, not giving me a chance to think about the wild day I’d had and the total jackass that I’d met.

*

My alarm rang at 5am and I crawled out of bed, dressing in yesterday’s jeans with a clean, low-cut tank top and an open flannel thrown over the top. Pulling on my boots, I ran my fingers through my hair before heading to the en suite bathroom to brush my teeth. As I turned on the tap, the pipes clanged alarmingly as a small stream of water trickled from the faucet, the harsh noise echoing around the small tiled room. “That’s not concerning at all,” I mumbled to myself, the noise finally stopping as I turned the tap off. After I’d finished brushing I headed back into the bedroom to grab my phone before leaving the room to walk wearily to the kitchen. Upon arrival, I instantly made a pot of coffee, the smell alone already helping to blow away the sleepy cobwebs in my mind. I needed food. Something good, like pancakes. So I rummaged around until I found everything I needed, starting to memorise where the brothers kept everything after spending so much time in here yesterday evening. As I whipped up the batter, I threw some bacon in a pan and placed three plates on the table, along with some mugs, the pot of coffee and a big bottle of maple syrup. As soon as I started cooking the batter, it was like I’d used a summoning spell.

“You know when I first woke up I thought that I’d dreamt you up in some sort of weirdly tame nightmare” Dean said in a deep and raspy, fresh-from-sleep tone as he paced into the room and sat at the table, rubbing his eyes.

“Is that your way of saying that I’m your dream girl, Winchester?” I teased as I poured him a mug of coffee. He smirked, not looking up at me.

“You wish darlin’.”

“I really don’t,” I turned back to the stove and flipped the pancake, taking a sip from my own mug.

I’d made a stack of maybe twelve pancakes by the time Sam arrived, greeting me with that warm smile of his as he took a seat opposite Dean.

“Good morning (Y/n), something smells amazing.”

“Good morning Sam,” I smiled back at him before I looked over at Dean, “That’s how you greet someone in the morning Dean, not by telling them they were part of your living nightmare.” Dean shrugged, taking a long drink from his coffee.

Sam gave me an almost apologetic look on his brothers behalf, saying quietly, “as charming as ever then, Dean.” As he sat down I placed the stack of pancakes along with the bacon on the table and both men’s eyes lit up, immediately picking up their cutlery.

“Help yourselves,” I said, taking a seat between them, “just leave a couple for me at least.”

Dean was the first to pile about five onto his plate along with a good portion of the bacon. Without even looking at me he placed two pancakes on my own plate as he reached for the maple syrup. Before I could ask for the bacon, it was Sam who served some up for me before giving himself whatever was left over before handing me the syrup.

“Oh, thanks guys…” I said, a little shocked at how weirdly coordinated they were with that whole task.

“You’re welcome,” they both managed to mumble out through huge mouthfuls of food. We sat in a strangely nice silence for a few minutes, the only noise to be heard was the sounds of breakfast being totally annihilated. Dean was the first to throw his cutlery down with a very satisfied groan. He stretched, his T-shirt rising slightly to show his incredibly toned abdomen.

For fucks sake.

“THAT is what powers a man up in the morning,” he said, his fingers interlaced behind his head.

“Mmm hmm,” was all I managed to get out, finding it annoyingly difficult to look away, let alone to stop my eyes from trailing to where his leather belt hugged his hips and his old denim jeans gripped the thick muscles of his thighs. A few seconds must’ve passed when he cleared his throat and my eyes snapped up to be immediately caught in that moss-green gaze. Shit. I thought maybe for a second that he didn’t notice me looking. But then the corner of his mouth twitched up into that infuriating smirk. Luckily for me, he didn’t say anything, but I watched as he dragged his gaze over my figure, similar to how I did with him. It was Sam who spoke up next and I tore my eyes away, letting out a breath as he saved me from Deans silent interrogation.

“So I read last night about a possible case,” he started to say as he finished chewing the last bit of food on his plate before pushing it away and turning towards us.

“Go on,” Dean said, leaning forwards - finally covering his exposed stomach.

“I think it’s a haunting - some sort of item possession involving a ghost. All of the accidents that have been happening seem to occur either around or directly within an old antique store that’s connected to an old auction house. I think it’s worth a look,” Sam opened his laptop that he’d placed on the seat next to him, showing us all of the research he’d done overnight. Looking at the evidence he’d piled together, I think he was on to something. I nodded.

“Sure, I’m in. I’ll go pack a bag,” I said, standing up and clearing the plates from the table.

“Hang on a second,” Dean spoke up and I immediately knew he was talking to me.

“What?”

“What makes you think you’re coming with us for this?” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Because I never get to work out in the field - Bobby always had me on book duty and I want to see some real hunting in action,” I raised my voice a little starting to get defensive.

“If Bobby never let you do field work then neither are we. You’re staying here,” his tone was stern as he downed the last of the coffee and stood up, towering over me.

“What?!” I almost shouted.

“Dean, I don’t think it’s your place to say what she can and can’t do. I say we let her come along,” Sam intervened, his voice always full of reason and reassurance. I gave him a half smile - a small, ‘thank you for sticking up for me’.

“No way. There’s no way I’m letting Bobby’s girl put herself in danger. The old bastard would find a way to make us pay if anything were to happen to her; even from beyond the grave.”

“I don’t need you taking on his role, Dean. Bobby kept me safe my whole life, just him. I’m sure the pair of you could look out for me no problem on a little ghost trip,” I chided, coming up with a plan to get Dean to agree to me coming.

“(Y/n)s right, this shouldn’t be a hard case for us - if anything this is a small break from the real hard work,” Sam stepped towards Dean, trying to reassure him.

Dean looked from Sam to myself, and when our eyes locked I let a sly smile crawl onto my lips.

“Or maybe Dean Winchester isn’t up to the challenge?” I said, holding my hands up. He frowned, opening his mouth but I spoke again before he could get his words out. “Maybe….,” I stepped towards him, now only a few inches between us, “Dean Winchester is losing his touch, and isn’t the big strong man he used to be and really won’t be able to keep me safe…?” I flashed Dean my best doe eyes and I heard him suck in a breath as I reached forwards and tugged slightly on his T-shirt, making him look down at me with his eyes flicking between mine - dilating a little. I couldn’t help but bite my lip, looking up at him through my lashes and pressing my fingertips to his chest, feeling his heart rate increase with every beat from my touch. I liked to think that I was being very ‘persuasive’.

“I think you’re right (Y/n), I don’t think Dean is up to the task. He’s definitely been losing his touch,” Sam spoke up, catching on with my game and joining in with the verbal attack on his older brother. Deans eyes snapped up to look at Sam and the almost trance-like state he was in before was shattered.

“I have NOT lost my touch!” He snapped. Sam and I looked at each other and exploded into laughing very fake laughs, clapping and wiping away a pretend tear.

“Sure thing ‘sweetheart’,” I said, “prove it - keep me safe.”

“Oh I’ll keep you safe,” Dean took the bait and barged past us, “I’ll keep you safe from your own fucking shadow.”

*

After a few hours of packing and travelling, we arrived in a very well manicured town - even the motel was decent. Upon checking in, we got two rooms; one for me and one for the boys.

“Let’s drop our stuff off, freshen up and meet back here in ten?” Sam said, checking his watch. It was just past 11am.

“Sure, sounds good,” I replied, and Dean just nodded in approval. Their room was further down the corridor than mine, so I watched them leave before entering my room. It was the usual layout: one double bed, cheap linens, an old TV and an under-stocked minibar. At least the decor wasn't completely brown. I dumped my bags on the floor and started to unpack some essentials. I laid my clothes out on the bed - some of these outfits may come in handy later on. For now though, I’ll just stick to what I was already wearing. Lastly I grabbed a tin that was down in the bottom of my duffle - inside was a bunch of fake IDs that Bobby insisted on making me a few years ago. I smiled, remembering him always answering the phone to the Winchesters, pretending to be their FBI boss. I was always dying to know what they were hunting when he got those phone calls. I admired them a lot back then. I shook away the memory and pocketed the IDs, marching to the bathroom and splashing some water on my face before leaving, locking the door behind me.

The boys were already waiting for me.

“You boys ready?” I asked, to which they both nodded. “Where to first?” my question was aimed at Sam, but Dean replied.

“The old antique store just down here on the corner,” he grumbled as we started walking, still unimpressed that I was tagging along. I shot him a look as he practically glared at me from the other side of Sam.

“Get over yourself Dean. I’m along for the ride so deal with it,” I snapped at him, hoping he un-rustles his jimmies quickly. I wasn’t going to let him drag me down, not when I’m excited to actually be on a case. My first ‘out in the field’ case of all things. I wanted this to be a good memory. He scrunched his face up at my words, mouthing an angry ‘I hate you’ at me, to which I flipped him off.

“Guys just behave yourselves!” Sam stopped in his tracks right as we were outside our destination. “We are professionals so we need to act like it. We’re here to do our job,” Sam said in an authoritative voice - which undeniably sounded very attractive on him. I walked a few steps ahead of them and stopped with my hand on the front door to the store.

“Sam’s right. I’m happy to be here helping these people,” I smiled a little too sweetly before throwing a dark look at Dean, “so pull your shit together Dean, you’re making us look bad.” I heard him start to protest before I pushed the door open and walked into the shop, hearing the two brothers scurrying to catch up with me. As we walked in we were greeted by an older gentleman, with a kind face, a neatly trimmed pure white beard and round specs.

“Good morning and welcome to the store,” he said, his voice soft, “Can I help you?” He looked between the three of us. The boys reached for the fake badges, but they were lost for words when I beat them to the chase - obviously being unaware that I’d come prepared. Holding my badge up for the older gent to see, I spoke without missing a beat.

“Hi! Yes you certainly can help me - I’m agent Granger and these,” I jabbed my thumb to Sam and Dean who were standing right behind me, “are agents Crabbe and Goyle. We’ve got some questions for you regarding the strange occurrences going on around here recently.”

“Of course, it’s about time these things were investigated,” the older man turned and beckoned for us to follow, which Sam did immediately. Dean and I were left behind, staring each other down. I could tell he wasn’t happy that I had a badge, and I couldn’t help but smile at that. He scowled.

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

“You’re just mad that I got one up on you so early on,” I grinned up at him, his frown not budging.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he huffed.

“I’m safe from doing you then aren’t I?” I couldn’t stop the words from spilling from my lips.

“What?” He looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head, obviously not catching on. I chuckled a little, walking past him to catch up with Sam, leaving him standing there confused.

“Don’t think too hard about it Dean, you might hurt yourself,” I called back over my shoulder.

“Fuck y- hang on- oh you BITCH!” He shouted after me as he caught on finally. I laughed, not looking back.

“Only to you Dean.”

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Up Next:

Chapter 5

[annadoingshitpoorly]

oh to be Abby’s sweet little trophy wife that flaunts around in lingerie while she working from home🙇‍♀️😫 like imagine walking by her office and abby goes “doing this to be a brat or what?” Then reader is like “I wear things like this all the time” and shrugs innocently AHHHHHH

YES ANON!!! Abby is a breadwinner. Provider. Mother. 😤

I feel like she loves being able to treat her wife to little presents and wants to do nothing but look after her. Any of the lingerie that you own, has either been bought by or bought for Abby. But let’s be real, it's for both of you cause when she see your ass hanging out from underneath that little blue babydoll she got for you last month - it’s over.

Even though Abby gets a Friday to work from home Abby would spend hours upon hours trapped in her office, on the phone to patients or other staff from her practice trying to approve surgeries or trying to get prescriptions processed if she could manage. Everyday at 1, you’d bring her lunch to her office and kiss her on her wrinkled little forehead, stress and pressure causing deep lines on her beautiful face. On this particular Friday, it would be business as usual. Blonde hair fuzzy from running her hands through it, laptop open and phone held against her ear. Keeping an ear to the closed door and hearing her set down the phone with an exhausted sigh, you put your plan into action. Pushing the door open plate in one hand, ice tea in the other, you kiss her on the crown of her head as she stays sat in the swivel chair. The pastel pink lace and chiffon adorning your body, sways a little as you move around her and set up the plate of beef and noodles in front of her. As you do so her blue eyes take in the view of you slightly bent over, smile on your face. Light makeup and cherried lips, you’re like a walking wet dream. As you move back out around the desk and towards the door, Abby grabs you by the hand and pulls you down into her lap, “nuh-uh, baby. Walking around like a fucking meal, and you expect me to eat that instead of you?”

Also I feel like Abby is really into kitchen sex and idk why. The cold marble countertops that give you goosebumps when she lifts you on to them, her hands sneaking round to cup your cunt as you’re standing at the stove cooking dinner. All the shenanigans that come with fucking in a kitchen.

Abby has a thing for those kinds of lingerie sets that aren’t just straps and frills, she likes the ones that sort of cover you up and make you look all pretty and dainty, her very own princess. Babydolls and teddy sets are her go-to’s. She’s especially fond of pastels and how soft they make you look. And as much as she teases you for wearing them for her, it's mildly disappointing for her when she comes back home and sees you in what she has dubbed ‘people clothes’. Like you’re hers, why do you have to go and do things, and why do you need to be seen by other people, why do you have to do that job? Because you live in a capitalist hellscape and junior surgeons aren’t paid enough.

She still has her old letterman jacket from senior year of high school, it’s big and oversized with ‘Anderson’ stitched across the back, and boy does she love seeing you in frilly blue lace and cotton. All that’s really covering you from her wandering eyes is something with her name on it. You’re hers. Her pretty little wife.

[morallyinept]

A Loving Ode To The Writers (And A Big 🖕🏻 To The Haters)

Friends,

I want to take a moment to talk about writers.

The amazingly talented writers, here in this Pedro fandom collectively (although it applies to all writers in any fandom really).

Whether you're an established writer here, or just starting out, I love you. You all rock. You're all incredible. Keep going and doing your thing, because you're so amazing at it. 🖤

No matter what anyone else tries to tell you...

Yes, I also want to address the idiots who feel entitled to send anon messages to you giving you tiresome grief about your work... sigh. 🙄

Think about this for a moment, if you will...

When you go into a bookshop, or choose to purchase a book online, do you have several tags listed on the back cover?

No.

Do you have the author of that book listing every single possible trigger/smut warning?

No.

Do you have the author writing an extensive author's note explaining their thought process, or how it came to be that Joel got with Reader, or stating that they're not sorry for this brain rot they produced at 2am whilst high, or apologising in advance if they spelled something wrong, or whatever?

No.

All you have is a book, a singular book, with a cover and a small paragraph with a basic plot blurb, that alludes to nothing juicy or that will spoil it. Because if the book gave away the full plot on the back cover, all the warnings and triggers etc... what's the point in even buying it, right? You already know the story. Job done.

Generally, readers will buy a book for these reasons:

1) The cover looked awesome and drew you in to read the synopsis.

2) The synopsis drew you in, or a review.

3) It's by an author you already love, so you read everything they release because you're a fan of their work.

4) It was recommended to you.

5) You brought it/were gifted it on a whim.

None of these reasons give you any prior knowledge to the outcome or ending of the story. You haven't met the characters yet. You don't know what's going to happen. Unless you actively look for spoilers...

That's the joy about reading stories. You're left surprised, not knowing.

With posting fanfic, there are slightly different "rules" (and I use quotation marks here because strictly speaking, there are no rules; it's just decades and decades of assumption and expectation that writers follow out of respect and care for their readers) in that the writer provides you with adequate warnings, or tags, for you to make an informed choice about whether this fic is something you want to read or not.

But, they don't have to do that.

The writer, also might offer a pairing, or mulitple. The writer might also warn you of triggers, or if a particular chapter is smutty, heavy, angsty etc...

Again, they don't have to do that.

No published book out there does this.

So, if that's the case, that writers here on Tumblr, and in fanfiction in general, not only spend hours of their free time in their personal life, dedicating themselves to writing a story, that you get for FREE, they also provide you with adequate warnings and pairings to cater to your particular tastes.

Again, they don't have to do any of this.

Remember that book in the bookshop? It does none of what fanfic writers do for you before you even get to the story... They've done all this for you before you get to the first sentence on your screen.

So you can make a choice, that is your own, on whether you want to read this story or not.

Your choice.

So, if you then choose to read it, are you really so entitled to then send an anon message telling the writer you didn't like it? When it was clearly signposted with all the possible warnings, outcomes, troupes, pairings... and was for free??

