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really-fanny-longbottom · 1 month

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NEVER YOURS

Pairings: Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain, Lucien x Reader

Summary: Azriel never regretted his decisions so much like he does right now.

Warnings: Angst (like a lot), fluff (also a lot because we need a balance)

Words: 6.1k (I got carried away, hehe)

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I was supposed to post the prequel to Second Chance (where the batboys find the reader), but I started writing, and this is what came out! It's different from the other two fics I wrote, but I kinda liked it, anyways I made a little reference to Percy Jackson. Enjoy!

You were born in Day Court during the longest and the warmest day of the year: Summer Solstice. Even though it's not a custom to exchange gifts on that holiday, your parents always told you that you were their greatest gift and that the sun shined brighter that day like he knew that you would be entering this world very soon.

Your father was Helion's best and longest friend, and he had a place in his Court as his second in command and advisor. Your mother was the lead healer of the Court. She was one of the most powerful and talented healers of Prythian, being a very close second to Madja.

Due to your parents' jobs, you grew up in the Day Court Palace and close to Helion, who didn't just happen to be your High Lord but also your godfather.

Your parents reconsider that maybe making Helion your godfather had been a mistake because of how much he spoiled you. On your 4th birthday, he gave you a black baby pegasus as a present, which you decided to name him Blackjack. When he discovered that you liked reading, he had a private library built in your room with all kinds of books. When you were seven and heard an old male saying that females should only wear dresses, you only wore pants for the next three months and of course, Helion made sure you had every type of pants at your disposal.

When your parents tried to scold him, he just scoffed with his only response being, "She's my goddaughter. What else am I supposed to do?" with a big grin plastered in his face.

You weren't Helion's child, but he always treated you like one, and that never changed, especially after your parents' death.

Your favorite thing about your parents was their mating bond. After you learned that mates are rare and a blessing, it made every single thing about your parents' love even more unique and pure.

You saw first hand what true love is really like. You saw how much they loved, cared, supported, and protected each other. You saw loyalty and honesty in their deepest forms. Seeing your parents' mating bond made you wish to the stars for a mate, and that one day, you would be blessed enough to find him.

But you also saw how deep a mating bond could go. You saw it first hand, too.

You saw it when your mother died after getting infected by a rare disease while trying to help her patients. Her death destroyed your father. The pain and the grief of losing your mother, his mate, and the love of his life were so big that your father followed her into the next life a few days later, so they could start their next journey together.

Before he died, your father made Helion promise him that he would take care of you, which he agreed without hesitation. He became more protective of you. He couldn't stop thinking how unfair it was for you to lose your parents at such a young age, only eleven years old, when Helion had them for centuries.

Your godfather made sure to provide you with anything you needed from the best education to the best clothes and when your healing powers start manifesting and you decide to follow your mother's steps, Helion called in a favor to Thesan to see if he could teach you himself. The High Lord of Dawn was happy to accept, and so were you at the thought of having him as your teacher.

You moved to Dawn Court for a year where you learned everything about being a healer, not only with the High Lord himself but also with his best healers.

You became one of the best: talented, powerful, gifted, and wise. Just like your mother.

Madja was looking for an apprentice at the time you returned to Day, and when she heard about your skills, she asked for you. Rhysand reached out to Helion with Madja's offer: you would be her apprentice, work in the clinic with her but you would also assist her if she ever needed to go to a patient's residence, and would learn everything she could teach you.

It wasn't needed to convince you to agree. You had heard about Madja and her healing, after Thesan, she was the healer you wanted to work with the most, so of course you were more than happy to have a chance to have her as your mentor. Rhysand added that you would be welcome to stay in one of his personal residences, the House of Wind, during your time in Velaris.

You were only supposed to stay in the Night Court for a year, but that was before you met the Shadowsinger.

However, despite wanting the apprenticeship more than anything, if you had known what would happen when you agreed to go to the Night Court, you would never have accepted the offer.

Azriel couldn't sleep.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't. Not with tomorrow so close, not when he knew what was waiting for him in the morning.

The past was haunting him tonight, his thoughts hadn't stopped since he had been informed earlier of tomorrow's meeting. So now, here he was, trying to keep his eyes open even though his body was protesting for him to do the opposite.

But he was fighting that need because every time he closed his eyes, you were all he saw. Your beautiful face with your sparkling eyes, your smooth hair, your pointy ears, your sweet voice, and your soft laughter. You were haunting his thoughts like a punishment for all those years ago.

So all he could do now was to sit on the edge of his balcony with his legs hanging off while waiting for the sun to be born, and remember how things used to be before he destroyed everything.

Everything was perfect in the beginning. Velaris was beautiful, the people were kind, and the pastries were absolutely delicious.

The only thing you actually missed, besides Helion, was the warmth of the sun like no other Court had but the Day Court. But that was just the Day citizen in you talking.

Your apprenticeship was going amazing. You and Madja had instantly connected, and you were learning so much. Two weeks later, you were already attending your own patients without supervision. You really had a gift, and every time Madja complimented your powers, you gave all the credits to your genes, to your mom. It warmed your heart knowing that the Mother had blessed you with this part of her. In this way, it felt like she was always with you.

The House of Wind felt just like home, and you adjusted perfectly. The Inner Circle had welcomed you with open arms, and you got along with everyone. They thought you and Morrigan would be the closest of all, but they got a big surprise when it turned out to be you and Azriel.

The Shadowsinger was different from everyone you ever met. Everyone in Day was so loud, open, and extroverted. But not him. He was calm, reserved, and difficult to read, but with time, you ended up finding out that the two of you were more alike than you thought. You were able to go through the shell that Azriel had so perfectly built around him over the centuries.

A friendship was born. Every day, Azriel would fly you to the clinic and then back to the House. You explored Velaris together and made your personal mission to try every single restaurant and bakery from the City of Starlight.

You walked along the Sidra and even stopped once in a while to dance along the melodies that the musicians were playing. You would read together whether that was in the library, in your room, or in his. You even started training with him and sometimes, Cassian.

You became each other's person. When a day at the clinic was hard or you would lose a patient, he was there to hug and comfort you, and you found yourself doing the same for him about his missions. So you decided to take the next step and spoke about your parents' death, how much still affected you losing them.

And in that moment, Azriel realized how much trust you put in him, so he decided to return it and opened about his past, his family, and his hands. You listened to every word, cleaned every tear, and held him for as long as he needed.

You found yourself falling in love with him a little more day by day, and it only took you a few months to realize that you were completely in love.

The day the bond snapped was one of the happiest days of your life. It happened during the most beautiful celebration in the Night Court: Starfall.

Your hair was tied in a long braid that reached down to your waist, decorating the braid were small yellow daylilies. You were wearing a golden dress that fit perfectly against your sun-kissed skin. The dress had a slit on the left side that went up to the top of your thigh, a single strap held the dress on your right shoulder and when you turned around, whoever was behind you could have a perfect view of your naked back. Golden jewels rested on your ears and neck.

You looked like a goddess, one blessed by the sun itself. You were shining just like a Day Court citizen should.

Azriel standed next to you in the balcony while gazing at the spirits passing. Both of your hands rested on the stone of the balcony, and when you went to adjust your hand, it brushed against Azriel's. At the new feeling, you looked up to find his eyes, only to see the Shadowsinger already looking at you. In that moment, with the touching of your hands and the meeting of your eyes, the world stopped.

Your hands start interviewing, and everything else just disappeared.

It was just the two of you and the sound of your heartbeats. And then, a golden thread appeared and started tying your hearts and souls.

Azriel held your free hand and pressed it against his own chest, right where his heart laid. You followed his action, freeing your intertwined hands and putting his hand on your chest, above your heart.

With the final loop of the golden thread around your hearts, Azriel bent down and kissed you.

That moment couldn't be more beautiful and magical even if you tried. You had finally found the mate that you had wished to the stars all those years ago.

Everything was perfect. You had everything you wanted and more. You lived in a beautiful city that you learned to love and were starting to call it home. You had the job of your life, working alongside one of your idols. Amazing friends that made you feel welcomed and part of a little family. And finally, your mate, the male you were in love with, long before that beautiful and sacred golden thread. Everything was perfect.

But of course, nothing lasts forever. And all of that disappeared when Elain Archeron came into the picture.

Ten years. He couldn't believe that much time had passed. All those years without you.

It had been ten years since the last time he saw you. Ten years since he had heard something regarding you. Ten years since he had broken your heart. And ten years since he had made the biggest mistake of his entire existence.

You had moved back to Day Court after that day, after what happened and after what he did.

The High Lord of Day had forbidden Azriel from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. And months later, when the rumors of a certain Shadowsinger flying above the Palace in hopes to get a glimpse of you reached his ears, Helion banned him from his Court.

Helion had always been a very charismatic and loving person. He's kind, generous, and a very good friend. He gets along with almost everyone, always joking around and laughing. Some people may say that he's the nicest and kindest High Lord that Prythian has ever seen.

When problems arise, he always tries to find a solution to solve them or if a solution is not possible, a way to improve them. But not this time. Not when it comes to you and his son, Lucien.

Because your heart wasn't the only one to be shattered that day, no, Lucien's heart was a victim, too. So, from that moment, everything that Helion did was to protect you and Lucien, to make sure that you felt safe, that you had space and time to heal. You thought that was ironic, considering you were a healer yourself.

Azriel's banishment wasn't the only consequence from the events of that day.

That day also cost the alliance between the Day Court and the Night Court, and when the alliance fell apart, so did Helion and Rhysand's friendship.

But Azriel wasn't the only one to blame for all of this. Elain Archeron was guilty, too. She, too, was banished from the Day Court and forbidden to contact Lucien in any way.

But unlike Azriel, Elain's actions cause far more consequences than his.

The Autumn Court followed the same decisions as the Day Court. The banishment of Azriel and Elain and the prohibition of any kind of contact with Lucien. Eris, now the new High Lord of the Autumn Court after Beron's death, didn't take lightly to what happened to his little brother.

The two of them had reconnected after Eris became High Lord. They talked through everything that had happened in the last centuries, made peace with their past, and decided to move forward together. Now, the brothers were inseparable and had the kind of relationship they had always wanted since they were younger. So when Eris heard what had happened, he considered those actions as a personal attack.

He went as far as to offer Lucien the opportunity to choose the Blood Duel, which his little brother refused, saying that all of this had already caused enough pain. Eris wasn't angry just because of Lucien. He was angry because of you, too. You were the first person to give him the benefit of the doubt, the first one to not judge him, unlike the others you tried to get to know him, to be his friend and he let you.

You were the first one to know the real Eris, to know what he hid behind the mask. Therefore, you had a special place in his heart. Even if you didn't share the same blood, you were part of his family.

But that didn't stop with Day and Autumn. Spring joined them, too.

Despite everything that happened and the fact that they were still working on their friendship, Tamlin's loyalty remained with Lucien. Spring had been Lucien's home for decades, and with that came a brotherhood between the two of them.

Needless to mention that Jurian and Vassa's loyalties also remained with Lucien.

To everyone outside the situation, all of this may seem overreacted and exaggerated. But to everyone involved, it's not.

After all, you and Lucien almost died. That's what happens when a mating bond is rejected.

Azriel couldn't believe things had turned out this way. He was so sure that the Cauldron was wrong, that he belonged with Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. How more poetic could it be?

There were signals everywhere: Feyre with Rhysand, Nesta with Cassian, and Elain with him. Elain wouldn't go close to Lucien or talk to him, but she would sit next to him whether during dinners or on the couch, she would talk to him, and requested his company when she went to the garden or to the city. Even his shadows disappeared every time he was with her.

Weren't those signals clear enough? They were meant to be. The Cauldron was wrong.

So Azriel did what he thought was right. He rejected the mating bond with you, and Elain did the same with Lucien.

He never thought that the rejection of the bond would've almost cost your life.

That memory still gave him nightmares to this day. How pale you turned, how you sank to your knees with your hand pressed against your chest, tears running free down your cheeks and muffled screams leaving your lips. How much pain you had suffered and how he had been the cause of it. How once, not that long ago, he had been the reason for your smiles, laughs, and giggles.

But that memory wasn't his. It was Rhysand's. Rhys, who had to go through your mind shields, and knock you unconscious so the pain would stop and that memory led him to another memory.

The memory of that day and the things that had followed after he shattered your heart.

Azriel wasn't there the moment it happened. No, he was too busy kissing Elain after admitting how much they craved each other.

And while he kissed Elain, he felt that golden thread tying the two of you breaking and start slowly to disappear.

Nothing could have prepared him for that last memory of you when he and Elain were summoned to the River House a few hours later.

Rhys had shown him not as a courtesy but as a lesson of how much his actions can affect others. But you weren't just some other. You were his mate. Former mate. Ex-mate.

Azriel made a move to go find you. He needed to explain it to you, and he needed you to understand, but you were already gone.

Rhys told him that after you regained consciousness, Lucien took you with him back to Day Court.

Lucien. Who you had become instantly friends with since the male's arrival in Velaris. You had treated him just like you were when you moved to the Night Court. You showed him the city, the good restaurants and the best pastries, and also told him about Helion, now that he knew the High Lord was his father and he was his Heir. You wanted him to feel like home, just like you did.

When Azriel made his intentions clear to go to Day and find you, Rhys showed him the letter Helion had sent. The one that forbidden him from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. The one that also had the same indications to Elain regarding Lucien. And that if any of them tried to disobey his orders, there would be consequences.

Azriel knew of protective the male was of you and that he would do anything to protect his family, so for a split second, Azriel found himself fearing the High Lord.

Rhysand also ordered them to stay away from the two of you, stating that they had already created enough problems and the Night Court could not afford a war with Day.

After they left his office, Rhys sat down on his chair, trying to think how he was gonna solve this. His mind kept going back to you and Lucien.

He was there when Lucien came for you, the red headed male was also pale and every few minutes, his hand would press to his chest in pain, his eyes were still red, probably from the tears he had shed.

Rhys knew that Helion's letter wouldn't be the only one he would receive that day. And like he was right, three more letters arrived during it. First from Autumn, then Spring and the last one from the Band of Exiles.

Rhys passed a hand through his black hair and released a long sigh, Azriel and Elain actions had just cost four allies to the Night Court.

When you and Lucien arrived in Day, Helion almost fell to his knees at your sight.

You were in Lucien's arms, your eyes half open with tears still following down your cheeks. One of your hands was against your chest, rubbing small circles in a way of trying to get rid of the pain. Lucien wasn't much better.

Helion headed towards you and started examining you for injuries, but he found nothing, and when confusion made his way to his features, Lucien told him everything.

The confusion was replaced by anger, but the anger wasn't just directed towards the Shadowsinger and the middle Archeron sister. Some of it was towards himself.

Towards himself, because seeing you like that, Helion felt that he had broken the promise he made to your dad and that this was his fault.

Without giving time for any more thoughts to fill his mind, Helion led Lucien to your room, where the Heir laid you on the bed. You had fallen asleep in his arms with your cheeks still stained.

Lucien sat on the chair by your desk that was placed in front of your bed and said to Helion that he would stay with you. Helion gave him a firm nod, remembering that Lucien didn't have a room yet in his Palace, but he was about to fix that.

Helion didn't waste any time after making sure that the two of you were okay for now.

He called two of his servants to prepare a room for the young Heir and went straight to his office where he wrote the letter and sent it to Rhysand.

The next week's were a complicated ones but showed that time was the best healer.

You no longer spend the days locked in your room alone. You started to eat properly again and went back to work. Day by day, you were smiling more and sometimes making jokes.

Lucien improved as well. He decided to live in the Day Court for the time being and took his place as Helion's second in command. His relationship with Helion was also getting stronger over time. They were making up for the lost time.

But that wasn't the only thing that changed. Your relationship with Lucien also changed.

You got closer than ever, due to the fact you were the only ones who knew what the other was going through.

You found comfort in each other's presence and started spending more time together to the point where you became each other's favorite person.

Little by little, you start helping each other heal. You started putting back together the pieces that had been broken, and the pain started slowly fading until the day that it didn't hurt anymore.

You two mended your hearts and souls, and for the first time, in a long time, you were full again.

Your friendship grew, and so did your feelings for each other.

Azriel couldn't believe how wrong he had been. Because the Cauldron wasn't wrong, it had never been wrong.

He was the one who was wrong. Right from the beginning.

He and Elain had tried a relationship after yours and Lucien's departure. It worked for six months until it didn't.

Azriel questioned himself why the relationship was starting to fail and why being with Elain was starting to feel wrong.

It didn't take him too long to understand the reason. It was because she wasn't you. He found out that the reason his shadows disappear every time he was with Elain wasn't because they were destined but because they were with you.

His shadows would leave him and Elain to go find you, like they were stating that they wouldn't betray you, that they chose you. On the day he broke up with Elain, he found his shadows in your old room, which once was filled with colors, books, paintings, and light, and now was empty, dusty, and dark. The shadows were swimming around your Starfall dress, the one you wore on the day your bond had snapped. The sight of the dress was painful, and he understood why it had been left behind.

Azriel had tried to apologize, he flew to Day Court and around the Palace trying to find you but he never did and the next day Helion sent a letter with his and Elain's banishment, making Autumn and Spring to have the same decision.

He understood why, they were trying to protect you and Lucien, and even though he didn't have the right, he just wanted to know if you were okay. Ironic, considering he was the reason you were suffering.

He asked Rhys several times if he knew something about you, and Rhys revealed to him that you weren't talking to him or the other members of the Inner Circle either. You had stated that it was too early and still very painful.

So they respected your decision and kept their distance.

That had caused Azriel's guilt to grow even more. How he wished for Nesta to still have her powers so he could go back in time and repair all of this.

The light of the sun broke his thoughts. The sun was finally making its appearance in the orange and yellow sky.

Azriel released a long breath and looked at the clock perched on his bedroom wall.

The morning was here, and he was only two hours away from seeing you.

The Inner Circle stood at the entrance of the Day Court Palace.

Helion had lifted the banishment for this meeting with yours and Lucien consent.

Both of you said that it had been a long time and that the past should stay in the past, but that didn't mean you would be accepting any apologies today.

Koschei was on the rise again, and Prythian needed to come together once more. Right now, your past didn't matter.

The doors swung open, and the Inner Circle made their way inside. A servant led them to the conference room located in the same hallway as Helion's office on the first floor of the Palace.

They sat at the marble table while the servant informed them, "The High Lord will be here in a few minutes." Receiving a nod and a 'Thank you' from Rhysand, the servant left.

Rhys started, "Y/N and Lucien will also be in this meeting. Now, Helion was nice enough to allow the two of you back here, so do not ruin this." He finished while looking at Azriel and Elain, making them both nod their heads.

Helion entered the room, and the Inner Circle raised from their seats. The High Lord of the Day Court made his way to the head of the table. He turned to the side where Rhys, Feyre, and his Inner Circle stood at his left before offering his hand to Rhys to shake it.

Taken by surprise, Rhys needed a few seconds to process what was happening before accepting his hand. Once they had shaken hands, everyone returned to their seats, but not before Helion sent a disapproving look in Azriel's and Elain's direction.

A few minutes into the meeting, the door to the conference room opened again. And there you were.

You were dressed in Day attire, a beautiful white dress that hugged your body, with your hair loosen and golden jewelry adorned your neck and ears. Lucien was by your side also wearing Day attire, one that matched Helion's, with your hand in his.