Imagine that, free stories that you can read as often as you like, for FREE... wow. What a fantastic concept!

☝🏻And that's not sarcasm. It's truly fantastic that there are thousands, upon thousands of stories here for you to trawl through and enjoy to your heart's content.

All. For. Free.

Catering to every Pedro Boy, every Reader type, every kink going. Fluff, smut, angst, romance, horror, thriller, crack fic. Multi-chapter series, one shots, drabbles. Happy endings, open endings, no endings... you name it.

You have it all here at your fingertips, whenever you want.

All. For. Free.

A lot of time and work goes into writing any kind of story, not just fanfic. Depending on a writer's skill level, it may take them longer than you may realise to complete a story from initial conception to birth.

English may not be their first language, for example. Or they may be dyslexic so have to spend additional time editing several times over so you can read their words coherently.

They may have spent weeks, months, maybe even years, planning, gathering and summoning the courage to write this story.

The story doesn't start on the page, oh no. It starts as a spark in their brain that ravages and spreads like a fire.

It's consumes them. Causes sleepless nights.

Causes stress and tension in their personal life because they've spent more time in front of their computer typing, than they have walking the dog, hugging their partner, socialising with their friends... remembering to feed themselves.

You may think that's a dramtic or romantic notion of being a writer, but I assure you, it's not.

It might not apply to all writers, but for some, writing IS their life. They live it, breathe it, far more than you care to imagine.

Far more than you give them credit for.

They've poured their heart and soul into this and are proud that, finally, fucking finally! It's on the page for the world to see. To read. To enjoy.

To pick apart scathingly... to critique. To compare. To belittle. To mock. To diss.

To demand.

You think writing is easy? That writers just bash out 10k words on a whim? Sweet delusion I hardly knew ye.

Even the most published and revered authors in this world will tell you it's anything but easy, bub.

Imagining a story in your head is the easy part. Getting it on paper to translate your thoughts into captivating words? Not so much.

And writer's block is certainly a real thing, FYI. Made all the more worse by pressure being piled on.

Pressure from readers who have the choice whether to read or not. Who have all these stories for free...

☝🏻And I'm not talking about readers in general. No. There are so many amazing and respectful readers here who are an incredible and integral part of this community. And I, for one, thank you, dear readers, for doing just that; reading.

Without you, no-one would read or share our words. You guys are the main cog in this clock, and as writers we want to keep you greased up so you keep ticking. We love your enthusiasm for our work. We love that you share it, shout about it, want to see more of it. You guys deserve all the love. 🖤

But sadly, there are also a select few individuals who crawl out of the woodwork, scittering around and shitting over things like the insects they are.

Respect. I've said it before, I'll continue to say it. Respect costs nothing. And yet, some readers find that to be an alien concept.

Think about the stories you really love.

Think about the one story you couldn't get out of your head for days. The one story that made you cry into your pillow. The one story that gave you hope when you really needed it the most.

The one story that made you fall in love. That one story you've read a hundred times, a thousand times, because you love it so fucking much and it changed you in some way.

Somebody wrote that.

Writers bend over backwards for you until their spines snap. Writers give so much of their heart into their work, their blood.

Writers give you the books you love, the shows you enjoy. The blogs you follow, the films you go to see. The fanfiction you consume.

Without writers, entertainment would not exist.

🤔 Ponder that for a second... you'd have nothing. No internet, no TV, no books, no magazines.

No imagination.

Writers give you chills, make you smile, make you cry, turn you on, excite you with their words. They lead you into unexplored lands, take you to new heights.

Writers hand your idol to you on a page, naked and panting for you, and say "here, this is my gift for you, dear reader. Have him."

Writers give you an escape.

Writers give you something to do on your commute to work. Writers offer an extension on your inner fantasies.

You want to have Joel Miller hug you and never let you go? Carry you out of the apocalypse as you cling onto his broad shoulders? Fuck you so hard into the mattress you're screaming for him?

Writers can give you that, bub.

Hell, writers will give you anything you ask for, within reason. All you have to do is simply ask.

Writers pull you into a world where anything, literally anything you want, is possible.

And fanfic writers give you all of this. For FREE.

You don't have to go to the bookstore and part with your hard earned cash.

You paid no money for this. The writer made no money from this either.

Writers don't ask you for anything except for you to enjoy their work, their creation, and to consider re-blogging it, so others can enjoy it too.

They ask you for nothing else in return except to show some basic respect.

R E S P E C T

All they want from you is your enjoyment.

They give it to you from the goodness of their heart, from the stem of their creativity.

And yet, some of you piss all over it.

Some of you have the termerity, the gall, the ignorance, to send a message anonymously - cowardly - to a writer claming that their ending wasn't good enough?

Wasn't to your liking? That Joel, or whichever Pedro Boy, didn't do this, or didn't say that? That their view is wrong because it wasn't canon, that their story didn't live up to your expectation, despite them giving you as much advance information as possible. Even when they don't have to...

And yet, you still chose to read it.

How dare you be so offended by a story that, was never written for you to begin with. The writer wrote it for themselves. They then decided to share it with you. For free, remember?

Are you for real?

If you think it's rubbish, or not to your taste, or boring, or lacks passion, or didn't end the way you would have wanted it to, that's fine - you're entitled to your opinion. Difference of opinion is what makes us unique as individuals.

But the writer, who gave you this story for FREE, and with plenty of upfront info for you to make an informed choice, does not want, or need to hear your self-righteous bullshit or negativity.

Move on quietly and find a story that fits your needs.

Or better still, put your money where your ungrateful mouth is, and write your own ending that you covet so badly.

I guarantee you, it'll be a lot harder to do than you think...

You didn't pay for this story, therefore your passive-agressive opinion, your cruel words, your whole mantra of being a dick for dick's sake, isn't worth a dime.

SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS.

Don't drag them down if you can't, or don't have the balls or talent, to do any better.

To every writer: You are incredible. You are what makes the world go round. Your imagination never ceases to amaze me and I will forever have your back and sing your praise from the rooftops. You deserve to be here, or wherever it is that you write and share your words. THANK YOU for sharing a piece of you with me, with all of us. 🖤

To every disrepectful anon who has ever sent a hateful or hurtful message to a writer: respectfully, go fuck yourself.

[melodygatesauthor]

Chapter 1: The Awakening

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Summary:

Doctor Steven Grant accepted a job as a professor at a prestigious college in New England. While you're on your way to your first history class in your second semester of your junior year, you run into an attractive English man at the coffee shop. The two of you hit it off, and since you're both headed in the same direction upon leaving, you decide to walk together. You're both excited to have met someone you have clear chemistry with right off the bat until...you realize that you both were headed to the same building, and that he's your new history professor.

When you discover that there's even more to this man than meets the eye, things get even more complicated than you could've imagined. Loving one man who's almost twice your age in a place where your relationship is forbidden is hard enough, nevermind three.

Chapter Summary:

It's your first day of class, and you meet a nice guy at the coffee shop on your way in. Too bad when you find out he's just out of reach.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was the first day of the semester and you were already looking forward to it being over. With the holidays out of the way, you should be feeling refreshed and ready for the second half of your junior year, but when the sun beat through your dorm room and directly into your eyes, in combination with your screeching alarm, you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Your roommate was stirring on the other side of the room in her own bed, and you were sure she felt the same.

Coming back from winter break was never easy. You had to get used to a new schedule, and leave behind the laziness of gorging on food and festivities with your family. You picked up your phone and turned off the alarm with a groan before flopping back over on the mattress. It was only 7:15am.

Layla grumbled into her pillow. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You agreed, throwing your blanket off in a huff.

“What class do you have first?”

“History with… Dr. Grant, I think.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, he’s the new professor who came over from England I think.” She sighed and got out of bed.

Her dark curls were a mess and bouncing all around her as she walked over to the small mirror in the wardrobe and picked something out of her teeth. You remembered hearing there was a new professor for this history course after the last one got kicked out for having inappropriate relations with a student, but you had forgotten the name of the replacement until now. History wasn’t really your strong suit anyway.

“My parents told me I have to ask him for tutoring.” You said, picking some clothes out of your drawer. “I flunked last year.”

“I remember.” She said with a hair elastic in her teeth while she pulled her curls back into a messy bun.

You got yourself dressed, put a little makeup on and finished getting ready. The air outside was chilly, and you pulled your coat tightly over yourself. You stopped in at Moonbean Coffee to get your usual pick-me-up before your first class. One of the perks of an open campus was the luxury of grabbing a real coffee before spending hours in a lecture.

The line in front of you was fortunately short, only one person stood between you and the barista. You noticed the man in front of you fumbling around in the pockets of his gray jacket. He let out a sound in frustration.

“Bollocks.” He said under his breath, patting himself down. “I think I left my wallet…”

He looked panicked, and you felt bad, having been in that position before. You decided it was time to do your good samaritan act of the day and you pulled your own wallet out of your bag.

“Here.” You reached around the man and handed the woman at the register a bill.

The man turned to you and his lips curled into a big smile. His tired eyes looked you up and down. You took note of his disheveled appearance. He clearly needed his drink as badly as you did.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that, I’m just-erm…I don’t have to have it.” He said, clearly anxious from your kind gesture. You took note of his thick English accent.

You shrugged and smiled at him comfortingly, “I’d die without my morning coffee. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good morning…” the barista said your name.

“Morning, T.” You said as she got started on your usual drink.

The man still stood there to the side. “That really was very kind of you. Very sweet.” He sipped the cup. “Oh bugger.” He cursed. “That’s hot.” A small chuckle escaped him.

You giggled. “Don’t mention it. I’ve been there, done that.”

His gaze lingered on you, lips still curled in a cheeky grin. He gasped when his wrist buzzed. He looked at it quickly.

“Oh, I really have to get goin’. You come here often, yeah?” He asked, looking at you eagerly.

“Y-yeah, I do.” T handed you your coffee as you handed her another bill and told her to keep the change.

Following him to the door, he opened it for you, letting you out first before exiting as well.

“Good, maybe I’ll catch you another time then, I’ll getcha back.” He nodded. “Alright then. Bye!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” You smiled foolishly at him, “bye.” You waved before realizing he was walking the same direction you were going.

He let out a laugh as you kept pace with him. “Well of course we’re walkin’ the same way. That’s not awkward at all.”

You chuckled, “Well, you can make it up to me now then, walking alone can be boring.”

When you saw the way he looked at you, your stomach fluttered. You’d seen that look before. He was interested in you. The man was clearly older than you, but you didn’t care. He was good looking, and judging by his messy curls, gentle gaze and overall demeanor, he was just your type.

“Alright sure, yeah, I can do that.” He said eagerly.

You introduced yourself. “…what’s your name?”

“Oh, name’s Steven, with a V.”

The two of you started walking in the direction of the building your class would be held in.

“So, Steven, clearly you’re not from around here, what brings you to a small college city like this?” You sipped your warm drink while the two of you walked through the chilly September air, not wanting to rush.

“Well, a job, actually.” He sipped from his cup, too, this time not flinching at the temperature.

“Oh, what do you do for work?” You asked, realizing you were approaching the brick building where your class was held all too quickly. You wished it was just a little further so you could get just another moment with Steven.

He stopped in front of the building, as if he knew you were stopping there before you told him your destination.

“I’m a history professor. This is my stop actually! Sorry, not a long walking partner.” His friendly and naive smile was about to fade when he realized the awful irony of the situation you were both in.

It hit you like a truck, “a-are you…Dr. Grant?” You asked, brows stitched together as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It made sense now: the English accent, out of place in a New England college city, the messy hair, the messenger bag and binder of notes that you just then took notice of. It should’ve been obvious from the moment you met him, everything about his appearance screamed ‘college professor’.

For some reason, this felt awkward. It was obvious just in the short time you’d known this man that you both were somewhat attracted to one another. Not that it was serious, of course, but there was an undeniable flirtatious air surrounding the whole encounter. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him, sharing timid smiles between promises of coffee, it was plain as day.

Now, he was shifting awkwardly in front of you as you were tapping the paper cup in your hand deep in thought. There was nothing wrong with buying your new professor a cup of coffee when he forgot his wallet, and there was nothing wrong with your new professor walking his student to class. You were both walking the same way anyway.

“Erm…yeah, yup.” You could see him trying to shake off the fog, the fantasy you both had entertained for the two minute walk.

“Well, that’s so ironic.” You tried to push past it, hoping it would help diffuse the new tension. “I’m in your class.”

He nodded despondently, his dark circled eyes looking to the ground to avoid your gaze. He hastily opened the door for you, and you thanked him as you walked in. You were stiff as a board as you made your way inside the classroom. Even though there was really nothing wrong with the interaction you’d had, something felt maddeningly nerve wracking about the whole situation.

You took a seat somewhere in the middle next to someone you remembered seeing around in other classes last semester, but never remembered her name. You hoped Dr. Grant would take you sitting in the middle table as a way of saying, “that whole interaction was totally normal, not awkward at all, see? I’m sitting in the middle instead of all the way in the back corner to avoid you.” You silently hoped the message translated.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag. You opened it and peered over the top. Dr. Grant’s eyes were stuck on you for a second while he shuffled the papers on his desk before he nervously looked away and sat down. 

You tried to look at anything other than him, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at him over the top of your screen. He put his laptop on his desk and opened it. You watched him inconspicuously as he put his jacket around the back of his chair and he pulled out a pair of glasses, placing them on his face. They made him look older, but you didn’t think it made him any less attractive. In fact, you liked the way they looked. You quickly shook the thought from your head.

You need to stop this, you’re acting ridiculous, you told yourself.

“Alright, well.” He stood up, let out a deep exhale, and put the glasses back on the table. The final students were trickling in. “I’m Dr. Grant, but you can all call me Steven. Dr. Grant is a bit formal, innit?” He chuckled, but the rest of the class remained silent. “Alright.” He rubbed his hands together nervously.

You felt bad, seeing him clearly trying to connect with the uncaring class. He messed idly with his dark blue tie before patting it down and clearing his throat.

“Well, I won’t start us off with anything too flashy today. It is the first day after all.” He began.

The lecture was a couple of hours, but Dr. Grant made it feel like it was much shorter than that. He was like a completely different person than the anxious man you’d met at the cafe. He was excited, smiling and full of energy while he taught the first lesson. To see someone so passionate about something sparked excitement and admiration inside you, even if the subject itself wasn’t your strong suit.

The amount of times he said, ‘I mean, wow’, was surprising and more than a little endearing. He certainly had a way of making a topic that you weren’t very adept in much more interesting just from his own enthusiasm. As he was wrapping up the lecture, you checked the clock. 10:20am. Your next class wasn’t until 1:00pm, leaving you plenty of time to talk to him about tutoring. Only tutoring, you reminded yourself.

You felt anxious though, standing there after the last student left. You clutched your satchel to your side like your life depended on it. He didn’t notice you at first, because you’d started to walk away with the crowd, trying to decide if you were even going to ask him to tutor you or not, but then you remembered your father’s words. I’m not paying for you to waste your time in school, you already picked a meaningless major, the least you can do is get decent grades.

You stepped up to his desk and cleared your throat. He peered up over his reading glasses and jumped when he saw you.

“Oh, erm, hi, class is dismissed.” He said anxiously, so different from the person speaking with utmost confidence to fifty or more students just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you started, “I know, I just needed to talk to you about something.”

He started getting nervous, you could see sweat beading on his forehead above his strong eyebrows. If someone asked you why you were so anxious about asking your new history professor to tutor you, you’d tell them you had no idea, but deep down you knew it was because the two of you definitely had a weird connection at the coffee shop.

“Oh, is this about…it’s about the coffee, yeah? I really-”

“N-no, Dr. Grant-“

“Steven.” He corrected you.

“S-Steven.” You cleared your throat once again. “No, I’m, uh, I’m not worried about the coffee. I need to ask for tutoring.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in relief, “Oh, heh, right, yeah, ‘course.” A large smile on his face. 

He felt the connection, too, you thought, and he’s relieved you didn’t bring it up.

“Well, there’s plenty of other students around who do that, yeah? Maybe go to the library, I think that’s where you sign up for something like that.” You didn’t know what it was about this man that captivated you, but when his eyes locked on to yours you felt your stomach twist in yearning.