The Inner Circle held their breaths at your sight. It had been ten years, but all the memories came flashing back to them.

You looked the same, but when you two approached the table, that's when they saw it and shock spread all over their faces.

Azriel couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't know what he was expecting to see at this meeting, but it wasn't this.

It wasn't the golden ring that you and Lucien had matching on your left hands informing him that you were married that shocked him.

It was the small and round belly that your free hand was resting on and the sweet vanilla scent that was filling the air. The scent of yours and Lucien's baby.

"Apologies for our delay," Lucien started, then looking in your direction with a smile continued "Someone had a big appetite this morning." He ended with a laugh.

You looked at his gaze, a genuine smile on your lips. "Shut up." You whispered.

Lucien grabs the back of your chair, pulling it to give you enough space to sit. "Thank you, my love." You said while watching him taking the seat at your right, making you stay seated between him and Helion.

For the first time since you entered the room, you looked at the people in front of you. "Night Court," you greeted with a small smile.

Feyre was the first to say "Congratulations Y/N. And Lucien."

Lucien spoke this time. "Thank you, Feyre." He rested his hand on your belly.

"How far long are you?" Rhysand's voice reached your ears.

Looking in his direction, you answered, "23 weeks. Lucien thinks it's a girl, but I think it's a boy," you added. That made Rhys smile.

"I always took you for a boy mom." Amren's voice surprised you and couldn't help but smile at her words. "Congratulations to you two, the Mother knows you deserve it." She finished with a genuine smile.

Lucien looked at Azriel and Elain before directing his eyes to the ancient one "Yes we do. Thank you, Amren." Lucien paused for a second before turning in Helion's direction and continuing. “Let's not keep holding on to the meeting. Please go on, dad."

Helion proceeded with the meeting, but Azriel didn't listen to a word that was said. He couldn't tear his eyes from you and Lucien.

There was no doubt of the love you two shared, not when it was written in both of your eyes. He didn't miss Lucien caresing your belly, and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, passing his thumb over your jaw and kissing your cheek after.

Or how you rested your right hand on top of his on your belly while your left passed through his long red hair before resting around his shoulders and your smile while doing it.

What bigger proof did he need of your love if not for the baby you were carrying? Lucien's baby, he kept telling himself. Not his. Lucien's.

Jealousy invaded his body, but there was nothing he could do. He made his decision ten years ago, and now he had to live with it.

Lost in his thoughts, he only realized the meeting was over when everyone started standing. Rhys and Helion were finishing talking, and when the doors opened one more time, Eris Vanserra walked in with a little ginger boy in his arms. He couldn't be more than five years old.

He looked exactly like Lucien, except for his eyes. Those were yours.

Azriel's heart sank, and it sank even more a few seconds later, when the little boy spotted you and Lucien. You already had a baby and you were about to have your second.

With a big smile appearing on his sweet face, the little boy almost shouted, "Mommy! Daddy!" The boy jumped from his uncle's arms and ran to you.

You bend down and gather the happy boy in your arms before standing again and passing a hand through his ginger curls and saying, "Hi baby." You peppered his face with kisses making him laugh even more "I thought you were having fun with your uncle." You said looking at your brother in law.

Your son pouted “Uncle Eris doesn't know how to play. He onlys wants to do the boring stuff mommy.”

Everyone in the room chuckled, Eris gasped with fake hurt “Excuse me?”

“Elijah.” Lucien chuckled and said to your son after joining your side “Don't be rude to your uncle.”

“But it’s the truth, daddy.” Elijah hid his face on your neck.

Eris approached the little family with a smile directed to his nephew. "Sorry. I tried to keep him entertained, but he just kept asking about you two."

Lucien noticed his older brother had paint and glitter on his white shirt and laughed at the thought of his son giving him a hard time before exclaiming, "It's alright, brother. We were about to leave anyway."

The little boy settled in your arms and rested his head against yours, Lucien started rubbing his back when the little boy caught the sight of his grandfather and asked before anyone could stop him "Grandpa, how was the meeting with the idiots from the Night Court?"

The room went quiet, and a few gasps escaped. At your son's words, you turned to look at Helion, now on mom's mood. "Helion! How many times do we have to tell you not to speak like that in front of him?"

The room erupted in laughter at your statement. The air became lighter, and Helion put his hands in surrender, promising you that it wouldn't happen again.

You gave him an incredulous look, saying that you didn't believe him. Your son wrapped his tiny arms around your neck and rested his head on your shoulder with a yawn leaving his lips.

You rubbed your son's back while speaking to him. "Cmon Elijah, let's leave before your grandpa comes up with a new bad word for you to learn."

“Bad grandpa” your son agreed with you while earning new chuckles from the Night Court.

Even though he was trying to hold his smile, Azriel failed, your son was too adorable.

You turned your gaze to the Inner Circle and gave them a smile. "It was good to see you all."

"You too, Y/N. I missed you." Cassian replied.

Your smile stretched before telling him, "I missed you too, Cass."

The nickname made his heart ache. Maybe there's still a chance for you to reconnect.

You turned to look behind you, meeting your husband's eyes "You're coming Lu?"

A pink blush made its way to Lucien's cheeks "Of course, my love" The Heir looked at his father "We'll see you at dinner, dad. Night Court." He said giving the Inner Circle a small nod before joining you and wrapping his arm around your waist and giving a kiss to your now sleeping son.

Amren spoke again “See I told you were a boy mom.” A smile never leaving her face.

“You're right. If this baby happens to be a boy as well, I'm gonna be in trouble.” You replied with a arm holding your son and while the other made it's way to your belly.

“No your not, you're gonna be great.” Nesta spoke, a genuine smile on her lips “We already can see you are.” She gestured to the little boy sleeping in your arms.

“Thank you, Nes.” You were grateful for her words.

On your way out, you met Azriel's eyes but you couldn't find the words so you simply gave him a nod with a small smile and Azriel returned the gesture.

When the door closed, Amren was the first to break the silence "Well, the Mother has a sense of humor."

Everyone turned to look at her but she focused her gaze on Azriel and Elain "You rejected them because you believed you belonged with one another only for your relationship to fail six months later. And now," she released a laugh "your former mates found their way towards each other. Fell in love, got married, had a son and have another baby on the way. Ironic isn't it?" She said with the feline smile returning to her lips.

It was Helion who spoke next, amusement all over his face "Indeed. I guess karma is a bitch." He sent a disapproving look one more time in the direction of the two people who almost cost him his family before exiting the room.

Amren's and Helion's words stung but Azriel knew it was nothing but the truth. He realized in that moment, that despite your life now and how things turned out, you would never forgive him.

He had lost you forever and now he had to live with regret for the rest of his life. After all, you were no longer his.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I wasn't sure if someone wanted to be tag on this fic so I didn't do it. But I'm thinking in making a general taglist so if you wish to be added let me know. The next fic I'm gonna post will be the prequel of Second Chance. 😊

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

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jazzyoranges · 7 months

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Can you write a friends with benefits situation Wednesday or Tara has with gp reader? Wednesday or Tara enforces a no strings attach policy but of course reader has to catch feelings and admits their feelings. It freaks Tara/wednesday and causes her to push them away and ghost them effectively hurting the reader who after a while tries to rebound with another girl causing major jealousy from Tara/Wednesday. You can choose the ending I just wanna see some jealous smut and angst mix in there 😩

She’s my Collar

Wednesday Addams x fem!werewolf!reader

Words: 4.6k (whoopsies)

Warnings: gp!reader, definitely ooc Wednesday, heat cycles, unprotected sex, knotting, explicit smut, everyone is 18+, Wednesday calls you a mutt and a puppy, breeding kink, is it really pet play if you’re actually a pet?, italian/spanish pet names and phrases, possessive Wednesday, fluff, angst i think

A/n: so sorry it took so long for me to write this anon who requested 😓 could be read as a prequel to this fic, but not specifically written as one. also i kinda strayed away from the original request, sorry about that too 😭🫶

MINORS DNI!

Wednesday didn’t want to admit it, but she was feeling a certain emotion that was completely undesirable. You’ve been out sick for an entire week. Wednesday hadn’t seen you in the last 8 days, 17 hours, and 42 minutes. But who was counting? Definitely not the Addams girl

Others would say Wednesday looked the same as any other week, but Enid’s roommate senses were tingling. Constantly fiddling with her rings, the very prominent scowl on her face that was meaner than usual, and the common frustrated grunts when Wednesday would make a mistake with her writing. Something was up, and not even god herself couldn’t stop Enid from figuring it out

While Wednesday was smart in every aspect except social, Enid’s people smarts came in useful every now and again. It really didn’t take long for her to piece two and two together. Angry roommate while someone she frequently hung out with was out sick? It was child’s play, really. All she needed to do was have Wednesday come to the same conclusion as her

Easier said that done, really. Wednesday was a knucklehead not so smart when it came to emotions. Any emotion other than creating despair, Wednesday struggled with. Luckily Enid was dedicated and also a knucklehead

Currently Wednesday was seated at her desk, simply staring at a blank piece of paper without moving. On any normal day her fingers would be speeding across the typewriter with ideas constantly coming to her. Now she was met with absolute digital silence from her mind, which proved to be discouraging and inconvenient to say the least

“Alright, Wednesday. What’s going on?”

“I have not a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been different this entire week. Spill the beans”

“As I’ve just said, I don’t have the information you want.”

“It’s because you haven’t seen her all week, right? You miss her, don’t you?”

“Why would I miss that mutt of a werewolf? I do not miss Y/n.”

“I never said her name, yet you know exactly who I’m talking about. Funny how that works, Wednesday” Enid teases. Her roomie has been caught red handed

“If you want your tongue, I’d recommend you stop talking.”

“Cmon, Wednesday, I’m being serious. It’s not weird to miss a friend. How about you check up on her?”

“First, I do not miss her. Second, she is definitely fine. I do not need to check up on her.”

“She’s been out sick for an entire week. She texted me just today the sickness isn’t showing any signs of stopping”

“Why has she not called the nurse, then?”

“She told me they ran out of the medicine she needs. The sickness is werewolf specific. I’ve gotten it before and it hurt like a bitch without medicine”

“What kind of school clinic runs out of medicine?” Wednesday says under her breath while getting up. Presumably to check on you, Enid assumes

“It’s really high in demand right now. It only infects werewolves, so you won’t catch it”

“I suppose I’ll ask Y/n on the specifics of her current condition. Perhaps it could be a part in my writings.”

“I’m sure it will be, Wednesday. Tell me how it goes!” Enid waves goodbye to Wednesday as she exits, and the Addams misses her roommates wolfish grin

Luckily your dorm isn’t too far away from Ophelia hall but it’s still a considerable walk to and from. The walk there gives Wednesday enough time to really question why she was doing this. She did not care for you, that was most definitely certain. At least that’s what Wednesday kept telling herself when she neared your room

The Addams girl hesitated before she knocked on your door. She could hear you whimpering and whining in pain, your tail quickly thumping against your bed. The shorter girl bit the bullet and held her fist against the door, quickly knocking on it

“Open up, Y/n or I’ll be forced to axe down your door.”

“Go away, Wednesday” Your voice was muffled

“Either I pick your lock or you open this door. Make your decision.”

Wednesday hears your feel shuffle to the door, and you open it just enough for your eye to peek out. Wednesday immediately notices your flushed skin and dark eye bags. You’re only wearing a tank top and boxers, trying to hide your lower body behind the door

“What do you want?” You spit out a bit more aggressively than you mean to

“I’ve come to check up on your illness”

“I’m uh- I’m okay. You can go now, Wednesday”

“You obviously aren’t, you haven’t gone to your classes all week.”

“Listen, I’m not actually sick. If I tell you what’s actually happening, promise you won’t freak out?”

“I promise.”

You suck in a breath to calm your nerves. “I’m in heat. The school clinic ran out of suppressants, so I haven’t been able to come to classes”

Wednesday looked you up and down, and in a split second she felt something she hadn’t before. Something about how your wolfish features came out. Ears were pressed against your head, tail hung low and swaying softly, and Wednesday noticed your fangs poke out when you spoke

“Let me help you.”

“W-What?” You momentarily stoped holding the door, and Wednesday let herself inside. Wednesday was immediately hit with a musk that was so… you. Werewolves weren’t her major, but she could tell you’ve marked your entire room with your own scent. Something about it made Wednesday’s mind think of all the unspeakable things she wanted to do to you

“Uh, sorry for the mess. And sorry for the smell, I know it’s bad…” You shift on your feet, and it’s only then Wednesday notices the tent in your boxers. Quickly mumbling out apology after apology, you move your tail so it covers your growing erection

“Stop apologizing, it’s getting quite annoying. I said I’d help you, did I not?”

“Help me like..?”

“Yes. Help you as in having sexual intercourse”

Your cheeks flush red and you have to actively stop your tail from wagging in excitement. Wednesday takes a step closer, but you take a step back

“A-Are you sure? You’re human, and I’m a werewolf. Your body isn’t designed to handle our heats”

Wednesday takes another step closer to you, grabbing your neck to make you look straight in her eyes. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your throat

“I decide what I can handle.” The shorter girl firmly gropes at your clothed erection, and you moan at the contact

“Wednesday, I-”

“A dumb puppy is what you are. Why didn’t you tell me you were in heat?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d care” When Wednesday starts to massage your clothed cock more roughly, she earns another moan out of your throat

“Please, please make it better, Wednesday. It hurts so fucking much” You whimper, and Wednesday wonders if you’d look good in a collar with her name on it. She’d have to save that idea for a different day.

“Puppy.”

“Wednesday?”

“Take everything off. I want to see all of you.”

Wordlessly, you start to strip, which doesn’t take long since you’re barely wearing any clothes. Your mindless obedience made Wednesday happy. You start with your tank top and the Addams chooses to observe every part of you. Wednesday notices you’re considerably more furry than usual, your happy trail showing just above your boxer briefs

“Are you sure?” You ask nervously when you reach your boxers, and Wednesday is getting considerably more impatient

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Wednesday mutters while she takes off your boxers instead. The shorter girl sucks in a breath when your hardened cock slaps against your stomach

Wednesday didn’t expect you to be so… lewdly big. Looking at the size of your erection only reminded her your body was meant to breed. You were designed to reproduce, and the thought turned Wednesday on more than she liked

The shorter girl pushes you onto your bed, and she takes a second to look at the state you’re in

“Please, Wednesday…” You whine

“Be patient, Y/n. You’ll get there eventually”

“It hurts so much, please I can’t wait” Begging harder, Wednesday doesn’t likehow her first instinct is to give you what you want

“You’re lucky I tolerate you. If you were any other person, I’d think this was dehumanizing.” She pushes you further back, licking a stripe up your tip and across a vein. You have to stop yourself from cumming embarrassingly quick

Wednesday keeps giving your shaft long kitten-licks and you’re in heaven when she finally decides to suck your tip with a new type of hunger.

And due to previous attempts at suppressing your heat by yourself, your cock was absolutely raw at how much you masturbated. It only made Wednesday’s tongue feel even better

She hollows out her cheeks, making your tip hit the back of her throat. This earns a groan from the back of your throat. You didn’t know if touching was allowed due to her track record of broken arms and hands, so you decide to play it safe by just holding onto your bedsheets for dear life

“F-Fuck, I’m about to-“ Before you can finish your sentence, Wednesday pulls away from your cock. The look on your face is something Wednesday would like to cherish. Your penis was twitching like crazy. It was drooling with pre-cum and the shorter girls saliva. She couldn’t help but admire how you shook under her

“Why’d you stop?” Whining seemed to be a strong suit of yours

“In me.” Wednesday wipes a bit of her saliva off her chin, and you swear it’s the most attractive thing ever “Now.”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean. Really, do I always have to spell it out for you?”

“You have to cut me some slack here, Wens…”

“I suppose I could provide an understanding for your view. You’re nothing but a dumb pup, are you not? Your kind is known to follow orders.”

“I think you’re confusing me with a domesticated dog, Wednesday”

“If I were to demand you pluck stars from the night, you would, would you not?”

“I mean I would, but for different reasons…”

“My point still stands.” Wednesday mumbles, sinking down on your erection. You don’t remember when she got naked, but you’re also not exactly complaining

The Addams holds onto your shoulders for support, and you hesitate before putting your hands on her hips. Luckily you made the right choice, your warm hands directly polar to Wednesday’s.

It takes a little effort for Wednesday to completely take in your cock, but the stretch is worth it when she sees your labored breathing like she’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. Which, Wednesday wouldn’t admit she was proud of. She could feel every vein on your cock and every twitch made her spiral into thoughts of you

The sight is funny, you think. The Wednesday Addams is impaled on your cock. The Wednesday Addams that saved Nevermore. The Wednesday Addams that was notorious for being gorgeously scary. That Wednesday Addams was riding your dick like her life depended on it.

Skin slapping together was music to your ears, and the feeling in your lower stomach you recognized well was rapidly building up. Wednesday came with a hitch in her breath, and you reluctantly pulled out before releasing your own cum with a groan. Both of you are left breathing hard.

“There will be a silver bullet in your skull if you so much as think about telling anyone about this.” Wednesday mutters in between breaths.

“Duly noted.”

—

You’ve been in this arrangement with Wednesday for about 4 months, now

The first month consisted of a casual fuck here and there. After a particularly hard week, teachers being annoying, or a hard test. It wasn’t difficult to keep your situation away from your friends. For all they knew, you two were still the platonic match-made-in-hell duo that were strictly friends

The second month was a little harder to keep your situation away from your friends. Wednesday would randomly pull you into any empty closet or classroom she could for a quick orgasm to get her through the day

The third month was rough. You two went on dates as you liked to call it, but Wednesday would call them study sessions or hangouts. Trips to Jericho on the weekend, Wednesday helping you with botany, it was practically impossible to separate both of you. Unfortunately your friends became suspicious

So during the fourth month, a new vampire transferred to Nevermore. You were assigned to give her a tour of the school and her classes. When Wednesday saw you two hang out when you’d usually see the Addams, she suspected the tour went better than anticipated. What Wednesday expected to be a minor inconvenience for one day, caused her many unwanted thoughts. It made a vein pop out of her neck. (not literally, but that’s what it felt like)

Wednesday noticed how you two started spending more time together after and during school. Of course there was definitely a reasonable explanation, you were her only friend. Unfortunately a very minuscule part of her brain is telling her you like the new vampire more than the Addams. The thought didn’t sit right with her

You were supposed to be Wednesday’s. You were supposed to only have eyes for the Addams and not some vampire that doesn’t even make you half as happy as her. You would always be Wednesday’s. When you finally realized the vampire wasn’t enough to satiate your needs, Wednesday would be there. She would be there to catch your fall, and the thought made her uncomfortable.

Wednesday Addams, a feared individual that wore her heart tucked under enough layers of blunt sarcasm and a deathly scary look, yet once glance from you sent her spiraling into something between fear and love. She hated it. She hated you. Wednesday hated you for bringing this side out of her she swore to be kept away from the surface of her character.

The Addams couldn’t afford this. You were her weakness. You definitely knew this as well. Unwanted doubt flooded her mind. Thoughts that ended up with you exploiting her only weakness made her heart ache, and not in a way she enjoyed.