“Um…yeah.” You were wearing a faint smile while accepting his rejection. “Yeah, I guess I can try that. They didn’t have anyone last semester, but maybe they will this time. Thanks.”

It was probably for the best that he didn’t tutor you, judging by his reaction, and that’s not even considering if the connection was real and you hadn’t just made it up. You gave him a friendly nod and turned on your heel toward the exit. Just as you were grabbing the door handle, Steven spoke up.

“Wait, hold on.” He said, standing up. You turned to him. “They probably aren’t very good anyway, the students they have tutoring. Why don’t you come by after your last class on Wednesday? Not sure why time you get finished, but I can make something work.”

“M-my last class on Wednesday gets over at like seven.” You explained.

He shrugged, “M’sure my goldfish will be alright if I get home a bit later than usual.”

“Wow, okay, brilliant, yes Dr. G-uh-Steven!” You couldn’t contain your toothy grin as you thanked him profusely and left.

You felt like you were in a trance for the rest of the day. You’d thought that by not having Steven in your direct line of sight you’d be able to move on from the feeling in your gut, but it only festered. He was occupying your mind. The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way he looked at you, it was maddening.

You kept thinking about his messy hair, wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers through it. When he got nervous just from looking at you, straightening his tie, you wondered what it would look like to have him loosening it, maybe unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes are what really captivated you, he looked exhausted, but they still shined so brightly when he looked at you, before he’d realized that you were his student.

When you got back to your dorm and turned in for the night, you took it upon yourself to look up your college’s specific rules around student and teacher relationships. Even though the last history professor got fired, you were trying to convince yourself now that there had to be a different reason. There just had to be.

There wasn’t a different reason though. The rules were plain as day: student and professor relationships were a no go. No one seemed to care what happened when you graduated, but until then, it was strictly forbidden. There was even talk in some resources you found about the student being expelled since they are, after all, a consenting adult who knew the consequences of their actions.

With that, it was time to lay your growing need to put yourself in Steven’s presence as much as possible to rest. At least, you wanted to. You couldn’t though, while you lay there in the dark, with Layla snoring on the other side of the room. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked you up and down, his hooded eyes drinking you in, the way he exuded confidence to the class, and then became shy around you immediately after. 

Your hand trailed down under your pajama bottoms to your already soaking folds, slick with your desire to know what else Steven was proficient in. You thought about his hands around the coffee cup earlier, how big they looked, veins rippling under the skin when he brought the cup to his lips. You wondered what they felt like, what one of his thick fingers would feel like inside of you. Slipping one of your own fingers inside wasn’t enough, you wanted more, you wanted to feel him.

You wished that you could fit a second finger inside, but it was too tight. You felt hot with need as you pumped in and out of your slick hole, imagining Steven hovering over you. He would tell you how wrong it was to be doing what you were doing as he trailed his hands up your ribcage and to your breasts. Would he moan loudly when he came, or would he be quiet but breathy, pressing his face into the nape of your neck to muffle his sound?

You didn’t know much about sex, not outside of porn that is. You’d done other things before. You’d tried going down on someone, but had a hard time figuring out how to do it right, at least according to the guy you were with. He had tried eating you out, but you found it was either very overrated, or he was really bad at it.

Thinking about those things made you wonder what Dr. Grant’s cock tasted like, or what it felt like. If you couldn’t even fit two fingers, you weren’t sure how you were going to manage to take him. Just thinking about it was making your arousal become unbearable. You needed him, badly, no matter how wrong you knew it was.

You could hardly take it, feeling your orgasm approaching as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your history professor. You decided you didn’t really care what he sounded like when he came, you just ached to hear him. It almost hurt how hard you bit your lip when your cunt clamped in waves over your lone digit. Your breathing was heavy, and when you felt clarity once more, you fell back onto your pillow. You had to let it go, you had to get over him somehow.

But Steven had to get over you, too. 

When he got home that night after a long day of classes, he found himself standing in front of his mirror. It had been so long since he’d heard their voices. At least a couple of months. They said they wouldn’t come back, they said they would stay in the headspace, and that they wouldn’t say a word. They hadn’t said anything specific yet, but he could hear them becoming more active since that morning.

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him, the thought of you danced in his mind. You were there, causing his heart to race; causing him to feel a pang of guilt that was vastly outweighed by the arousal building behind his zipper. He had been fighting the pressure all day, fighting the heady thoughts. Steven liked to think he was mentally stronger than the primal desires that came with sex, but just seeing you in that coffee shop that morning, and the way you looked at him, it kept playing in his head over and over again like a movie.

It got to a point that he couldn’t bear the ache any longer. He took off his pants and boxer-briefs, freeing his weeping erection. He crawled into bed, not even bothering to remove his jacket or shirt, as he was too eager. Nothing had inspired him to relieve himself like this in a long, long time. He crawled into bed and laid down on his back, taking his cock into his closed fist.

Dry…s’dry, need some…

He leaned up, spitting a glob of saliva into his palm before going back to work on himself. He gripped his length, sliding over it with his fist much easier now, tossing his head back as he reached the tip. He ran his hand through his curls to get them out of his face, looking down at his cock while he thrust upward into his fingers.

“F-fu…” He said, trembling slightly.

He kept thinking about you, your hair, your sweet lips, the way you giggled when he burned himself on his hot coffee that morning. He whined, reaching down to grab the sheet at his side. He exhaled sharply, continuing to glide into his palm smoothly, increasing speed as he got even closer. The way your face lit up when he agreed to tutor you was etched into his memory.

So young, though…he thought, too young…

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand back to his mouth, adding more saliva to continue jerking his length. He was putting his hips into it now, imagining what it would be like to have you, just for a second he let himself go there in his mind. He thought about having you on top of him, legs on either side of his hips. You, lowering yourself over his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt. Another whine escaped him. You were so pretty, he imagined looking up at you, maybe you’d bite your lip and throw your head back with a moan. Maybe you’d grab your breast, pinching the nipple, maybe you’d tell him how good he felt inside of you. That’s all it took. He filled the apartment with his moans as he coated his fingers and abdomen in hot sticky cum.

Steven’s brain was empty, other than thoughts of you that still plagued him. He’d hoped that by doing this, it would help him let it go, but now he wished you were there for different reasons. You were so bubbly and full of energy. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to learn more about you, get to know what else makes you laugh.

With a heavy sigh, Steven slid off the bed, careful to keep his cum coated fingers from touching anything. He turned on the light in the bathroom and started rinsing his hands in the sink, finishing and grabbing a towel. When he started drying his hands, his eyes looked up into the mirror again. 

His heart stopped. He waved at himself, checking to make sure his reflection kept up. They said they weren’t coming back…

Next Chapter

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TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @outmodead, @sleepyamaya, @pimosworld, @ababynova, @flordelalunas, @360iris, @momo-mochiball, @missdragon-1

[thewritingmagician2022]

Have you seen those videos of the people using buttons to teacher their dogs how to talk? (If not look up Bunny the dog on TikTok)

Can I request a reader who’s been teaching Cerberus how to talk with those buttons and the brothers reactions to it? Or at least Lucifer and Diavolo’s reactions since they are basically dog dads

SO, fun fact, I actually taught my dog some of those buttons as well. Unsurprisingly, the only one that she knows well and uses is “hungry” so I’ll feed her. She’s got a one track mind. Anyway, yes, this is a year later and you may not even care about this anymore but I’ve had it sitting in my drafts for ages and I’m finally back on this blog after some serious health issues and falling out of the fandom for a while. Now onto the actual request! 

Lucifer is unimpressed when you first tell him about teaching Cerberus the buttons. He doesn’t see the point - Cerberus has a job and it requires very little communication on his part, other than attacking intruders and defending the hamily. However, Lucifer has to admit that the buttons do have their uses because now he always knows what Cerberus wants and he actually orders you to teach Cerberus more buttons that he thinks would be useful - something for if Cerberus is not feeling well or if there’s a warning that he wants to pass along, or even buttons to praise Lucifer for being such a good owner. However, Cerberus seems to much prefer the buttons you’ve trained him on, like “park” and “fetch” and “hug”, compared to the buttons Lucifer commissioned. It doesn’t exactly bolster Lucifer’s tough reputation when he introduces Cerberus to someone as a scare tactic and the large dog is repeatedly hitting “nap” or “belly rub”. Lucifer has taken to hiding those buttons to avoid any more embarrassing situations (though he absolutely provides those belly rubs in secret after). 

Though he pretends not to be mostly ambivalent to the button situation, he is incredibly touched when he realizes that you’ve created a “Dad” button as well and Cerberus happily smacks the button whenever Lucifer walks into the room. It’s beyond endearing and, while he’d never admit to it, he definitely feels his connection with Cerberus is even stronger now. With that in mind, Lucifer takes everything he’s learned from watching you train Cerberus to teach him the “love you” button in relation to you. Seeing your face light up the first time Cerberus hits that button upon you walking into the room makes this entire endeavor completely worth it.

Diavolo is so incredibly pleased by this development, both because it shows just how smart Cerberus is - he’s learned so many different buttons - and by how clever you are for teaching Cerberus such a skill. Diavolo is someone who definitely loves those kinds of videos on TikTok and he finds great joy in finding the more obscure kind of buttons, including things like “please” and “no”. The first time he sees Cerberus use the “bitch” button (that Satan and Belphie created) on Lucifer he nearly cracks a rib with laugher (Lucifer would love to do more than just crack his rib for teaching Cerberus that button). It’s also not unusual for Cerberus to hit the “dad” button when Diavolo comes to visit which irks Lucifer more than a little so of course you have to teach Cerberus “mom” so he can hit that when Diavolo is around instead. However, Cerberus seems to have his own opinions on this because he still hits “dad” for Diavolo and hits “mom” when Lucifer is around instead. As you can imagine, only one of those demons is happy with this new development. 

As a special mention, Satan, Belphie, and Mammon absolutely love that you’ve taught Cerberus buttons. They make it their goal to create as many annoying and rude buttons as possible, including but not limited to swear words, why, and go away. They spend hours trying to convince Cerberus to use the rude buttons in relation to Lucifer to no avail. It’s a bit of loss but at least Cerberus has taken to some of the other buttons that they know will annoy Lucifer so it’s worth the punishment they get when Lucifer discovers this little trick of theirs after he brings a dignitary to meet Cerberus and the dog hits a button the loudly yells "fuck off". (They never learn that their lessons actually worked and Lucifer now has to deal with a very judgmental Cerberus who fights with him in private via button, much to Lucifer’s disbelief.)

[nobodywritingao3]

unnamed monster & caretaker au

Tasked with feeding and caring for the king's resident monster, Tommy is constantly overworked and fully expects to die before he's twenty. He has an odd relationship with the beast and makes it a point to keep details about himself private, but it's difficult when the creature is the closest thing in the world he has to a friend.

wordcount: 2.3k 🕸 read it on AO3

CW: - hard vore mention - soft vore mention - mentioned abuse and dehumanization

‼️‼️‼️ Unfinished, unedited one shot. Proceed with caution

@gracideaviolet sent me a writing prompt and this is what i originally wrote for it. i like the concept but i wrote this at a not-good time and when i reread it, i didnt like the quality enough to fix it. if you like this story, let me know cuz that might give me motivation to properly finish this thing. feel free to take the idea but please credit and send it to me cuz i like this story and wanna see what someone else does with it

Tommy finished loading the cart and took a second to breathe.

He heard the beast shifting around in the dark. "Are you doing okay out there, Sunshine?"

Despite his tiredness, the sweet nickname made him smile.

"You know you eat a lot? It's a pain in the ass to load myself."

He meant it as a joke but silence hung in the air a second longer than it should have.

He cleared his throat. "I don't mind it. I'm compensated."

The beast snorted. "Not enough."

Tommy laughed awkwardly and didn't say anything.

He walked over to the control panel and started up the track.

The cart was big enough to fit a barn, and filled to the brim with various livestock, prisoners of war, and whoever else might have found themselves on the king's hit-list. Nothing sent to the monster was alive. It was a point the monster whined about a lot, but Tommy much preferred it that way. It was already disgusting having to spend hours upon hours piling the cart with bloody meat (sometimes human!) by himself, and the day he was handed a living person would be the day he faked his death and fled the kingdom.

He pressed a few buttons, tried not to cut himself on several rusty levers, and the rail obediently started itself up with a few revs and puffs.

The beast hummed contentedly at the noise.

The cart began to run along the track, disappearing from his view and descending into the inky black cave. He heard the gate creak open and he heard it creak close. And then he heard the beast begin to eat.

They weren't nice sounds by any stretch of the imagination - ugly rips and wet squelches of flesh - but Tommy had been at the job for a while and was long used to it. He settled in and waited for the creature to finish its meal.

"So how was your day, Keeper?"

Tommy hummed. "About the same as it always is. My master told me that the king will be coming in soon for a performance review, but I've no idea when that might be."

The beast paused its munching before hesitantly starting again a moment later. "I - why?"

He shrugged, assuming the monster could see him from the dark. "Something about me holding down this job the longest out of anyone before."

"Hm."

"I don't understand why that would intrigue the king. And no offense to you personally - "

"Uh huh," the monster sarcastically interjected -

" - but this isn't exactly the career path I'd have chosen. If I knew how to transfer I probably would have. Honestly - I have no idea how the others could have quit this job. I was under the impression that this is the sort of thing you do until you die."

It laughed at that.

Tommy sighed.

He was quiet for a few moments, a question sitting heavy on his tongue.

He shouldn't ask. It's impolite.

The monster shifted around. "Spit it out."

He gave the darkness an accusatory look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a huff of laughter. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're doing that thing where you want to say something but are worried about what I'll think. It would be adorable if I wasn't desperate for decent conversation."

"Fuck you." He said it with a smile.

"Well? Are you going to say or not?"

He scrubbed at his face. Fuck it. "What were your other keepers like?"

The beast went silent for several long moments.

Shit. "You don't have to answer if you - "

"I didn't much care for them."

Tommy didn't say a word.

"The feeling was mutual." It sighed heavily. "You're a much better replacement, Sunshine."

"I'm sorry for asking."

The beast purred. "Don't be, dear. I pressed you. And I don't mind answering." It jostled the cart. "And I'm done eating."

Tommy nodded and powered up the control panel again. The cart began to recede. 

It appeared from the darkness, picked completely clean and shiny as if it never been covered in blood at all.

It scared him a little, how quickly the monster could eat such a large amount, but he dismissed those thoughts as easily as they came. When would that ever affect him?

He checked the clock. He still had a few hours before he had to report back. "Do you mind if I stay with you longer?"

The monster laughed conspiratorially. "Oh, but that's against the rules," it said in a high mockery of his voice.

He flushed.

He had been terrified of the monster when they first met. He gave any excuse to leave the beast as soon as he could, including that the rules specified that spending unnecessary time with it was prohibited. That was true, but no one would have known if he chose to linger. In hindsight, it had been terribly obvious how afraid he was and he's only embarrassed that the monster pretended to believe him.

"You're the worst."

"And you still want to spend time with me?"

Tommy blew a raspberry at the darkness, earning a few laughs.

It was comfortably quiet for a few seconds before the monster spoke again. "Why are you curious about my old keepers?"

He tugged at his fingers. "Do you know how I ended up here?"

"You never talk about it."

He frowned. "And I never will," he responded coldly. It never gave up asking. "But do you know, generally, how someone ends up working this kind of job?"

The monster was quiet. "Yes."

Tommy didn't say anything for a minute. "The king is very angry with me. I don't want to see him again. However the other keepers escaped..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. If the king requests an audience with me, it isn't for any good reason."

~

When the king acquired his monster, he hired out help to feed the thing and keep it under control. He made sure the beast ate lavishly, but now matter what they fed it, it never seemed like to satiate the creature. But it hadn't died of starvation and that was good enough. When its caretakers started to disappear, it wasn't difficult to guess what happened.

But acknowledging the problem would mean addressing it too, and the king simply didn't care. In the end, he realized he had the perfect way to quietly do away with those he needed gone. He sourced this job, with its one hundred percent rate of 'job abandonment' to political adversaries or people growing affluent enough to take his throne.

Which takes him to the present day, and a rather interesting problem.

When some servant boy had spilled a bottle of red wine down his front during a gala several years prior, the king had been so angry that he threw the child in a dungeon and left him there. When the monster's then-keeper inevitably disappeared, the king came to the boy and grimly informed him of his punishment.

He hadn't expected the child to last more than a couple of days. He'd even picked out his replacements.

But lo and behold, the boy remained present at his job post for a week. And then that week became several, and those several became months, and those months became a year and a half.

The king couldn't understand why it hadn't eaten him yet. He was fifteen at this point, certainly the youngest to feed the monster. Was it waiting for him to grow up? Did it want to watch him sprout up before it made its attack? It was perfectly sentient, and the king knew this even though he denied it upfront. Shouldn't the monster trust that the sooner it finished its current keeper, the sooner he would be replaced by another?

Had there been someone who had managed to bring this creature to subservience? If so, then the king took special interest.

And if not, then it was long overdue that the servant boy be put to death.

~

Being a human's lapdog wasn't a dignified experience, but it was a fed one. Driders were megafauna, making it hard to get enough food. It certainly didn't help that the human kingdom believed everything was its rightful property and saw driders as a threat to them owning more than they could eat.

Wilbur certainly didn't enjoy his life, and he was almost always hungry anyway, but at least he was alive.

He lived in a dungeon below the castle, but he wasn't sure what a castle was and he barely understood the concept of a dungeon. He hadn't seen the sunshine in years, and his keeper was his only company.

He liked his keeper. The boy was kind. He didn't threaten to pee in Wilbur's food or throw rocks at him. He asked him how his day was, and even made it a point to handle the meat carefully as he transported it into the cart. He seemed lonely, and made up excuses to stay. He was a cute little thing, and Wilbur wanted to stick him into his brooding pouch and keep him there.

~

The cart rolled into Wilbur's enclosure, and he greedily snatched it up and began to eat.

His keeper sat at a table in the light.

Wilbur finished his food in a few seconds and toyed with the cart. He always made it seem as if it took him longer to eat than it did.

"Do you have a family?"

The boy froze at the question. "Why do you ask?"

Wilbur pouted even though he knew he couldn't be seen. "We've known each for so long. I don't even know what your name is. Can't I know just a little?"

His keeper awkwardly laughed, fidgeting with his fingers. "Oh... I guess you're right."

Wilbur's heart leapt.

"I don't have a family."

"Oh." Shit.

"Yeah."

What was he supposed to say?

"I don't have a family either."

His keeper peered into the darkness. "What are you?"

Wilbur smiled. He skittered to the bars of his cage and leaned against them, towering over the boy, though he had no idea. "Would you like to play twenty questions?"

"You're so lame, seriously, what are you? I don't even know what you look like."

I could show you, he wanted to say.

Coming out of his cage was easy. The king assumed it could hold him but no one actually checked. And aside from his keeper, no one had been in his dungeon for years. In reality, the bars had long been bent open and Wilbur could get out whenever he pleased.

It wouldn't be difficult to come through the bars and present himself to his keeper. Pick the little figure up in his hands and take him into his cage with him.

When he'd eaten his previous keepers, they'd always been replaced. If he captured his current keeper and stored him away in his brooding pouch, then he'd never be lonely again.

It was tempting.

"That's probably for the best," he said. He stepped away from the bars of his cage and curled up on the floor.

He liked his keeper. He wanted him to be happy. Just because Wilbur was stuck in a cage didn't mean he had to be as well.

"Do you think I'd be scared of you?"

Wilbur looked down at himself, at his large stature and eight legs. His fangs came down to his mid chin. "I think you'd be terrified, dear."

His keeper smiled. "I don't think so. I have a suspicion that you're just harmless."

His heart melted. Oh stars, he wanted to eat this kid.

He massaged his aching brood pouch. "You're sweet, Sunshine."

~

The cart was left in his cage while he was sleeping. He woke up confused, spying it in the corner of his enclosure and wondered why he'd been fed overnight. Where was his keeper? His mind jumped to the worst conclusions.

He found him inside the cart. Bound and gagged and looking terrified beyond all reason.

"Oh, Sunshine," he murmured.

His words had the opposite intended effect, his keeper starting to panic and writhe at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, hey... Calm down, okay? I'll get you out of there." He reached into the cart and picked him up in his hand.

Despite the circumstance, his heart soared. This was the closest they'd ever been.

The figure was tiny in his palm, and still struggling.

Wilbur quickly undid his bounds, being mindful of his sharp claws against the human's body. As soon as his hands were free, he was clawing at the gag around his mouth.

"Don't eat me! Please, do not eat me..."

Wilbur's stomach dropped.

"What? Sunshine, why would I eat you?"

The boy continued to sob.

Wilbur cupped him to his chest and headed towards the bars of his enclosure. He expertly clambered through and came out the other side, his skin exposed to the light for the first time in more than a year.

"Dear? Can you talk to me?" He stroked his head with his thumb and brought him eye level. "Why were you in my feeding cart?"

His keeper stared at him in shock, and it was then that he remembered his keeper had never truly seen him before.

A hot wave of embarassment and self consciousness overtook him.

He awkwardly set his little human on his table and receded back into his enclosure.

"Sunshine?" He prompted once back in his cage. "Are you..."

"Could - could you get out the whole time?"

Wilbur's mouth went dry. "I - well, yes, I could but - "

His keeper stumbled off the table and hit the ground with a nasty sounding crack.

Wilbur sprang to his claws and scrambled forward. He popped his head out between the bars and stared down at his little keeper. "Are you okay?"

The human stared up at him with terror on his face and scrambled backwards, running for the door.

"Shit, shit, wait, I'm sorry! Please stay, please, Sunshine - "

The door slammed behind him with a resounding crack and Wilbur flinched backwards.

~ ~ ~ 🕸

i used to love drider aus back in 2020 🕷️🕷️🕷️

just a freaky little guy whose half dude and half Fear. potential off the charts.

my tag list got lost when my computer was annihilated (</3) but let me know in replies if you want to get @'d and i'll make a new one

oh yeah link to the writing prompt and story i did fill out

[fanmoose12]

ok, but imagine that Levi want to glasses’s Room since Hange gave him permission to borrow one of their books and Levi take out Hange’s diary instead.

Levi doesn't really know what he's doing here, why is he still here, in this room that reeks like an old, forgotten library that suffered some terrible food-related accident.

Hadn't he already finished what he came here for in the first place? The weirdo is in their bed, snoring peacefully (and rather loudly) in their pillow, so why is he still here? Why doesn't leave? Why do his legs feel as though they're glued to the floor, refusing to move towards the exit? 

It’s the state of the room that is at fault, Levi convinces himself. It’s just– so damn filthy in here - the clothes are thrown over every surface, empty plates and cups populate the wardrobe, desk and even some corners on the floor, and, worst of all, is the papers - open and long-forgotten letters, books, half-finished reports, sketchbooks and journals - there is enough of that shit to create several piles of considerable size, and dust that all of it has been gathering for, evidently, quite some time, flies around in a form of small specks, sucking all the air out of the room. 

Levi… Levi simply cannot take it. 

The room is hideous, an abomination he needs to do something about, and… why can’t he? 

The four-eyed freak is fast asleep, and, judging by the dark circles that have been steadily growing in size under their eyes, they won’t wake up for quite some time. It’s the perfect opportunity, perhaps, the only one he’ll ever have - after all, he better than anyone knows just how much Hange hates it when someone invades their workplace. Even Moblit, their ever loyal right-hand man, doesn’t have that privilege.

But Levi has it now, and wasting it would be simply stupid. 

With his next cause of action decided, Levi nods to himself and finally gets legs to move. In a few quick steps he crosses the room and leaves it, but– not for long. 

He comes back swiftly, dressed and armed according to the battle he’s about to face. 

He starts with the window - opens it and pulls the curtains aside, letting sunlight and some needed fresh air inside. Then, he picks up all the clothes, brings them outside to the laundry basket, collects the cups and plates and returns them to the kitchen. He mops the floor, cleans the mirror, wipes dust from the wardrobe and the bookshelves. 

And after that, semi-satisfied with his job so far, Levi takes on his toughest opponent yet - Hange’s work desk. 

Before taking a seat on a chair, he wipes it with a rug several times, gives the same treatment to the surface of the desk, and only then begins to shift through the mess that four-eyes calls their workplace. 

They’ll thank him for that later, or - maybe, curse him, Levi’s ready for whatever outcome as long as his goal is achieved. No doubt, it’ll be worth it. And even if Hange indeed gets angry with him - luckily, he’s that much better at running than they will ever be. 

He briefly scans through each piece of paper, organizing all of them in different - smaller and that much neater - piles. 

Hange really is a hoarder, Levi finds reports and letters that are so old that the ink on them is barely visible, but even that - he doesn’t dare to throw away. He may be faster than Hange, but if they truly get mad at him, he knows there will be no safe place for him to run to. 

He spends nearly an hour like this - picking up a paper, skimming through its contents before deciding on what pile it should go to, and it’s only when his eyes begin to water from the exertion that Levi stumbles upon something truly unique. 

It’s a stack of papers, tied loosely together by a piece of rope, and at first - he thinks it’s yet another set of notes. But as he starts to read it - Levi realizes it’s something entirely different. 

On the first page Hange writes about the Survey Corps - the approximate number of the soldiers, their mission, their biggest accomplishments, the chain of command and all that boring bullshit Levi never thought they cared about. He very nearly tosses it aside, but decides to glimpse at a second page, and what he sees there stuns him into a stupor. 

The top part of the page reads simply Shadis, and next to it - Hange drew a little heart. 

Too curious to set it aside now, Levi delves in. After quite an unconventional beginning, Hange writes Shadis’ title, the amount of years he served in the Survey Corps and what little he managed to achieve in that time, and then - the weirdness continues. Hange describes some of the interactions they had with him, how their first meeting went, how aloof the man was during it and how it only made Hange’s wish to impress him stronger. They go on and on about him, the page is full of compliments that, in Levi’s completely unbiased opinion, Shadis does not deserve. It’s only near the end that Hange’s gushing starts to fade, transforming into bitter resentment instead. 

It’s not a report, Levi realizes, not a note from an experiment, it’s something deeply personal, something he definitely should not pock his nose into, but as he skips through a few pages and stumbles upon the one with his name on it - his curiosity grows too insistent not to be sated. 

‘Erwin brought in new recruits,’ the beginning of the page reads, ‘From the Underground, if rumors are to be believed. They do seem very pale, and all three of them have this look in their eyes, like… like they cannot quite believe that what they see is real. I caught them on top of the roof the other night, they were looking at the sky like they were seeing it for the very first time. It was not a moment that should have been intruded on, no matter how much I wish I did. Besides, I feel that should I have actually intruded on it, that constantly brooding guy - Levi - would have thrown me down the roof and to the ground without hesitation. So, naturally, I did not approach them. Although, I still stuck around for a while, watching them. The look on their faces, their happy smiles! Ah, I haven’t seen so much joy in a really long while. Even Levi seemed content, and, I must admit, without his ever present scowl, he looked even more handsome than usual. 

I definitely should talk to him, and soon - he might teach me a trick or two, if I get on his good side. We might even become friends! There is just something in him that… intrigues me. Sometimes I look at him and realize I don’t want to look away. It’s not just his exceptional skills either, although they surely are fascinating, there is something about his eyes. They make him look like a man twice his age, they’re guarded, appear nearly cold, but underneath all that, I sense… exhaustion, like he’s carrying a burden he cannot shake away. 

Ever since the three of them appeared, everyone has been treating them with nothing but scorn, and I wish… I could have changed it, show them all a bit of kindness. It doesn’t seem like they know much of it. 

They’re good people, I think, despite the circumstances they had to fight against while growing up. Or, perhaps, in spite of them. We’d be good friends, I think, if I manage not to scare them off like I usually do. And then - who knows, maybe, one day, I’ll make Levi smile too!

His smile does look very handsome.’ 

Feeling his cheeks grow hot, Levi pushes the papers aside, hiding them underneath one of the bigger piles. He hides his face into his hands and mutters a curse under his breath. 

Damned four-eyes. Always making him embarrassed, even when they’re not actually here. 

What even is that thing? Why pathologically obsessed with their research Hange dedicates their precious time to write something like this? And about him of all people? 

Levi steals a glance at them - still asleep, sprawled out on the bed and hugging a pillow to their chest, they look… adorable. Did they always look like that? He can’t believe he never noticed. 

As if drawn by some force beyond his comprehension, Levi stands up and approaches Hange’s sleeping form. They’ve kicked the blanket down to their feet, and, carefully, he picks it up and tucks them in. 

He stands above them for another moment, watching their peaceful expression, and then, before he can stop himself, he reaches out and gently moves a strand of their hair out of their face. He caresses their cheek with the back of his hand, his touch so light Hange doesn’t even stir from it. His hand hovers above them for a little longer, close enough that he can feel the warmth emanating from their skin. The temptation to touch it, to feel that warmth and allow himself to be engulfed in it is strong, and grows stronger with every beat of his heart. 

Levi nearly does it, but then - the spell might get broken. Or worse, he reasons, his rude intrusion might wake Hange up, and if they see him like that, watching them like some sort of a creep - he’d rather jump off the top of the Wall than go through this. 

Gathering all that’s left of his resolve, he takes a step back and leaves Hange’s room before he does something even more stupid. 

He goes straight to his bedroom, and, foregoing the shower, falls into bed. 

His cleaning spree must have exhausted him far more than he thought, because he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

And at night, Levi dreams of starry sky, warm hands and gentle smile.

[mysticmellowlove]

Can we have general sub yan hcs? Maybe him before we got together? Like we moved to the town he lives in and he saw us one day and bam

It's been a hot second since I wrote hc's so please excuse me while I find my footing again lol. Also sorry about the formatting, me and my editing app are fighting

Lil bit of Intro

He's at the window the second the van pulls into the driveway across the street

Not many new people come to a small town like this one

A town where everyone knows everyone

There's no doubt in his mind that the newcomer will be swarmed with warm and welcoming neighbours the second their own car arrives

Until then he'll just watch and try and deduce what they'll be like from their furniture

Luckily he didn't have to wait too long, you pulled up a few minutes later

He wasn't a fan of movies but he felt as if the second you stepped out of the car the world around him slowed down

Here he goes again...

It took him a little to get his confidence up

Not to mention he spent a considerable time in front of the mirror making sure he looked good

He did end up knocking on your door a few hours after the van had left

When you answered he could feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck

You weren't smiling, you weren't quite frowning... you were just so chill

The first meeting went well

He barely stuttered, he didn't drop his classic (cliche) welcome cookies and he even managed to get your name

Upon you shutting your door he waited a moment to see if he'd be able to hear anything else before he went back to his own home

He usually didn't get so feverish but there was something about you that made him feel a little too hot under the collar

He knew your name as well

That night was spent with his hand fisted around his cock as he cried out your name, hoping by some miracle that you'd be able to hear him

General HC's

Yan is a busybody despite his awkwardness around you

He spends most of his day at his retail job watching what people buy

Yan wonders if you'd like the clothes the customers pick out

He picked some stuff out anyway, for the future

It's mostly crop tops and short shorts

And a couple of nice underwear

He's pretty pleased with himself

He can't be watching you at all hours of the day though

So he spends most of his time thinking about you

His dreams are about you as well

Domestic life, raising a family of a couple of cats and a dog

Wet dreams

Once he has a spare moment he'll go over and try and talk to you

If he manages to shove his anxiety down you two will have a good chat

You even invited him over for dinner!

It wasn't just for him though, it was more of a neighbourhood welcoming party

He spends the party in the corner of your living room glaring down anyone and everyone

Especially the people that talk to you

At least good came from the event

Now he knows who to watch out for

And he knows what your house looks like

He'll use this information to break in when you're away

You start seeing him more often around town

Always with a smile on his face

You two get along quite nicely now

If you start hanging around him more he'll get bold

Touching you is a must, small hand touches and maybe even a quick hug as you two go your separate ways

His whole body shakes after he touches you, especially as you two say goodbye

You actually let him touch you!

He watches over you when you sleep sometimes

A dopey grin is on his face as he looks at the rise and fall of your chest

If you make any sound in your sleep his mind will go wild

Sore back and you groan? He imagines you fucking into him

Breathy sigh? Obviously, you like him kissing your neck!

Little mumbles? He'll do anything you want so just speak a little louder

It seems to him that you're ready for the next step

He can't wait to call you his partner!