You would end up breaking off your relationship with the Addams, leaving her to be made a fool as you were the only one that could do it. The worst part is Wednesday couldn’t even be angry with you. She knew you deserved someone of your own kind. Another werewolf that would understand and satiate your needs. Wednesday would end the arrangement the next time she saw you.

—

“(L/n).”

“Wednesday?” You open up your door with a smile on your face. A sight for sore eyes is what you were.

“We cannot continue our arrangement.”

“What? What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Wednesday wished she could take back her words, but she was doing this to keep herself safe. To make you happy.

“Our late night meetings can no longer continue. I’ve grown uncomfortable with your presence.”

“Wednesday, I-“

“A nuisance is what you are. You’re needy, and you can’t do anything by yourself. You really are just a dumb mutt. You are incapable of doing anything except cling to me like a lost child.” Wednesday spits out, and something akin to regret dawns on her face

Stray tears leave your eyes and you wipe them up as quickly as they fall, but Wednesday notices. She can tell you’re trying to be strong, your quivering lip giving you away

“I’m- I’m sorry you feel that way, Addams.” You say before turning your back on Wednesday, closing the door. Broken sobs escape your throat, and Wednesday brings her hand up to your doorknob. She thinks a little longer before a single tear falls from her eye. She turns to leave instead.

—

Three weeks, nearing four since you’ve last talked to Wednesday. You’ve been out for a week and a half and Wednesday knows exactly why. Since the Addams has been helping with your heats for the past few months, you haven’t needed to request for more suppressants. Neither you nor Wednesday knew why your heats were commonly hell-ish and lasted for weeks without the suppressants you desperately needed

Really, she could picture you right now. You would’ve found the boxers that created the least amount of friction, and you’d be whimpering and whining while your tail rapidly thumped against the bed mattress. Finding the nearest thing to bite, which usually happened to be your bed frame, you’d sink your teeth into the cold wood and find a splinter on your tongue the next time you brushed your teeth. Rinse and repeat until you eventually fell asleep or Wednesday saved you from your own body

It was pathetic how much you constantly needed Wednesday…and consequently, how much Wednesday needed you.

Disgusting is the only word Wednesday can choose when thinking of how much space in her mind you took up. She was seated in the Quad while eating an apple and contemplating her life. Which, was not in an ideal situation.

“I know you want to talk to her, Wednesday” Enid takes a seat near the shorter girl

“I do not.”

“I know for a fact you didn’t mean what you said. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn to realize it”

“She has that new girl, does she not?”

“For the last time, Wednesday, they aren’t dating”

“They may as well be. The two are practically attached at the hip”

“So were you two, but then you decided to fuck it all up and haven’t talked to her since” Enid groans. This is was going to be harder than she thought

“Wednesday, you know how much I love you, right?”

“Annoyingly so.”

“Not-so-respectfully, you fucked up really bad. I know you didn’t mean it, but would you rather see her kiss another girl, or would you rather be the girl she kisses?”

The question makes Wednesday hesitate, and relief washes over Enid. Did she want to be with you? She mentally scoffs at the thought. The Wednesday Addams uncharacteristically soft for a girl. Outrageous. Disgusting. Absolutely unheard-

“Well, it seems you have your answer. Talk to her right now, ‘kay?” Enid knew her roomie would do the right thing even if it was gut wrenchingly difficult

The shorter girl only responds with a grumble, but it’s enough of an answer for Enid to skip away and continue being the social butterfly she was. Wednesday was going to… apologize to you. Just thinking of the word made her recoil, but it was you she was going to. As much as Wednesday didn’t like apologizing, she didn’t want to admit the thought of being away from you any longer was the worse option

She was almost in the same exact situation almost five months ago. Only this time you were sad, and it was Wednesday’s job to make you feel better (in more ways than one)

It didn’t take long getting to your dorm. She knew all of the correct routes and shortcuts to take. Wednesday was met with a tightly locked door and a knob that had collected dust after the past week and a half. She brought a hand to the door, knocking loudly

The Addams was only met with silence. That is, silence, with the exception of stray whines and whimpers

“It’s Wednesday.” Silence again.

“I know you’re in there. Ignore me and I’ll find other means to see you.” More silence

“You’ve made your decision.” The shorter girl sighs, taking a lock pick from her uniform pocket. Why she had a lock pick? For important situations like these, of course

When Wednesday finally managed to unlock your door, she noticed how you looked considerably worse than the first time the Addams decided to help you with your heat

What Wednesday didn’t expect was you fully naked sprawled on your bed. Bite marks littered your bed frame and a chew toy Wednesday bought to mock you, but it ended up being somewhat helpful. A low quality fan spun, only making your scent waft around the room even more. An air freshener was mentally added to her list of things to buy

“Go away, Wednesday.” You growled. You never growled. “If you’re here to mock me and call me a nuisance, I’d recommend you leave”

“I came to help.”

“You’ve full of bullshit, aren’t you?”

“I’m not lying, Y/n.”

“Go away, Wednesday, I’m not going to say it again.” The Addams only took this as an invitation to step closer to your bed where you were laying face down and a light blanket to cover your ass

When you only heard footsteps near, something inside you snapped. You were a werewolf. Not a puppy that said please with a tail between your legs. No, you would make Wednesday leave. Also you were sexually frustrated while in heat, so that was definitely fuel to your sour mood

Before she could register what had happened, you pinned the smaller girl to the floor. Your pupils contracted into small circles while there was a permanent snarl on your face

“I said, go away.” Your erection accidentally brushes against Wednesday’s thigh, and she was suddenly aware of how much self control you had for not already relentlessly stuffing the shorter girl full of your cum

“Knot me, cucciola.”

When the words leave Wednesday’s mouth, something in you changes. You’re overcome with sinful thoughts, and your cock starts to drool with precum at the image of Wednesday being full of you. It’s sinful, truly

“Is that why you came here? Just to be bred?”

“No, but it seems my words are working. You’re incredibly hard.” The shorter girl grabs your erection, jerking you off roughly

“Puppy.”

“Don’t… don’t call me that.” You say in between moans. Wednesday starts to sit up, and your back meets the side of your bed frame

“Cucciola wants to breed?”

“F-Fuck you.”

“We’re getting there, mi sol” The pet name accidentally slips, but you’re far too blissed out to notice

“She can’t make you feel as good as me, can she?”

“W-What? Who are you talking about?”

“You know who. The vampire that can’t get her hands off you.”

“Wednesday, we’re no-“ The shorter girl only started to stroke you faster. Her hand barely fit around your cock, but it still felt like heaven

“I don’t- I don’t like her that way” You say in between moans. Your orgasm was nearing and Wednesday knew this. She slowed down her pace, and you whined at the sudden loss of stimulation

“Knot me.”

“Huh?”

“Show me you don’t like her the way you like me.” You only notice your proximity after she speaks. Your noses are only inches apart. Wednesday’s eyes flick down to your lips, and you quickly close the distance

Wednesday was an addiction. Nicotine, acid, weed, none of it compared to how you felt while kissing Wednesday. You’d get drunk off her taste and crave it until she was in your arms once again. It was hell without her

When the shorter girl accidentally grinds on you, a surge of lust runs through your body. You quickly pick her up with your lips still attached to hers and take off her skirt. You couldn’t go another second without being in Wednesday

Sinking her onto your hardened erection, you let out a gasp of pleasure when her velvety walls stretch at your intrusion. You’re holding up her body by her thighs, and Wednesday just wishes you’d go faster.

“Cucciolo, ti amo.” The Addams moans when she looks down to see she’s only taken half of your length in her pussy. The sight is rather lewd, Wednesday thinks. Your cock is absolutely dripping with pre-cum when you push yourself further in her

“Mierda. Más, cachorro. Tan bueno para mi.” Wednesday slips into her native tongue. You haven’t seen her like this any other time she’s… helped you out

Bringing your lips to hers again, you decide to be in control when you push your tongue into her mouth. Eyes half lidded, bangs sticking to her forehead, and hair a bit disheveled, you think she’s never been prettier.

You let Wednesday rest a bit before sinking your cock deeper into her cunt, and the Addams ends up scratching you hard enough small amounts blood start to drip down your back. The sensation takes you by surprise. Accidentally bucking your hips up further into Wednesday, the girl lets out a groan as she fully takes your length in her pussy.

Placing her on the bed, you notice a tiny bulge in her stomach. You decide to be bold. Pressing your thumb against the intrusion, you hear a sound you’ve never heard before

Wednesday whimpers at your touch.

You do it again.

Her cunt squeezes around your cock, making it harder for you to keep thrusting. But you’re a wolf in heat and Wednesday is incredibly horny, so you continue your movements.

“Sh-She’ll never- she’ll never be as good as you, Wens…” An unexpected growl comes from deep within your throat

“No one can take my cock as good as you…” You’re thrusting considerably faster when Wednesday looks back down at where you two meet. The scenario folding out is a sight for sore eyes, the Addams thinks. You, feeding into your primal urges like it’s an unstoppable beast; and Wednesday willingly taking it in however she can.

“Cara mia.”

“Mine… mine all mine. No one else but mine…” You whimper a little pathetically, but the girl below you is only focused on your thrusts. Her cold hands find their way to your back again, leaving a trail of blood behind

“Yours, puppy. All yours.” Wednesday feeds into your possessive behavior. She knows she shouldn’t, but with you thoughts of reason leave her head and are replaced with thoughts of you

“Were you serious about the knotting, Wens?”

“Deathly.”

“Are you- mph~ sure? It’s kinda big…” The girl under you looks down again, and your ever growing knot seems to just be getting bigger and bigger. Even horny out of your mind, you still wanted to make sure your mate was alright.

…you decide to ignore that thought.

Your eyes were trained on how your erection stretched out Wednesday. Her pussy would be yours, and yours alone. Nobody would make her feel as good as you did. You’d make sure she wouldn’t need anyone else’s cock but yours.

A breathy moan erupts from your throat when you start to actively try to push your knot into Wednesday

“Relax for me Wens, it’ll never go in unless you want it too” You feel her tensed under your touch, but your words are enough for her to relax

Every thrust you get closer, until you eventually start to reach your peak. You can tell Wednesday is too. Her hair is messy and both of your bodies are littered with marks of possession.

“I-I’m so close Wens…” Are the last words you say before succeeding in pushing your knot into the Addams girl. You cum inside of Wednesday’s pussy, and the swell of your knot inside her is enough for Wednesday to cum impaled on your cock. The feeling of being full is an experience Wednesday wished she did with you far sooner.

You wiggle your hips to seemingly get more comfortable inside of Wednesday, but the movement only makes her moan. She was sensitive as hell.

“…was that enough proof I like you more than I like her?”

“More than enough, (Y/n).”

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #wednsday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday (2022)#jenna marie ortega #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #wednesday x y/n

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ithebookhoarder · 1 month

Note

your Eloise fics have me in a chokehold! If you would I need an eloise and fem reader first kiss moment! friends to lovers type best

First Kiss (Eloise Bridgerton x F!Reader)

A/N: Well, I love me a good ol' 'friends to lovers' trope, so thank you for sending this in! I am in full S3 mode. 💕Also, side note, but I see this request existing in the same universe/as a prequel to my other piece 'This Love' - which you don't have to read to understand this but if you want to, then check it out.

Warnings: Beginnings of smut, implied homophobia, era-appropriate sexism (let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

"What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously..."

('Guilty as Sin' - Taylor Swift)

“I simply don’t see the appeal of such things.”

“You don’t?”

“No. What could be so appealing about kissing?” Eloise muttered, staring down at the couple on the other side of the library in which you had both hidden.

Fed up with ducking dance partners for one evening, you and the Bridgerton girl (who had been your closest friend since infancy) had escaped the ballroom of the Smith-Smyth family town house and the festivities being held there. Of course, like most nights spent trying to hide from the Ton and its never ending scrutiny of young females, the pair of you had sought refuge in the library of the home. After all, it was typically the room least likely to be occupied, and had more than enough dark, quiet corners for you two to hide in, curled up with a good book until it was time to go home.

It was far superior to being passed from one suitor to the next like some curiosity to be examined, admired, and appraised.

Tonight had been no different so far, with the pair of you taking the first opportunity to bolt and conceal yourselves on the upper gallery of the impressive library. However, you had only been alone maybe a handful of minutes when the door had burst open and a rather amorous young couple had staggered through, a tangle of limbs and lips.

Both you and Eloise had barely had time to even realise what had happened, let alone plan any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the upper level - whilst more private and out of sight - was only accessible via a spiral staircase. There was no way on earth either of you could make it down said staircase or all the way to the door without being seen.

You didn’t know who would be most embarrassed in that instance - you or the couple caught in a compromising position. That, and you’d also made the fundamental error of waiting too long to make such a decision and announce yourselves.

As such, you’d had no choice but to scamper back into the darkness and pray the couple either didn’t hear the hushed shuffling above them, or that they simply left … and soon. However, given the groans and moans coming from the pair as they pawed at one another, you didn’t think they were in any rush to return to the ballroom anytime soon.

“I mean… mama says it depends on the person you’re kissing,” Eloise continued, eyebrow raised quizzically as she leaned closer to the railings as if trying to get a better look. “That if you’re with the right one then it all just feels ...”

“Natural?”

The word fell from your lips easily without a second thought.

“Perhaps,” Eloise continued, tilting her head as the couple’s kisses began to move from their lips to other parts of their bodies.

The sight was enough to make you blush, a sudden ache awakening inside you. It was an ache that had become strangely familiar to you in the past months, even if you would never confess such a thing aloud. You were a woman after all. You weren’t supposed to feel such things, let alone share that fact with other people. Maybe your future husbands, but that was ‘simply not done’ as your mother had cautioned you, whilst giving a rather harrowing talk about ‘the facts of life’. Demure, reserved, and dignified - that was what husbands wanted.

Needless to say, none of those words could be used to describe you at present, nor your best friend. It was what had drawn you two together in the first place - a recognition of a kindred spirit, desperate to survive in a world that was clearly not designed for your kind.

For the first time in whole your life, you hadn’t felt so alone. She too loathed everything society said you were supposed to enjoy - sewing, the latest fashions, making oneself appealing to the other sex. Instead, she encouraged you and your passions, sending you new books she thought you’d like about topics that interested you. She also spoke to you like an equal and wasn’t afraid to debate current issues like politics, female rights, and science. Hell, she hadn’t laughed when you had confessed that you’d be perfectly content living a life that didn’t involve a man at all (let alone as a husband). If anything, she had encouraged it.

So, years later here you were, thick as thieves with Eloise Bridgerton and not the least bit interested in any kind of future that didn’t have her in it.

“I just can’t ever picture me being like that with another person,” she continued, staring at the couple with seeming disbelief. “Especially not one of these boys that peacock themselves about the place, acting like they’re anything other than children showing off for the air-headed debutantes. It’s embarrassing honestly.”

You tried not to laugh at your friend’s visible repulsion at the sight. She had never been one to hide her feelings and her expressive face gave their true nature away every time.

“Agreed,” you murmured, eyes still focused on the display despite vocalising your disapproval. “Oh. I… That hardly looks comfortable. In fact, she rather looks like she’s in pain.”

“Well, considering the fact that he looks like he’s trying to eat her, I’m not surprised.”

“El!”

“What?” she scoffed, sitting up and finally crawling back from the edge of the railings. You followed, shuffling backwards further into the shadows and safely out of sight. Anyone who dared look up would be unable to see you from this angle. “It’s the truth. I’m merely surprised he hasn’t dislocated his jaw yet like some python and simply swallowed her, and her fortune, whole. I merely wish I could understand what drives a person to do such a thing. It isn’t exactly like one can simply look it up in a book. They all simply say that a kiss has some divine power that makes a person lose all sense. That can’t be possible.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Oh, really? What could possibly make you think that?”

You froze.

How could you tell her the truth? That you knew it to be possible because every time you looked at her, what you wanted most in the world was to be able to pull her into your arms and kiss her like it was the last thing you would ever do in this lifetime? That, you had long known that your feelings towards her were well passed the point of friendly?

Even now, your heart raced in your chest in a way it only ever did when she was near. The faint traces of her orange blossom perfume made your head spin and you knew you'd be smelling it hours after she had gone as you always did.

“I don’t know.” You gulped, trying not to let your warming cheeks give away your sudden train of thought. However, your mouth and your brain had never been the most co-operative of organs. They often had a way of defying one another, just like now in fact, as you opened your mouth and the words simply came tumbling out. “Maybe that’s the problem… maybe we don’t know because we have no experience. Nothing to base it on. Maybe, it’s one of those things you have to try and see for yourself… ‘find out’ as it were.”

Eloise’s eyes looked like dinner plates, they became so wide.

“What? That’s… that’s a ridiculous proposition,” she choked, her voice raising dangerously loud. However, a well-timed moan from below brought her back to her senses as she remembered just where you were and what had brought you two into this situation in the first place.

Switching back to a frantic whisper, she continued. “I … I mean - who - what… no one would agree to such a foolish idea, not when they’d think I was trying to entrap them into a marriage-“

“El-”

“-and we all know they’d be desperate to brag about it to everyone. I would be dragged down the aisle by the end of the night, if my brothers didn’t drag them outside and shoot them first-“

“El!” You reached over and took her face in your hands. Holding her still seemed to do the trick as she instantly fell silent. “Breathe. Ok? I didn’t mean with a boy, or some stranger… I … I meant…”

The words died in your throat as your mind raced to maintain in control. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, the first and biggest being that your friendship was the most precious and treasured thing in your life. Risking it was beyond idiotic.

You knew that that was precisely what Eloise would tell you too, if she knew what you were about to say. However, you said it anyway.

“I meant someone you trusted. Someone you knew. Someone who cared about you.”

Eloise snorted. “And who would that be then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I hardly have a line of suitors waiting for me, let alone any that suit those criteria-“

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed her.

The kiss was everything you’d been brought up to fear and avoid, but you knew that nothing in your life had ever felt so right. You hadn’t been made to want anyone other than Eloise, and you’d spent too many years trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. To believe that your mother was right, that you’d find a suitable man and feelings would grow in time. To believe that you were wrong to imagine kissing a girl rather than a boy…

Well, it was happening. It was no longer just a fantasy and… in a word? It was thrilling. The entire world stopped. The moment was breathtaking… and then it was over.

You paused, waiting with bated breath for her to react. However, moments passed by and Eloise failed to say anything - which in itself was a signal something was wrong. It took a whole minute for her to even open her eyes, let alone look at you.

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and you felt the world crumbling around you.

“I- I'm so sorry,” you choked, hastily pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I … just … I shouldn't have done that, El. Please, if you don’t say a word about this then I’ll stay away from you and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise-"

“W- what?”

Eloise blinked, suddenly waking from her stupor as you began to scramble to your feet, desperate to make your escape - amorous couple, or no. However, her grip was tight as she grabbed your hand, refusing to let you go. She was surprisingly strong.

“No, wait,” she begged, her desperation clear by the way her voice broke. “Please, just - just wait. I … I just was surprised. That’s all, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting it or to… like it. Or at least, not that much.”

“You ... liked it?”

"Yes."

You could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Instead of rejecting you, or rebuking you, or even feeling repulsed by what you had just done, Eloise seemed almost excited as the shock wore off.