[vtuberconfessions]

i am so tired of being nice i just want to go apeshit PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD VTUBER ARTISTS WHO HAVE NEVER RIGGED BEFORE: ASK A RIGGER FOR ADVICE ABOUT SEPARATION AND LISTEN TO IT!!!! as a rigger and artist i am so fucking tired of having to spend 8+ hours re-separating and fixing all of the bullshit with your artwork that makes rigging a nightmare. AS A BASIC RULE PLEASE...

1: NEVER USE A SPACE IN LAYER NAMES!!! if you use a space in the name of any layers ( i.e. "leg l" "part 1") the name will be switched in live2D to "artmesh" and your rigger will have to RENAME EVERYTHING. if you do this for every layer THIS IS A NIGHTMARE. it's not easy to fix PLEASE use underscores instead of spaces.

2: have ANY KIND of naming system. it literally doesnt matter, as long as it exists and is consistent the rigger will figure it out. don't name one thing "left_arm_1" and another thing "Bang>SidePart" and expect me to be able to easily work with your file.

3: KEEP. LAYERS. ORGANIZED. please please PLEASE understand basic rigging hierarchy and stick to it. If the left eye folder is ten thousand layers below the right eye folder this will be extremely confusing. also make sure the limbs are ordered properly. if the shoulder is in the layer for the jacket and the hand is somewhere floating in the ether i now have to spend time to reorganize the psd.

4: LIVE 2D DOES NOT WORK LIKE A DRAWING PROGRAM. it only allows for multiply, add, and normal layers. no overlay, no screen light, just add and multiply. if I have to clip a layer to more than five other layers the program WILL lag for both you and the person who ends up using the model. Do not just leave a massive multiply layer over the entire model it doesn't work that way. 5: oh my fucking god PLEASE draw EVERYTHING even if it isnt in view. if you have a separate layer for the bang's shading, for example, in normal illustration you just draw what's visible and call it a day. I'M TURNING THE HEAD, MEANING IT WILL JUST CUT OFF. if i have to fix this for every single instance of shading i am taking time away from my work, my whole process takes longer. as a rule of thumb, always draw more than what you think you need.

6: separate more than you need, but not everything. sometimes I work with models that have not enough things separated, and its a pain to work with. sometimes i work with models that feel like the artist just sent me their work file with every tiny brushstroke on a different layer and then I have to spend a day merging and checking everything. use your head while you are drawing, think to yourself "is the thing I'm drawing something that will need to move independently?" try to imagine the model in 3D space as your working, and if you can't do that perhaps study an object in real life and see how turning it in space interacts with the lighting or whatever idk. also: if there are too many separations the model will come out looking blurrier. live2D doesn't just read the photoshop file, it creates a new texture file. imagine the model like a paper doll, it takes every piece of paper and spreads each piece down flat. this takes up much more space and many more pixels then the photoshop document, and the bigger i have to make the texture file, the laggier things become. if i don't want it to lag, everything has to be shrinked down to fit, and thus everything becomes blurry. if I don't want it all blurry, I basically have to spend hours upon hours manually placing every "piece of paper" on another piece of paper essentially playing the worlds most annoying jigsaw puzzle.

I feel like I'm working on a group project and doing half of your work. please, stop making my job much harder than it needs to be.

.

[dreamersparacosm]

austin butler - kissing in the bathroom

warnings ; intoxication, oral (f receiving)

request ; anonymous’ ask linked here

prompt ; in which austin takes it upon himself (with a bit of liquid courage) to help relieve your urges.

a/n ; there is clearly something wrong w me bc i got this request and literally wrote it in under 12 hours. it’s all over the place but that’s my life these days so please enjoy also this takes place during dune 2 filming and i used the cast so some things may be inaccurate but whatever

les - childish gambino

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

realistically, you’re not an irrational person. you like to think that you make decisions based off of facts, and that your brain is wired in a way where you don’t normally partake in things that are considerably risky. however, later, when you let austin butler go down on you in the bathroom at a crowded club in budapest, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises on your hips, dress hiked up to your belly button, you’ll start to question if you’re actually mentally stable.

realistically, you probably should’ve just seen a therapist for all your troubles instead.

“okay, wait, so run me through why you won’t go out tonight again,” florence pugh pesters you for the thirtieth time that day, puppy-dog eyes filled with hope piercing through you. somehow, when you look at her, you feel no guilt whatsoever.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, “dude, i’m not going to a club. i’m literally 25, i’m past that point of my life —“

“i’m 26.”

“and, you’re mentally ill. see, this is why i don’t hang out with you on set more often,” you tease, taking a bite out of the cookie you had snatched earlier from the snack cart. it tastes like cardboard, but you had no choice but to swallow it, seeing as your other options were the moldy sandwich from the shop nearby or day-old coffee from the cart. combined with your recent sleeping habits, you might as well have chosen death.

“no, you don’t hang out with me because you’re too busy being a director’s pet,” she sticks her tongue out at you, taking a bite out of the lunch she had packed herself earlier that morning. you two are cozily perched in director’s chairs you had stolen from set, hiding from the bustling commotion that is your reality. you had signed on to film dune 2 earlier that year, and although you thought you would be able to handle the adrenaline and stress that came along with filming an action movie, to be quite honest, you were utterly and entirely exhausted. every waking moment was spent running over lines with co-stars, and if not that, you were going through stunts with the coordinators.

your limbs ached and your eyes were bloodshot, but despite all that, you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. so, you did take advantage of that cookie that tasted like cardboard, because who cares? you love your job, isn’t that enough? fuck the sleep, fuck the mental health! your body is begging, screaming, for a break, but instead, you fuel it with red bulls and cardboard cookies and bandage it up to make good as new. so, you resolve to tell florence that that’s really why you’re not going to the club tonight.

but, because she’s florence, and she can’t keep her mouth shut for a second, she keeps going. “what’ll it take to convince you?”

“literally nothing,” you smile sarcastically, crumbs littering your shirt as you take another bite.

“nothing?” she questions exasperatedly, something between a groan and a sigh exiting her lips. “what if i told you everyone was going?”

you blink twice at her attempt to coerce you into spending time with your co-stars. sure, they were great people, but your bed was calling your name “you… really think that would make me want to go?”

“nah. it was worth a shot, though.”

you laugh at the relinquishment of her efforts, “but, i do want to know what happens tonight when everyone gets drunk.”

“oh, please,” she snorts. “nothing’s gonna happen. zendaya is so far up tom’s ass, we’re gonna see her text him all night.”

you chuckle at the truth of the statement, but a twinge of jealousy still makes its way through you. you hadn’t been in a serious relationship since your last one — the 6-foot-something athlete you dated, needs no name — and it ended so horrifically that you swore off men for the rest of your life. sure, you had frivolous flings with hollywood men, but nothing of importance enough to break down the wall that you guarded yourself with. “god, must be nice,” you mutter, playing with the hem of your shirt.

florence’s eyes light up, as if a lightbulb was powered on above her head. “okay.. hear me out. what if, we go out tonight and get you laid?”

the word sounds ridiculous rolling off her tongue, something you hadn’t thought about in months. you were comfortable with two people; your right hand, and your left hand. those were the only things you needed to get off and have a great time on your own. but, seeing the look on her face, you know she won’t take that for an answer. “in budapest?”

“tell me i’m wrong! a nice european man with an accent,” she’s now leaning forward in her chair, eyes sparkling as she goes on, “and he’ll buy your drinks all night. i mean, we were planning on getting a table tonight but at least this way, you can get drunk off whatever he buys you.”

“we haven’t even found a man yet, and you’re talking about him like he’s my boyfriend.”

“i have high hopes!” she exclaims, hands clasped together in delight, “you’re literally gorgeous, [y/n]. i’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“i don’t want a random guy, though. it feels slimy,” you grimace. it really does sound unappealing to you, the thought of having to speak to someone for several hours before finally getting drunk enough to succumb to the animalistic urges you’ll inevitably feel.

“okay…fair. but, what if it’s not a random guy?” she raises an eyebrow, and you stare at her quizzically. surely, she can’t be headed with this where you think she’s going with this. “what about… someone we know?”

“no.”

it’s firm and it slips off your tongue before you even have a chance to let her finish. god forbid you let her even say the words, or you’ll wring her neck.

“but —“

“literally, no. like, who even would i possibly get with?”

“timothee?” the name almost makes you giggle, but you could only smile as to not embarrass him (even if he’s not present).

“definitely not him. he’s not my type,” you shake your head in disgust.

she taps her finger against her chin, pretending to look lost in thought, “okay, how about the cameraman everyone says is hot?”

“easy steve? are you kidding, flo? that’s your choice for me?” you cross your arms over your chest, staring at her in disdain. she couldn’t possibly be talking about the 20-something year old who had hooked up with half of the crew already.

“yeah… i felt bad even saying it. he’s definitely got something by now,” she goes back to her train of thought, list of men dwindling by the second as she realizes you two really don’t work with as many hot men as you think you do. but, just as she’s about to rest her case and close the conversation, she has an epiphany. “wait, what about austin?”

austin butler was what everyone referred to as an overachiever. not on purpose — no, he was too humble for that — but because he worked so hard to perfect his craft. you had to commend him for it, because you were willing to give it the old heave-ho and just let things be as is. he was a bit of a superstar on and off set, riding on the coattails of his newfound success from elvis, the movie he had filmed that had been released just a few months back. you were lying if you said you hadn’t seen the movie and nearly creamed yourself twice at his performance.

he was attractive — you could at least give him that — but he almost seemed too pretty to be real. despite all that, you weren’t even sure if you two had a full conversation before. the most you had gotten out of him was hey, how are you today? and they’re ready for you on set. you weren’t sure if he was scared of you, or just genuinely found no interest in getting to know you; regardless, it didn’t bother you. he seemed to fade into the background every time you came around, and you had already accepted that that was your working relationship with him.

“eh, too pretty for me.”

“really?” florence seems shocked by your statement. “you did see elvis, right..?”

“yeah, who didn’t?” you shrug, “i don’t know, i feel like he’s just there.”

she chortles at your statement, “what? he’s so cool, he makes the funniest jokes.”

okay, now you’re slightly offended. you could accept that maybe he was just a shy person all around, but if he was talking to everyone except you — including putting up with florence’s constant chatter — there had to be something severely wrong with you. “well, he’s never told me any jokes.”

a sneaky grin makes its way onto her face, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her little pea brain. “what, you jealous?”

“shut it. he just literally does not speak to me,” you don’t give in to her antics. “like, he’ll see me come across the way and then he’ll go mute. i’m fine with that, honestly.”

“fine, fine,” she raises her hands in defeat. “but, i still think you need to get laid. it’ll solve all your problems. and, plus, i’m offering to buy you a bottle of vodka for you to drink all by yourself.”

she knows she’s making offers to you that you can’t refuse.

“whatever,” you stand up from the chair, “i’m not going.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

maybe it’s the sleep exhaustion making you delusional, maybe it’s the two tequila shots you took by yourself in your hotel room, or, maybe it’s the conversation you had with florence earlier, but, somehow, you find yourself sandwiched in between your co-stars and crew members at a sweaty club in budapest, hungary.

it’s all florence’s fault.

you’re supposed to be tucked into bed, reading a book, possibly, or even lazily watching a netflix show while sipping a cup of tea. but, the rap music pounds into your ears, strobe lights casting colorful illumination across the dance floor. you clutch the vodka bottle closer to your chest, watching as sweaty bodies collided in a mere attempt to feel something. florence can sense your fear and desire to leave, and while you’re still staring intently at the crowd, she creeps up next to you. “so.. are you gonna drink the bottle i bought you, or are you gonna hug it all night?”

you look around the table, bottles being kept cool in ice buckets and napkins strewn messily across the wood, locking eyes with a few of your cast members. zendaya and timothee seem deep in conversation over something, probably a drunken talk about how zendaya hated crowds and more specifically, non-casual drinks. you’re debating on how you answer her question, following up with “well, eventually gonna drink it. soaking it all in now.”

“you need to catch up,” she says, but you can already smell the alcohol on her breath. there’s not much catching up to do; she’s probably already near obliterated. “i don’t wanna be drunk alone.”

you roll your eyes at her exaggeration, popping open the bottle of vodka that had been gifted to you, “fine, fine. if i have no choice,” and with that, you tilt the bottle back to meet your lips, your first sip of alcohol touching the back of your throat and causing you to gag repeatedly. you were no stranger to it; you had quite the party girl phase between the ages of 21 and 23.

with shaky hands, you bring the bottle back down to arms length, “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” she grins widely.

“hey, guys.”

you’re about to sputter out the alcohol you swallowed previously, but you manage to keep it together at the sound of austin butler’s voice echoing in your ear. despite the volume of the music, you still manage to hear him, which was the first time in a while you had actually noted the raspiness in his voice. he’s speaking to the group, not just you — definitely not you, poor boy has had his tongue tied around you for months — and everyone greets him excitedly. you clench your jaw at their reaction, rolling your eyes and taking another swig from your bottle. sure, tears are brimming your eyes from the burn of the vodka, but you rather that happen than have to watch everyone ogle over austin gracing them with his presence.

he doesn’t really acknowledge you, just raises an eyebrow in your direction, and you give a half-smile in return. all in all, you’re not ready to admit he looks surprisingly better than he normally does. he has on a white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows, dress pants and all. his hair looks messy, but not in the way where you can assume he put no effort in his appearance, but that he clearly did try and tousle it a little. he still fits the description from earlier; too pretty to be real. like, who even wears that to a club? you feel whorish, slutty, raunchy, with your skin-tight red dress and black heels.

florence is now deep in conversation with easy steve, and you take the time to take another sip from your bottle. really, she must’ve been onto something, because leaving you alone with a bottle of vodka and your thoughts was lethal. you’re left to look around the table and see who else you could possibly strike up a conversation with. for some reason, timothee is fist-bumping, and your lips curl up in a smile at that. you decide that maybe you and your thoughts could have a good time on their own. you’re slowly swaying your hips in tune to the music, not concerning yourself with how much vodka you’re actually inhaling.

“having fun there?” one of the crew members smiles over at you, and you return the expression. he’s trying to be sweet, so why not entertain him?

“oh, yeah,” you nod, fingers gripping the neck of the bottle tightly as if it were your life jacket. “can you tell it’s my first time out in forever?”

“with the way you’re drinking?” he shakes his head, laughing, “you look like a veteran, honestly.”

out of the corner of your eye, you see austin reach out to pour himself a drink, while he’s also deep in conversation with another crew member; a girl. she giggles at something he says, and you’re about to bend his neck in half. the man must have some kind of vendetta against you, because really, he can’t stand to be around you or something? you turn your attention back to the man you were talking to, but you realize soon enough that you had been staring at austin for so long that he had found someone else to pay attention.

and, then it’s really just back to you, the bottle, and your thoughts.

you opt to take a few sips of cranberry juice from the carafe that is placed strategically on the table, knowing that’ll help ease the buzz the alcohol you’re sweeping through is giving you. you’re drinking at an alarmingly fast pace, and if everyone wasn’t so indulged in their conversations, they might have noticed you going through the bottle as if it were water. but, your feet remain in the same spot, swaying to the music calmly, not a worry in the world.

there’s shuffling around the table, people moving to talk to others they hadn’t gotten the chance to before, and you’re still humming with intoxication. you were way past tipsy, definitely drunk to the point where if florence had asked you to dance amongst the mosh pit of people, you would’ve said yes. you make small talk with a few, exchange jokes with zendaya, and you let yourself flirt with timothee. you know you’re not attracted to him, but you’re just so bored and drunk and alone and he did, in his drunken state, let his eyes roam over your body, so why not?

you abandon the bottle of vodka at some point, as it’s halfway done and serves nearly no purpose to you anymore. you’re at the perfect point of the night, where anything can happen and if someone were to dare you to do something idiotic, you would. it’s like this: every part of your body aches to do something absolutely stupid, and your brain is consistently egging you on, and your lips are flapping to make words that don’t even really make sense. you’re still coherent — they would’ve sent you home if you weren’t — and you rely on your senses to realize just who is standing next to you after the next round of shuffling around the table.

austin butler is awkwardly standing near you, words no use to him anymore as he just looks down at his feet. you’re already annoyed; no, not because of the alcohol, or because of the way his curls fall over his forehead, or the way he’s not speaking to you, but because of the fact that he’s not even trying to hide that he could care less to make conversation with you. or, well, that’s what you assume it is, because alcohol is invading your bloodstream.

you sit down on the couch behind you, leaning back to rest against the cushion. everyone seems to follow suit, their legs tired from moving around ever so slightly to engage in more talk. austin carefully sits down next to you, and you move your knees to point in the opposite direction, making sure to not let your skin come into contact with his.