She began to smile, making the tension simply evaporate between you two. Instead, she looked almost liberated, her cheeks flushed and her lips were plumped from where you had just pressed them against your own. Several strands of her hair had also come free from their perfect coiffeur throughout the evening and yet, Eloise had never looked more perfect in your eyes.

You’d have done anything to frame that moment to preserve it forever.

“I did," she murmured. "It seems you were right after all. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right person to kiss.”

“I was?”

“Indeed,” Eloise purred, a newfound eagerness surging within her as she reached out and pulled you back into her arms. “But, maybe we should test it one more time? Just to be sure. Any sound scientific theory must be based on evidence, after all.”

Well, who were you to argue with that?

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton x yn #Bridgerton

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petit-etoile · 9 months

Text

everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 8746 content warnings: astarion is not a vampire nor ascended & tav is not the dark urge but i use pet names from his ascended route because i think they fit & some of the dark urge connections are necessary, brief mention of tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash, tav is gender neutral, nearly 8k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, dom/sub undertones, mi.ssionary style, do.ggy style, riding, cr.eampie, marriage proposal, sort of archiveofourown: here. note: depending on reception & if i have time, there may be a part two or a prequel. i ended coming up with lore for this verse so i like it a lot. summary: ‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

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You can already tell what kind of evening it will be just from the way Astarion looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, so coy and pretty and unabashed in the way he glances over you. Whatever happened tpday at court has pleased him. He practically purrs when he steps past you to enter the sanctuary of his expansive bedroom.

‘You’ll come,’ he murmurs, ‘won’t you, darling?’

You’ll play his game because he likes it. You keep your lips pressed together in a firm line despite the way his hand slides gracefully across your waist, warming the chainmail that you wear dutifully every day so that you can keep the crown prince safe. He pouts when you pretend to not notice the playful mood he’s in. And when you change your mind after only a few minutes, Astarion will wear the same mischievous frown and think he has claimed victory over you once more.

You recite your vows to yourself to keep your mind from wandering, but it’s difficult. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. It’s…admittedly hard to remember the rest. You’re distracted by the most impure thoughts. Memories of nights before. The taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him as he grinds above you, the gleam of his skin as dawn begins to creep over the horizon. You squeeze your thighs together and try to wait out at least five minutes before you cave.

You peek down the hallway. There are no other guards skulking around at night. You’re not technically supposed to leave your post, but if the prince commands it… Well, it’s an excuse. You rush inside before you can feel the call of your valor and close the door after you with a soft click. Astarion sits with his legs crossed at the edge of his bed. He grins. It’s almost as predictable as you are, but you would never admit it.

‘You called, my prince?’ you ask carefully, trying to keep your tone even.

‘I did,’ he says with a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I could use entertainment, and you were there…’

You smile beneath your helm. You were always there. Astarion tries to hide it a little too much, but there’s no one else he would seek out to keep him entertained when his mood is like this. He tries to play into the expectations everyone has of him. That he’s ambitious, unpredictable, easy to rile up. The truth of the matter is that Astarion longs for you in a way that he will never admit except into the curls of your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You care for him — love him — and there’s nothing you adore more than the way he laughs around you as though you were born for him and him alone.

‘I take it the court wasn’t too uneventful,’ you say.

He grimaces. ‘I saw Lord Gortash, unfortunately. I believe the sight of him has ruined my week.’

‘So cruel,’ you hum. You touch the buckles of your cape and release it from your bodice.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Astarion asks defensively, playfully.

You touch the latch of your armor. ‘He’s head of the city guard.’

‘I ought to fire him,’ the prince says darkly. ‘Hire a new one.’

‘Who would protect the city instead?’

‘You,’ Astarion says without pause.

‘Alas, I am duty bound to serve the prince,’ you disagree. You pull the weight of your chest piece off your shoulders and drop it to the floor. ‘How can I serve the city when my mind is filled with nothing but you?’

Astarion smiles, a true smile. ‘Oh, you honor me. You truly mean every word.’

‘Without question,’ you promise.

You think about kneeling before him and looking up at him, but your chest piece is still in the way. You pull and untangle and twist until it all slides to the floor, leaving you in a simpler top. His honor, a single white rose, is pinned to the front of your shirt. You can still remember the day he gave it to you, the day you knelt in the throne room and he pressed his sword to your shoulder to claim you.

‘You are mine,’ Astarion says slowly.

‘I am yours,’ you repeat fondly.

‘Until the end of time?’

‘Until the end.’

‘And,’ Astarion begins playfully, ‘if I asked you to please me?’

‘I would be duty bound,’ you reply.

‘Then may I ask you to please me?’ he murmurs, eyes dangerous.

Astarion practically preens under your careful attention, his eyes unwavering as he watches you. You take your time. You remove the rest of your armor slowly, savoring the hungry way he watches. Even in court when you are his shadow, Astarion barely hides it. The hunger. The longing. The darkest of desires. He would claim you in public if it wouldn’t be a scandal.

You lower yourself before him, groveling on your hands and knees. You place your head in his lap and sigh when he threads his fingers through your hair. These are the moments you live for. When he is no longer a prince and you are no longer a knight. You are you, and Astarion is Astarion.

You don’t have to wonder where his mind is. Not during times like these. He’s anxious to feel you, but you take your time in this. You slip his fancy boots from his feet then take your time undoing his belts and buttons, sliding everything down his lean legs with careful intent. His cock greets you, already half hard and growing still.

It still makes you nervous, deep down inside. Astarion is a prince and the pinnacle of perfection. He could have any duke or duchess he wanted, yet it’s you he takes care of when the standing watch for hours on end from dusk til dawn has caused your bones to grow weary. The least you could do is love him like this. You lean forward and kiss the side of his cock, and Astarion’s fingers tighten in your hair.

‘Please, your highness,’ you whisper.

You are perched at his feet still awaiting commands. Like a good little pup. You shiver.

‘Go on,’ Astarion encourages.

You barely stick the tip of your tongue out and watch as his cock throbs in anticipation. This is dangerous. Obscene, even. You’ve seen him hundreds of times yet it still excites you. Carefully, you take him into your mouth and admire his debauched moan.

You have half a mind to tease him, but when you glance upwards at him, he’s as pretty as an aasimar. Or something worse, but you don’t give yourself much time to think about it. You know his desires. What he enjoys. What he tolerates for you. You know Astarion likes your little hums as you glide your mouth over his cock. He likes being pampered more than anything.

Astarion’s hand is tender as he moves your bangs out of your eyes. It’s the eye contact he wants. He likes to see and always acts like it’s the first time. He holds the edge of your jaw while you rub the tip of his cock against the inside of your cheek, eyebrows scrunching. It’s divine for you as well.

Astarion lives for the pomp and circumstance, absolutely devours court rumors with a delight you barely understand — but he would let his kingdom fall into the Underdark if it meant he could spend every hour of every day fucking you.

It’s the same for you.

It always has been ever since your coronation.

You were not like the other knights who were born into houses of servitude, second born sons and daughters who were the spares of their family names. You were given to Astarion by Lord Gortash as a way to buy favor from the crown. You were once his favorite, well-trained dog.

But unlike Lord Gortash, you are coveted by the crown in a way no other knight has been before. Astarion kisses you every morning and finishes against your spine every evening. But he is your salvation, your savior, and you are on your knees to show what that means to you.

Astarion stirs beneath your ruminations, his thighs tensing beneath your elbows, his hips doing those unconscious lusty jerks that you like so much. His head falls back as he gets lost in the feel of your tongue and mouth and he moans so sweetly that it almost distracts you from your ministrations. You take his cock as far back into your mouth as you can manage, closing your eyes to squeeze out any embarrassing tears that might threaten to fall. Like the prettiest bird, he sings for you.

‘Wait,’ he moans. ‘Not yet, I want — ’

You pull away from him as commanded, licking your lips clean of spit. His hands dance frantically against your shoulders as he pulls you up against him, cock hard against both of your bellies. He kisses you hotly, one hand fisting in your hair and the other tugging uselessly at your shirt.

‘You are needy today, my prince,’ you whisper against a barrage of kisses.

‘You were too perfect,’ he whines. ‘Always perfect for me.’

You laugh against his cheek. ‘You did say to please you.’

‘And now I’m saying to get on the fucking bed,’ Astarion fusses. ‘Oh, and clothes off. I want to see you.’

‘Yes, your — ’ you begin.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses with an affectionate pinch to your side, ‘are being quite the obstinate charge tonight. I want to taste you and be tasted in return, but be familiar with me, my love. Come back to me. Share my bed.’

You are in the middle of doing as he requests, sitting with one leg on either side of his thighs when he slides his hands to your waist and forces you to roll to the side. He pushes you further into the many adorning pillows of his bed and starts devouring you, his mouth dancing from your neck to your collarbones while he tears your shirt apart with his hands, though he does slow down enough to place the white rose on the bedside table. He pushes his palms flat against your chest and leaves bite marks and bruises across your chest and down your belly, chasing after you as you try to squirm away. Astarion finally takes interest in leaving his mark on your throat.

You set to work pushing your leggings and small clothes down your thigh, but Astarion, in all his impatience, gets in the way of that too. He presses his thigh between your legs on purpose, rolling his cock against your hip while his thigh applies almost perfect pressure to the most sensitive parts of you.

You moan and turn your face away, but Astarion chases the sound. He nuzzles your noses together until you look at him, bleary and dazed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He rolls his hips again with intent. He catches the sound of your moan on the tip of your tongue and returns it, his own ragged breath warm against your cheek.

‘There you are, my love,’ he whispers deliciously. ‘I’ve missed you. My treasure, my pet…’

‘Yours,’ you moan.

‘Mine,’ Astarion agrees. ‘All mine.’

He drags his fingernails across the swell of your hip, and you can’t help but chase the curve of his wrist. Your cheeks burn, but you’re tempted to beg him. To ask if he’ll please you with his hands. You want to feel his fingers pressed up inside you, to feel them curl and twist. You want it more than anything else you’ve ever wanted to. Astarion watches the way you twist and turn with a small smile on his face. He pets your hip and slides his fingers between your thighs. You can feel the cool of his jeweled rings against your heated flesh.

Astarion is grateful for your reckless display. He acquiesces to your silent begging, brushing his fingers between your folds and pressing the tip of his middle finger against you. He watches with delight as you grind against the pressure. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears are ruddy, and though he’s pretending to be controlled right now, you can hear how shaky his breath has become.

And then, like a god answering a prayer, he presses a finger inside of you so painstakingly slow it’s almost maddening. You mewl, watching his expressions in fascination, because his own mouth falls open as he cranes his next to watch. He adds another. He twists and twirls his fingers as deeply as he can reach it. His eyes flutter with desperation. He’s so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. You want more, so much more, and you press your wrist against your mouth to keep from begging.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I want to hear everything. Please, sing for me.’

‘More,’ you whisper thickly. ‘More, I need more, I want more.’

He kisses your jaw sloppily. ‘I’ll give you everything.’

‘It’s not enough!’

‘You’ll take it,’ Astarion tells you. ‘You’ll take what I give.’

‘Astarion,’ you weep. ‘I want you. I want — ’

This time, he might as well have ripped the rest of your clothes with his haste. You aren’t sure what he does with them, you just know that you’re naked and in his bed, surrounded by all his pillows with your thighs slick from how wet you are.

Your eyes watch your star’s every movement. He rids himself of his finery as well, shrugging out of his layers until there’s nothing left. The moonlight hits his skin prettily, almost as dainty as the way his eyes catch in the candlelight. He chases you, chases your mouth, presses his cock against you and ruts for a moment. You can’t help but be dizzy with lust yourself. You leave your own marks across his collarbones and chest, mindful of his neck and what skin would peek above his elegant collars. You wonder how he’ll take you. Astarion has always been the creative type. Sometimes you’ll ride him, and sometimes he’ll ride you until you see stars. Despite his urgency, he seems tender tonight.

Astarion wants to make you feel good. He wants to find your heat and bask in the warmth. You can tell in the way he watches your face ever so fondly. He’s always been so good at masking how much he prefers you to anyone he’s spoken to before. You’ve stood and listened as the perfect guard during meetings with dignitaries from neighboring cities, and Astarion always spoke to them with practiced politeness bearing a practiced albeit bored undertone. Yet with you, he seems to hang onto your every word. He takes it in until there was nothing left to share. He cares when you are supposed to be nothing more than a knight at his door.

‘I have a gift for you tonight,’ Astarion says suddenly. He blushes. It’s adorable how much it’s unlike him.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

‘Patience,’ he complains, but he doesn’t mean it.

Astarion reaches for something just beyond your sight, and when he sits back up, you feel as though someone has released a cage of birds in the pit of your stomach. He holds out a small silver band for your inspection. ‘A warding ring,’ he explains. ‘I had my Master of the Arcane enchant it for you — for us.’

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Put it on first,’ he insists. ‘For me.’

Something must show on your face, because he’s quick to show you his own hand. There is a matching silver band there, and it causes your heart to swell so much you think your heart will give out. Astarion, with great care, slides the band onto your finger and then looks at you, hopeful.

‘Whatever you feel, I shall feel,’ he says like a promise. ‘You and I, together.’

You guide his mouth to yours before you can do something silly like cry. When you touch his chest, intent on finding his heartbeat, you can feel it so frantic against your palm.

What is a better story than a prince and his knight? A savior and his sword? The bards will sing forever about the prince and his favored knight, their matching rings, their sacred vows. You ache with longing. You surge with love. It is all Astarion’s fault.

You push your hands through his thick curls and guide him to lie on top of you. You can feel the ring humming with magic. Though you are sure this isn’t its intended use, you can’t help but feel nervous.

You take him into your arms. He collapses into you and your only thought is that it’s a little poetic. You have caught a star as it fell from the sky. Now, it rests in your hands again and again and again until, slowly, you cannot exist without one another. His mouth finds yours, and your hands with the matching rings reach out for one another as though choreographed. Astarion presses you against his sheets and you willingly let him devour you once more. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Astarion kisses down your chest again. He kisses your tummy and all the muscle you’ve earned from being a knight. He kisses every scar from every battle you’ve ever endured all the way down to your hips, to that warm core that lies between them. You moan unapologetically, head rushing until you’re almost positive you’re going to faint. Astarion presses a kiss between your legs, growls as though he was a man starved before finding you, and takes you into his mouth.

It’s a little romantic how you’ve grown together. You were each other’s firsts — Astarion taught you how to kiss, and you taught him how to fondle someone else’s body without feeling shy about it. You had first used your mouth on him, but he had taken all of the knowledge you had given and weaponized it against you the next moment that he could. He’s determined to please, desperate for compliments, hopeless in all his endeavors to please you almost as much as you’ve pleased him. But unlike you, Astarion is selfish and he reaches for fruit to pluck that anyone else would have discarded as soon as something better came along. He chose you.

He licks and bites and nuzzles and feasts upon the very fruit of you, groaning at how you taste. It’s his favorite taste in the world, and he would brag about it if it didn’t make your cheeks flush. He laps at your folds hungrily and squeezes the thickness your thighs until they’ve bruised.

‘Little star,’ you whine, pressing your hands to your eyes. ‘Please, please.’

His tongue is like torture. Astarion never does anything without fully committing, and from your time together, you know he’s memorized every little thing he can do to drive you absolutely wild. He’s pulled your legs over his shoulders, his fingers moving on after bruising them to dig into your hip bones, and he hums so prettily for you.

Even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. You want Astarion to stop teasing you so insistently. You want to feel his heartbeat, you want to taste his lips. There’s a part of you so empty and full of longing that if you wait any longer, if you withhold anymore, you might lose yourself. The only thing serving to ground you to this world is depravity, twisting carnal lust, and the depths of your love. You shiver under his touch and moan even as you try to hush it.

‘ — star!’ you cry sharply.

You try to twist out of his grasp, crying at how determined he is, but Astarion simply drags you back down to where he is as if it’s nothing to him. He doesn’t stop torturing with your tongue until you’ve choked out a sob and chased your release, chest heaving from the effort. He doesn’t let you go for long either, climbing up your body so that he can press encouraging kisses to your jaw, pushing your damp curls back from your temple.

Astarion pushes his nose against your ear and breathes in, almost so desperate to have memorized your very scent. It’s always been his little habit. As if just by knowing your smell, he is able to do whatever he needs to accomplish in this world.

‘You,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘are always so magnificent for me.’

You reach for his hip, the back of your knuckles sweeping against his sharp bone. ‘I want to do the same for you,’ you say shakily. ‘Let me have you, please. It’s all I want.’

He moans, soft and quiet, and settles between your legs. He kisses you again with that same hunger. The same, almost desperate kind of lust. He presses you so far into his sheets that you’re not sure you’ll ever be released from them again. And you think you would be fine with that. There’s nothing more that you want than to stay here with him. His hands joined with yours, your hips pressed to his, forever until the world has ended.

You slide your hands across the broad sweep of his shoulders and feel as his muscles shift. He is so gentle with you even when he doesn’t have to be. He’s cautious, meticulous, almost ridiculously polite because it’s you. His love is like an apology for everything you’ve been through, and when he cradles the back of your head, you lean into his touch.

‘You are mine,’ he says tenderly. His thumb sweeps across your cheek.

‘Take me,’ you say hungrily. ‘I am your prize.’

‘You were created by the gods for me,’ Astarion tells you sincerely. He sits onto his knees and pulls your hands flush against his stomach. ‘Look at how well you fit against me.’

You were never one to be shy before, but his praise causes you to turn your cheek aside and look away. He pushes his hands up your thighs, searching, admiring. He says pretty words, but he’ll never understand if you were to repeat the things he’s said back to him. Underneath that prestigious bravado and practiced façade, Astarion still understands little of his own divinity and worth. You’re thankful for him as much as he is for you, and you allow him this. He finds his worth at your core and marvels in it, allowing you to see him as Astarion. Like a mortal making a deal with a cambion, he reaches for you.

‘Do you want me inside of you?’ he asks in a graveled voice.

‘More than anything else,’ you reply, choking on how thick your want is. You think about how it feels every time he’s claimed you and shudder. ‘Please.’

‘I am going to get lost in you for hours,’ Astarion promises. He smiles, dangerous and dark. ‘When you return to your post, you’ll feel me still. You’ll be sorer than you’ve ever been.’

You are so aroused it’s painful. You ache and twist, spreading your legs so that he might take you then and there without so much as a second thought. You need the closeness. His grounding touch. His cock, as much as it would embarrass you to say aloud, has been on your mind ever since he invited you inside his room. He strokes your hip.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says fondly.

He leans forward and kisses you. He connects with you like that, nose brushing yours affectionately, before he stares at the little shivers you’re now aware you’re doing. He sees everything, knows everything. It delights him.

And then he slides his cock into you. Slowly, agonizingly, inch by inch. He squeezes your hip in encouragement, but you’re too full and he’s too thick for you to manage any coherent thought. He’s determined to reach the deepest parts of your core.

Astarion speaks through gritted teeth. ‘You are perfect.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘You are.’

‘I like to watch,’ he says honestly. ‘I like to see how you take me. You’re so tight here, did you know?’

‘More — ’

‘Use your words for me.’

You swallow. ‘I want you — to fuck me.’

‘You’ve been a good pup,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I’ll make love to you until dawn calls.’

For the faintest few heartbeats, this is the only way you want to exist. He is pressed inside of you, and you are surrounded by nothing but him and his scent and his bed and his pretty words, longing so intently to memorialize this moment. Astarion is haloed by the silver moonlight. He shines prettier than the crown he wears at court.

He shines brighter than the stars.

You’re aware of how fragile your breathing sounds. You forcefully drag air down into your lungs and hold his gaze, so warm and soft when he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s so different this time with him, but you reach out until he entwines your fingers together and you lose yourself in a way you haven’t before. You don’t realize you’re crying until he coos at you and calls you beautiful.

Astarion only moves once he’s assured you’re not in any pain. He’s conscious of the way you tense, but you shake your head and try to dry your tears.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t really sure why you’re so emotional tonight. You’re ignoring what the rings promise on purpose. A meaning that you are too nervous to confront. You know it’s how much you wish this was your fate. It all comes to a boil when he leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear. Astarion wraps his arms around you and moans softly in your ear, the heat of his cheek flush against your temple.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I can feel you,’ you whisper back, voice uneven. ‘All the way inside.’

‘Our souls are touching tonight,’ Astarion promises you. ;This is what I want to give you.’

Once he’s assured that you’re fine, Astarion begins moving inside you. You still feel overly full. It’s almost difficult to breathe, that you’re so aware of how deep his cock is inside of you — as if it’s the first time you’ve experienced him before. He murmurs encouragement into your hair and ruts further and further, but when you press your fingers against his biceps, you can feel how he’s shaking too.

‘Let me be yours,’ you say softly, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Let me be with you, Astarion, please.’

‘You are my pretty consort,’ Astarion says fiercely. ‘You belong to me, and I to you.’

His consort, his knight. The one he comes home to, that he ignores all the other lovely people at court for. The idea of it makes your blood warm, makes you feel a little wild and different. You rock your hips back against Astarion’s. Feeling him lose what little of his control pushes you over the edge. You start mumbling nonsensically, thank you, thank you, my prince, my star, thank you, I feel it, Astarion and he growls low in the bottom of his throat. His hips stutter against yours and you know with a little wiggle, you could make him spend then and there.

It’s only when Astarion pushes into you as far as he can go, the tip of his cock pressed as deep into your core as you can handle it, that you remember what a devout worshiper you are. You’re fully aware of how your spine protests the way your back arches up off the bed. You feel Astarion’s mouth hot and desperate against the side of your throat, his hands slowly sliding down your skin to grip your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in harshly to the curve of your ass.

When you dare meet his gaze, you’re mesmerized.

Astarion has always been the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. The height of his cheekbones, the way they flush when you moan his name. His uneven smile, the way his teeth point when he laughs. His intense eyes that take in even your faintest moves. He is sharp and calculated, cunning and keen on dramatics — but underneath, you can see the gentler side. The warmth in his gaze. The way he laughs ugly with you instead of with practiced finesse. You fit rather well together. Perfectly, like a puzzle. Intoxicatingly. He catches you staring and his breath catches in his throat.

You must be quite the sight as well. Astarion always lavished you with the utmost attention, often buying you things you’d never need as a knight. Rings, gowns, circlets and other finery to wear with him on your occasional strolls through Baldur’s Gate when you were off-duty and carefree.

You feel nearly feral at this moment. It takes all your self-control to not rake your nails down his spine or bite his shoulder because you’re too full and he’s too much and you’re almost certain you’re going to explode, but you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him tighter to you until there’s almost nothing else he can do that grind uselessly, desperate sounds coming from both of your mouths as you try to hold on just a little longer.

Without thinking, without caution, you whisper, ‘Inside — Tonight, I want you to — ’

‘Gods,’ he chokes out. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Please,’ you beg. ‘I’ve been good. I’ve been — ’

Astarion burrows his face against your collarbone, whining unceremoniously. That’s when you can feel it, his cum, hot and warm, so wonderful and dizzying that you also forget to be dignified. Your fingers stutter against his skin, and if it was painful to experience, the only proof is the way Astarion hisses at the burn and coils dangerously beneath your touch.

‘That’s it,’ he soothes proudly. ‘You’ve done well, my sweet.’

You murmur, ‘So much.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Astarion says. He pouts his bottom lip. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ you say.

‘Well,’ Astarion allows with a small laugh, ‘I am rather perfect, I agree.’

He groans when he pulls away from you, brow furrowed in concentration. He trembles with exertion, and whatever other plans he might have had are forgotten, for Astarion drops down into his sheets beside you in all his naked and exhausted glory and presses close to you, an arm thrown over your waist.

A pang of guilt hits you at the sight of his closed door. Your armor is thrown carelessly across this floor, and while you wish you could enjoy this moment of bliss with him, you must continue to do your actual duty of guarding the prince. You move, delicate, to stand up. Astarion wraps his other arm around you.

‘Where are you going?’ he demands tiredly. ‘The sun is not yet up. Come back.’

‘My post — ’

‘Fuck your post,’ he snorts. ‘Your only duty is to lie in my bed and look pretty.’

You open your mouth to protest, but Astarion fusses. It’s hard to deny him even though you know only what the Captain of his Kingsguard has instilled in you. The moonlight is a gorgeous embellishment on his skin, and the ridges of his body are enticing enough that you forget your vows for the time being. Your heart squeezes at the tenderness. Astarion welcomes you back into his arms without further complaint. It’s your turn to tuck your head against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body as he cradles you close.

‘This is where you belong,’ Astarion tells you plainly. ‘You and I belong in bed having forgotten our other duties forevermore. The kingdom may fall to rot and ruin for all I care. As long as I have you, I care not.’ He touches your hip. ‘I know what you must be thinking. That it isn’t that easy. But it is that easy. I’m the prince and I want it to be so. I see our fate in my dreams.’

You allow yourself to daydream and doze for the moment. He’s murmuring sweet things into your hair, and your eyes are so heavy you know when you close them, it’ll be hard for you to wake up if you give in. The ache in your muscles is comforting. It’s a reminder of all the ways Astarion has ever had you, and you can’t help but wonder if this really is where your life was always meant to head.

You do fall asleep. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you fall into a peaceful slumber with Astarion’s hand petting your spine. When you next awake, Astarion is no longer at your side. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring out of the window watching as dawn begins to peek through.

He hasn’t left you entirely alone. He’s draped his many fancy satin blankets over you and somehow managed to coax your head onto a pillow without waking you. You’re almost inspired to fall back asleep at the sight, but the view of Astarion basking in an orange glimmer keeps you from entering the depths of your mind once more.

‘No,’ Astarion says. He’s smiling. ‘Don’t move. I like the way you look.’

‘And how do I look, your highness?’

‘Sated.’

‘Come back to me, my love,’ you say. You try to hold one of your hands out, but you’re still so very tired from before. You press your cheek further into the pillow. ‘’m cold.’

‘I was thinking,’ he says.

‘Enough thinking,’ you whine. ‘I miss you beside me.’

‘Promise me something first.’

‘What shall I promise?’

‘That when I am king, you will help me create my new world,’ Astarion says, peering affectionately at you from over his shoulder. ‘A world where you are both my shield and my consort. A world where no one else like us has to get hurt.’

You start to sit up at that, blood suddenly rushing to your head as you try to think of what he means. Were you not already his Shield, extending your Sword to his greatest foes? Were you not already his Consort in all but proper name? You furrow your eyebrows, too sleepy and overwhelmed, but Astarion is quick to come to your side, to press kisses into your hair and against your ear and at the tears on your cheeks.

‘When I am king, there will be no need for us to hide like this,’ Astarion promises, petting his hand comfortingly down your spine. He shushes you. ‘I will sit on the throne and you will sit beside me.’ When he’s certain you’re done crying, he adds, ‘Or in my lap, if you prefer.’

Somehow, there’s only one thing you can manage to say. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Astarion says. ‘That’s why I will do this for us.’

‘Will it go well?’

He hums. ‘Of course it will go well. I will be king. I will make it go well.’

You say again, ‘I love you.’

‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

‘I promise,’ you say, ‘to help you.’

‘Then say no more, my love,’ he whispers. He kisses the side of your throat again and slowly pulls his silk sheets away from your skin. The cold morning air leaves a trail of gooseflesh down your spine, and he tastes every knot of it with his mouth and tongue. He gives you commands, ‘Let me have you again. You’re so beautiful in the morning light. I need you now more than ever. Gods, the things you do to me.’

You rock your hips back to meet his. It’s an alluring situation straight from your wildest, most longing of dreams — a world where you might sit alongside Astarion as he rules, no longer a simple guard dog to follow commands, but something else. Something sweeter.

It was like marriage but better. The thought of you and Astarion rising to godhood through his own determined means rather than falling into the same song the bards often liked to play on unrequited love. You allow him to trace his fingers down your stomach to that place between your legs, your warm core where you’re certain he’s found his divinity. Astarion presses his cock against your lower back and gives into his own avarice. He bites your shoulder almost a touch too rough and leaves a bruise in the shape of his teeth, reveling in your shocked cry.

You want him.

You want to be by his side, to kneel at his feet. You want to watch him dress in the mornings and fall into his arms every evening. You want to place his crown atop his brow. You arch your hips against his waist, and ponder about the creation of the empyrean heavens above. You will guide him to become celestial.

It’s with a near untamed fervor that Astarion tears through his sheets to get to you. He slides his knee beneath yours and pushes it forward, his breath warm and hiccuped against the blade of your shoulder. He doesn’t hurt you and he never would, but he slides his cock inside, the tenderness of earlier forgotten.

‘Be loud,’ he encourages you, groaning, his hand still scrambling against the arc of your belly. He sounds debauched. ‘Let them all hear. Let them know.’

He fucks into you like he wants you both to grow together. One body and one soul. You’re glad for it. It only intensifies the burn from the evening and pushes you to a place you’ve never been before. You’re almost certain you see sparks in your vision, but you do as asked. You don’t swallow down your moans. They’re taut, sharp, staccato ah-ah-ahs that match the sun’s rise.

It’s almost sweet how hard Astarion fucks into you. His princely demeanor is gone now, the control he tries to exhibit. He moans freely as well and kisses without meaning. Your shoulder, the back of your head, the nape of your neck, and he’s babbling things that don’t make sense. But you’re no better. Your cheeks are so warm you’re feverish, hands clenched in his sheets, and the pleasure borders on welcomed pain when he sits up behind you, knee still forcing you to be pliant, as he drags his cock in and out of you from behind. Astarion is watching again, one hand on your lower back, the other on your ass. When you try to hide your face in mild embarrassment, he scolds you.

‘Let me see you,’ Astarion rasps. ‘Let me see, I want to see everything — ’

So you let him, shifting and arching as much as your back will let you. Your muscles feel strained. Your mind is hardly there. But the prince has asked, and it would be rude of you to not heed his call. It’s not as though it matters. You’re easily distracted by the way he presses himself in and out of you, intoxicated by the gravitational pull he’s created between you. You can’t help but lean into his every touch, to mewl, to whine the exact way he likes.

You wonder what Lord Gortash would think of his loyal dog if he saw it now. You were taught the blade and the bow, how to use a lance and a shield, and you were never meant to be anything more than a warrior given to the ground so that he could get on the good side of the king. There isn’t much of your life you can remember before you were brought to the steps of the throne room and thrown down before the prince and his father. All you remember is looking up and seeing an angel smiling down at you.

So you arch your back and push up into your elbows, looking over your shoulder to catch Astarion’s eyes. He’s constantly looking between your face to make sure you’re alright and looking down at your hips where your bodies meet. He has the audacity to blush. It makes him look sweet and less severe.

‘More — ’

The fairest thought you have is that you’re not sure you can take more. There’s something ferocious building in the pit of your stomach, a volatile hunger unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your almost delirious with how much greed is inside you, how you long to do this all day if you could. Sitting pretty on your hands and knees and belly while Astarion ravishes you — forgetting your duties and the kingdom — but it’s somehow worse than before when you’re aware that he would do the same. Gone is any sense of decency, replaced by something carnal, something infernal.

Just when you think he might be done with you, Astarion pulls out and drags your body along. He lays handsomely in the center of his pillows, a deep blue and rich satin and silk display, and pulls you into his lap. His bottom lip is ruined from where he’s bitten it in an attempt to maintain control.

He arranges for you as he likes. He tilts his head to the side as if looking upon a painting. Finally, he coaxes you upwards and whispers kind encouragements as you guide and slide his cock back inside of you. You aren’t sure how far it can go, but then it goes deeper and deeper and deeper until you’re sick.

‘Oh,’ you cry sweetly. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t — ’

‘You can,’ Astarion promises, rubbing his thumb across your hip. ‘You can do anything. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were created for this.’

You sit atop him, your ass flush against his hips, and try desperately to not squirm in his lap. The wiggling makes it worse, you think. You feel swollen around him. He feels thickest inside of you. And you can’t help but lean forward as he rubbs his hands up and down your spine, kissing your temple and cheek and jaw. You can kiss him better this way. You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, taste his words.

‘I love you,’ you say over and over.

‘I know,’ he murmurs, kissing your tears.

And you do cry in this position, overwhelmed and stuttering. Astarion guides your hips back and forth across his so that he’s not necessarily drilling inside of you, but watching how you dance across his cock. He always watches so intently as if he’s afraid to miss anything you do. He guides you intently, humming, tensing beneath your thighs as you try to balance yourself with your hands on his belly.

Astarion moans at the sight. He sounds positively wrecked. You decide that you want to hear him sing for you again, so you raise your hips this time and slide them back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, treating it more like trying to hit a tricky shot with an arrow rather than taking and un-taking every inch of his cock. You’re trembling so much that you seek out his hands, guiding them away from your hips so he can tuck them under your thighs for help.

‘Ah,’ Astarion says hoarsely. ‘Fuck.’

And that’s how he helps you, his hands helping carry your weight so that you can bounce on his cock and enjoy every minute of it. The physical strain is worth it. You know Astarion likes to watch, possessive of the way you look and ride, and his eyes shine with a certain kind of deviance that you’ve grown to love.

It’s a long way from where you started as a poor soul standing on the steps, but you lean forward and kiss your raison d'être on his open mouth, savoring the way his bruised lip tastes in your mouth, enjoying just how much he enjoys you. The sunlight warms your skin and basks Astarion in a golden glow, so impossibly handsome that they should write songs about the way he looks after a night of lovemaking. He groans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard enough you’re almost certain he’s drawn blood.

You don’t mind it. You welcome the rougher things, enjoy them as much as he does. You lean back, hands now behind you on his thighs, and try to not feel too self-conscious about how open you’re being with your body. You’re encouraged to do it. His reactions are what drive you to be better. Because Astarion’s eyes widen slightly to take in the sight of your legs spread apart as you sit on his cock, your skin shining with a delicate veil of sweat. He comes with a rough moan.

Gods, you could listen to the sound of him all day.

You fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Your limbs feel like nothing after a night of increasingly more difficult sex, but it’s worth it for the way he spoils you after. Astarion kisses you nice and slow, lips and tongue and teeth, as if an apology for the roughness you willingly endured. He cradles you close to his body. He always seeks your warmth, always tries to press as close as he can.

It’s your turn to preen under his careful ministrations. Astarion pushes your sweaty hair back from your face and runs the tips of his fingers across your cheekbones and forehead, following the delicate lines of your bone structure. He lightly pinches your cheeks as if to savor the heat of your blush, but it doesn’t hurt when he does it. He kisses them better. He helps you slide back down into his sheets and takes note of the mess, smoothing his fingers against the bruises and love bites he’s left as gifts against your skin.

Astarion takes gentle care as he lifts your hand. He admires the ring on it and watches as he slides his fingers into yours so that his ring can crowd the empty spaces of your fingers. He kisses the back of your hand like a proper prince and then unceremoniously collapses down by your side, boneless and lazy.

‘You’ve made a mess,’ you accuse him sleepily.

‘I made you happy,’ Astarion corrects.

You reach out and touch his throat. ‘You’ve ruined your sheets.’

‘These sheets are perfect, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like you.’

Later in the morning, after you’ve rested again despite your attempts to stay awake, you’re coaxed back into existence by Astarion’s lips dancing softly against the nape of your deck. You’re almost certain he’s going to ask for more — a thought that startles you — but instead he lifts you from the depths of his blankets and carries you to a bathing tub in the corner of his quarters. He lowers you into freshly warmed water, and you try to not let how much you long for him show.

‘The maids — ’

‘They’ve seen you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But they did not care. You should have heard the way they swooned over us.’

He lavishes you again with rose petals and fancy perfumes and soaps. He guides a cloth over your skin and even massages a rather determined knot in your hip. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You’d let him pamper you for the next month if you could.

‘I will have you like this often,’ Astarion warns. ‘Tonight. Every night. You have no idea what you’ve done to me. It’s like you’ve enchanted me.’

He’s climbed in with you at this point, tucked behind you so that he can style your hair in a plait. He likes the way it’s gotten long. You can tell how hard he’s thinking by how silent he is. His fingers trickle water down your spine and occasionally trace the shape of a petal against your skin. You shiver and allow him these idle distractions, basking in his touches and singing while he allows himself to wander in his lost thoughts. You fall asleep again briefly, lulled into a dream by the warmth and the relaxing scents of the many perfumes and Astarion humming softly in your ear.

Astarion washes your chest again to avoid having to leave the bath. He’s in one of his contemplative moods, eyes somewhere a thousand miles away, lips twisted in curiosity. You would’ve stayed forever as well, but the water is slowly getting colder and you’re beginning to shiver. You look over your shoulder at him. You watch as his eyelashes flutter and close as if he too is moments away from falling asleep, but then you see it. A sign of melancholic hope.

‘You and I belong together,’ you tell him.

‘We are the greatest match together the world has ever seen,’ Astarion agrees. ‘There is no one else.’

‘It is an honor,’ you say. You catch a petal in your palm and show him.

He pulls your fingers up to his mouth with his own hand guiding you. He kisses your palm and the petal, and then each of your fingertips one by one.

‘I’m doing this for you, you know,’ he murmurs.

‘You are doing this for us,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘We are a family.’

‘We are more than a family,’ he insists. ‘We are more than lovers. Our souls belong together.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you say.

Whatever world Astarion is imagining, you’re beginning to see it too. A world where being a king means more than throwing extravagant parties and hosting masquerades and balls and ignoring those in need. Astarion cares because you care, and that makes your heart squeeze dangerously. You are with Astarion when he usurps his father’s court. He had called them weak-willed men in front of his own council, his lip curled in distaste. They had allowed a shadow ruler to take his father’s place for years, had controlled the crown like a puppeteer would his prized puppet. And now, Astarion has pulled together enough favor to overthrow those who had betrayed him, who had betrayed you, and who had betrayed Baldur’s Gate most of all.

‘I believe you are sitting in my chair,’ Astarion calmly tells Ketheric Thorm.

The removal of the pretenders is fairly certain. Ketheric’s own daughter Isobel aids in his arrest. The installation of Astarion’s council is relatively easy with such esteemed replacements. Wyll Ravengard takes his father’s place as Lord Commander of the Flaming Fist. Karlach takes Enver Gortash’s place as leader of the city guard, betrayed as you were, and her eyes burn with heat when she pulls him from his tower. Gale and Shadowheart had been planning the entire thing for years behind the scenes, favoring Astarion against the old court. All you do is stand beside Astarion with your hand on the hilt of your blade though no one dared raise their arms against him.