“[y/n]!” florence squeals, and she’s stepping on austin’s toes as she squeezes herself on the other side of you. she’s so, so drunk, but she’s your closest friend on set and you love her dearly, so you find it endearing.

“hi, flo.”

okay, you’re so, so drunk too.

“i… love this place,” she gushes, taking a sip of her vodka cranberry that is clearly melted ice at that point. “like, i just love hungary. every time i go out in the u.k, i hate it. hate, hate, hate it.”

you giggle at her words, “what? i thought you loved going out there.”

she scrunches her nose as if your words were poisonous, “god, no. all those pricks out there aren’t half as fun as here.”

“you know, australia’s pretty fun too.”

the man of the hour finally speaks. you’re almost shocked to hear his voice so close to your ear, and you turn to look at the source. austin’s hair is considerably more messy than before, stains from his previous drinks littered across his shirt. his voice hugs you, and you feel a tingle in your core that you push aside because you’re so, so drunk and there is no way you’re letting his voice irritate you. if anything, you’re more shocked at the fact that he finally found a way to speak around you.

“really?” of course, florence is encouraging him on. “i haven’t been in ages, i’ve been meaning to go out there. you were in queensland, right?”

“yeah, we mostly went out ‘round there,” he now turns his body towards the two of you. “we did that for a good few months, before covid hit and everything.”

“oh, wow, where did you guys go out there? i might know a few,” florence says excitedly, giddy to have someone to converse with that wasn’t with your debby-downer attitude. you cross your arms over your chest like a toddler who hadn’t gotten their way, letting them tire themselves out with their chatter. they had stopped acknowledging you completely, just leaving you to listen in as if their talk was more important than anything in the world.

“i like sydney better,” you finally chime in — in a very snotty tone that throws florence off guard — and austin’s eyes widen a little, his head swiveling to face you.

“really?” he asks softly, almost coming out as a whisper against the rap music that blares from every corner. he’s lucky you can read lips. not that you were staring or anything.

“yeah,” you confirm, arms still glued to your chest. “just not really a fan of queensland.”

luckily, no one can tell that you’re literally lying through your teeth, because one: you have never been to australia in your entire life and two: if someone asks what clubs you’ve been to there, you were thoroughly fucked.

“no way! where in sydney have you been to?”

you were going to strangle florence pugh.

you smile, a shaky one that nearly falls off your lips, and your words are a little slurred as you speak, “oh, ya know, where didn’t i go? i can’t even remember the names, it was just so wild.”

that seems to be a good enough answer for the two of them — or, they’ve sussed out that you have no clue what you’re talking about — because they don’t push the issue any further. they move on to another topic, talking about filming and europe. you tune in and out of the conversation before reaching for your bottle once more. taking another swig, you hug it to your chest, replacing your arms.

“you know, [y/n], i’m soooo happy you came out tonight,” florence has finally reached the i love you speeches part of the night, but lucky enough for her, you’re more than capable of partaking in that.

“me too,” you grin goofily, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i love alcohol. and you. and budapest.”

“you weren’t gonna come out tonight?” he speaks directly towards you, and it takes you aback more than you’d like to admit, because for once, he’s not asking how you are or how’s the weather.

“yeah, wasn’t feeling it, honestly,” you shrug, still avoiding eye contact and playing with your hands that gripped the bottle.

“what changed your mind?” you can tell he’s drunk. god knows, he’s drunk because there is no way he’s actually speaking to you. he can’t even believe it himself, since he couldn’t muster the courage to say more than four words to you at a time.

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i really haven’t gone out in a while. felt like maybe it was overdue.”

“yeah, i felt the same,” he says, running a hand through his hair. you can’t help but notice how it descends perfectly onto his temple, and you finally look up to meet his eyes. they are ice-blue, something you had noticed before, but when you peer into them, you notice how they stare into your own, causing you to squirm in your seat. “haven’t been out in a while after my last movie. i don’t know if you saw it or anything.”

maybe it’s the alcohol creeping up on you, or the way his eyes are still gazing into yours, but you feel the need to keep the conversation going, uttering, “i saw elvis. you look—did good. did good.”

you were praying for a sink hole to open up in the middle of the dance floor to swallow you up whole.

thankfully, he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t note that you almost confessed your attraction to him. no, no, not attraction. what the hell were you feeling? it was bizarre, he had spoken more than four words to you and you found yourself like putty in his hands. you were starting to see why everyone was laughing at his jokes on set; they probably weren’t even funny, his eyes were just piercing into them. “thanks. i saw your last film too.”

somehow, he keeps managing to shock you with everything he says. you chalk it up to liquid courage, because now this man is speaking to you as if he’s talked to you his whole life, with confidence and ease. “that piece of crap? god, i hated it.” it was entirely true; it was a netflix original that had you playing a high schooler at the grown age of 25.

he chuckles at your words, and you sit up straighter at the sound. for a moment, your heart almost betrays you, beating faster than its normal resting rate. “i get it. i was a nickelodeon star for a little. worst. years. of. my. life.”

your eyes widen a little as you come to a realization, your knees fully swiveling towards his body, “oh my god! yes! you were in zoey 101, weren’t you?”

“i was,” he smiles at you for the first time, and you’re overcome with a whirlwind of emotions; desire, attraction, possibly anger at the fact he waited that long to talk to you. and, so, you keep talking, because he’s good company and he likes hearing what you have to say. florence has fully disengaged from your conversation, entertaining herself with easy steve once more. you and austin talk about clubbing, what you enjoy to do in your free time, how you managed to get a college degree before becoming an actress, and he’s thoroughly hanging onto every word you say. liquor is still flowing, and you two even take a shot together before continuing to talk about nothingness.

you’re so enthralled in your conversation that you don’t notice when he rests his arm right above you on the edge of the couch, not touching your skin but enough to mark his territory. you’re not cognizant of his body fully facing you, knees touching yours as he watched your lips move with every word you spoke. “but, yeah, that’s why i moved to new york city. i feel like i made the right choice, ‘ya know?”

“oh, i get it,” he nods, “i’m trying to move from california. i think i like the city, did the broadway thing for a while and fell in love with it.”

“really?” your eyes are sparkling, and he takes a mental picture just for himself to envision later. “i love broadway. i used to see shows all the time.”

“what’s your favorite show?” he asks, genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it makes you feel seen, for once. men tended to look over you, and that might have been due to the people you were choosing, but you chalked it up to just them being disinterested.

“that’s a tough one,” you tap your nails against the 75% empty vodka bottle, “i would have to say wicked.”

“good choice,” his lips curl upwards into a smile once more.

“oh, i know my choice is impeccable,” you say sarcastically, and he throws his head back in laughter. you like the sound of it, to the point where you’re about to whip your phone out secretly and record it to listen to as a lullaby.

the nagging feeling of having to urinate is still pressing against your bladder, but your body refuses to get up. you’re captivated by the conversation you’ve partaken in, and the idea that if you move away from him might change anything is enough to keep you glued to your seat. but, you’re almost tempted to see if he would keep it going, to see if he would reciprocate the tension you’re feeling. florence’s words from earlier ring in your ear like a siren, and you have to clench your thighs to stop yourself from getting carried away. no, he definitely is just being nice. he’s drunk and wants someone to talk to, and frankly, so do you.

so, you decide to stand up, placing the vodka bottle down on the table and smoothing out your red dress. “hold on, i’ll be back. i just have to pee.” he answers with a slight nod. he misses the feeling of your knees pressed against his, and notices as soon as the contact is gone.

as you try and find your way to the bathroom, you let your delusions get the best of you, and you begin to hope, pray, that he follows you in there.

you actually really do have to pee, and you do sit down on the toilet, but some sickly part of you wants him to walk in there and tempt you. you don’t even know what you’re thinking — this man has continuously ignored you for months. but, florence’s words just haunt you as you think that maybe you do need to get laid, and austin isn’t the worst option out there. he’s tall, he smells good, he’s got a gorgeous laugh and stunning eyes. jesus christ, get a grip.

you’re about halfway out the bathroom door, drunkenly stumbling over your heels, before you fall right into someone’s arms.

upon contact, you know exactly who you landed into.

but, to confirm, you look up through hooded eyelids to make eye contact with austin, his arms still holding your biceps. “shit, my bad,” he says softly, swallowing the rest of the saliva that pooled in his mouth.

“yeah, no worries, i was just, um, going back out there.”

“yeah, no, of course.”

he says that but still makes no attempt to let you go.

“is it still fun out there?”

“it’s alright. florence went home.”

“oh.”

quit the small talk, you’re hoping he’s telepathic and hearing every word you’re yelling at him in your brain.

he finally releases you, and you fall back a little. he scratches the back of his neck nervously before asking feebly, “can i ask you a question?”

you’re hoping your eyes don’t look as if they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “what’s up?”

“uh — well, i, um,” all his confidence from earlier dwindles into thin air, “uh, was just wondering if —“

you raise an eyebrow, “yes?”

“i, uh, heard you earlier talking to florence.”

“and?”

“…ya know, about needing to hook up with somebody.”

where was that sinkhole to swallow you up?

“how’d you even hear us?” you manage to muster out in horror. it was more disbelief, but he must’ve moved with so much stealth that you didn’t even notice him, the way he hadn’t noticed you.

“i-i was just walking by, and then, heard my name and all —“

“oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s not creepy,” you say sarcastically.

“right,” he avoids your eyes now, focusing on some stain on his shoes. in all honesty, you’re not sure what he’s even getting at, because now that he was back to being unable to formulate words around you, you weren’t even sure you were attracted to him any longer. but, you were intoxicated, so that thought lasted about two seconds. “listen, i’m just gonna be honest.”

“okay.”

“would you… want to hook up?”

you’re stunned. you had never been so stupefied in your entire life, and you feel as though someone just yanked you off the spinning planet, leaving you to float in space. your jaw fell slack at his suggestion, silence overtaking the two of you despite the music that still blasted through the speakers. “what?” you have to ask, because there’s no way he’s being serious.

“we don’t have to — i mean, you don’t have to do anything. plus, i think i kinda have whiskey dick, but i could eat you out or something —“

he is being serious.

“you… want to go down on me?” you’re almost intrigued, because no man had ever offered to do something without getting some form of stimulation in return. you’re thinking back to all the horrible things you said about him, and discarding every last one.

he nods.

“you don’t even… you barely talked to me.”

“yeah, i-i’m sorry ‘bout all that, i just get nervous,” he draws his lips in between his teeth, and you think you might collapse then and there and someone’ll have to scrape your body off the floor. “kinda had a little crush on you.”

“are you serious?” you ask incredulously. “we exchanged four words.”

“yeah, i-i know, listen, i feel bad about all that, i just literally —“

you’re not even about to let him keep going on with his ramblings, and you find yourself dragging him by his shirt collar into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. you lean against the wood, cooling your body that seemed to warm up from his words. he faces you, lips parted and cheeks blushed. “okay, this is crazy.”

“i know —“

you held up a finger, pausing him mid-word before he could utter anything else that barely resembled a full sentence. he was so lucky there was even an ounce of alcohol flowing in your system, because all those feelings of desire and longing are lingering in your brain, demanding that you listen to them. “this is crazy. and, the fact that i’m even slightly considering it is concerning me more.”

his mouth parts as he’s about to respond before you shake your finger, indicating that there’s more left to your sentence. “if, if we do this, you cannot tell anyone.”

he nods again, this time like a lost puppy.

“i’m not kidding, austin. no one can know about this,” you repeat, hoping the words drill into his brain.

“no one will know.”

“i’m only doing this because it’s been a while, okay, like a good few months.”

“okay.”

he’s looking at you eagerly, as if he were ready to devour you and you’re suddenly overcome with every bit of desire for him, wetness pooling between your thighs and soaking your underwear. your heart thumps loudly in your ear as you mull over his offer. weirdly enough, he is your best option at that point in the night. it was either austin butler, the man who apparently has pined for your affection the entire time, or some sweaty stranger plucked from the dance floor. you repeat the same word he had, because what else is there to say when austin butler is begging you to let him eat you out? “okay.”

he blinks twice, an expression full of shock and a tad of confusion plastered on his face as he realizes you’re consenting to it, to him. he moves towards you, and your eyes are locked into his. you’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly as he reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing over your jaw.

you take the moment to really, finally, look at him. his nose juts out at the perfect angle, blue eyes calming you as if they were waves melting into rocks, his plump, pink lips parted slightly as he exhaled. he was angelic, and you nearly shot yourself from the thought of ever looking past him. he’s doing the same with you; taking note of every single freckle, every mark that adorned your face. he was irrevocably entranced by you. he leans in towards you, hand cupping your chin, “‘m gonna kiss you now.”

you’re still nodding as he pulls your chin towards his to meet his warm lips that taste like alcohol, and you’re immediately paralyzed by the way your lips collide with his, meshing perfectly as if they were always meant to. he’s kissing you fiercely to make you want more, but not to be sloppy. your wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer into you, back firmly pressed against the door. surprisingly enough, despite the drunken state you’re both trapped in, you move in sync and the arousal in your panties only escalates, burning your entire body.

you pull away for a moment of air, inhaling and exhaling at a sharp rate, and he doesn’t miss a beat, only going down to your neck to press light kisses, then suck. he continues the pattern, and you find yourself running your fingers through his curls, soft moans slipping from between your lips. you’re too blind to even realize what’s actually going on, that you’re really in a bathroom at a club in budapest, hungary, making out with your co-star. you hope your alarm clock doesn’t suddenly go off.

his tongue swirls around a sweet spot on your neck, and you bite your lip to contain the moan that’s begging to be let out.

and before you’re really going to protest or say anything remotely coherent, he sinks to his knees, the cold tiles grounding him as his hand roams up your thighs. you’re just watching, in complete and utter disbelief, as he slowly bunches up your dress to around your belly button, revealing your pair of panties that were absolutely dripping. you should be embarrassed — in fact, you definitely are — but he only looks up at you submissively, eyes interlocking selfishly. “can i?”

you nod, lip still stuck in between your teeth. you watch as he slips your underwear right down your legs, pressing a light kiss to your thighs. he looks back up at you one last time, for that one last confirmation he needed, and you give it to him, your hand entangling in his hair as you push his head to where you need him the most.

his hands make their way around your hips, pressing into the bone as he steadies your body against the door. just when you think you’re about to beg for him, that you might have to embarrass yourself further, he presses his tongue, flat, against your folds, and you whimper at the contact. he licks carefully, deliberately, as if he knows just what to do to make you unfold, as if he’s done this his whole life.

his lips slip around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves and causing you to throw your head back and slam it on the wood behind you. he’s encouraged by your response, working faster as his tongue flicked against your clit repeatedly, the stimulation almost too much to bear. “o-oh,” you moan out, tugging at his hair and moving your hips against his face, nearly riding his lips at that point.

it had been a long time since you had someone go down on you, but never like this. your eyes are squeezed tight, strings of profanities amongst his name coming out your lips like the only words you ever knew. your juices ran down his chin messily, and he moves one of his hands from your hips down to your folds, parting them to get better access to your core. “fuck, austin,” is all you can say. he’s just watching, admiring you from down there as he works feverishly against your pussy, lapping up your juices.

your eyes meet for just a flash, and you suddenly feel shy, as if he wasn’t really eating you out on the floor of a bathroom, as if you hadn’t known for him for a good six months. his lips are coated in your juices, fingers soaked as well, blue eyes now darkened as he sloppily devours you. he wants you to cum, right onto his face, to feel you come undone because of him. he hooks two fingers into you, reaching a spot you had only ever done yourself, and you jolt forward. your body is trembling as he just fucks you with his finger, nose pressed against your lower body as he buries his lips, tongue darting at your clit.

just when you think you’re already down for the count, that he already was going to make you cum harder than any other man ever could, he reaches out to hoist one of your legs on his shoulder, and you instinctively push him further into you, as if it were even possible. his tongue is circling your clit, and you can feel it, the sensation you’d been dreading bubbling in your abdomen, because indisputably, you do not want this to end. you’re a moaning, screaming, shaking mess and austin is pinning you down against the door, fighting to get you to your release.

his fingers work desperately in and out of you, and he moans against you at the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers. you can’t even fight the feeling, or try and delay it, because it’s overwhelming you to the point where you’re screaming his name and begging for more, to take you to the edge. “austin, oh my god, please, i’m so fucking close —“

“come on, baby. i want you to cum on my face,” he speaks against your core, hot breath waning over your aching entrance as he rapidly continues to stretch you out with his digits, and you’re done fighting; you want nothing more than to release all over his stupid pink lips, and his stupid perfect face that you can’t believe is at your mercy right now.

this could possibly be the most toe-curling, back-arching, mouth-foaming, eyes-rolling orgasm of your life, and it washes over with so much power you’re shocked you’re even still standing. his fingers are still inside you as your walls spasm and contact around them, hands reaching out to grip onto his shoulder in desperation. you let out a choked sob, as white washes over your vision, your body completely shattering into little pieces. he pulls his fingers out of you, hypnotized by the way your cheeks flush, eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to recover.

and, you’re still quite not sure you’re alive moments later, balancing yourself against the door as you try to contain your breathing. you look down at him, and you observe as he utilizes his fingers to wipe the remaining juices off his chin and lips, licking every last drop clean.

you’re rendered speechless, useless to him as you can’t even formulate a word, just one measly word to say to him. he gets up, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you’re still standing there, panties still draped around your ankles. “you good now?” he asks, almost coolly, as if his tongue wasn’t buried inside of you mere minutes before.

“i-i — yeah, i, uh, guess so. thanks, i guess,” you swallow, eventually gathering your last ounce of strength to pull your panties back up, pulling down your dress to your thighs. “you go out first, i’ll catch up. don’t want anyone to suspect anything.”

he just nods, looking like he’s about to say something but instead swallowing thickly before walking back out into the club. you hear the sound of the music for just a second when he opens that door, before you’re engulfed by the silence as soon as it swings closed. you look over at yourself in the mirror, makeup partially ruined and hair matted from the sweat. you’re not even sure you can walk properly, scared to even try. you feel like a baby bird who’s trying to leave the nest for the first time.

with one last exhale of oxygen, and the little resilience you still have left in your body, you swing open the bathroom door, flattening out your dress again and meeting the bustling crowd of people that happened to remain at this hour.

you’re hoping it’s not obvious that you just had the best orgasm of your life in that bathroom.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

yeah, you’re going to need to see that therapist.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[dontyouworrydaddy]

N U M B E R

summary: Kyle wants to get to know you and asks for your number. But suddenly he left because of his Job leaving you alone.

warning: none

• ₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

In the beautiful city, amidst the chaos and noise, there was a small haven of tranquility—a library. It was a place where knowledge and imagination intertwined, where stories came alive in the pages of countless books. And in this sanctuary of words, Kyle found solace.

Kyle was a shy man, a soldier and always on the move. But there was something about the library that captivated him, drawing him back time and time again. Perhaps it was the escape it offered, a temporary respite from the trials and dangers of his life. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

One day, as Kyle perused the shelves, his eyes were drawn to a figure sitting by the window, bathed in soft rays of sunlight. It was you. The sight of you, engrossed in a book, captured his attention like nothing else before. The way you delicately turned each page, the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity—it was mesmerizing. He knew he wanted to get to know you.

In that moment, Kyle made a decision. He couldn't let this opportunity slip away. With a mix of courage and nervousness, he approached you, heart pounding in his chest. "Excuse me," he said, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, "I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you look when you're lost in those pages. My name's Kyle, and I'd love to get to know you."

A faint blush colored your cheeks as you closed the book, meeting his gaze. "I'm Y/N" you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It's nice to meet you, Kyle." And so, a connection was forged in that quiet corner of the library. Kyle and you spent hours talking, sharing stories, and discovering common interests. He was enthralled by your intellect, your passion for learning, and the way your eyes lit up with excitement when discussing your favorite books.

Kyle found himself looking forward to each encounter, eager to explore the depths of your mind and heart as weeks passed when you spend time with each other. He marveled at the way you saw the world, the unique perspectives you brought to conversations. With every interaction, he fell deeper, drawn to your essence like a moth to a flame.

One day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the city, Kyle mustered the courage to ask for your number. He knew he couldn't let this connection fade away, couldn't bear the thought of losing the opportunity to explore the potential of what could be.

"I don't want to rush things, but I feel a connection between us," Kyle confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'd love to continue getting to know you, if you're willing. Can I have your number?"

A smile played upon your lips as you reached into your bag and pulled out a slip of paper, writing down your contact information. Handing it to Kyle, you met his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of anticipation and fondness.

"I'd like that," you said, your voice filled with warmth. "I've enjoyed our time together Kyle. Let's see where this journey takes us."

And so, your story began—a tale of two souls entwined in the serendipity of a library. Kyle and you embarked on a journey of exploration and connection, each moment bringing them closer. With each text, each conversation, you uncovered the layers of their beings, revealing vulnerabilities and strengths, dreams and aspirations.

As your bond deepened, Kyle realized that it was more than just your physical beauty that had initially captivated him. It was your kindness, your beauty and the way you made him feel seen and understood. In your presence, he discovered a sense of peace, a renewed hope in the midst of chaos. You became his anchor, a guiding light that brought clarity to his tumultuous world.

But life, as it often does, threw unexpected challenges their way. Kyle‘s duty called him away, demanding his unwavering commitment to protect and serve. He found himself torn between his responsibilities and his growing affection for you. But he has responsibilities and left you. Without telling you. This of course left you heart broken because you always waited for him.

Months passed, and Kyle‘s absence left an indelible void in your heart. Each day, you longed for his return, hoping to feel his presence once again. Doubt crept in, whispering that maybe he had forgotten you amidst the chaos of his duty.

One evening, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue across the horizon, a knock resounded at your door. Your heart skipped a beat, recognizing the familiar rhythm. With trembling hands, you opened the door, and there he stood. Kyle the embodiment of strength and resilience. The man you wanted to talk to again.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you embraced him, the months of separation melting away in that single moment. "I missed you," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of relief and longing. Kyle held you tight, his grip conveying all the words that were left unsaid. "I missed you too," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I couldn't bear being apart from you any longer."

As you settled into each other's presence once more, Kyle shared his struggles, the weight of his duty, and the moments when he found himself yearning for you. He revealed the battles he fought, not only on the front lines but also within his own heart. "I thought I could protect you by staying away. My Job requires a lot of responsibility and I didn’t know-" Kyle admitted and stopped mid sentence, his voice tinged with regret. "But I realized that nothing matters more than you do. The world may be chaotic, but with you by my side, I find the strength to face it all."

You looked into Kyle's eyes, seeing the vulnerability and love that resonated within them. In that moment, you knew that your bond was unbreakable, forged through adversity and fueled by an unwavering connection.

"You don't bring bad luck," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction. "You bring light into my life, and together, we can overcome any challenge that comes our way." As the night draped its velvety cloak over the world, you both found solace in each other's arms. The weight of the past months dissolved, replaced by the certainty of your love. In that shared embrace, you drifted into a peaceful slumber, knowing that no matter the trials ahead, your connection would endure.

For love, like the steadfast flame in the darkest night, possesses the power to guide, to heal, and to illuminate even the most shattered souls. And in that moment, with your heart entwined with Kyle's, you realized that true strength lies not in being invincible, but in the vulnerability of opening oneself to love.

Together, you embarked on a journey that defied the odds, where love triumphed over adversity, and where the union of two souls illuminated the path ahead. And in that shared commitment, you discovered that love is the most powerful force of all—a force that can overcome the shadows of doubt and bring forth a future filled with endless possibilities.

[not-so-lost-after-all]

The rest is still unwritten

This piece is inspired by my thirst to reunite Astarion with his mysterious family and I admit I had a lot more fun writing it than I anticipated. It starts like some torture porn (Astarion's past) but don't worry, it's an angst with a happy ending.

Dalar Ancunín and the princess of Evermeet were borrowed with the kind permission from @spacebarbarianweird Hope you are going to enjoy it because I certainly had a blast writing them!

Words: 2500

Also a prologue and continuation to this:

...

This night is the lucky night, Astarion thinks with a smirk - he's presentable enough to go to the city. Few hours has passed since sunset and half of the people at the inn are already drunk and he's almost jelaous how carefree they are. It smells like piss and vomit and ale here and as usual it's too much for his senses. He picks a target quickly, a young human male sulking alone near the stairs.

The innkeeper kicks two humans who started a fight out of the door and barely anyone pays attention to that. But the loud chattering stops when someone starts singing. Astarion watches that man from the corner of the room. A man with silver curls and emerald eyes, pretty enough even for an elf, his ears elegantly pointed. His two companions at the table soon join him in singing and playing lutes, both apparently more comfortable with the attention of the crowd than the elf. Astarion doesn't remember ever seeing him but he is sick to his stomach. There's something familiar about him, something that Astarion can't even name, but it's not a pleasant feeling,it's like a phantom pain in a hand that was cut off ages ago.

The song is a ballad, the words mix of common and elvish.

Take me with you Where the red wine flows Where the wind blows Before my lonely life is set So blow out the candle Then I will whisper you my secrets

Astarion feels a cold wave washing over him and knows right away this panic attack is worse than what he has experienced in the last thirty years. The song is interrupted only by occassional whispering and Astarion needs to get out, right now.

It's snowing outside but it doesn't bother him, of course. There's only a faint yellow light comming through the front window and the dirty street is empty. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves, calm that sudden despair and anger about his stolen life and a voice singing that same song once upon a time. Just a shadow of a memory, innocent and lost forever…

"Are you alright, my lord?"

Astarion sharply turns his head to her, just like a predator. My lord… he likes the sound ot that. It's a young girl in a skirt with mud stains, obviously new to the city. She is no older than twenty, he thinks. Pretty enough with a body that isn't threatening by any stretch of imagination. The girl is watching him with already misty eyes. Now, that was a game he can win.

"I just needed some fresh air, darling. Same as you, I suppose."

She gives him a shy smile and he notices her upper lip is bigger than the lower and the gap between her front teeth is bigger than normal. "I know, how stupid of me. But it's been just two pints for courage."

"New to the city? I suppose you're looking for a job."

She tells him she's a seamstress and he tells her he lives in a palace and if she's interested in working there, the job can be arranged. As he walks her through the streets, he describes Szaar palace in flattering terms. When they are close enough, that cursed place appears in front of them like an black rotten tooth. She tells him her name but he immediately forgets it. She doesn't need a name, she doesn't even need a face. He's her first and she's a sweet girl who kisses his brow and giggles. "Maybe I could even fall in love with you," he lies. She sings him a lullaby which makes her fall asleep. Better to spend the night in unwanted arms than with flayed and smashed fingers, he supposes.

Astarion brings her to Cazador shorty before sunrise. When the reality of the situation dawns on her, of course she gives him one wide eyed tearful look like all the others and her voice is barely above whisper. He doesn't move a muscle, he's immune to that after so many long years (his inner voice mocks him that even that is just another lie). Elinor. She tells him her name is Elinor.

When he returns to that inn two night later, even the innkeeper barely remembers that elf. "Funny thing, I thought it was you."

...

Several life times passed but Astarion is doing still the same thing. It feels like purgatory, the same places, the same words, a parade of faces and bodies he doesn't rember the next night. Some ot them want him to hurt them, to choke them, to fuck them raw… More nights he's the one who ends up beaten and bruised and feeling dirty no matter how many baths he would take if that was even an option. A few of Cazador's guests would cut him with knives or whipped him so badly it would kill a mortal. One of them wanted to gauge his red eye, so Astarion kneels and screams to please that pathetic old man who comes in his pants while Astarion feels the cold blood and vitreous sliding down his face on his shirt. The only thing that brings him some relief is when Cazador sends him to kill someone but those mortals always die way too quickly.

He thinks he must have been especially terrible person while alive to deserve this. Because he can live in a world where the gods are cruel and ignore him but not in a one where they are insane.

And yet…

It seems like the fate finally blessed him. It's her. A lost princess of Evermeet. Who gave him her blood and her trust and impossible moments of comfort. Who - when he was about to replace his prick of a master - told him that she wants nothing more than to dine with him, listen to his beating heart and free him of his hunger but if he really wants to do this, he allows Cazador to forever trap him in the past and ruin his life the second time.

One day she returns from her reverie all excited, grabs him by the shoulders and tells him he has a brother, she used to know him decades ago! Astarion doesn't share her enthusiasm. He recalls an elf with silver curls from over a century ago but he also remembers that his own grave was abandoned. Something terrible must have happened in his family and it certainly was his fault.

His twin brother Dalar is a ranger and can sing! He's an adventurer and an excelent shooter and has a pet drake called Nikym. Astarion already hates him and just watches Tavira with weary eyes but she caresses his cheek. "You have noone else, my love." That's not true, by some miracle he has her and wouldn't ask for anything more.

Still, Tavira is adamant and relentless and one day they enter Dalar's camp. They are welcomed by a hissing drake and an elf pointing an arrow at them. "Ah, the princess Moonflower in all her runaway glory!" the elf says.

Before Tavira can say a word, he notices Astarion who stares at him in disbelief and gasps for air he doesn't need. Astarion takes a few steps forward, studying him. Tavira told him that his twin brother looks very much like him but it was something different to see his mortal copy just in front of him. This is what he looks like but not really? Voices and imagines run through his head but he doesn't know if they're memories or he just made them up during the last two centuries.

He feels like throwing up… he… needs to get out. Before he can, Dalar pulls him closer and hugs him. "You bloody fool, it took you long enough."

....

For the whole next month they live in those woods, he spends the days with Tav in their tent and the nights hunting with his brother. They both can see in the dark and the hunt will be thrilling, Dalar says the first evening. If he wonders about Astarion's vampirism, he doesn't pry.

Astarion can sense the animals and hear their heartbeats and often gestures to Dalar to show their location. Sometimes Dalar prepares a fire and Astarion returns a little tipsy with a fox devoid of all blood. Sometimes Astarion watches the stars with the head of a small bronze drake in his lap and Dalar brings him a freshly killed boar without a word. Astarion adores his brother but his unwavering kindness sometimes makes him want to scream because it reminds him of all the things he's lacking in, things he can't even be anymore.

Once during the full moon they jump into a lake from a rock. Dalar of course yells in discomfort when the cold water envelopes them and Astarion laughs at him and pulls him under the water for a bit. Nikim is keeping watch on the rock and fizzles a fire from his throat in confussion. They both feel like little boys again…

He remembers their parents now, wealthy merchants from Waterdeep, he remembers their father's voice and their mother's soft hands. He tells Dalar about Cazador, even the things he's too ashamed to tell Tavira. His brother listens but often excuses himself when it's too much and says that he needs to go kill something. His eyes are wet but angry.

When the month is almost over, there is still one conversation that is long overdue.

"So you really don't remember," Dalar says while petting his drake who hums in agreement. "When I found out that you're supposed to be dead, it was some eighteen years too late. I tried to find some of your friends who were still alive. There weren't many, you've always been an ass." His brother gives him a crooked smile.

"Says the one who's always lied for my sake."

"Never said you don't have funny ideas. Anyway, there was this older magistrate who knew you well enough, perhaps the closest you've ever had to a friend. He claimed it was a group of Gur who killed you. You apparently sentenced two of them to death and banished the rest of their little tribe from the city. He knew your grave is empty and assumed the Gur had stolen your corpse for whatever reasons."

"What a lovely fairy tale about avenging injustice," Astarion grinns in disgust.

"Is that about Cazador? Because your friend said you indeed accepted bribe from the reclusive lord Szaar to deal with the Gur. So did he a year prior."

Astarion doesn't really know what to think. Only a few months ago he would be full of bitterness learning that he even wasn't that special. He deserved that beating, perhaps. But now he knows his self-worth well enough to realize that noone deserved what followed and still, no raging against the heavens would change a thing. "I admit it was easier to believe that the two fucking centuries were some karmic justice," he grunts.

"Do you always presume everything is your fault?"