Astarion’s coronation takes place later that week, and even with all the planning, he does not allow you to stray from his side. You are with him when meeting with the emissaries Lady Lae’zel and Lord Halsin and Lady Jaheira. You are with him during his fittings. You are with Astarion the night before when he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You are there the day of his coronation. He is dressed in brilliant reds and off-whites and wears a crown with rubies. You stand alongside him in the armor he commissioned for you styled after Dame Aylin’s and hold the sword gifted to you from the crown.

It is a wedding as well.

A wedding of peace and resilience. A wedding of love and understanding.You drop down before him to one knee and swear anew your vows, though now they taste sweeter on your tongue. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, the Consort of the Chosen. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. When you rise, Astarion kisses you.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #* et toi，et moi

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behidethetrees · 10 months

Text

THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK, STILL SMELLS LIKE YOU.

IN WHICH… having a job while dating a clingy rafe doesn’t exactly go hand in hand.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem! Pogue!Reader

Contents: NON-CANON!Rafe, Reader fixes cars, clingy and possessive! Rafe, brief Pope mention, Your friends are the pogues, This is set in the 2000s!!

THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! my old blog was deleted so i have to reupload all my fics :( Anways enjoy!

Prequel Part 1

Rafe hates that you work.

You weren't meant to clean cars, You were meant to stay inside your Tannyhill house with Rafe, Always next to him, never out of his sight.

He hated the assholes you complained about for being rude to you. Rafe always argued or sometimes fought people who even looked at you wrong. Once he heard some old dude yell at you to hurry up, Later that night Rafe smashed his car with his golf club. He was big on respect especially when it came to you.

But there was nothing more that Rafe hated than the fact you worked with Guys alongside two other girls. It's not that he didn't trust you or thought you might cheat on him with them, He didn't trust them. You were beautiful, heaven sent in Rafe's eyes. Your guy friends were lucky to even be in your presence, Or they were even luckier Rafe didn't bash their heads open for being around you.

Sometimes Rafe would show up to your job for a bit when he wasn't playing golf or he missed you extra. You knew Rafe was very, very clingy, always touching you in some way, But today was extreme.

JULY, 2008.

“Rafe I'm gonna be late!” You tried to get Rafe off your back but he kept hugging you tighter.

“Do you have to have to go, why can't I come, why can't you just quit already?” Rafe whines. He'd never admit it out loud but he dreaded the times you went to work.

You start to waddle towards the front door. “If I let you come with me will you get off of me?” You question him.

Almost instantly Rafe steps away, looking at you surprised as you already walk outside, opening your car door. “Really? I can go?” He asks shocked.

“If you dont get in the car in 10 seconds I'm leaving you.” You stated, Not that you were going to leave him but you wanted him to hurry up. Rafe almost trips because of how fast he darted to your car. Rafe insisted he’d drive you, that wasnt up for discussion.

Rafe opens the car door for you when you two arrive at the Pogue bodyshop. He slips his arms around your waist as you walk, keeping you close to him, This was going to be a long day.

When you popped open the hood of your client's car, Rafe hugged you from behind, Kissing your neck gently as you worked. At first you didn't mind but it started becoming a lot. Anywhere you walked, Rafe followed. When you went to talk to anybody Rafe slung his arm around your neck while giving whoever the death stare, making sure they know you're his.

When you went on lunch break Rafe sat you in his lap, keeping you away from your friends. As you eat your sandwich, Occasionally letting Rafe have a bite, Your friend Pope comes up to you.

“Hey Y/N do you want my chips?” Pope offered, He always gave you his chips because he felt too guilty to tell his mom she wasnt getting the right kind.

“Yeah sure thanks Pope” You smiled at him, as you extended your arm to grab them, You felt Rafe's strong arm pull yours back down.

“Fuck off.” Rafe grits through his teeth, Staring at him tensely. Pope's expression fell and he quickly turned around to start speed walking to the other pogues.

“What the hell was that?” You flicked Rafe on the forehead.

“I dont like him, He's no good like the rest of those pogues.” Rafe states as he rubs the part of his forehead you flicked him on. Rafe didn't like your friends for many reasons, stupid reasons. Mostly because they're pogues, like you, which confused you.

“Im a pogue too Rafe.” You remind him as you cross your arms, You didn't understand the whole ‘Kooks vs. Pogues’ rivalry. You recall the first time you met JJ he went on a rant on how you should stay away from kooks and how they're the real trash.

“Not like them, you're different baby.” Rafe tried to clarify but he had already messed up. You stood up in front of him, still crossing your arms.

“Apologize to him or leave.” You tell him. “ You can't come to my work just to be mean to my friends and clients, And I can't work with you all up on me Rafe!” Rafe quickly stood up, He heard your tone and your voice slightly getting louder indicating you were getting annoyed with him. But luckily for Rafe, he knew how to get you to calm down.

“Hey, hey I'm sorry okay? Really I am, dont make me leave.” Rafe grabbed your hands to take them into his own. All it took was Rafe's sweet words and his dazzling eyes for you to give in to him. Your face softens as you look at him.

You sigh. “Please stop clinging to me when I'm working okay? I promise we can cuddle when we get home but I need to get this car done.” You tell him, He quickly nods.

“And I'm serious Rafe, apologize to Pope!” You playfully push his shoulder.

“Whatever you want baby.”

A/N: someone on my old blog wanted a prequel of how they met so i will do that soon <3.

Requests

Taglist: @nowitsmissing

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #obx3 #obx fic #rafe obx #obx x reader

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envy-of-the-apple · 1 month

Note

RAST IS AMAZING!!! I’VE READ IT FOR ABOUT 3 TIMES NOW. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CREATING THIS LOVELY GEM OF A FIC <3

So how did Satoru’s feelings for ms gem develop? For Suguru, was it love-at-first-sight? I don’t know how in-sync the minds of stsg are here but what kind of dynamic would the three of them have in the long run?

ty! i dont rlly like explaining how the yandere fell cuz i never feel as though my explanations are believable, but since u left such a sweet comment ill give a short prequel

Over the weeks, Satoru grew increasingly accustomed to Suguru talking about his new worker bee.

Their nightly talks were the one thing Satoru looked forward to during every trip overseas. Listening to his man drone on and on about one thing or another.

However, Suguru's newest hyperfixation was something else.

"—just the cutest thing." Suguru let out another dreamy sigh. "I think the two of you will hit it off quite nicely."

"Think so?" Satoru grins, amused. "Things were starting to get boring anyway. It'd be nice to come home and have something new to play with."

Suguru gives a disapproving grunt. "Not this time, Satoru. We're keeping this one."

Satoru sits up from the bed. "Keeping? You're acting like you took an animal off the street."

"Hm, I guess this could be comparable to finding a cute stray kitten," Suguru says.

Satoru frowns. He's not jealous, but Suguru's starting to get a little weird about the newbie. Sure, they'd dabbled in sharing before, but he's never heard Suguru gush about anyone like this. Not even him.

Fuck, okay, he might be a little jealous.

"This stray is very timid, however." Suguru continues. "So be nice."

Satoru scoffs. "I'm always nice."

"Ijichi and the rest of our employees say otherwise," Suguru responds. "Don't scare the poor thing off. And you'll see what I see soon enough."

Wow, he was serious about this. This new worker-bee really has him whipped.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it."

After he gets off the phone, Satoru flops on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The hotel bed feels so empty without Suguru's warmth.

Fine, he'll go back home and see what his man is so obsessed with. And if he doesn't like what he sees, he'll just kill the stray.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #x reader #yandere gojo satoru #dark gojo satoru #asks #RAST asks #dark geto suguru #yandere geto suguru

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burnednotburied · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: A New Prophet

AO3 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into much more. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible. I split this part into two chapters because it’s so long.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

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March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there would be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and had always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly felt very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing inward, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

#the wolf and the prophet #my writing #abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

Text

REJECTION

YANDERE! IDOL! OC! (EVE) x IDOL! READER BLURB (ft. new ocs!)

Before we start, I’m excited to announce that I’m finally starting an HNSVerse webtoon/comic series w/ our starting story ( being the one Eve/Jisoo is featured in ) Love ♡ Multiplied ! Invasion of Your Heart this fall. Hope to see you guys during its release ehe.

If you’re new to my blog, go ahead and check the tag hns.eve for more works of him, or check out my master list.

Without further ado, here’s Eve’s first ‘solo’ fic! Enjoy!

warnings: yandere themes (obsessive love, violence, unreliable narrator). mentions of alcohol abuse/alcoholism. incel/nice guy jisoo. profanity.

status: unedited

©️ both the art and story belong to me, please do not redistribute, repost, translate or share without credit/permission.

this particular fic is safe for minors (16+) so no mdni on this folks. feel free to enjoy.

[previous fic / prequel to this fic]

“I’m sorry, but I don’t like you that way.”

Jisoo never truly knew the power of words til he heard you after his confession.

He prepared months in advance, with a dedication that was unusual to him at the time.

He picked the perfect venue, the one convenience store you two always ate onigiri at. He picked the perfect time, sunset — to really set the mood — and a week after monthly examinations so that emotions were not running too high. He spent hours, days, maybe even weeks just agonizing over the words to choose when he finally poured his feelings out. He even prepared for times after the

Throughout his whole time as a trainee, nothing felt as bad as the dejection your words gave him.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re more of a dad to me . . .” He saw your eyes flick left and right, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement despite the plan he meticulously concocted.

Still he could not control the poison from injecting itself within the crevices of his inflection, his delivery coming out as awfully sour — maybe even petty, “A dad? You’re older than me.”

“Yeah, a dad friend. You’re the more mature one between us and . . . I just — I just can’t see you romantically.” If the damage wasn’t enough, you ended your explanation with an emphasis. “Ever.”

You then grabbed your belongings and left. Though, being the polite and kind person you were, you made sure to at least give him a farewell.

Jisoo sighed, looking up towards the convenience store ceiling lights. The sting from the bright luminance distracted him only a little bit before his mind went back to you. Consumed by his thoughts, his heart suddenly began beating a million times a second. A sudden adrenaline rush overcame him.

If you didn’t like him because of his personality, he’ll just go ahead and change that up a bit.

The day right after, Jisoo found himself doing something he would have never even thought of. It was amazing how much you made him realize and change. It was actually why completely fell in the first place.

Though, the changes before were natural and a bit too slow. Jisoo needed to have you as his as soon as he possibly could. And so, change had to happen now and under his jurisdiction.

You weren’t present that day, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary to follow a couple of trainees out when lessons concluded. Usually he was completely stuck to your side and your side alone. Conversation didn’t come naturally to him, as such friends don’t either.

It took him a few minutes to man up and a long, deep breath to finally attempt getting one of the trainee’s attention.

Daehyun was his name, Jisoo thinks. When getting the former’s attention he opted to tug the guy’s sleeve just to be safe.

“What’s up? Oh, it’s you. ” Daehyun turned around. His silver eyes sparkled underneath the late afternoon’s sunlight. He was one of if not the best dancer in Celestial Entertainment. In addition to that, he was known for charming personality and magnetic stage presence.

Frankly, Jisoo only saw him as annoyingly bright and cheery. They were exact opposites. They fought on a daily basis.

But that was exactly why Jisoo needed him in particular.

“You’re childish.” Jisoo began.

Daehyun’s jaw goes slack at this cool, raven haired giant’s audacity. Most of the time he’d come back with a retort but he was utterly drained from practice. “Ah. . .Okay then. . . Well I gotta go — “

Daehyun jerked his arm away, but that only prompted Jisoo to fully grab him by the bicep, “Teach me.”

“Sorry, I think I’m misunderstandiny you. You want me to teach you how to be childish?“

Jisoo nodded vigorously, “I want to be a better idol. And . . . a better fellow trainee. Listen. I’ve been a terrible person to everyone here. I just want to be better.”

Daehyun doesn’t answer for a long time. Maybe even minutes pass before he did. At least, enough time for the trainee walking alongside him to realize his partner wasn’t near him anymore.

His jaw was still wide open.

“Wow, points for self-awareness yo. Finally.”

“Bold words for someone in punching range.” Jisoo lets go of the shorter man’s arm and crosses his. An eyebrow raised.

“Fine, fine. Guess your short temper hasn’t gone anywhere. Time for Being Chill 101, yeah?” Daehyun then shouted to his companion, an even shorter guy that Jisoo dreaded asking help from. But he was desperate. Beggars can never be choosers. “Hayate! C’mere! Jisoo needs a lil help!”

“Eeehhhhh—?! Jisoo? Asking for help? The gods have answered our prayers!”

Jisoo soon realized that he asked help from a bunch of hooligans.

If he faces rejection again after all this trouble, he might just murder a man.

“Hey.” You walked towards Jisoo with your usual smile.

“Heyyy!” He greeted back. Earning a confused look from you as you sat beside him.

You chuckled at his strange demeanor. Well, maybe it wasn’t so strange. You knew Jisoo could be quite awkward at times. Considering you haven’t seen each-other for months by now, he must feel weird talking to you all of a sudden. Especially after what you did last time. “What has gotten into you?” You asked. It was either your earlier theory or the effect of him hanging out with other people. You heard he started spending some more time with other trainees. Even going on drinking sprees with large groups. You didn’t approve of such activities but were too busy to scold him on the topic lately.

But apparently both of your guesses were ‘wrong’ as he had answered, “Huh? Me? Pffft. Nothing. Justa — think I drank too much coffee.”

You could smell the stench of soju and beer in his breath now that you were closer. “Right. I just wanted to say that we can still hang out you know. Doesn’t mean that I rejected you that we can’t talk anymore.”

“Oh, sorry! Sorry. Did it feel like I was avoiding you? I was just busy with Idol Image training.”

“Idol Image training? I thought you hated those lessons.”

“Ya know me. Indecisive and impulsive as always.”

Jisoo grinned at you. But all you could do was cringe out of pity and guilt.

Apparently the guilt you felt wasn’t enough however as you decided that it was now or never to rub some salt into gaping hole of a wound.

“Almost forgot. I have to tell you something. I got a deal to be a solo artist.”

“Solo what now? I thought we were debuting together.”

“Looking at how you’re dealing with my rejection. I think it’s safe to say that us working and living together won’t go too well. I don’t want to lead you on. We’re friends. Nothing else. Sorry if I did so before.”

You didn’t even let him show you how much he’d improve. How much he worked on his way with words and conversation. Before he even had the chance to show his work you had not only rejected him once again but extinguished any hope from forming.

For once in these past few months when Jisoo had been the most talkative he had ever been in his life, he found himself speechless again.

“Soo?”

“I’m . . . proud of you. Really.”

The awkward air was too much for your to bare, so you left right after. Not a goodbye or even a wave.

Instead he watched as you swiftly made your exit. A frown laced your exquisite features.

He then spotted a man. He looked quite a bit older than you. Elegant and refined, he wore a classic black suit with a long coat draped on his back. Short leather gloves that no doubt hid hands as attractive as his own face. His hair was somehow darker than the one Jisoo was born with.

But what struck the young trainee the most was the man’s pine green eyes. It was like a forest one could easily get lost in. A cliche description he knew. But it was the best he could think of.

Jisoo doesn’t realize the trance he was in until the man suddenly turned straight at him —

— and smirked.

People often saw Jisoo leave early during drinking parties. They chalked it up to his shy nature and he didn’t really have a good tolerance.

In reality it was mostly because he found a perfect victim to vent out his frustrations on that night.

It was usually a person too drunk to even understand or realize what was going on.

“Useless.” He muttered, kicking the random man’s stomach before the latter curled up in the floor in pain.

“Stop! Please stop!”

Jisoo scoffed at his protest. His red eye held no light as he continued his ministrations. This time stomping on the stranger’s cheek. “Utter piece of shit.”

The man stops protesting. All that could be heard in the cold chill of the night, was sounds of harsh impacts and Jisoo’s complaints and self deprecating words.

“Too mature? Bah. Bet that was all a fucking lie. They just couldn’t fuck a pathetic piece of shit like me.” Jisoo gave one last stomp, aiming specifically towards the man’s hazel eyes that reminded him of the person that took you.

Wait.

Eyes. Green Eyes.

That man was the CEO of Celestial Entertainment. A man known to be cut-throat and ruthless. A man who’s infamous for his apathetic nature regarding business. He probably saw your potential and thought that putting you in a group would dim it down.

Ace.

That’s it! You didn’t want to actually go solo. Jisoo understood now. Why was he so stupid?

You were just forced by that smug-faced bastard.

He leaned down, happily whispering in a sing-songy voice to his victim. “Thanks man. You really helped.”

“Woah.” A familiar cheerful voice resonated from behind him.

Jisoo froze.

He was done for. He was going to jail. This was it.

No, he had to calm down. Think rationally. He studied for this goddamn it.

Jisoo slowly spun his head. The happy expression on his face was instantly replaced with a horrified one. A look of confusion, fear and sadness. “Daehyun - 형 . . . he . . he came unto me— “

“Shit bro. No worries I got you covered.”

With rejection came realization. With charm came blind support. And with the right words and proper delivery, any person could be swayed.

“Wanna go drink after this?”

“You paying?”

Jisoo wished, for the good of everyone else and himself, that this green-eyed monster would not freely give rejection as you did.

[ TRANSLATIONS ]

형 - hyeong - older brother (not literal). honorific used by men towards those who are older (also men).

#hns.eve #love multiplied 👾❤️#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #yandere core #tw yandere #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere idol #yandere idol x reader

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gffa · 12 days

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I gotta say, watching the reaction to these first two episodes of Acolyte...I wasn't that online to witness the backlash to TFA and TLJ when they first dropped, but looking at the one now, it's just pathetic. This fandom can't handle a goddamn thing and it's saddening.

LMAO at this point you know what? I'm sick of the Discourse about stuff that's subjective preferences and I'm sick of the Discourse about Discourse about stuff that's subjective preferences. I completely agree that there are large swathes of fandom that just cannot handle anything--from canon or from other fans--and this is about subjective preference stuff, not about actual issues--and the best antidote for that is to start talking about the things we do want to see in the fandom! For example: How many of you read some of The High Republic in preparation for this show? It's not necessary, you won't really gain much if you're familiar with the novels/comics, other than a few moments of HEY I KNOW THAT THING!!, but I'm curious if it got people motivated. What do you think of the books? Do you guys have a Blorbo? Or if you're watching The Acolyte, did you develop a Blorbo there? (I am so into Sol and Osha, though, the Jecki & Yord Adventures for a full episode would be AMAZING, please let them interact more, they're so great.) Or if you're still a prequels bitch like I am, have you read/watched anything there lately? Read any fics you liked lately? Seen any cool art? Read some thoughtful meta? Had a thought you're itching to share about the SW themes? This is the kind of discussion I want to see, COME JOIN ME, YOU GUYS.

#lumi.txt #star wars

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obiwan · 9 months

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Hi! I just started watching the Star Wars prequels and I want to read some obikin fanfictions but I don't know where to start so if you have any recommendations for me I could really asappreciated.

Have a good day/night!

Hii! I keep saying I'm going to do this because I have so many messages like this - and what I usually try to do is leave the most "famous" ones out of reclists, because most likely everyone has read them, but they were also the first ones I've read. So I will try to do a combination of both new and old fics which I consider "classics". Also a reminder that I have already posted this this & this before. And oh boy this got long.

✰(Explicit, Complete) When the Abyss Stares Back at You by skyl_tales

Pausing the holovid, Mace looked from Anakin to Obi-Wan. "This holovid was taken on planet Revoran two days ago." In the holovid, the golden-eyed Anakin looked at something just out of frame. There was something distinctly hungry and possessive about that gaze. It made a shiver run up Obi-Wan's spine--because he recognized that look. He'd seen Anakin look that way at Senator Amidala.

But it wasn't Senator Amidala who stepped into the camera's view. It wasn't Senator Amidala the Sith yanked closer and kissed.

It was Obi-Wan. [Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to investigate the sighting of a Sith Anakin, who appears to be in a relationship with an older version of Obi-Wan.]

This is one of my favourite Obikin fics, and if you enjoy time travel shenanigans chances are you will enjoy this too. skyl_tales wrote some of my favourite fics for this fandom, so if you enjoy this, I suggest you check their other work as well!

✰(Explicit, Complete) If I only knew by wanderlove

Newly knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker, have been sent to Ryloth on a simple diplomatic envoy. While there, an unsettling incident causes Obi-Wan to look at Anakin in a new light and re-evaluate…everything.

The Galaxy will never be the same.

aka: "come for the obikin, stay for the tzai and deep emotional discussions that dismantle every single misunderstanding in the prequels."

Beautiful story!!!! This is honestly one of the most wholesome and "fix-it/what-if" kind of canon obikin fics I've ever read. I really really recommend reading this if you're just getting into Obikin and the SW-verse in general.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Moonlight Serenade by Lemon (@renlyslittlerose)

“Glad you came,” the man said. He pushed away from the lamppost and approached Anakin, his hand held out for him to take. “I realized I never properly introduced myself. I’m Major Kenobi, but you can call me Obi-Wan.”

Anakin took his hand and shook it, their touch lingering for just a little longer than was normally acceptable. It felt like holding on to fire. “Flying Officer Skywalker. But most call me Anakin.”

An accident in 1944 over the fields of France puts an end to Anakin’s flying career. Discharged and sent back to Canada, Anakin must confront the ghosts of his past and find a new path forward.

This is a WWII AU - so beware of that in the first place, but I have always enjoyed historical AUs, and this is very beautifully done. It spans over a long time (my favourite) and does it so well.

✰(Explicit, Complete) To Eden by Unfortunate17

Accused of masterminding the Jedi Temple bombing, Obi-Wan is expelled from the Order.

Anakin is left to pick up the pieces.

This fic. THIS FIC!!!! I don't have anything to say about this - read this fic (in fact read everything written by this author - they have a bodyswap fic called Gray Matter) I really enjoy their characterization of both Obi-Wan and Anakin and the story telling is amazing. Truly love them.

✰(Teen, Complete) Don't be Afraid. by spqr

Tainted by your encounter with the Sith, you are, Obi-Wan imagines Master Yoda saying. Fix you, we cannot. To the AgriCorps, you shall return.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda says, after a moment. “Complete your training, Master Skywalker will.”

Another reverse AU! I realise this is one of those 'either you love it or hate it' tropes, but I do love it, so I include it in my recs. I enjoy imagining the scenarios of Jedi Master Anakin and Padawan Kenobi, so if you think that's something you would also enjoy, give this a chance!

✰(Explicit, Complete) Fearless and the Negotiator by @zimriya

Anakin Skywalker is a superhero. He spends his nights roaming the streets of Coruscant alongside his superhero partner—a man called the Negotiator whom he has never seen without a mask, and yet whom he loves desperately all the same. By day, Anakin works an uneventful nine-to-five at Jedi Inc., doing his best to remember that he cannot murder his coworkers—even if they are called Obi-Wan Kenobi and are the literal worst.

A superhero AU!!! I love his au because it's so well done and so well thought out (the details in this!!!) and I love enjoying Obi-Wan in white spandex. Like that's my bread and butter right there. Either way, if you enjoy marvel-esque superheroes and Obi-Wan and Anakin is the usual idiots they are, give it a go <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) if you love me, let it remain unnamed by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi is grappling with his failure to protect his padawan from Dooku's blade. As the galaxy around them plunges into civil war, he overcorrects and refuses to allow Anakin's Knighting ceremony in order to keep him by his side where he will be safe.

His padawan is less than pleased.

Only trying to help, the Force overcorrects Obi-Wan's overcorrection and pulls them into an alternate universe where they run into a different version of Anakin Skywalker altogether.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi is also grappling with new, sudden, and insistent feelings for his padawan. He overcorrects by following the older version of Anakin into bed.

His padawan is less than pleased.

The Force….lets them figure this one out on their own.

OBIWAN GETS TAG TEAMED. OBIWAN GETS DOUB- [gunshot] Look, this fic is hot but beyond that, I loooove time travel shenanigans, and Anakin being pissed off at a future version of himself is so delicious.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Lex Talionis by @intermundia

The ancient Galactic Republic is dying slowly—an ugly death of corruption, sprawl, and decay—with the sin of slavery hanging over its every triumph. The beleaguered Jedi Knights are too few to adequately patrol and police the entire Republic, and are faced with complacency and greed at every turn. Born into a crumbling and stagnant galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are faced with the greatest challenge of all: themselves.

Obi-Wan likes rules and control. When the galaxy around him stops playing by the rules, what is a Jedi to do? Anakin needs rules and restraint. When the galaxy around him conspires to set him loose, what is his Master to do? Falling slowly or falling fast, falling through lust or falling through wrath—it all leads to delusion and moral decay. What can be born from the ashes?

Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin fell to the dark side, obtained their revenge, and saved the galaxy in the process.

An insane canon-divergence AU, this is so intricate and could truly be a movie of its own lol. It features (eventually) sith! Obi-Wan and sith! Anakin, so beware of that, but I don't want to spoil that story. Also that I would never rec any story that has a sad ending :)

✰(Explicit,A/B/O, Complete) i shouldn't cry (but i love it) by blahzarry

Obi-Wan knew alphas that liked to be taken existed. He knew it was possible. But not once in his life had he felt even tempted to try it.

...It's exactly what it says on the tin. Once again one of those: either you will love it or hate it kind of tropes I think, omegaverse is what it is. If you're familiar with it and the idea of an Alpha Obi-Wan growing to enjoy submission sounds like up your alley (it is mine,) then by all means!

✰(Teen, Complete) that mouth of yours looks like it gets you into trouble by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi inhales a powder that compels him to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Good thing Obi-Wan doesn't have any secrets.

or,

by god, Obi-Wan Kenobi is forced to talk about his feelings. It's, on the whole, regrettable for everyone involved. Or it would be once everyone stops laughing about it.

Fairytale tropes! I've always loved truth serum/truth spell trope where one party is obliged to tell the truth. Add one repressed Obi-Wan Kenobi into the mix? Perfection. I looooove this fic so much, it's wholesome and touching at the same time.

✰(Explicit, Complete) The Bottom of the Ninth by @ragnarlothcat

"No baseball pitcher would be worth a darn without a catcher who could handle the hot fastball." - Casey Stengel

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the veteran catcher of the Coruscant Jedi, a talented baseball team that have been down on their luck. The addition of rookie pitcher Anakin Skywalker might be a sign all that's about to change.

Especially for Obi-Wan.

Lmao anyone who knows me a *little* bit knows that I have an obsession with sports aus. This is no exception. Granted I know *nothing* about baseball, but this was a perfect balance of actually explaining the sport without getting too heavily into details and making it a perfect obikin story. WE 👏 NEED 👏 MORE 👏 SPOTS 👏 AUS 👏

✰(Teen, Complete) the sound of your voice (helps me find peace) by izazov

It was a promise to Qui-Gon Jinn that had allowed Anakin Skywalker into Obi-Wan Kenobi's life. But it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who had allowed Anakin Skywalker into his heart.

OR (more accurately):

Five times Anakin had to ask for a story. And one time Obi-Wan offered it freely.

Ahhh this author, this fic. It's so beautifully written, canon compliant au, and it just hurts (in the most beautiful, gut wrenching way). It's beautifully melancholic, I always love their works even if they leave me with a pang in my chest.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Conceal Me What I Am by @himboskywalker

Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republic Senator. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi are chosen as representatives of the political union by Darth Sidious, meant to bring ruin to the marriage and the public's support of the Jedi,for Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the Beta he claims. But even Sidious does not know of the secret Anakin Skywalker keeps, that he is not the Alpha the galaxy believes him to be.

Another omegaverse fic!! This time with omega Anakin and alpha Obi-Wan in disguise. I read this fic eons ago (read: when I first got into the fandom) but it always stuck with me, because I love sneaky stuff like this - also it's plot driven! It's an au but within the same universe, so again, if you don't have anything against omegaverse, give it a read.

✰(Teen, Complete) we should run after each other (and be with one another) by Resacon1990

Even though he’s still full of anger and rage, he pushes it all aside to force a smile and squeeze Anakin’s shoulders.

“No, Anakin,” he says quietly, “I could never blame you for his death.”

It’s the first time Obi-Wan ever lies to Anakin.

Five times Obi-Wan lied to Anakin, and the one time he told the truth.

Another 5+1 fic!! I love this fic, also semi canon compliant, and very much gut wrenching. I love this kind of story telling where we get to see the span of their lives throughout 5+1 thingies. This is a beautiful story <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) Swear On It by dirkygoodness

Anakin lets his feet take him a good ways from camp before he actually stops, breathing fast from the memory of his dream.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight against it and holds his breath for a moment, trying to get himself under control. Tonight it doesn’t seem to be working, though, because the images of people he knows and loves hurt and bloody and dead just won’t get out of his mind.

YOOO - this is one of the first fics I've read in this fandom and oh my god. It's kind of PWP - but the characterization, the feeling, the EMOTION. It's all there. It's a two parter - read them both, it's so good, it's one of those fics where I read it and I was like. Oh yeah this happened in canon.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Bare grace misery by @thedunesea

Anakin let out a pained sound. “I failed my men, I failed you, and now… and now this. Could you, Obi-Wan? Could you come from this humiliation?” His voice broke, and then he was weeping, hot tears streaming down his face even as he kept stroking himself, his sobs of shame intermingling with his whimpers of pleasure. The mixture was so unbelievably erotic Obi-Wan felt his head spin.

Or: Anakin gets poisoned, and the antidote that saves his life has some uncomfortable side effects.

Ahhh, gorgeous fic! Have to say the only version of Dom!Obi-Wan I enjoy is Gentle!Dom Obi-Wan and this fic does it justice! It's such a nice read - I love some self shaming Anakin and Gentle! Obi-Wan guiding him through those feelings.

✰(Explicit, WIP) toss overboard what is too heavy to carry by @tennessoui

In the aftermath of the Clone Wars, Palpatine dead and untold tragedy averted, the Republic struggles to heal and rebuild itself.

Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi attempt to do the same with their own relationship, riddled as it has become with betrayal, distrust, and hurt. It's not going too well. Desperate and unwilling to accept that maybe their friendship is ruined, Anakin finds a counselor they can talk to, one that specializes in healing "teams."

Or, as the counselor would probably put it, married couples, which they are decidedly not. Not that she knows that though. And not that they know that she thinks they're in a romantic relationship either. What a silly assumption to make. It's not like they're more intimate than lovers or anything.

I know I recced this before, and I'm usually against that but lol. This fic, this fic truly holds such a special place in my mind, it fits in SO WELL with the headcanons I have of Obi-Wan and Anakin, the little questionnaires they answer in the end of each chapter - the EVERYTHING. I'm not even exaggerating this fic is what's keeping me tethered to the obikin fandom atm. I really get a bit stupid when Kit's fics are involved, she is probably the author who got me hooked on obikin, so I would suggest checking out her work in general. I could rec anything and everything from her.

✰(Explicit, Complete) You can call me baby (You can call me love) by @lilredghost

Four times Anakin calls Obi-Wan an old man, plus one time he realizes how much it bothers him.

I love Sub!Obi-Wan who loved being called baby and who is also a bit insecure and this is why this fic is here sue me.

✰(Mature, Complete) Fringe believers and hopeless wanderers by iiscos

A Jedi falls in love with a kind, but poor mechanic aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.S.C. Terranova.

A Star Wars/Titanic AU

A titanic AU!!! I love this so much, (it does have a happy ending) and the premise is so intriguing, (as someone who has never seen titanic) I love this fic greatly)

Look - this is OF COURSE not a comprehensive list. I tried to compile somewhat of a combo of new and old fics, of course of the ones I've loved. Please do check out the author's other fics if you like their fic you've read! That's a sure way to discover more fic you'll most likely enjoy. Hope you like this, I wish I could do more, but it takes up more time than you can imagine, so, until next time!!!

#obikin #fic rec #fanfiction #answered #this literally took me 500 hours omw

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yesimwriting · 2 years

Text

First Impressions

First ever final girl fic universe seperate fic!! all that means is that even though this is canon in the final girl fic world, it is a separate fic that stands on its own!! you don't need to read any part of final girl first!!

also if you’d like to request a fic that’s set in the final girl world, feel free too, just know that as of now there won’t be anything directly couple-y between Y/n and the boys, just specify in the request!

this is not part 6 of final girl, it's a separate little sort of prequel??

Summary: How Billy and Stu's feelings for Y/n first developed

----

Billy doesn't know when the official switch first flipped. He isn't sure when you went from being a pretty face with a sense of humor that he found a little more objectively funny than most to someone that started taking over his thoughts.

Maybe it did start that first day, when Stu kept making jokes that forced him to keep bringing up the 'hot new girl that Tatum wouldn't shut up about.’ After about the third comment about you, Billy realized that it wasn't really a joke. It was a testing of waters, Stu's not-so-subtle attempt to gauge Billy's opinion of you.

It wasn't like Stu wanted permission to like you, the two of them understood how they felt about others, about girls. But you were different, a thought that made something unfamiliar flare up in them. Feelings too possessive to be categorized as simply want. And too protective to be considered just ownership.

Maybe it did start the day he met you. The first words he ever heard you say didn't quite fit you, but they intrigued him enough to look at you twice.

----

Today is dragging on. It's not even lunch yet and Billy's trying to calculate if he can get away with skipping the rest of his classes. Maybe he'd grab Stu at the start of their shared 5th period and just go. They could get high or drive around for awhile or just cut early to watch a movie. Billy doesn't really know what he wants, he just knows that he doesn't want to be here. Looking through his locker and waiting for Sid.

Being around her is all hot and cold. Some days playing the good boyfriend is barely painful, making it easy to even actually listen to some of her stories. But on days like today, he has to be aware of all of his thoughts and impulses in order to avoid blowing up their plan. The one year mark is coming up soon.

"You know that much planning can make you sound like a psychopath." That's Sid. Billy can't see her yet, but she's still rounding the corner and her voice sounds light. The irony of her saying something like that only steps away from Billy would almost be amusing on a normal day.

"Psychopaths get shit done." A voice that's completely unfamiliar. Normally, he'd brush it off. He doesn't bother keeping up with many people outside of their inner friend group. He could point out a few faces from over the years, but no one else ever really stands out to him.

Just as Sid and the stranger round the corner, the unknown voice speaks again. "Uh--that's not the kind of joke you can make in front of someone you just met. Swear I'm not planning a mass murder, I'm just extra about planning my class schedule."

Billy turns away from his open locker, deciding that since he's this bored and the comment was somewhat amusing before the stranger started backtracking, he's intrigued enough to really look at them. Plus, Sidney seems to like them, so it's probably a thing he should be putting effort into anyways.

You're not what he was expecting. A true new girl. The true new girl. The girl most people glanced at a little too long this morning because when does anyone ever move to Woodsboro? And when does anyone start school here about a month into the school year?

You're holding a stack of heavy textbooks that seem like over kill and blinking up at him with eyes he doesn't think he'll immediately forget about. It's different than noticing someone he finds attractive. This is more intrusive.

Billy doesn't like that he doesn't instinctually dismiss you as high school background static.

His eyes eventually snag on what you're wearing. A sweater that doesn't seem to fit you that he recognizes instantly. He nearly tore it off Stu this morning before school when they both had half a mind to skip.

Billy's jaw clenches and he isn't sure if the sweater has him feeling territorial over Stu or if it has him looking at you a little differently. Maybe the sweater was a little situation Stu created for Billy to notice. A tiny, well orchestrated way to rile Billy up to get back at him for this morning. Or maybe a way to tag you, to tell Billy that he should look at you twice. It doesn't matter, he now knows for a fact that you'll be coming up later, the second Stu and him get a second alone.

"I believe you," Sidney breathes easily, a half laugh in her voice as she breezes past him, likely walking you towards their group's usual lunch spot. He doesn't like that a part of him hopes that his assumption is right.

----

Mr. James has been ranting about who knows what for the last fifteen minutes, and Stu hasn’t heard a word of it. He hasn’t even had a fully clear thought since you stumbled in three minutes late, mumbling an apology as you beelined for the first available seat you could find. It happened to be right next to him. So close Stu can see the doodles in your notebook. They’re cute, scribbled stars and swirls, but disappointingly un-telling. He didn’t expect to see you so soon after Tatum befriended you in the parking lot, and he didn’t think you’d look like this.

“I like your shirt better like this.” You look up at him like a deer caught in front of a moving car. “The neon green brings out your eyes.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Oh, thanks, that was the goal.” You glance down at your shirt, crossing your arms in front of your chest self consciously. “This is a result of my annoying habit of not looking both ways before crossing the hall. Some guy ran into me and spilled his energy drink all over me, and he didn’t even stop to say sorry.”

“Wow,” Stu humors you because there’s just something about the irritated pout of your lips, “Rude.”

“I know!” You whisper-yell before cringing slightly at your volume.

“Exciting first day so far.”

Shifting in your seat again, you blink once, pen tapping against your notebook. “No kidding.”

“If I give you my sweater, does that count as me bailing you out twice today?”

Your lips part as you glare at him in a way that’s almost shy. Before you can tell him that pointing out a classroom doesn’t count as bailing you out, the two of you are interrupted.

“Mr. Macher, since you’re so interested in talking today, why don’t you tell us how many delegates attended the Constitutional Convention in 1787?”

Stu remains unfazed, turning away from you and towards the teacher. You begin writing something else down, and then, in a move so subtle and quick Stu almost thinks he imagined it, you tap the side of your foot against his. His eyes flit down towards the notebook that you’ve pushed to the edge of your desk.

“55,” Stu says confidently, reading the circled number off of your notebook.

Frowning, Mr. James continues, “That’s correct.” Pacing towards the bored, he asks another question, “And which state wasn’t represented?”

You’re quick to write out the next answer in order for Stu to read it out loud, “Rhode Island.”

Getting frustrated, Mr. James begins to press, “Where did they meet?”

“Philadelphia.”

At that, Mr. James lets out a sigh that’s more frustrated than it should be. Deciding that he can’t push this interrogation any further, Mr. James lets it go and moves on.

Stu smiles despite himself, finding it a little...cute that you outed yourself as a bit of a nerd. It’s something about who you are that you’ve finally revealed. He glances back at your notebook as you inch it even closer to him. He reads over the last thing you wrote: who’s bailing who out now?

You’re smug about it, too. It’s adorable, like being near a puppy. A puppy that Stu isn’t sure if he’d keep around or accidentally squeeze just a little too hard. He just met you, but something about your demeanor is just so innocent and you seem so soft. It’s distracting and oddly riling and he hasn’t quite made up his mind if he’s going to hold it against you or not.

God, if Tatum decides to really befriend you, this could be interesting. And if Billy were to meet you? Stu’s convinced that he’ll pick up on the fact that you’re something else just as fast. That realization leads to a train of thought that has him struggling to focus on acting normal.

----

Stu knows two things. The first is that something is definitely on Billy’s mind, and the second is that Billy can tell that Stu’s focus is elsewhere. Stu also knows that right now is a terrible time to get caught up in some girl just because he can’t stop thinking about your eyes and the cute little turn of your lips that was almost a smile.

And seeing you in his sweater for the rest of the day just did something to him.

Okay, technically that’s more than two things.

“You wanna order takeout?” The question comes out perfectly casual in a way that Stu knows Billy will interpret as suspicious. “We can save the movie you rented for when the food gets here.”

Billy nods once, absentmindedly, “Sure.” His fingers press into the cushion of the couch, but that doesn’t do anything to relieve his tension. Billy moves his hand, squeezing the back of his turned over arm and letting his nails dig into the soft skin of his inner wrist. The pinching pain is meant to snap him out of it. “What do you think of the girl Tatum was all over today?”

The question nearly sends Stu spiraling. It’s rare for Stu to be unsure on what kind of reaction someone’s looking for, but he’s out of practice with Billy. He can’t remember the last time he cared about monitoring his reactions in front of Billy. “What about her?”

“Do you think Tatum will keep her around enough for her to be a factor?”

Oh. It’s about the plan. Of course it is. Stu thinks of your face, your eyes, the almost smile. It makes his blood rush in a specific way, and he’s not sure if he’d rather see you tremble out of fear or arousal. Maybe there’d be time for both.

“Don’t know. Tatum thought she was nice, didn’t shut up about her, but she’s a little book-y, y’know?” Stu shifts slightly, just enough to seem like he’s slumping further into the couch. “She’s probably too naive to be a factor either way.”

Billy half shrugs. “Not sure, she’s reading Carrie.”

Stu almost points out that Billy isn’t usually the type to note details like that about people he doesn’t know or care about. “Think she likes scary movies?”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Billy mumbles, only somewhat serious. He then drops his gaze towards his lap, nails digging just a little harder into his skin than before. “She doesn’t seem like the victim type. You know what she reminded me of with her too-nice-for-her-own-good, girl next door thing?”

Already piecing together what Billy’s getting at, Stu decides to play along. “What?”

At that, Billy throws him a somewhat scolding look. It’s a gentle chiding for trying to get away with bullshitting him. “A final girl.” With a slight sigh, Billy decides that he’s ready to bring up his real point, “You definitely thought so.”

The nail in the coffin hits Stu harder than he thought it would. Billy’s called him out on a lot over the years, but Stu’s never come this close to feeling embarrassed. He doesn’t get this difference, he doesn’t get why he didn’t just say something at the beginning. The two of them talk about girls they find hot all the time. Why are you the exception that makes him feel kind of awkward?

“What?”

Billy rolls his eyes before pointedly glaring at Stu in a way that can only be described as bitchy. “You think I can’t tell when you like a girl?”

The word like settles uncomfortably in Stu’s chest. “Jealous?” It’s a sad attempt at deflecting. “Like you didn’t think she was cute with the way you jumped in to save her just as I was getting her a little worked up.”

“You were making fun of someone and trying to make her uncomfortable.”

“Since when does that matter?”

Billy pauses, thinking through his potential responses. “I didn’t give her my sweater.” It’s a flat comment, barely more than an observation. “I wasn’t the one looking at her like I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pin her against the wall or hold her there with a knife.” Stu’s eyes darken slightly as his posture stiffens and Billy struggles to not look smug openly. “Surprised you didn’t come in here trying to get me to jerk you off to the thought of her all bloody and begging you to let her live. I bet you’ve been thinking about that since you saw he in the parking lot this morning.”

Stu finds it in himself to keep it together enough to say, “You’re there too. She’s crying and looks over at you with those wide eyes like she needs you.”

The comment serves as a ceasefire of sorts. A reminder that neither of them has a true upper hand when it comes to this kind of thing.

----

Maybe the change came the first time Billy was completely alone with you. The hall was empty, school had ended long enough for most club meetings to have started. Most of the people that linger after school have moved to the parking lot or behind the bleachers.

Billy recognizes the back of your head instantly. You’re starting to become more and more noticeable. It’s a new development, something he still isn’t sure how he feels about. It’s good to be aware, but it’s more than that. A small part of him seems to jump whenever he realizes you’re in the same room. It’s ridiculous. If Stu knew about the pinch of warmth that rises in him whenever he realizes that you’re around, he’d never hear the end of it.

He almost walks away, leaving you there as you groan in frustration at your locker. “You okay?”

You look up, eyes rounder than usual. You’re always a little fidgety, but today, you’re jumpier than ever. Stu threw his arm around your shoulders during lunch after making a joke that made you both seem like an old, married couple. It’s not rare for Stu to find an excuse to touch you, and you react to it a lot more casually than you used to. But today, you almost flinched. Something’s going on, maybe it has something to do with your mom’s boyfriend.

You called Sid up the other night late, asking her if you could sleep over because your mom was out and you didn’t want to be alone with him. Maybe your mom isn’t back yet and the thought of going back to that environment has you on edge. Billy gets that feeling.

“I think this locker has a personal vendetta against me.”

He nods, trying not to focus on anything particular about you. Still, though, there’s something a little endearing about your dramatics. “A vendetta? Intense.”

You pull on the lock again, trying to balance a bunch of binders and books in one arm. “Extremely.”

With the way you’re struggling, it’s only a matter of time before everything collapses. “Here.” Billy pushes the lock in, holding it in position for a second before pulling it down. “It wasn’t still locked, just jammed. The lockers here do that.”

You let out a relieved sigh. “You’re my hero.” It’s casual praise, a comment you’ll likely never think about again, but it leaves that strange warmth flaring through him.

“Do you need any help?”

“I’ve got it.” The shake of your head is polite, but the fact that you’re clearly struggling to keep your hold on everything is apparent. You don’t always accept help easily. Suppressing an eye roll, Billy takes the top two books from your stack. You give him a look before admitting defeat. “Thank you.”

You finish putting away the items in your arms before taking the textbooks back from Billy and making them fit into what’s left of the space. You then move to look through your backpack, taking out different colored sets of sticky notes and highlighters. It’s not really noteworthy until you start taking different sticky notes and highlighters out of your locker and putting them into your backpack.

“Didn’t you just put those--”

“Those were the note color combos for history, science, and english. These are the note color combos for my journalism class and math, plus my additional sticky notes for english reading that’s a book and not a textbook. I also like to use different highlighters for different levels of--” Billy’s watching you carefully as you cut yourself off. “I’m way more normal than this makes me look, I swear.”

It’s that half thought out defense that has Billy practically frozen in place. There’s just something so you about the way you cut yourself off, and Billy’s practically lost in it. You’re an open book when it comes to feelings, but he always finds himself trying to guess what you’re going to say before you actually say it.

Billy fights against a smile. “I don’t believe it.” Your mouth opens in a mock gasp. “Do you have a ride home?”

You zip your backpack shut. “I was gonna walk.”

He’s yet to see you drive and he’s starting to think you don’t have a car. It’s an unseasonably chilly day and you’re wearing something short with no jacket. Billy also doesn’t love the idea of you walking alone while looking like that. Too pretty, too noticeable, and there are some fucked up people out there.

In an impulsive move, Billy says, “I can take you.” The offer surprises you, you clearly weren’t expecting that from him. Billy can’t blame you for your confusion. It’s not that he’s cold towards you, he just hasn’t let himself get too close to you.

You’re a breath of fresh air to not just him. With the way everyone’s always all over you, Billy has let himself step to the sidelines a little. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but if he’s being completely honest, his thoughts around you are flighty and unsure. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard it makes him feel like he’s a kid desperate for his mom to beam at him to make everything go away.

It’s twisting and weird and he’s not sure if it makes him want you closer to him or if it makes him want to just give in and force a knife through you just so that voice in the back of his head will stop. You can’t exactly reject him if he buries a knife into you first. But he’s been trying a little more recently.

It’s only been a short time and you’ve already gotten so comfortable with Stu and his brazenness. It’s starting to make Billy a little more relaxed. Enough to crack a smile every once in awhile and partner with you for a project in English class.

“Oh,” you hum after a second, “Thank you.” You take your time zipping your backpack up to avoid needing to look at him. “But you don’t have to do that. I’d hate to put you out.”

Billy knows that it’s likely you trying not to be an inconvenience. You never do accept help the first time it’s offered. You don’t know what you need. Despite Billy’s awareness, the slight rejection stings. That warmth you make him feel twists in his stomach in a way that burns.

“It wouldn’t be putting me out.” He pauses, trying to think through what he can say to get you to agree without making his offer sound too significant. “It’s cold, I can’t let you freeze.”

You shut your locker, letting yourself consider his offer. It was the right thing to remind you of. Even though it’s not exactly freezing here, it’s hotter in Texas and you’re not used to September feeling all that different than July. “One condition?”

“I’m doing you a favor.”

Playfully, you roll your eyes dramatically. Billy smiles at the gesture despite himself. “Don’t go around telling people I’m like some kind of weird sticky note freak?”

“Weird sticky note freak?” Billy repeats the words like he’s seriously weighing the pros and cons of your request. “Nope. Sorry. Have to tell everyone.”

The tension of uncertainty behind your stance disappears and the way you’re looking at him changes entirely. His joke surprised you in a good way. It’s a flash of a side of an easier going side of him. “Everyone, huh?” You tilt your head slightly as you consider what to say. “Wish I knew something embarrassing about you to...ensure your silence.”

He almost laughs. “Ensure my silence? You’d blackmail me?”

Shrugging comfortably, you reply, “I’d do what needs to be done.”

Billy takes a step forward, angling himself so that there’s a subtle implication that you’re trapped between him and your locker. You seem to pick up on it subconsciously, because the pure humor leaves your eyes. “Didn’t think you could be so mean.”

You blink, a tiny bit of shyness making itself apparent. Your proximity to each other is just as significant to you as it is to him. Billy can tell by the way you struggle to hold his gaze. The fact that the nerves are mutual makes Billy feel a little easier, a little warm in a good way.

“I’m multifaceted.” It’s practically a squeak and it sends a thrill straight through Billy.

He’s never been this close to you and yet it still feels so far. The urge to do something with his hands, to touch you just to know what the warmth of your skin would feel like beneath his fingertips, hits him hard and fast. Billy straightens in an attempt to break the spell.

It’s not enough, so he starts walking forward. “Come on before I see you do something really embarrassing like color code tabs in your binder.”

You turn quickly, trying to match his long, even strides. “That’s actually--” Silencing yourself with a slight huff, you glare at him. “And...that was a joke. You’re making fun of me.”

Instead of answering the question, Billy decides to push just a little more. “You know this isn’t exactly a sticky note level secret, but sometimes I color coordinate my pens based on each class I’m in. The ink matches my folders.”

“Haha,” you breathe sarcastically, heat rising to your face. “You have a really underrated sense of humor.”

----

Now that you’re here, so casually taking up space somewhere that’s just his, Billy doesn’t want you to go. Your uncertainty melted away after the first two minutes and you’ve been casually chatting away ever since.

You tried making fun of his music, but ultimately had to admit your disappointment that Billy’s taste isn’t worse. He apologized and promised that next time he drove you somewhere, he’d make sure to have nothing but the cheesiest pop top 20 available, that way you could bully him to your heart’s content. He also made sure to tell you that if you really want to make fun of someone for their choice of music, you should ask Stu to show you his CD collection.

After saying that, Billy watched your reaction carefully through the rearview mirror. You seemed to like the promise of future car rides.

You’re tapping your fingers against your knee casually, eyes focused on the window. The two of you are getting close to your place now, and something about your energy is beginning to shift downwards. You don’t want to go home.

Screw it, you don’t want to be home and after Stu’s stuffy energy today, Billy realizes that both of you could use a bit of a pick me up.

"Today’s Thursday, right?”

Turning your attention back towards him, your hand stills on your lap. “Yeah, why?”

“I forgot I told Stu I’d be at his place by 3:30 today. We were supposed to go get something to eat.” It’s a partial lie. It was an assumed thing that Billy would make his way over to Stu’s at some point, especially since it’s been a little while since they both had a free day. Between school and their girlfriends, it just hasn’t worked out. But they never indicated a time and Billy isn’t actually late. “We’re about to pass Stu’s house.”

Billy pauses, pretending that this idea just came to him. “Want to come with us? I can drive you home after and that way Stu won’t get into his whole thing when I’m late.”

You’re intrigued by the offer, he can tell by the way you’re cautiously studying him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t need to crash your thing.”

“You’re not crashing.” You don’t look convinced. “You’re our friend.”

At that, your demeanor seems to soften. The word friend leaves you beaming and that feeling flickers in Billy’s chest again.

“You’re sure Stu won’t mind?” You’re watching him freely now, eyes cautious. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“As long as you don’t bring out the sticky notes and try to color coordinate anything.”

Fighting down a laugh, you roll your eyes. “Sounds tough, but I think I can manage.”

----

Stu’s laying against his couch, Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing on the living room television. He’s only half paying attention, strangely apathetic.

The call had come this morning, right before he left for school. His parents were rescheduling their return, claiming that business was just too good for them to fly home already. Apparently someone offered his dad an in on some deal, and now they’re in negotiations for that. Stu barely believed them, considering that the business trip was in Vegas, and his mom has a pension for shopping in large cities.

He didn’t call them out for it. He never does. Lie or truth, it doesn’t make a difference why they’re not coming back. The point is they’re just not.

When Stu was younger, he used to complain a little, but that was quickly nipped in the bud by his father reminding him that he’s a man. He shouldn’t really need anything from his parents except assurance that his needs would be taken care of, and that’s definitely a problem they’ve never had. A large and safe roof over his head and enough pocket money to keep himself fed and entertained. What else could a teenage boy want?

Stu was half expecting some kind of call. It had been a little over a week with no communication and they always announce their return home a few days in advance. They never tell Stu about their delays until the day before they’re supposed to come back.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this or why it’s getting to him a little more today than usual. Maybe it has to do with the fact that his parents are coming close to beating their record for longest time traveling without so much as a weekend pit stop at home to change out their luggage. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s barely gotten any time with Billy this week. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s phased at all is stupid.

A knocking at his door snaps him out of his train of thoughts. Weird. A spike of hope strikes him with no warning. It could be Billy, but Billy never knocks. He walks in and doesn’t even bother to greet Stu verbally before sitting down next to him. It could be Tay, but he can’t remember making any plans with her or the last time she spontaneously popped by his place without at least calling first.

Stu opens the front door casually, because this is Woodsboro, and an unexpected knock is no reason for concern. His eyes immediately land on Billy, who’s standing there like there’s nothing weird about him knocking.

“You kn--” He cuts himself off after noticing that Billy’s not alone. Excitement pulses through him at the realization that it’s you. Stu has no idea how Billy pulled this off, but it’s a good surprise. A good enough surprise to get him to shake off the weird way he’s feeling. “Look who wandered onto my doorstep.”

Ignoring the consuming way he’s looking at you, you greet him normally. “Hi to you too.”

“Picked her up,” Billy jumps in, catching Stu up on his innocent enough lie as casually as possible, “She’s a stray, so she’s coming with us to grab something to eat.”

That paired with the subtle look Billy sends him is enough for Stu to piece together enough of the story to go along with it. “You’re late, but since you brought me a gift, I’ll let it go.”

You practically laugh at that. “Dramatic.”

Stu turns towards you, grinning at the excuse to grab you. He tugs on your arm, ignoring your protests as he pushes you against the doorframe. The sudden shift in mood isn’t something you’re expecting, but Stu can’t help it. Especially when he knows that he has your full attention. He can take seeming pushy if it means he’s the only thing you’re focusing on.

“Stu.” It’s too surprised and amused to be scolding.

His smile widens at the way you’re looking at him. “Take it back.”

You bite back a grin, watching him carefully. There’s an edge to his usual brand of chaos, but it’s not unnerving. If anything, a part of you feels the need to prove him wrong. “No.”

It’s not so much the blatant defiance as it is that smug look behind your eyes that sets Stu off. His hold on you tightens, and the way he tilts his head leaves a feeling you don’t understand pulsing through you. It leaves your face warm.

“No?” You blink at the question, chin sticking out just slightly in an attempt to hold your ground. “Brat.”

Still not giving him the satisfaction of your panic, you keep your voice steady as you react, “Dra-ma-tic.”

Billy straightens, watching the exchange cautiously. He understands that look behind Stu’s eyes better than Stu does. You’re teetering on the edge of either Stu forgetting that this is a delicate situation and crossing a line or something even more dangerous. But this is the most like himself Stu’s been all day and you’re smiling. It’s a moment that’s so domestic Billy’s not sure how he hadn’t managed to get you here sooner.

Releasing one of your arms, Stu places a hand on your side. Billy studies the contact carefully before Stu starts to move. His fingers move quickly, up and down your side as you laugh and squirm. It’s cute and easy going, but considering Stu’s mood today, Billy isn’t sure how long it’ll stay that way.

“What were you saying?”

“That--” You cut yourself off with a loud laugh that’s almost a gasp as Stu’s hand brushes against your side. “That you’re the--the most even temper-tempered, understa--understated person I’ve ever met.”

Stu pauses, hands squeezing your hips once before releasing you, but he makes no move to put any distance between you. “I’d love to believe you, babe, but you don’t really seem sorry.”

That does frazzle you enough to get your eyes to widen. You laugh or maybe even yelp as Stu’s hands move to grab you again. You turn quickly, nearly stumbling as you try to dodge him.

Stu could probably grab you and force you back into place easily, but he lets you have your small victory. It’s more fun with a little bit of a chase, anyways.

Billy places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you steady as you fight against a nervous giggle. “Help.”

He’s never had such a good excuse to pull you towards him. Maybe Billy should have been the voice of reason. After all, this is your first time all doing something after school and scaring you off really is a possibility. But he can’t help himself. In one smooth movement, Billy turns you and presses your back into his chest. “You know in the movies nothing gets you killed faster than begging for help.”

You’re barely given a second to register his words because Stu’s on you in a second, tickling you before you can read too much into the lowness of Billy’s voice. He rests his chin against your back, briefly hiding his face into your neck as you squirm.

Billy looks up, meeting Stu’s gaze as you fondly tell them that they’re, “Literally the worst,” in a voice that’s so sweet they’re surprised they hold it together.

It’s in that moment, that silent exchange, that they both come to a mutual decision. You’re theirs now, and even though you don’t know it yet, nothing’s going to change that.

#scream #Scream 1996 #scream imagine #scream x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #Poly! Ghostface x Reader #poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader #Stu Macher #stu macher x reader #Billy Loomis #billy loomis x reader #final girl fic

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