"Oh don't preach. Although you're right. As usual," Astarion rolls his eyes.

His brother is quiet for some time.

"You never asked what happened to our parents."

No, he didn't. Whatever made him and his brother go their separate ways, Astarion remembers it was ugly and involved their father and mother. "They're dead because of some misdeed of mine, I suppose."

"My misdeed, actually. I brought my so called friends to our house. Turned our they just wanted to get me drunk, steal the keys and return that night to steal our gold. They managed to kill our parents before you stabbed two of them to death a made the others run away. You almost killed me too when I got back in the morning, yelling details about how mother and father were slaughtered at me. I never even got to see them again. It was our last conversation before you came here."

Astarion doesn't remember that, doesn't want to. He presses his lips together before speaking gain. "Did I tell you that I will never forgive you for that?"

"You said a lot of things, yes. Not so perfect now, am I?"

"I forgive you," he squeezes his brother's shoulder. "Why not when I can see them again. Death has never stopped me before."

He recalls that outside of Tavira, he was never forgiven for anything but it doesn't really matter. If that's what Dalar needs, Astarion knows enough about forgiveness to give him that.Besides, he's not the one who has to live with that memory.

They finally leave the woods with the next sunset.

...

Another decade has passed, full of adventures and memories he can dream about at night. He still has nightmares sometimes, some days worse than others, but Tavira barely minds by now. She puts her arms around him and tells him a story about greedy dwarves and a treasure inside the mountain. Or sings.

Take me with you Where the red wine flows Where the wind blows Before my lonely life is set

Dalar taught her how to sing and take care of dragons and for some time Astarion wonders why she fancies him and not his brother who comes with few complications. When he asked Dalar about that, his twin just laughs. "Right. Well, my taste in partners is rather narrow. You can have that princess with flat ass all for yourself. The only women who inspire desire in me have more on their chest to play with."

They haven't found a cure for him but they sure as hell had a lot of fun and made a lot of money. When Tavira mentioned her old kingdom once again and how it's time to go home, it's not a suprise for the brothers. Why not? The princess of Evermeet is rich and has a family now and can return with her head high. Her kingdom is a place soaked with magic, surely there's something there that can return Astarion to the sun or ease his hunger.

So, one warm summer evening becomes one of his sweet memories. He stands on the deck of a ship, watching the lights of the port city disappering in the distance. His brother stands next to him, Tavira's hand is in Astarion's cold hand. Three elves heading to the land of their kin to find their place there. Tonight their story begins, the rest is still unwritten.

[violetsandfluff]

Tidy Little Secrets (introduction)

This is something new I’ve breathed into existence over the past 48 hours. So PLEASE give me feedback, as I haven’t had a lot of time to proofread this because I’m too damn impatient. Think of this as a trailer, an incomplete part one, a sneak peek, I don’t care. Just know that it’s here and I would really appreciate your support. This will be around five to eight parts.

Trigger warnings include: sex (in different parts), sexual tension, age gap, drugs, alcohol, mentions of shootings and abuse, abusive households and many other triggering matters.

Being an adult was hard.

Those were the sole words of wisdom your parents had bestowed upon you as a child. Enjoy your time under our roof, they’d said, because once you leave, life will be more difficult than you could ever imagine.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe them. Quite the contrary, really. The adults you were raised among seemed like purposeless puppets. They woke up on weekdays and went to work just to party on the weekends and cough up enough money for rent at the end of the month before repeating the cycle. And even this “reckless” lifestyle seemed rigorous to maintain.

It was exasperating to be a child in the midst of this, much less an adult responsible for a child. The sixteen full years that you spent surrounded by alcohol, drugs, smoke, assault, gunshots, and toxic love had you gasping for air. You dropped out of school the moment you were old enough and your parents never knew.

You experimented with different types of jobs for the duration of your time at home. None of them felt right, but you accepted that as your future. If you weren’t finishing high school, gas stations, and fast-food restaurants it was.

When you were eighteen, you moved out and got a small apartment using the funds you’d been diligently collecting for the past two years. All of the jobs you worked were hierarchies, stratified into challenging levels someone like you could never conquer. Your future was only as bright as your resume, and your resume wasn’t promising.

You weren’t in contact with your family, except your sister, Nataly, though even that was limited to a singular call or text every few months. Both calls and texts were usually initiated by you. That’s why it was strange when she called you one Thursday evening in March.

“Guess what?” she had asked, voice radiant with excitement, carrying on before you got a word in. “I got a job working for this rich man uptown and he gave me my first paycheck. He’s paying me so well!” She went on to describe the job in vivid detail, and you had to admit, it was more than convincing.

“That's unbelievable, Nat,” you replied, feigning happiness. “Well, I don’t doubt that someone like you could land a good job, but... You know what I mean. Do you think that I would enjoy a job like that?”

“Oh, Y/N,” she gushed. “Of course! Especially if your client is as gorgeous as mine.”

The concept of attractive men had you sold instantly and she knew it. Within an hour, you added yourself to a hiring website where you put an ad out for a housekeeper. Now, all you had to do was wait. Fortunately, your offer was accepted within minutes by a wealthy man who lived uptown. He was in touch instantly, helping you plan out your tentative work schedule.

You couldn’t believe how well things were going. The dots were practically connecting themselves.

That night, you lay in bed, eyes aglow as you revised every detail of your evening. You had gotten a call from your sister, quit your job, and gotten a new job working as a maid. From now on, you would spend your days cooking and cleaning for a strange man in a mansion i rather than ringing up bottles of water and packets of trail mix for begrudging truckers. This kind of change was nearly unfathomable, a one-eighty capable of giving you whiplash.

~~~

Monday morning rolled around, dragging you with it. You were grossly unprepared. Your client supposedly had everything you needed, but that didn’t assuage your feelings of anxiety. You hadn’t cleaned anyone’s house but your own, much less wealthy old men in good neighborhoods. Hopefully, he would be kind and well-compensating like Nataly’s.

Clothed in loose, simple garments, you examined your appearance hesitantly. Your hair was pulled back into a low bun and your face was covered in a cheap layer of hastily-done makeup. You had to keep reminding yourself that you weren’t aiming to seduce the old geezer, rather earn money.

Once in your car, you punched his address into your GPS and followed it attentively, trying to pry your brain from the intruding thoughts of inadequacy. The farther you went, the nicer the homes and neighborhoods became. You assumed that none of the children that lived around here didn’t get to watch shoot-offs from their bedroom window every other weekend.

The GPS continued directing you up the street, and the houses got remarkably bigger, presumably costing a fortune. After driving for forty-five minutes, the GPS directed you to stop in front of the biggest, most beautiful house you’d ever seen. It was three stories tall and the most elegant building you’d ever seen.

It was made of a welcoming tan stone with regal white pillars framing the front door. There were windows everywhere, and even they looked expensive.

Eyes wide with amazement, you remained in your car, unable to move. You absorbed your surroundings as if you had never opened your eyes before. They scanned everything around you, eventually landing on the massive garage built into the side of the house. It was presumably filled with all kinds of luxury vehicles.

Once your wits returned to you, you made your way up the front walk and onto the stoop. A moment after you’d rung the doorbell, a voice called from somewhere inside, instructing you to enter. You opened the door cautiously and found yourself standing in the doorway, taking in the crystal chandelier and gleaming marble floors, jaw agape.

Just then, a tall man strode briskly in through the hallway beside you, flashing you a grand smile. He was much younger than you imagined, but dilf material nonetheless. He was dressed in a smart navy blue suit and his hair was tousled immaculately. He gave you a cocky smile, noticing the awe on your face. He was definitely proud of all that he had, but who wouldn’t be? You were surely blessed to be in his presence.

“Y/N, right?” he inquired,

He held out his hand for a shake and you broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of touching him. As he raised his hand, his sleeve fell just enough to reveal the tattoos that lay beneath.

You immediately forgot about his arms and focused on his voice. His accent made your name seem beautiful and exotic. This was too much. His grasp was firm and his hand was veiny and warm.

You took his hand and shook it properly. “Yes,” you stuttered, straightening yourself, busying yourself by fixing your waistband to avoid eye contact. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Beautiful.” He let out a breathy chuckle.

He was so suave and articulate, speaking smoothly and making confident eye contact; a right businessman. And here you were, tripping over your words like the lower-class person you were.

He directed you toward a closet built into the side of his double staircase. “Everything you’ll need is in here and if you’re missing something, don’t hesitate to let me know. I don’t have anything f’you to do today. Take the to look around, I understand it’s pretty overwhelming.”

You smiled gratefully, deciding to ignore his implication to your income and upbringing.

“I only have to work until one today, so I’ll be back to answer any of your questions. Sound good?”

You nodded, trying your best to keep your act together until he left.

“I just have one rule. Whatever you do, don’t touch the door at the end of the hallway on the third story. Okay?”

You nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Harry,” he corrected with a cocky smile. “Call me Harry.”

His words echoed in your ears as he exited the door, briefcase in clutch. You locked the door behind him, sinking to the ground with your back to the wall, heart racing.

I’m gonna tag some people here just to get the ball rolling. (Taglist people, some mutuals, or people who liked this post.) Thank you in advance to anyone who interacts because it means the whole wide world to me. ⬇️⬇️⬇️ @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @sortingharryshairclip @fishingirl12 @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @lukesaprince @babygirl-jj @shroombloomm @chocochipcookie305 @pamelagramm @harrysonlylover

[au-starss]

‘𝗔 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗴𝗼𝗱..’

𝗔𝘆𝗮𝘁𝗼, 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲, 𝗗𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗰, 𝗞𝗮𝗲𝘆𝗮, 𝗞𝗮𝘇𝘂𝗵𝗮, 𝗫𝗶𝗮𝗼 𝘅 𝗜𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗹!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 [𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲]

𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗹

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂. 𝗦𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁.

𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗯𝗶𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘀

—

𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼! 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗯 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝘆 𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 @astro-pioneer ! 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗞𝗮𝘇𝘂𝗵𝗮, 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗫𝗶𝗮𝗼 𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗴𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝘁! 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗹𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝘀!

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼! 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 <𝟯

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲 | 𝗞𝗮𝘇𝘂𝗵𝗮 | 𝗫𝗶𝗮𝗼

𝗔𝘆𝗮𝘁𝗼:

Before he met you, all he could think about was just doing his job till he dies

But once he met you, he never wanted to die if it meant he got to be with you

Then he learned that you were, in fact, immortal

He didn't think too much about it at first, but then you got into a relationship

Now, he couldn't bear the thought of dying without you

If you were going to live forever, then so was he

Ayato kneeled before the shogunate, pleading with her. He never asked her for much before, as he didn't need much. But this? He wasn't leaving as a mortal.

"Please, Almighty Shogun, I beg of you."

Ei looked down on him with some pity. "You really love them, don't you?"

"I'm willing to give half of my heart for them." He responded, keeping his head low. "I hope that is sacrifice enough."

Ayato didn't get to see the look on the archon's face as she prepared to make him immortal. He couldn't stand to see the pity she would try to take on him. Instead, he focused on preparing himself.

He couldn't possibly back out. This was all for you.

Meanwhile, Ayaka informed you that Ayato left to see the Shogun. Worry filled your veins as you rushed over to see what he could possibly be doing. You prayed the whole way that he wasn't doing what you thought he was.

Upon arrival, you gain entrance and see the two in the center of the room. Ei had a purple hue swirling around them and Ayato was down on his knees.

Tears sprang to your eyes. "Ayato?!"

But it was too late. Just as he turned, the Shogun casted her powers onto him. He felt a slice into his heart while his mind ran a million miles an hour. He fell over and allowed the spell to do what it was intended to do.

And just as it started, the process was done.

You ran to your lover in a panic. In your arms, Ayato stirred in pain. Even opening his eyes felt like such a troubling task to him. But he did and caught sight of your distraught expression.

"I told you not to.." You whisper in tears.

Ayato managed a weak smile. "I want.. to spend forever with you.. Is that.. a crime?"

𝗗𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗰:

Diluc has always accepted that his death was something he could never avoid and would come eventually

Upon meeting you, he found someone who made the days before death worth living

Then, he learned that he couldn't experience growing old with you

He couldn't explain the pain he felt of leaving you, especially since he knew he couldn't come back

So he decided to take matters into his hands

Diluc asked Kaeya if he knew someone who could help him out, and Kaeya hesitantly gave him directions to someone he knew

"Is this truly what you want?" The mage asked, unsure if this was even a plausible request.

Diluc didn't even think twice. "Of course."

The two discussed terms beforehand. Half of his heart, that was the price to pay. Such a big sacrifice was easy for Diluc to make.

He had no reason to back out on such a big decision. This was all for you. Diluc had vowed to devote his life to you, and he was doing just that.

The mage nodded in approval, and began searching for the right magic to use. Diluc closed his eyes, imagining how life with you will be the most magical thing ever. He would never leave you behind, ever.

He has devoted his life to you only for the last couple of years. The idea that he couldn't do that for you forever broke his heart. He just couldn't let that happen.

Back at the winery, you worriedly called out for Diluc, but he wasn't anywhere to be found. Upon asking the maids, they informed you he went to do something for you and would be back momentarily.

You sighed, trying not to think about what he could possibly be doing. One thought flooded your mind, but you just knew it either wasn't true or wasn't possible.

But it actually was true and possible.

Diluc took a heavy breath as magic flowed throughout his body, coursing through his veins to his heart. It all felt so heavy; almost like he was suffocating. It kept going until it reached the heart, pulling and tearing on it until half was gone.

The redhead nearly screamed in pain as he doubled over, the process being finished. He felt so light yet so heavy at the same time. He could hardly even control his breathing patterns.

Once he could manage to move, the Mage informed him that he was now immortal. He only gave a soft smile and left to go home to your arms.

He arrived home after all the servants had left. It was very obviously late, and Diluc looked like a mess. But he still made his way to your shared bedroom, finding you on the bed with a book.

You looked up just in time to see Diluc collapse beside you, holding your free hand. He didn't look good at all, and you already knew in your heart what he had done. The one thing you wished no one had to go and suffer through.

"Let's be with each other." He muttered after a little. "Forever and throughout all of time." He finished, tiredly passing out with your hand in his own.

𝗞𝗮𝗲𝘆𝗮:

You always warned Kaeya of what comes with loving you

At first, he didn't mind it at all. He wouldn't allow such a thing to keep you two apart

He treated you as he would treat everyone else, and you truly enjoyed that with him

But the longer you two were together, the more his heart hurt at the thought of leaving you alone forever

You had tried to convince him that it was okay. That you had gotten used to leaving people behind

Kaeya, however, wasn't having it. And so he decided to take matters into his own hands

He knew of a close companion from Khaenri'ah living in The Chasm in hiding. She was a powerful person, and could do what Kaeya needed her to do

"This is irreversable Kaeya. You understand that, right?"

The bluenette sighed, but gave a small nod. He knew that this wasn't a decision he should take lightly. He gave it too many sleepless nights. Once he gave away part of his heart, he couldn't get it back.

But losing half of a heart is worth it if he never leaves you alone.

"I thought about it and wish to continue." Kaeya responded, looking directly into his companions eyes.

She gave him an unsure and sad look. "Alright. If that's the sacrifice you're willing to make, I can only help you."

Kaeya kneeled down on one knee, closing his eyes as the swirl of magic came to life around him. His body felt heavy. But he wasn't going to back out. This was all for your sake.

His companion began to mutter a spell as Kaeya felt something stab towards his heart. He grunted, but kept his stead. The pain was excruciating, but he held on. He could feel something being torn from inside of him, and finally it was ripped out of him with ease.

The bluenette collapsed as soon as the magic left him. His breathing was heavy and he was in so much pain. But something about it felt.. different.

"It is done." His companion spoke, looking down on him. "Go home and rest."

Kaeya nodded and got up with great difficulty. Slowly, he made his way back to Mondstadt, the pain going away while walking. Once home, he was perfectly normal, as if nothing happened.

But he didn't expect you to be at the door when he got inside. And in your hand was a letter.

"Please tell me you didn't.."

He didn't answer as tears formed in your eyes. You had hoped he wouldn't do something like this. You tried to convince him it was okay, but that wasn't enough.

Soon, Kaeya wrapped you in a hug, a tear slipping down his own cheek. "It's you and me now, my starlight. Us forever."

𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗯𝗶𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘀