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astralis-is-typing · 5 months ago

Text

Better with you beside me

⚝fic type: slice of life

⚝genre/contains: seungmin x gn!reader, college!au, fluff, comfort, established relationship, domestic af lol

⚝word count: 1.9k

⚝inspo: "Only" by LeeHi, and a prompt from this post by @novelbear

“Can we get stop by the café on our way back?” You groaned, sneakers dragging across the white tiles of the packed stationery store. Your boyfriend leaned closer, trying to catch your words over the din. You tilted your face towards him, repeating your words closer to his ear.

“There’s food back at your dorm,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, tutting at your forgetfulness and playfully flicking your forehead. “We made sandwiches before we left, remember?”

“That’s a whole train ride away,” you sighed dramatically, throwing your head back and rubbing your grumbling stomach for good measure.

“Okay, okay,” Seungmin conceded with faux exasperation, but the amused glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway. “We’ll grab brownies or something once we’re out of here.” He took your hand in his and gave a gentle tug, urging you through the aisle at a faster pace. A toppling stack of binder files narrowly missed his head, but he dodged out of the way just in time. “For now, can we get a move on?”

You grumbled a noncommittal reply, interlocking your cold fingers with his warm ones as you quickly sidestepped the sea of orange and purple files now scattered across the floor. Seungmin reached into the back pocket of his jeans and unfurled the battered shopping list that held your list of supplies. Almost every item jotted down in fading blue ink had been crossed off; it was a testament to the errand nearly complete.

You gripped the handles of the heavy plastic shopping basket tighter, the heap of notebooks, pens, and other supplies making your arm ache in protest as you weaved through the throng of bodies. Like everyone else in here, you’d waited till the very last minute to get everything you needed before the semester started next week.

“A coffee would do me wonders,” you murmured, eyes wearily scanning the packed checkout lines.

“I think everyone in here could say the same,” Seungmin chuckled, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he took in your worn-out state.

The store was packed with baggy-eyed college students, who no doubt had spent these final days before the start of the semester catching up on work they should’ve completed over the winter break.

The two of you finally made it to the front of the long queue, Seungmin swatting your hand away as you tried giving your card to the cashier. She smiled softly as your boyfriend insisted on paying on your behalf.

“You forget that you’re also a broke college student,” you say, glaring at Seungmin as he thanked the cashier with a small smile and ushered you out of the store.

“Semi-broke,” he quipped, cooing at the expression on your face and poking your side. “You forget that ‘After School Club’ actually makes bank. Felix and Jeongin would’ve bailed out a long time ago if it didn’t.”

“Still,” you sighed, glare evaporating at the mention of Seungmin’s hilarious podcast. “I’d saved up for this stuff, you didn’t have to pay for me.”

The banter between the two of you carried on, bumping into each other every so often as you walked on. Making good use of Seungmin’s distraction, you managed to steer him all the way into your favourite café. Knowing him though, you suspected he could tell where you were leading him and simply let you have your way.

“Just one cappuccino,” you negotiated, left foot inching towards the café’s entrance. Seungmin noticed this and chuckled fondly, nudging it back into position with his own foot.

“You’re really something else.” He sighed, but made no move to argue.

“Is that a yes?” You asked in glee, the weight of your purchases forgotten as you happily swung your shopping bag at your side.

“No coffee though— you know what it does to you,” Seungmin said, shaking his head at your antics. “Get a hot cocoa or some tea. Same for me. You go ahead, I forgot I need to get something.”

“Okay, deal!” Smug from your supposed victory, you didn’t notice the way Seungmin’s lips quirked upwards as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the café with a slight spring in your step.

—

It didn’t take long for you to find a cozy little corner to people watch after you placed your to-go order. The familiar scent of freshly baked pastries was a comforting contrast to the disorienting array of perfumes and colognes that bombarded your senses in the stationery store. You took a deep breath, sinking into the plush chair and allowing yourself to momentarily zone out. Contentment came easily these days; simply taking in the low music playing through the café’s speakers or the mellow chatter of groups sitting around tables in twos and threes did you a world of good. To simply exist for a few moments, not particularly focusing on anything.

Seungmin came back just after the waiter at the counter had called out your order. You rested your arms on the counter and watched him walk in as the waitress double-checked your receipt. His dark brown bangs fell slightly over his eyes, and he absentmindedly feathered them back into place as he casually strolled over to you at the counter.

“Ready to head back?” He asked, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder.

“All set!” you confirmed with a nod, hands each balancing your shopping bag and your order.

“We’re not going to get very far like this,” Seungmin teased with a laugh, taking the small box of brownies from you and plopping it into his tote bag before relieving you of your loaded shopping bag.

“Aren’t you the man?” you teased back. Seungmin pulled a silly face at you in response, and you nearly dropped the two cups of hot cocoa you were holding from laughing.

—

“We’re literally four hundred meters from the train station,” Seungmin huffed incredulous. He bit back a laugh at how you were hunched over, empty cups in hand.

Shaking his head, Seungmin took the cups from you and tossed them into a nearby recycle bin before returning to simply stand by your side, arms crossed as he waited for you to recover.

The two of you must’ve been quite the sight— you, bent forward and groaning dramatically, while Seungmin stood stoically beside you, his expression deadpan.

“Piggyback ride,” you demanded, straightening back up with an exaggerated sigh.

“You’ve got to be insane!” Seungmin exclaimed. “The train station is right there.”

“No more,” you protested, shaking your head. “You said that ten minutes ago. Now, piggyback ride!” You clapped your hands once, stepping behind your wide-eyed boyfriend and patting his broad shoulders. “My feet are killing me,” you whined.

“Lazy,” Seungmin quipped, before sighing in defeat and letting you jump onto his back like a human backpack.

Grinning brightly at your small triumph, you ruffled his hair in thanks as your aching feet left the ground. Kim Seungmin was a tough man to beat, definitely seeing right through your exaggerated exhaustion. But he let you win anyway. Just because it was you.

—

The train rattled on, and you periodically turned to the window, letting the fading warmth of the sunset kiss your face one last time. Outside, the scenery blurred past in streaks of colour and light as you and Seungmin sat side by side, playing tic-tac-toe on a forgotten scrap of paper you had found on your seat. After yet another draw, Seungmin gave up, stuffing his pen into the front pocket of his jeans.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed, playfully reprimanding you. “You use the same infuriating tactics every single time.”

“Hey! It’s the only way to play the game,” you argued in your defense, laughing at his despair.

“You always try trap me by placing your ‘X’ at the same corner!”

“What do you want me to do? Start at the middle?” Your face twisted in mock horror. Such a rookie mistake was far beneath your prowess.

Seungmin tutted at you, giving up before the argument could even begin. “You’re so stubborn,” he grumbled— then immediately blamed himself for it, claiming you’d picked up the trait from hanging out with him. With a sigh, he leaned in, wiggling his fingers in front of your eyes as if he wanted to poke them.

You barely reacted, of course.

It was one of his many odd habits, something you’d grown accustomed to long ago. You still remembered his first ever visit to your dorm, when he’d attacked your plushies, pressing his fingertips into their button eyes and laughing maniacally as if it were the funniest activity known to man.

So, it didn’t come as a surprise now when, instead of flinching, you instinctively shut your eyes and let the soft pads of his fingertips rest gently against your eyelids. You had long since stopped caring how this unorthodox display of affection might look to passersby.

It was moments like these when you felt most at peace.

The stillness of his quiet steady love made time stop for just a second. And that was enough to restore structure to your chaos.

Seungmin was your small but certain happiness, the subtleties of his love a constant reassurance that carried you through the longest of days.

“By the way, I got you something,” he said quietly. A rare, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he fretted with your coat, reaching beneath the collar to tug out the bunched-up hood of your zip-up hoodie. You hadn’t even noticed that small discomfort, but he had.

Briefly acknowledging his help with a smile, you tilted you head, intrigued.

Seungmin reached into the depths of his tote bag beside him and turned back to you with red ears. “Here.” He held out a box to you. “I... got you headphones. So you can, you know, zone out in peace.”

Your breath caught.

There was silence for a beat, then another, and in this void you began to notice every other sound around you— the rhythmic click-clack of the wheels on the tracks, the soft hum of the engine beneath your seats. The rustle of a newspaper as someone nearby turned a page, the snippets of distant conversations that had previously blended into white noise.

You tried to sync your breathing with the train’s rhythm, grounding yourself as you processed what Seungmin had just said.

How well he knew you.

Seungmin, ever perceptive, understood your quiet. “I noticed how you get overwhelmed after… interacting so much,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “So, here’s a way to slow down. I hope…”

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in his words. “It’s perfect.”

Beyond that, words failed you. All you could manage was pull him into a hug.

Seungmin welcomed it with a small chuckle, the sound muffled as his cheek was squished against the fabric of your coat. Your scent was familiar, an unspoken invitation that eased the last of his lingering anxieties about whether you’d like his gift.

He looked up at you from this angle, admiring the gentle curve of your smile. “I hope they make your semester easier,” he murmured earnestly. Then, adding with a mischievous grin. “And you needed to let those ancient earphones go.”

You rolled your eyes, classic Seungmin. You swatted his hair lightly as you released him from your hold. “But you already do.” Your voice softened. “Make my days easier, I mean.”

Seungmin smirked at that. “Don’t you ever worry,” he said. “You’re stuck with me for the long run. We’ll be alright.”

⚝A/N: So excited to be back to writing fanfics! Last time I posted on here was like, August of 2023. I've grown a lot since then haha, both as a writer and as a person (I hope). Thank you for reading <3 I hope this story finds someone who's as obsessed with "Only" as I am lol.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin scenarios #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #skz soft thoughts #skz soft hours

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aziraphales-library · 5 months ago

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In light of recent events (or not so recent by the time this makes the queue 😅😅) could you all recommend some of your favorite Trans and/or Aspec omens fics?

I know we can search the tags (and everyone should!!) but what are some of y'all's favorites?

I have been looking for an excuse, nonny, so thank you for providing one. We support any and all headcanons and representations of Good Omens characters and their relationships. Please know you can request and recommend any kind of fics you want <3

We have a plentiful amount of fics on our #trans aziraphale, #trans crowley, #asexual, and #asexual relationship tags. But here are some of my personal favourites...

The first four have both trans and asexual characters, the latter two have one or the other...

All Hallow’s Eve by lalaland666 (G)

As it turned out, the reality of a Hallowe’en party for the university staff was even worse than the idea of one, and in all honesty, Aziraphale was just counting down the minutes until he could leave. "Well, this is going down like a lead balloon," a voice said from beside him.

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T)

Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster.

If Not Now, When by ineffablefool (T)

Anthony Crowley has learned by now that anything that makes him happy will be temporary at best. His quietly desperate routine is challenged when he happens to strike up a conversation with a customer at work, and he starts realizing three things, in this order: 1. oh huh this Aziraphale guy is actually interesting; 2. he can't stop embarrassing himself by accidentally flirting with him; and 3. oh no this Aziraphale guy is actually extremely attractive what do I do.

Lavender, Chamomile, and a Rather Permanent Arrangement by southdownsraph (M)

Crowley owns the flower shop across the street from A. Z. Fell's tattoo shop, and can't help but be intrigued by the slightly eccentric, yet incredibly friendly tattoo artist. When Crowley does finally pluck up the courage to talk to him beyond the occasional pleasantries, he kicks off the beginning of a friendship that could so easily drift into something else entirely.

Fine by likeasouffle (E)

Crowley’s gender had changed many times throughout history, and it generally wasn’t a big deal. She’d change her hair and clothing and switch out her genitals, just a couple of quick miracles. But this time her gender had had the audacity to flip right at the moment her relationship with Aziraphale was finally becoming physical, and suddenly she found herself considering his feelings about it, wondering how he’d react. Aziraphale wanted her handsome, he’d said so himself. He wanted her short-haired and masculine. He was a self-identified pansy with a history of late-night dancing with large groups of men. Crowley decided to stay as she was.

Changing of the Seasons by AppleSeeds (T)

Confined to his bookshop, Aziraphale joins a virtual training session about urban foraging led by botanist and natural wellbeing practitioner Anthony Crowley, and feels some relief from his anxiety for the first time since lockdown began. After that, he watches every video Crowley has posted online, but will he ever get up the courage to actually interact with him? After all, Crowley keeps giving him opportunities to do so... Perhaps once the lockdown is over, some one-to-one nature-based relaxation therapy might be just what Aziraphale needs?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #trans aziraphale #trans crowley #genderfluid crowley #asexual #asexual relationship #mod faves #mod d

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sengardet · 5 months ago

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Don't Answer the Door

You are startled awake by a knock on your door. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:13 AM, and your heart flutters in your chest from the jarring disturbance. Groggy, you fumble for the light switch, blinking against the sudden brightness in your living room. The knocking continues.

Feeling a swell of unease, you approach the door. Peering through the peephole, you see two figures in dark suits, their posture rigid, their faces concealed by the distorting glass. You can’t make out any details—only that they’re official, authoritative, and impatient.

Your mind races. No one comes by at this hour for trivial reasons. You open the door with caution, pressing yourself against the frame. The two individuals stand in the hallway, their expressions cold, unreadable. They flash government identification so quickly you barely catch the emblem—some military or paramilitary organization you do not recognize. The taller of the two thrusts a crisp white envelope toward you without a word.

“Sign here,” the shorter one orders, voice devoid of emotion. You glance at the proffered documents, your stomach churning. Its heading reads: “Summons for Immediate Conscription: Experimental Soldier Program.”

Your eyes flick from the paper to their stern faces. “This… must be a mistake,” you begin, your voice trembling with the aftershocks of being yanked from slumber. “I’m just a civilian. I’m not in the reserves—or the military at all.”

Neither agent reacts. Reluctantly, you press the pen to the document and sign where indicated, wondering if you even have a choice.

“Report to the specified facility at dawn,” the taller agent informs you. “Any delay will be treated as desertion.”

They leave as swiftly as they arrived, departing down the hallway without further explanation. The words “compulsory conscription” and “Experimental Soldier Program” practically burn themselves into your mind.

An hour of restless pacing follows. Yes, you’re in good physical shape; you lift, you run track, you’ve taken pride in sculpting your body. But you’re no fighter.

The directive is clear, and the hour is growing late. Knowing you can’t escape this, you make a feeble attempt to sleep again, but every time you close your eyes, you imagine the two agents’ stony faces.

At dawn, you force yourself out the door and head to the address included in the summons.

When you finally arrive, armed guards greet you with silent scrutiny. Past the barbed-wire gate, past an austere courtyard, you’re directed into a squat, concrete building. Inside, the corridors are utilitarian, lined with unmarked doors and glaring fluorescent lights that hum incessantly.

They guide you to a large, steel-gray reception hall. On one side, you see a queue of grim-faced men and women—some in military fatigues, others looking as out-of-place as you do, obviously civilians. At the front of this line, bored clerks at desks check documents and stamp papers. An official gestures for you to join the line.

When your turn comes, a clerk scans the barcode from your summons, then passes your file to someone else who breezes through it silently.

“Fitness aptitude but no military training. Conscript assigned to Medical Research Trials.” He glances at you impassively. “Report to Lab Sixteen—down the west corridor, second right.”

You blink, swallowing hard. So they don’t intend to toss you into the battlefield. You almost feel relief. Almost. But something about “Medical Research Trials” feels equally foreboding. You muster a shaky nod, following the corridor signs that lead deeper into the facility.

Your footsteps echo as you move forward, unsure who to address. Eventually, a freckled redheaded woman—her hair pulled into a tight bun—approaches you. Her freckled nose crinkles with a faint smile that tries to be warm but only heightens your unease.

“You must be the new one,” she says, studying a tablet. “Come with me. I’m Dr. Whitley.”

At the center of this room, under harsh lights, stands an examination bed fitted with thick leather restraints. The sight of those straps makes your pulse spike. You glance at Dr. Whitley, suddenly desperate for answers. But before you can voice your concerns, a slender, disheveled-looking male assistant guides you to the table.

“Right this way,” he says politely, gesturing for you to lie down. When you hesitate, Dr. Whitley murmurs, “Just a precaution. The procedures can sometimes trigger involuntary thrashing.”

The assistant carefully loops the leather restraints around your wrists, over your biceps, across your torso, and around your ankles.

Your voice cracks with tension. “Is this—truly necessary?”

Dr. Whitley lifts a hand, as though to soothe an anxious animal. “We’ll be quick,” she says softly. “You’ll be perfectly fine.”

Fine. The word rattles uselessly in your mind. The overhead lights glare, making you squint as your heart pounds in your ears. You hear scuffles around you—other lab personnel filing in. A brunette in thick-rimmed glasses approaches with a calm, professional demeanor. She doesn’t bother asking permission before removing your shirt, her fingers lingering on your skin in an oddly reverent way. On your exposed chest, she places sticky electrodes connected to an EKG machine. You glimpse the display in your peripheral vision, its lines jumping in time with your pulse.

Thery pay no attention to the obvious distress expressed in your frantic heartbeat. Dr. Whitley studies the readout, tapping on her tablet. “Has the subject’s DNA been preserved so we can proceed with the experiment?” she asks aloud.

“Yes,” the male assistant replies. “We have the sample and the baseline data from their file.”

Dr. Whitley sets aside her tablet. “All right. Let’s see how that extraordinary physique holds up.” There’s a subtle, disconcerting excitement glimmering in her eyes.

The brunette with glasses retrieves another device—a small ultrasound probe. She applies a cool gel across your sternum and gently presses the wand against your pounding heart. On a nearby monitor, a grayscale image of your heart appears, pulsing and contracting in real time. You watch with wide eyes, unsettled by how intimate this glimpse inside your body feels—especially when you’re strapped down and powerless.

“Look at this,” Dr. Whitley murmurs. She points to the screen, where the shape of your heart flickers in contoured lines. "The ventricular wall dimensions are on the upper end relative to its advance size, but not constrictive."

The brunette nods, adjusting her thick glasses as she studies the display. "The heart rate is elevated now, but that's to be expected given the circumstances."

The redhead approaches the monitor more closely. "Optimistic about those contractions as well."

Lost in the moment, you feel a prick in your arm as the brunette fixes an IV port, and then there’s a sharp sting when she injects a cocktail of liquid that feels alarmingly warm. Within seconds, your heart pounds faster, harder.

A beep on the EKG intensifies, becoming frantic. Your breath hitches, sweat beading on your forehead. You can almost feel the wave of chemicals coursing through your veins.

“Look at the response,” the brunette exclaims softly, adjusting a dial. “We’re climbing steadily. Those contractions you like are getting stronger.” She says with a smile to Dr. Whitley.

You try to control your breathing, but the flooding anxiety sends your respiration into ragged, shallow gasps. Dr. Whitley steps closer, placing her hand against your slick chest. The warmth of her palm contrasts with the cool gel, and you can tell she’s feeling your heartbeat directly, pressing down just enough to sense every contraction.

“Oh, feel that,” she breathes, voice tinged with a near-reverent awe. “It’s wild—like a caged animal.”

A strangled whimper escapes you, your vision swimming. Each thunderous palpitation grows more forceful than the last. The edges of your awareness blur as the room spins. In the background, you hear them discussing your “incredible baseline,” the range they can push, the data sets they need to gather. Words like “glycosides” and “tolerance thresholds” begin to blur into an indecipherable haze.

Driven by equal parts horror and instinct, you struggle against the restraints. The leather digs into your wrists and ankles, unyielding. Dr. Whitley’s hand remains firmly over your chest, her demeanor more predatory now, a thin-lipped smile curving her freckled cheeks.

She glances at the brunette. “You said it yourself—I’ve always had a soft spot for strong hearts.” Her fingertip draws slow circles against your pectoral muscle. “There’s something so intimate about feeling another person’s life force like this, beating under your hand.”

The brunette’s mouth quivers with a grin. “Just don’t push too hard,” she cautions. “We need the subject alive for continued data collection.”

As if on cue, you feel another searing jolt of medication surge through the IV. Your body jolts. The beeping on the EKG ratchets up a notch.

From the corner of your eye, you see the dark haired man scribble notes: “Heart rate: 190… 200… 210…” His voice is a clinical drone. “Ventricular function… strong but nearing upper limit.”

Dr. Whitley leans over you again, studying your face. The overhead light draws harsh shadows across her features, making her freckles stand out like dark flecks of rust. “You’re doing very well,” she coos, as if praising a prized lab animal. “Just a bit more, and we’ll have what we need for this session.”

Her words run through your oxygen-starved mind. Session. That means there’s more to come.

You barely register the next injection into your IV port, only the jolt that makes your chest seize momentarily. The EKG squeals in response, and you tremble against the straps, moaning through gritted teeth, begging them to stop. Dr. Whitley presses down again, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her palm.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. “So strong… so determined to live.”

The brunette nods, stepping away to analyze real-time data on a monitor. “We have enough for the day’s baseline,” she says. “Let’s stabilize, then prepare for the biopsy this afternoon.”

Biopsy. The word jolts you, fanning the embers of your terror. Before you can beg for mercy—though in your core, you suspect it would be futile—your body is swept in a hazy wave of sedation. Some new mixture floods your veins. The tension in your muscles goes slack, your eyelids drooping.

The next time you regain awareness, it’s all at once. No gentle easing into reality—just a sudden, blinding rush of fluorescent light overhead, a wave of antiseptic stench, and the cold press of metal beneath your back.

Gradually, your vision clarifies enough to see Dr. Whitley leaning over you. Her red hair is pinned in a messy bun this time, stray curls framing her freckled cheeks. She’s not wearing the typical neutral expression of a physician. Instead, she looks… enraptured.

“You gave us quite a scare,” she murmurs, almost intimately. Her gloved hand lifts from somewhere around your sternum—or what should be your sternum. She steps aside, momentarily revealing the open cavity of your chest.

Your mind screams at the sight. Even in your near-sedated state, you realize you’re looking at your exposed ribcage—no, not exactly that, either. Metal retractors hold apart what must be the edges of your chest wall. And within that space… something wet and pink is beating, pulsing in a disturbingly recognizable rhythm.

Oh God, that’s your heart.

Terror floods you, but your body remains mostly limp, pinned by sedation and perhaps other restraints you cannot even feel. You try to shout, to ask what they’ve done, but only a thin, rattling exhalation escapes your lips.

“Shh,” Dr. Whitley soothes, sliding back into your line of sight. She’s wearing a surgical cap and mask, though the mask is tugged down just enough to reveal her mouth in a small, pleased smile. “You’re stable. We had to open your chest to resuscitate you effectively and examine some… structural qualities. Your heart is larger than we anticipated—stronger, too. But it needed a little help.”

As if on cue, you feel an odd tickle, and then something cold glides across the surface of that beating mass. You cannot feel your chest wall, but the raw sense of motion resonates through your body. You’re excruciatingly aware that your heart is outside your body’s normal protection.

A fresh wave of adrenaline floods your system, or maybe it’s something Dr. Whitley just injected into your IV. She sets a large syringe down, and her expression brightens with a frightening, clinical enthusiasm. “Your heart’s conduction system is still reactive,” she tells another figure you barely register to her left—a nurse? An assistant? You’re too disoriented to focus. “But we want to see how it holds up under high-stress conditions. Given what happened earlier, I want to push it carefully this time.”

Careful doesn’t describe what happens next. Dr. Whitley places her hand flat against your heart—your actual heart—and the sensation buckles your mind. There’s a moment of primal panic, the knowledge that someone’s palm is physically in contact with the essence of your life, your existence. Her grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough that each beat is transmitted right into her glove, and you can tell she’s measuring every contraction.

She flicks a switch on the IV line. Immediately, your heart rate spikes. A trembling quake runs through your arms, and you gasp for air, which you can only half pull into your lungs. The EKG machine to the side chirps faster, almost frantic. Your heart pounds, straining against her palm.

She glances at the monitors. “Good,” she breathes. “Strong sinus rhythm at 120… 130… climbing.” Her green eyes gleam, half-lidded in fascination. “Let’s aim for 180. Then I’ll begin defibrillator testing.”

Defibrillator testing. The phrase sends a jolt of dread through your drug-clouded thoughts. Normally, defibrillation is used to restore a normal heartbeat when it’s lost, but she wants to test your heart’s “electrical resistance” at an accelerated rate. Alarm bells ring in your mind, but your limbs remain numb to commands. Whatever sedation they’ve used keeps you still, but tragically conscious.

With an eerie calm, Dr. Whitley slips a slender paddle-like device from a sterile tray nearby. It’s an internal defibrillator paddle, smaller than the usual external paddles but no less capable of delivering a massive shock. She holds it close to the apex of your heart, her other hand bracing gently against the organ’s side. On a separate console, the dark-haired assistant raises the charge level, reading out numbers that blend into a horrifying litany: “50 joules… 75… 100.”

At that moment, your heart is galloping near 180 beats per minute, each contraction rattling your half-open ribcage. Dr. Whitley nods once. The assistant presses a button.

The current slams into your heart like a tidal wave. Your vision goes white, and your body jerks upward despite the sedation. Even your respiratory attempts stall. For a second, your heart surges out of rhythm, thrashing erratically. The EKG squeals. It’s unclear whether it’s going to recover or slip into another flatline.

Dr. Whitley pulls back, checking the monitors and the limp spasm of your heart. “Sinus conversion… no, it’s fibrillating. Increase the energy in increments of 20 joules.”

Another shock. Your entire chest cavity—what remains of it—contracts violently. The wet muscle of your heart convulses under the contact. Stars explode in your vision. Even your mind, dulled by sedation, can barely cling to consciousness. Then the monitors beep in that dreaded monotone again: a flatline.

“No,” Dr. Whitley hisses, as though scolding your heart for not cooperating. “We’re not done.”

She drops the defibrillator paddle and quickly gestures for a different tool. In your delirium, you see it flash silver: a large syringe, maybe adrenaline or some specialized stimulant. She rams it directly into the muscle of your heart with a practiced jab. The sharp invasion of the needle conjures a swirl of nauseous dread in your gut.

The EKG remains flat. Gritting her teeth, Dr. Whitley removes the syringe and does something both primeval and intimately horrifying: she begins manually pumping your heart in her hands. Wrapping her gloved fingers around the unresponsive muscle, she squeezes it rhythmically, trying to coax it back into beating. Each squeeze makes your mind spin—an unnatural, nauseating feeling of an external force attempting to animate your core.

“Come on,” she mutters, her focus absolute. “Respond!”

A flicker. The EKG hiccups with an uneven beep. Then another. Your battered heart twitches, as though deciding whether to obey or give up entirely. With another firm compression from Dr. Whitley’s hands, it makes a feeble attempt at a beat on its own. The flatline disappears, replaced by slow, uncertain pulses.

“Good,” she praises softly, practically massaging your heart to guide it. “There we are. You’re too strong to quit now.”

Fresh sedation is introduced into your system. You find you can breathe slightly easier, but your chest remains unfeeling, your mind caught in the dreadful awareness of her manipulations. Slowly, your heart stabilizes, though it’s weaker than before. The EKG reads a tenuous sinus rhythm around 80 beats per minute, far from the explosive 180 that had been forced upon it.

You feel her shift her grip on your heart, and then you sense the clamp hooking around something thick and vital. The aorta. She’s actually holding it between her fingers. Despite the sedation, your body tries to recoil on pure reflex, but you can only twitch in your restraints.

Dr. Whitley gently pinches the top of your aorta. “Let’s see how it handles slight occlusion,” she remarks, applying pressure. The EKG spikes with a ragged beep as your heart works harder to push blood through the newly restricted vessel.

“Hmm,” she muses, narrowing her eyes at the monitor. “Systolic pressure is… quite high. That’s very good. Let’s test its elasticity.”

She transitions from using her fingers to applying the clamp. The metal jaws bite into your aorta with measured tension. Your struggling heart falters for a beat, then resumes, pumping fiercely against the partial blockage. The beeping grows frantic again.

Every contraction feels sharper in your remaining sense of your chest cavity—like a muffled wave of pressure fighting against an immovable dam. You can’t produce a coherent scream, but your mouth hangs open in silent torment. You vaguely hear Dr. Whitley ordering the assistant to record the new data points: “Mark the pressure reading at clamp intervals of 10 mmHg. We’ll see how far we can push before distention becomes dangerous.”

She tightens the clamp further. Another beep from the monitors. Your heart lurches like a panicked animal. She glances over with a satisfied curve to her lips. “Remarkably strong,” she comments, the same way a mechanic might admire a high-performance engine. “Even with partial occlusion, it’s still pushing blood efficiently. I wonder if we can refine those glycoside cocktails to build even more force…”

“There,” Dr. Whitley murmurs to someone behind her. “Look at the state of it now. Fat, bloated, and vascular—thoroughly engorged.” She shakes her head in a kind of clinical wonder. “Beautiful, really… It’s still trying valiantly, despite the occlusion.”

“What admirable resilience,” Dr. Whitley says softly, leaning closer, her hand pressing lightly on the top of your heart. Even with sedation muting your pain, the sensation of her gloved palm against the bare muscle is almost unspeakably perverse. “Squeezing so hard… but every contraction meets that clamp.”

She nods to the assistant, and you feel a subtle release of pressure—just a fraction. Your heart leaps, as if starved for the chance to push out a full volume of blood. The relief is fleeting, though, because Dr. Whitley doesn’t actually remove the clamp; she merely adjusts it, letting a bit more blood pass. You can sense your heart throbbing, swelling, pressing outward to fill the newfound space. It’s horrifyingly intimate, feeling that muscle balloon, gulping blood to send it through.

“Look how it squirms,” Dr. Whitley murmurs with a note of awe. it’s struggling to recover from the partial strangulation, but it’s not giving up. Fascinating.”

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch her mouth curve into something like a smile. She curls her fingers around the device, then deftly snaps it off. The clamp—or whatever contraption was occluding your aorta—releases fully. Your heart, no longer choked, thumps in a series of relief pulses that ripple through the cavity. It expands and contracts in robust waves, as if gulping in fresh life. The EKG responds with a higher, steadier pitch, though still faster than normal.

“There we are,” Dr. Whitley says, voice lowered to a near purr. “Look at it—so vigorous now, flushed with blood. The contractions are returning.”

Her hand slides across the muscle’s surface, and you feel your heart spasm under the contact. Another wave of cold floods through your IV, no doubt her doing. Your pulse spikes in response, thumping erratically for a moment until it finds a new, unnatural rhythm. Heat flushes your face, mixing with the chills of terror and the sedation in your veins. Each beat rings like thunder, as if you can hear it in your ears, sense it in your skull.

The difference is staggering—where moments ago your heart was strangled, now it’s unleashed, each contraction deep and forceful. In a sickening way, the sensation is almost euphoric. Your battered organ is desperate to reassert itself. It seizes the chance, pumping with renewed vigor, and the relief is so abrupt it’s disorienting.

Dr. Whitley observes every surge, measuring the bounding pulses with her other hand, as though she can count each gush of blood in her palm. “Incredible,” she whispers. “This subject’s heart is among the most reactive I’ve ever seen. No matter how hard we push it, it clings to survival with remarkable ferocity.”

The assistant steps forward to check the monitors, adjusting dials that control fluid drips, sedation levels, and stimulants. “Systolic normalizing,” he announces, scanning a readout. “If you’d like to proceed with additional tests—”

Dr. Whitley silences him with a subtle gesture, then gives a slight shake of her head. “No, not just yet. Let it recover. I want to see how it manages on its own for a moment.”

She eases her gloved hand around the apex of your heart, as though cradling a fragile artifact. Each throb jars you—mentally, physically, spiritually—knowing she’s effectively holding your life in her grip. Though there’s no direct pain, the knowledge of your vulnerability is more excruciating than any scalpel cut.

Time passes in weighted moments, each of your heartbeats echoing in your ears and throughout the lab. Dr. Whitley hums under her breath, enthralled by the motion of the muscle. The rest of the lab staff stands at quiet attention, letting her examine the heart’s unsubdued recovery. With each contraction, the organ flares, glistening under the intense lights—again, you’re thankful for the sedation that keeps raw agony at bay, but the mental horror is still enough to make your head swim.

“Admirable,” Dr. Whitley repeats, though more softly now. “It’s as though it’s reclaiming lost territory. Even after repeated shocks, high-pressure occlusions, forced arrests… it beats like it wants to take on the world.”

She runs a careful finger along an engorged coronary. “Look how enlarged these are,” she remarks, addressing no one in particular. “They’re inflated, carrying blood to a heart that refuses to quit. Note the color—rich and oxygenated. Subject’s hemoglobin count is higher than baseline, likely a response to the repeated stress.”

Her words blur into clinical jargon. Your eyelids slide lower, sedation tugging you back to semiconsciousness. For a dreadful moment, you see every ripple in the wet muscle, the branching veins like a labyrinth of dark lines feeding the organ.

#dark cardiophilia #cardiophilia #heart torture #Tried to keep the gender of the pov neutral for max pleasure #Gift story

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

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Cool for the Summer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren't as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellooooooooo. I've done it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The heat is suffocating. There’s so many people crammed into the tight space. Enough to smother you and make you sweat. You're close to the end.

The train is finally still and passengers rise to take down their bags and form a queue along the center aisle. You stay patiently in your seat. You’d rather wait there then brave the crowded shuffle as the impatience to disembark mounts.

At last, the doors open and people begin to move. You don’t stand until the last person passes your row. Your suitcase is at the front of the car with the bigger luggage.

Step-by-step you make your way up and slip your bag off the middle shelf. You haul it awkwardly to the door and the man on the ground helps bring it down. You thank him, looking only at his branded pin, and step off.

You drag the bag behind you and hike up the smaller bag on your shoulder. You’re exhausted and it’s not even noon. The automatic doors stand open as the other passengers enter the station. You follow and wheel your bag to the side so you’re out of the way.

You take out your phone. Your mother texted that she was here ten minutes ago. You can’t see much through the busy station. It’s summer and everyone is on their way somewhere; going home or heading out on vacation.

You’re relieved to be back but you won’t be able to relax until you’re at your mom’s house. You can’t wait to hide in your room and catch up on your reading. After four years at college, you have a long list.

As endless as your list may be, your reprieve won’t be. You have your degree now. You need to use it. Find a job, start your life, be an adult. The prospect is exciting but terrifying. More the latter as it entails associating with strangers. You’ve never been very good at that.

You did so well in school because it’s all you did. You didn’t go out and party, you didn’t distract yourself with dating or drinking, you didn’t even sign up for that book club that looked fun. You only stayed in and studied and occasionally ate in the cafe instead of boiling ramen or ordering in.

You don’t see her. You roll over to a free seat and sit. You text and ask where she is.

The general public stirs around you, blending into your peripherals as you stare at your phone and wait. You’d be better off waiting outside. Maybe. There’s a line of taxis and it’s all clustered with people trying to claim one.

“Ahem, excuse me.” The deep tone draws your head up but your eyes don’t go all the way. You focus on the man’s neck and the silver and brown stubble under his chin. He says your name and you sit up taller. “That’s you, right? Your mom showed me a pic. She’s just run to the bathroom.”

“Huh?” You clutch your bag tight.

“She did tell you I was coming, didn’t she?” He asks.

You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, “no. Who are you?”

You don’t know him. Not by his voice or the brief peek at his face. He’s older. Maybe her age. His dark hair is peppered with grey and his face is lined around his eyes and mouth, a few softer wrinkles in his forehead. His blue eyes are as bold as gems.

“Bucky.” He answers as if that should be explanation enough. He offers his hand. “Finally, we meet.”

You look around and accept his hand. You shake it. “Um, okay?”

He lets you go and grabs the handle of your suitcase. You reach for it in panic and stand. You nearly tip over and barely avoid brushing against him.

“She didn’t mention me. At all?”

You shake your head.

“Bucky,” your mom’s voice undercuts the awkward introduction. You turn to watch her flutter over. “Oh, sweetie, you’re home!”

Your mom seizes you and wraps you in a tight hug. She usually lets you have your space. You’ve never been touchy feely but you don’t protest. It has been a while since you saw her.

“Um, mom?” You murmur as she releases you.

She steps back and looks between you and the stranger. No, his name is Bucky.

“Oh, yes. You two. This is Bucky. Bucky--”

“We met,” Bucky interrupts.

“So sorry. I had an iced coffee on the way,” she trills.

“Bucky?” You raise your brows in your mom’s direction.

“You remember. I told you I met a guy,” she lowers her voice and nudges you. “This is him.”

“Oh.”

You vaguely remember her mentioning it after Christmas. You didn’t think too much about it. You don’t remember it coming up again. She always just said she went out or talked about chores. You wonder if she didn’t tell you on purpose. If maybe she expected you to overreact.

“We thought we could take you out for lunch as a bit of a homecoming. That train food isn’t very filling.” She smiles. “Well, it was Bucky’s idea. He’s so sweet.”

“Honey,” he chuckles. “Please, you’re giving me a lot to live up to.”

“Erm. If you want.” You shrug.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.” Bucky pulls your bag away and you flinch again. “Ladies, first. Want me to get your other bag?” He offers and you shake your head.

Your mom moves first and you quickly catch up to her. You wish she’d at least warned you. You’re entirely unprepared for this. She knows you don’t do well with new people but maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything. So you couldn’t come up with an excuse to get out of it.

The sun beats down and adds to the sheet of sweat across your nape. Bucky looms behind you, his shadow skewing on the pavement, and you search for your mom’s car. You don’t see it.

She leads you to a dark blue car and you stare at it dumbly.

“Bucky drove,” your mom explains. The trunk pops as Bucky rolls your bag up. You step back as he lifts it inside. You thank him again as guilt bristles in your chest.

You follow your mom around the side of the car, waiting for her lead. When she opens the door, you open the back one. When she gets in, you get it. When she clips in her seat belt, you do. Bucky gets in on the driver’s side and drops his keys in the little tray between the cup holders. He jabs the button to turn the engine.

He doesn’t shift into gear right away. He does up his own seat belt, adjusts his posture, then fiddles with the mirror. You glance up as his eyes dart away in the mirror. Was he looking at you?

You pick at the hem of your sleeves button-up and lean into the door. You really hope you’re not in the way. You have that rotting sensation in your gut. You’ve ruined their day.

“Alright, everyone buckled in?” He grips the wheel with one hand, the other hooking behind your mother’s seat as he cranes and backs out of the spot. You stare at his thick fingers as you slump down in self-consciousness. You know he’s only checking his rear window but you’re always paranoid of being seen.

He rolls the car straight and steers between the slanted rows of vehicles. He idles behind the fleet of cabs and weaves his way through the chaos. Your mom sighs and shifts. She’s a less than patient driver.

“So, we were thinking the new bar and grill, figured you haven’t been around to try it,” your mom explains. “But if you miss Dezi’s, we can go there. Me and Bucky love getting Sunday lunch there. You remember how we used to go?”

Your lips twitch as you fright a frown. Dezi’s is your place. You and your mom went there since you were in grade school. Knowing she’s been taking him feels like a violation. The suspicion that you’re being replaced unnerves you. You don’t have any right to be mad about it. You’re grown now and your mom’s allowed to live her life. Thing’s change, they already have.

“New place is fine,” you grumble.

“Great! Megan recommended it. I’ve been dying to try it.” Your mom is elated.

She’s never short of enthusiasm but you don’t know the last time she didn’t have a single complaint. If it’s a nice day, she’s disappointed she can’t be at the beach. If she has the day off, she’s upset she has to do the laundry, even if you offer to throw it in with yours. And when she finally gets her food at a restaurant, she laments that she didn’t order the chicken instead of beef. Maybe change is good.

“Your mom’s a great tour guide. I don’t feel so lost anymore.” Bucky stops at a light and looks at her. “Uh, Lauren?”

“Straight then left,” she instructs him with a point of her finger. Her nails are done. Not her usual chipped paint on her short square cuticles; she has a full set with a lovely almond shape.

He follows her directions and continues through the green. You turn your attention out the window. You were only just home for the holidays but everything feels so different. Or maybe you are too.

There’s nothing ahead of you no, yet everything at the same time. You haven’t found much in your job search. Every job your mom sent you, you applied. You trawled the online boards and even used the student career center for help with your CV. A dozen articles littered your feed deeming the market oversaturated.

Another disappointment for your mom. You’re sure she won’t fail to mention this one. You exhale and twine your fingers together in your lap.

“Tired, sweetie?” Your mom asks.

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. It wouldn’t do any good to share your worries. You still have time to find a job. Eventually, you have to get something.

“Alright,” Bucky flicks his blinker on and waits to turn. “Here we are.”

He pulls into the lot of the bar and grill. It’s built to resemble a log cabin and the entire theme has a rustic tint. He slides into a spot and shuts the engine off. In the silence, your stomach rumbles loudly.

“Hungry?” He chuckles and peeks back over his shoulder. As your mom jostles her purse and untangles her seat belt, he winks. Your blink dumbly and click the button to release yourself.

“Sure.” Your voice creaks as you pull the door handle. It doesn’t budge. You try again. Then frantically feel around for the lock.

“Oops.” Bucky turns and hits a switch. The locks thunk back.

Your mom gets out first and you follow. Bucky catches up and brushes by you as he passes. He beats you both to the front door and opens it for you. You trail your mom and he stays close as he enters behind you.

“Such a gentleman,” your mom praises and giggles. She sounds bubbly. You can’t remember her sounding like that before.

“Table for three,” Bucky says to the hostess.

Again, he lets you go ahead of him. Your mom is ahead of you as the hostess leads you into the dining room. You’re sat at a booth. You’re relieve to have a bench to yourself, facing your mother and Bucky, but she insists on being on the outside in case she needs the bathroom. That leaves you across from him.

“Drinks.” Bucky intones as he grabs the slender menu. “Cocktails?”

“What do they have?” Your mom leans on him as she reads over his shoulder.

“Hmm, interesting. Apple cider’s a bit out of season,” Bucky comments. “Figured we should celebrate. Baby girl is home and graduated.”

You wince at the reference. Baby girl? He sucks his teeth as he examines the menu then turns it around. He offers it across the table.

“Think I'll stick to beer,” he says.

“Go on,” your mom goads. “Get something special, sweetie. You earned it.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll just have water.”

“It’s a special day,” she insists.

“Well, er...” you take the menu and nod. You look down at the listings as your cheeks burn hot. You don’t like to argue, especially when there’s no good reason.

You try to make sense of it. Blackberry sounds good but you’re not sure what bitters are. You don’t drink. You had one glass of wine at a New Years party with your mom’s friends a few years ago and didn’t really get the appeal. It made your stomach feel swishy.

There’s a lemonade that sounds okay. You like lemonade. You settle on that and put the menu down. Your mother scoops it up and you apologise. You should’ve asked her if she needed it.

A server appears and takes your drink orders as she doles out a set of larger menus. You take yours and listen as she recites the specials. You don’t really catch any of it. You’ve always done better with writing than oral instruction. She leaves and you wait for the others to open their menu before you do the same.

“This is nice,” your mom says. “I’m so happy you two are getting along.”

You force a smile and Bucky slips his arm around her and squeezes. Your eyes meet again and his cheek dimples beneath his beard. You quickly avert your attention back to the sandwich options.

Getting along? You barely know him. Not to mention, you didn’t expect him. No use in whining about it. He's here and your mother is happy.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #cool for the summer #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #au

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lnfours · 1 year ago

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so sorry for spamming you with asks 😭

reader not having a good relationship with her parents. and one day in passing by she mentions to lando that shes having a girls day out type of thing with lando's mum and sisters. and he melts bc hes so happy shes comfortable enough with his family to be happy -🍒 anon

i’m crying so hard, i love this man with my whole soul.

cleaning out my inbox

you were in the bathroom, fiddling with the final touches of your makeup as you scanned over yourself one last time in the reflection. the front door closing had let you know that lando was back from training, and soon would be calling your name.

“baby?” as if right on queue.

“bathroom!” you called back to him, hearing his footsteps in the hallway. he joined you, standing in the doorway as he took you in. flowy sundress, a little pair of heels, hair styled just the way you liked it, and glowy skin complimenting your already beautiful features. you looked as good as ever.

“hey,” you smiled over at him, taking in a breath before looking down at your outfit, “do i look okay?”

“as beautiful as ever,” he smiled, “might tell my mom and sisters you can’t make it, you suddenly have a really bad case of the flu.”

you laughed, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around your neck, “i’ll be all yours when i get back, i promise.”

you had made plans with the norris women to go out to lunch, catch up. something you always looked forward to, a sense of welcoming and normalcy you weren’t used to until you met them. you would be lying if you said you hadn’t been looking forward to this for weeks.

you pulled his arm to your view, looking down at his watch, “i gotta get going.”

he crinkled his nose, “you sure you don’t feel sick? no fever? no cough?”

you laughed, shaking your head and pulling him closer, “i feel perfectly fine, lan.”

you placed a soft kiss on his lips, walking out the bathroom door, “i promise, as soon as i’m home i’m all yours.”

“you better keep that promise.” he said, watching you grab your purse from the back of the bedroom door. you quickly walked back over to him, pressing a kiss on his lips.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too,�� he smiled before your heels echoed down the hallway, “have fun!”

the front door closed and he sighed softly, but smiled shortly after at the idea of you getting along with the most important women in his life, and how he desperately wanted to give you his last name.

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wwemcumuscleslover · 1 month ago

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Marvel he is your Mr Sinster. Don't waste your chance

Jon on Pilot Podcast [x]

April 7, 2025

#jon hamm #queue have a train to catch

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msnmnt · 7 months ago

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Whispers Of Regret

Notes: this is my first time attempting to write angst, I hope it’s okay. Mason is a little bit of an arse 🫣 but all ends well, I promise 🥰 Feedback is welcomed as always 🤍

You ran your hands through your hair, sighing at the way your curls already fell flat. You slipped your shoes on before tugging down at the bottom of your simple black dress, internally criticising everything you saw in the reflection that mirrored back at you. It was your trusty go-to outfit that cinched you in at all the right places and cut off high enough to show off your legs, but not even that could make you feel good about yourself tonight.

You had practically ransacked your wardrobe and your hair that you had spent so long curling had taken the brunt of your many outfit changes, having flattened due to you pulling on and off an endless amount of dresses. Three different shades of lipstick had been applied and wiped off, and when the clapse of your favourite necklace broke in your hand, you wanted nothing more than to just get into your pyjamas and head to bed.

But you couldn't. You had promised Mason you would join him for Ashley’s birthday, one of the trainers at the club who Mason had became friendly with recently. You didn’t want to let him down so with that in mind, you took a deep breath and tried your best to compose yourself.

It had been a rubbish day at uni. Hell, it had been a rubbish week. You had lost track of how many assignments you had started and were yet to complete, you seemed to have more classes than ever and before you were feeling mega stressed about it all.

And to top it off, you had came home to find your boyfriend in an even worse mood than you.

You sympathised with him, of course. The past few weeks Mason had spent more time at the training ground than he had at home in an attempt to get his fitness back up, and he was very obviously shattered. You hadn't seem him much during the whole week, so when you came home to find his car in the driveway you were looking forward to a good cuddle before you had to head out. For him to ask how your day had been. Maybe even a little kiss for the first time that week. Anything.

But when he had uttered the quietest "Hi" when you walked into your longue, making no attempt to even look up at you, you knew he was in another one of his moods.

The pair of you had got ready in silence, tension thick in the air. You tried to put on a fake smile, attempting to look on the bright side. If Mason was going to be in a foul mood at least you could spend the evening with your girls. You had become close with Ashley’s girlfriend, Daisy, and you were looking forward to meeting some of her friends and hopefully being able to drink your crap week away.

You headed out of your en-suite and into the bedroom to find Mason led on your shared bed, tapping away on his phone, clearly engrossed with something that was far more exciting than you. He was dressed nicely in his jeans, a smart top and a big oversized shirt jacket, but his trainers on the crisp white duvet cover that you had only changed last night made you roll your eyes.

Right on queue, Mason finally pried his gaze away from his phone to catch you looking unamused at him. Even after being together for years, Mason’s compliments were always sure to give you a little boost, no matter how rubbish you felt. You had a tiny bit of hope that he might compliment you, but your heart twinged when he looked back down to his phone as it pinged.

“Think you could drop the attitude at some point this evening?”

Your heart sunk to your tummy at his words and a lump formed in your throat. Your eyes stung as you tried to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, blinking them away.

“What?” You asked, voice small and quiet, asking him to repeat himself to make sure you had heard him right.

You hadn't been strangers to a few arguments over the years; just usual bickering between couples. But the worst Mason normally did was give you the silent treatment, short and blunt replies, taking himself to your home gym to let out some stress.

He had never spoken to you like that before.

“I said, are you going to drop the attitude? I don’t appreciate it and I certainly don’t think my friends are going to enjoy you scowling at them like you’ve been doing to me for the past hour.”

You were in complete disbelief at the words that left his mouth, and even more so the way he seemed so unphased by it. He locked his phone and got up off the bed, heading to leave the room.

You just stood there still in shook and Mason turned around to look back at you.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you coming?” He checked his watch, mumbling under his breath. “You’ve already made me late, as usual.”

You wanted to give him attitude back. You wanted to tell him where to shove it. But you didn’t have the energy to argue any more, so instead you just followed him over to the door as you headed out of your house without saying another word to each other.

You hadn’t seen Mason since the moment you arrived at the club. He had wandered off as soon as he saw some of the boys, and luckily the girls had came over to you, not even having a chance to pick up on the tension between the two of you before a drink was in your hand.

The earlier events stayed in the back of your head, but you actually managed to let your hair down a little, enjoying yourself as you got to know Daisy's girlfriends before gladly joining them all on the dancefloor and momentarily forgetting about your troubles.

"Do you want another drink, y/n?" Daisy asked and you looked down to your glass that you hadn't even noticed was empty.

"That's okay, I'll get these!" You shouted over the music, taking the pair of your empty glasses to the bar before ordering another round of drinks.

The barman took your order and was fixing your drinks up when out the corner of your eye you saw Mason strolling up to the bar. You turned your body to the side slightly, as if that may prevent him from realising it was you.

No luck, you jumped back around when Mason clanged his empty bottle down onto the bar.

“Are you going to ignore me all evening?”

You finally faced Mason, but he was just looking straight ahead, not interested in paying you too much attention.

“I could say the same to you.” You replied, making Mason scoff.

“You couldn’t wait to get away from me as soon as you got here.”

“Could you blame me?!” You huffed. “You didn’t even tell me I looked nice tonight."

You practically heard him roll his eyes and he shook his head. “I tell you how beautiful you look all the time, y/n.”

“I’ve been lucky if I’ve got a hello off you this week, Mason!” You exclaimed over the booming of the music, completely snapping now. “I know things are tough for you at the moment but I’ve not exactly had the best week either.” You tried to level with him, but he just shook his head.

“It’s not quite the same though, is it?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, not meaning for them to come out how they did.

“Of course. My menial life and my pathetic problems are far too normal to ever compare to yours, right?” You asked sarcastically.

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant and if you’re going to twist my words-“

“I’m not twisting anything!”

“Look, forget it. Just go back to scowling me from across the dance floor and ranting to the girls about what a horrible boyfriend I am."

You stood there totally gobsmacked as Mason walked away, not even bothering to wait for his drink.

The girls had gone for a rest from dancing and had gathered together in a booth. You tried your best to slip yourself in without causing a fuss, but Daisy noticed there was something wrong straight away.

"Hun, are you alright?" She said hushed, not wanting to draw attention to you.

You gave her a smile but she could tell from how it didn't quite meet your eyes that something was up.

"Where's our drinks?" She questioned, not really concerned about the whereabouts of her drink but rather what had happened to clearly upset you.

You were no longer in the mood to party or even let off any steam. You were exhausted from your shit week and arguing with your boyfriend, so much so you just wanted to go home, curl up in bed and be on your own.

“I’m actually not feeling too good - I think I’m just a little run down from uni.” You tried to cover up the best you could when you noticed the other girls all listening in.

“Yeah, you sound a bit sniffly, babe.” Eva, one of Daisy's friends replied and you gave her a sympathetic smile, pleased to have played it off.

“I think I’m just going to head home.”

“You can’t go on your own at this time. I’ll come with you.” Daisy interrupted.

You shook your head. “No, I don’t want to ruin your evening.” You smiled, trying to make the girls not feel bad. “I’ll be safe, I’ll call Mason’s driver to come pick me up.”

After double and triple checking you were sure you’d be okay on your own, the girls waited till you had got in the car that they recognised before they headed back into the club, and you headed on your way home.

You sighed to yourself as you entered your house, your heels clipping against the wooden floor as you turned the heating on, cursing yourself for not having left it on before you went out.

You took your time getting unready, using your expensive cleansers and creams that you saved for best to try and give yourself a bit of a pamper to make yourself feel better.

After stripping off your dress, you changed into some pyjama bottoms before you begrudgingly slipped on one of Mason’s hoodies, opting for warmth.

Feeling marginally better, you hummed to yourself as you headed back downstairs, deciding to fill your hot water bottle up to have with you in bed to help you stay warm. You doubted Mason would be back anytime soon, anyway.

Once the kettle was boiled, you unscrewed the cap and begun to pour the hot water in. What you weren’t expecting was for the front door to slam, creating an almighty thud and causing you to jump, the hot water spilling straight from the kettle and onto the skin of your hand.

You yelped, dropping the kettle as the sting became more and more intense.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You yelped, knocking the cold tap on and quickly sticking your hand under it.

As the burning sensation took over, you couldn’t hold yourself together anymore, bursting into tears as you struggled to hold yourself up at the sink, the burn causing jolts of pain to shoot up your hand.

Unbeknownst to you, Mason had came storming through the hallway, checking in the living room where there was no sign of you. He heard the water running so he headed into the kitchen, his brows furrowing at the noise he could hear till he could make out it was you crying.

He rushed to find you, practically running into the kitchen where he saw you stood there, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed your heart out, the cold tap still pouring water as it cascaded all down your hand which was now red.

“Baby, shit, what’s happened?” Mason rushed over, stopping infront of you to try and release what had happened before he touched you.

“B-burnt my h-hand.” You managed to mumble out between sobs, finally letting yourself go as you full on sobbed, feeling majorly sorry for yourself.

Mason’s gaze turned to your hand, guiltily swallowing as he spotted your blistering skin. His tummy flipped as he spotted the fluffy hot water bottle that he had bought you at Christmas on the worktop.

“Oh, y/n. Oh, baby.” He cooed. “Are you unwell?”

You shook your head. “I was just c-cold and I assumed you wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.”

Mason felt physically sick at the thought of you being upset and in your big king sized bed all by yourself, just your hot water bottle to keep you warm. The fact you were wrapped up in his hoodie only made him feel worse.

You pulled your hand away from the water, wincing in pain as you attempted to wriggle your fingers.

“Hey, you need to keep it under here for a bit longer.” Mason’s voice was low and stern, his hand gently wrapping around your wrist and slowly guiding yours back under the tap. You groaned in pain as the freezing water hit your skin once more, sobbing as you reluctantly kept it there. Mason’s thumb gently stroked over your wrist as he held your hand in place. Once he was convinced you weren’t going to move your hand he let go, his brown eyes now soft as they took in how much of a mess you were. His demeanour was a stark difference to how it had been earlier, his shoulders relaxed, his eyebrows knitted together slightly and his bottom lip sticking out slightly at seeing his baby in pain.

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

You sniffled, attempting to stop crying. “It’s not your fault I’m clumsy.” Technically it was his fault for slamming the door, but he wasn’t to know and you couldn’t bear to bicker with him anymore.

“Was it from me slamming the door?” Mason asked, guilt settling in. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” You lied, finally facing Mason and the look on his face told you he knew you were lying. “It just scared me a bit, okay? Made me jump.”

“Oh, darling.” Mason ran his hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a dick…”

“It’s fine, Mase.” You replied, not having the energy to fight any more.

“It’s not fine, it’s not fine at all, y/n. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, I shouldn’t have spoke to you how I did. It’s not fair and I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

You offered him a small smile, briefly taking your hand away from the water to try and straighten it out from how stiff it had got in the cold, before putting it back under when Mason gave you a stern look.

“I haven’t exactly been in a good mood either.” You offered to try to in attempt to make him feel a little better but he just shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re my princess and I should be treating you like it.” His honey eyes started welling up with water as he thought about how he had spoken to you earlier. “I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I've been the worst boyfriend in the world recently and I’ll make it up to you, angel. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You tried to joke, relieving some of the tension.

Once Mason was satisfied that you had left the burn under the water for long enough (and you could no longer feel your fingers from how cold the water was), he helped you carefully dab your hand dry before scooping you up in his arms, making you squeal in surprise.

"Mason!” You giggled as he carefully moved your arms to look around his neck, forcing you to look up at him. His face was full of worry still and you could tell how awful he felt. "What're you doing?"

"I told you, treating you like a princess." He begun to head up to your bedroom, effortlessly carrying you in his arms. "And I don't think princesses should have to walk, should they?"

You couldn't help by grin as Mason carried you to your bed, carefully placing you down onto your kingsize bed and pulling back the covers.

You settled yourself down into bed, attempting to get comfy. "Do princesses deserve food bought to them in bed?"

You felt relieved when you finally saw Mason not looking so tense anymore, allowing himself to chuckle. "You really are going to milk this for all it's worth aren't you?"

"Uh hmm." You smirked. "I think I would like… a cheeseburger."

Mason raised his eyebrows as if to ask if you were serious, but when you begun to pout, he soon got his phone out.

"Cheeseburger will be on its way soon." He said and you giggled contently watching him tap away on his phone, trying to find somewhere to deliver to you at such a late hour.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before Mason was coming back up the stairs with a brown bag full of greasy food.

The pair of you ate and Mason wouldn't stop apologising no matter how many times you told him to stop.

When he noticed you yawning, he pulled the duvet back and you repositioned yourselves to get comfy. Mason had slipped his clothes off so he was left in just his boxers, and when he patted his bare chest you couldn't resist as you tucked your body into his side and snuggled up into him.

"I'm glad you came home, you're much warmer than my hot water bottle." You cuddled even closer to him, your nose grazing up against his chest hair.

Mason's heart broke at the thought of you thinking he wouldn't come home to you. No matter how bad an argument you had, he would never let you go to bed without making up, and he was upset you thought otherwise.

You hear him sniffle and he moved one of his arms from holding your body, and you were completely taken aback when you saw him quickly wiping away a tear.

"Mase what's wrong?" You attempted to sit up but Mason just shook his head and returned his arms to their position, holding you even tighter to him.

"I know I keep saying it but I really am so fucking sorry, y/n." His voice was torn as he whispered out yet another apology.

"I know, Mase. I know." You replied. "I'm sorry too, but we're okay now, yeah?" You tried to comfort him but you could tell he was still beating himself up about it all.

"You actually thought I wasn't going to come home?" He asked, his voice quiet and full of vulnerability.

"Well... yeah." You mumbled out, unsure if it was the right thing to say. "I thought you might've stayed at Ashley's or something."

"God I really have behaved like an asshole." Mason cursed to himself, so you held his face in your hands, his big glossy eyes looking into yours.

"Listen to me, Mase. I know you didn't mean it, couples argue babe, we're fine now." You offered him a smile, attempting to comfort him.

"I never want to lose you, y/n." Mason said, emotion thick in his voice.

"And you won't." You told him sincerely. "Let's just agree to talk more, okay? No more giving each other silent treatment and making snide comments, not talking about our emotions. Just being more open and honest, okay?" You raised your pinky and he managed to smile as he looped his with yours.

"Promise."

"Anyway, I’m quite looking forward to breakfast in bed in the morning." You tried to break the tension with your cheeky comment.

"Who's bringing you that then, darling?" Mason asked pretending to have no clue.

"My wonderful boyfriend who was persistent he was going to make up being a dickhead to me." You replied, trying to make light of the situation.

"Anything for you, my princess."

#mason mount #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount blurb #mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine

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kittenintheden · 1 year ago

Text

Where were you, when I was new?

AO3 Version Here bonus gift art by tavplum!!

Even the masters have to start somewhere.

Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)

Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.

Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.

It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.

“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.

His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”

Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.

There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.

“Huh,” he says to himself.

“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”

Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”

The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”

He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”

“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.

***

Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.

They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.

Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.

Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”

He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.

“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.

He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.

“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.

Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”

They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”

His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”

Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.

“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.

They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”

“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”

Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”

“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”

“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”

***

It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .

Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.

If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.

Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.

“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”

Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”

His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.

“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.

Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”

The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”

“Shit,” Astarion whispers.

His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.

They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.

“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.

Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.

***

The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.

He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.

Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.

Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.

“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”

Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”

They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.

They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”

“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”

The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”

“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”

***

Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.

He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.

It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did.

It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.

Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.

He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.

They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.

He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.

***

The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.

Better yet, they’re blushing .

He positively beams.

Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.

Tonight, they all go out together to play.

The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.

Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.

They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.

In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.

This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.

The music drifts away and they drift apart.

He does not kiss them.

***

Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.

And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.

“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”

Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”

There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.

Astarion stands his ground.

Astarion wins his requested mistrial .

In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.

The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.

After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.

“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”

Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”

“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.

“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”

***

And he doesn’t miss it.

Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?

When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.

He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.

Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.

“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.

They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.

There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”

Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”

They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.

When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”

They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.

Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”

With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.

When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.

They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”

He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.

***

They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.

Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.

They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.

The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.

“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”

They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.

Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.

Oh gods, this is happening.

He wants this to happen.

On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.

A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.

Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-

But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…

He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.

No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.

This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.

Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”

Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”

He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”

They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.

“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.

They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.

Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.

Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.

“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.

“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”

They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”

His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.

They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.

Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.

Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?

“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”

“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.

His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.

He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.

“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.

“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”

They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”

Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.

He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.

They sigh with it, signaling their approval.

So he does it again. And again. And again.

Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.

He’s a fast learner. Always has been.

Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.

The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.

Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.

For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.

Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.

After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.

They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.

Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.

“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.

“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”

It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.

His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.

When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”

With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”

“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gender neutral reader

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naisilla · 8 months ago

Text

Heartsteel x Reader

Heart Stolen.

Content: You make some new online friends

The lobby was empty. Your icon stood alone amongst the five spaces. No one showed up tonight. You sigh, leaving your mouse hovering over the 'find match' button. Was it worth gaming tonight?

You didn't blame the others. Now that high school was over, everyone had begun branching out into their new lives. Some grew further than others. At least everyone kept in touch through Discord. But tonight, only you were online.

It's a shame. You didn't get the privilege of being able to stay up late as frequently as the others because of the work shifts you had. Some days, you have to wake up early in the morning at 5. On others, you finished the closing shift at 9. To get enough sleep, you would have to go to bed before your friends would even get online to game.

The only nights you could indulge yourself were nights before your days off. Three nights a week, you could finally catch up with your friends. If only they were available those nights. Sometimes, they were busy, tired, or "not in the mood." Honestly, it pissed you off.

Looks like it was turning out to be another lonely night, another disappointment. You weren't mad at your friends, but it would be nice to have some company tonight. Your eyes trained onto your monitor. The find match button beckons you.

Finding a match alone was a little intimidating. What if you messed up and made a mistake that cost your team? You were a little sensitive to mean comments. Going competitive where players were toxic didn't seem so alluring anymore.

A defeated sigh escapes your lips. You needed to become emotionally independent. Perhaps a warm up game might calm your nerves. Dragging your mouse, you select draft pick and choose bot lane for your autofill. Finally, you click Find Match.

You wait with bated breath as your client searches for a match. With each passing second, you became increasingly regretful of your decision. You should've just given up on gaming and gone with binge watching something.

The client suddenly displays the message "Match Found!" and you get grouped with four strangers onto a team. You're assigned bot lane, and you go to select your ADC. After clicking on "Daughter of the void." you pause. Another player had also selected an ADC champion.

You hiss under your breath. "Shit." this was awkward. One of you needed to go support, but this other player had already chosen "The Weapon of the Faithful." You squint, taking a look at their username, 신자의 무기.

Korean? On an Oceania server? How strange. A message pops up in the lobbies chat window. EZ: uh oh EZ: glwt

Sighing, you force yourself to scan through the available supports, both in your inventory and free rotation. "Maven of the strings" had a simple kit right? Honestly, you weren't sure but the countdown was ticking and you needed to pick something.

Perhaps you could dodge? You wouldn't mind waiting in queue with low priority. You frown as a spike of determination hits you. No way you were backing out, you were assigned bot. This other player was given support, it should be them dealing with this.

10 seconds left

Ugh how serious was this matchup anyways?

5 seconds left

Screw it you're dodging this.

Your mouse clicks on the exit button and you breathe a sigh of relief as your client continued to search for another match. A blue light reflects in your eye as another 'match found' widget pops up on your client and you readily accept it.

What the fuck!?

To your disbelief you get thrown into another lobby matchup with 신자의 무기 and EZ.

EZ: no way...

You groan and rub your temple before leaning forward in your seat and typing into the chat:

(Y/U/N): Hey, do you want to go ADC or SUPP?

Your eyes remain fixated as they await a response...

A little blip appears on your screen, drawing your attention to the friend request from 신자의 무기. You frown, you don't typically accept friend requests from anyone you don't personally know. But it wouldn't hurt to select 'accept' if it doesn't go well you can always block them.

Seconds after accepting the request you receive a message, a discord link.

This isn't a bot is it?

Your monitor switches over to Discord inviting you to join a server "The Boyz". You can feel hesitation in joining the group, the last thing an introvert like you wanted was to listen to another one of those obnoxiously loud and annoying boys that scream on call like a prepubescent loltyler1.

Screw it, you had already gone out of your comfort zone enough might as well continue the streak.

You join the call:

"AYO THEY JOINED!"

The Discord call erupted in a chorus of excited greetings from EZ, his icon almost glowing a constant green from his excited chatter. You were surprised by how charming and friendly his voice sounded, nothing like the usual screamers you're used to on voice chat.

"Hello (Y/U/N)" says 자의 무기, his voice is barely louder than a whisper, yet it still manages to cut through the noise with surprising ease.

"Hey!" You chime back, trying to match their energy.

"Sorry about the misunderstanding with Phel, he's new to League." You tilt your head in interest. Phel? That's an odd name.

"Liar" Phel retorts. "I wasn't paying attention to my role, sorry for stealing your adc."

"Don't worry about it." You reply reassuringly.

"Wanna try again? I can go "The Redeemer" as support."

"Sure let's give it a shot."

And just like that, you were now playing with two new friends. It didn't take long for you to find two extra random players to join your team in lobby and this time there was no drama in champ select.

The match starts spawing your and your teammates on the blue side, you and phel guide your champions to follow your jungler to leash at the red buff. While you wait at camp for the brambleback to spawn you decide to try and get to know these two.

"So is Phel short for something? I've never heard a name like that before."

"Oh uh yeh, My actual name is Aphelios."

You raise a brow intrigued. "Where does that originate from?"

"I believe it's Greek, roughly translates to: far from the sun"

"Oh? Are you Greek?"

You can hear Ez snort. "He most definitely isn't"

"I'm Korean actually."

"Ah I see, I didn't want to assume from your username."

Aphelios laughs, his voice so soft and delicate.

The red brambleback crawls out of the ground and you jump straight into lowering it's hp with your auto attacks and Q, Letting your jungler finish it off before moving onto the krugs.

"I also have a very interesting name too" Ez chimes in, his voice slightly whining at the end. A chuckle escapes your mouth.

"My bad, what's your name then Ez?" You ask, voluntarily taking the bait as you and Aphelios walk to the middle of bot lane.

You can feel Ez smirking over the voice call his voice reverberates in your headset. "It's Jarro" His voice goes on a tangent explaining the origin of his name while you focus on your bot lane as you come across the enemy team. "The Sheriff of Piltover" and an "Empress of the elements"

"The plauge rat" suddenly appears in front of you, landing two auto's as you back away sending your Q missiles at him. Damn they ganking this early?

You fall back, trading attacks with the enemy adc as the red minions crash your wave, heading towards your first turret. Jarro is still rambling on.

"So what's your name?" Jarro asks, his voice finally breaking into your focus.

"I'm (Y/N)."

Jarro let's out an "ahh" in response, his tone warm and friendly. "What does that mean?"

You shrug even though no one can actually see you. "I don't know it's just my name." you say, your eyes darting from the screen to the vc every now and then.

"I think you have a nice name." Aphelios says, he had been quiet up till this point, also focusing on your lane as you traded with the enemy laners together. There's a soothing quality to his soft-spoken voice. Despite his shyness, he felt compelled to compliment you on your name.

"Thanks but I really can't be compared to a name like yours, you sound like you're a fantasy character."

a hint of embarrassment in his voice. He didn't see himself as a fantasy character, and he was never comfortable with accepting compliments.

"My name is nice too right Phel?" Jarro's voice chimes in cheekily fishing for compliments.

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh and rolls his eyes at Jarro's question. He knows he is only looking for compliments, but it's all in good fun.

"Yes, Jarro, yours is nice too." He says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Aphelios glances at your profile on his screen and his expression softens.

The next few minutes are solely focused on your laning. You play your champion passively using your ranged W to your advantage while your health is low as you focus on poking the enemies from a safe distance while farming.

Shortly after, your jungler comes down from jungle and you aggressively go in to chase down the support who tries to run back to their turret. The enemy adc is slain by your jungler, leaving it just between you and the empress. You ignore your low health and follow them as she runs, she casts ignite but with a single W you take the kill then quickly recall in a bush.

"That was close, good job (Y/N)" Aphelios says, you smile.

"Thanks."

You notice the dragon is up and your jungler is pinging it, you cancel your recall and quickly take care of it before the enemy laners can get there. You run around the dragon camp picking up the honey fruit as the three of you go to recall in the bush behind dragon.

The enemy adc appears in your vision, walking towards your bush where the three of you hide, poor thing walked right into her death. You can hear a "pfft" pick up on Aphelios mic as you finally recall to base.

The game continues as you return back to farming minions and trading with the enemy bot laners, Aphelios manages to take out the adc forcing the support to go into a bush and recall before he can chase her down. You make sure to place a vision ward at the bottom of the river to keep an eye out for enemy ganks while Aphelios goes to the top to place another.

The support returns and begins to attack you and boy does she hurt, you fall back as your health bar is hacked at. Lucky Aphelios returns to bot to heal you and you both go back to pressing on as the jungler chases the enemy midlaner nearby, killing her. The three of you easily over powering the other two as the adc dies and the support retreats leaving their turret vunrable.

You enter the mid game phase and things are going good, none of your turrets have been taken down yet. You did die shortly after taking their turret but you were quick to bounce back. There was a comfortable silence in the chat when suddenly you hear someone humming.

Surprisingly Aphelios starts humming, not just generically either, whatever tune is in his head is a beautiful melody. His voice was so smooth and delicate, the way it danced along the notes in perfect rhythm, it was enchanting.

You feel nervous bringing it up but eventually, your thoughts escape through your lips. "Wow, your singing voice is so beautiful Phel."

Aphelios' humming stops abruptly, clearing his throat. "Sorry, I thought I muted my headset."

"What are you apologizing for? You have a great voice my guy" Jarro voice says.

You nod from behind your screen looking back to Aphelios' icon. "He's right you genuinely sound good". You say encouragingly.

"Yeh and I know a thing or two about singing." Jarro chimes.

"Oh really pretty boy? You wanna show us what you've got?" Aphelios asks chuckling.

"Nah I wouldn't want to overshadow your spotlight"

You snort rolling your eyes. Focusing hard as you take down another enemy turret.

And so began your new friendship circle with the boys, after a successful league game you would start another, then another. Talking and gaming late into the night.

You were breathless from singing along with the others quite horribly to their request. At least Jarro was also terrible but you could tell that he was singing bad on purpose. Aphelios was too busy laughing his mic barely picking up on the noise as he tries to cover his mouth as Jarro continues to sing on.

"DO YOU THINK TIME, WOULD PASS US BY?

'CAUSE YOU KNOW I'D WALK A THOUSAND MILES

IF I COULD SEE YOU TONIGHT BANANANANANANANNAA-" Jarro started to sing the riff in a terrible screech the gain on his mic becoming painful to hear.

Aphelios is practically in tears at this point, his face red from laughing so hard. He covers his mouth with his hand, desperate to hold in his laughter, but it's futile. His shoulders shake from the effort, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs. He is having the time of his life, sharing this moment of laughter with the friends he had quickly grown fond of.

He lets out a gasp, trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter.

"Stop… stop, I… I can't breathe.."

He tries to speak, but he can hardly get the words out through his laughter. His breathing is ragged, but he manages to force out a few more words between giggles.

"You guys are… the worst… singers… I've ever heard.."

Jarro and you let out an obnoxious gasp, mocking offense. "

"Excuse me?! Worst singers?" Jarro exclaims loudly, dramatically placing his hand over his heart.

"I'll have you know we are both phenomenal vocalists." Jarro crosses his arms, lifting his chin up in a fake air of superiority.

Aphelios can't help but laugh harder at Jarros exaggerated reaction. He tries to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but the mirth is too strong and his laughter escapes in a series of short gasps and giggles. He wipes a tear from his eye, his cheeks flushed from the laughter.

"Seriously, you're all terrible… Especially you, Ez…"

He says, shooting an amused grin towards Jarro's avatar.

The days passed and the friendship between you and the boys, Jarro and Aphelios, continued to strengthen with each game. Hours spent gaming, laughing, and creating memories together.

Late-night calls filled with laughter, banter, and the occasional musical performance, became the norm.

Both Jarro and Aphelios found themselves looking forward to the moments they spent gaming with you, considering you a valuable and entertaining member of their gaming circle.

Ez, remains as cheerful and energetic as ever, always ready to make you laugh with his dumb jokes.

Aphelios especially began to open up more and more, sharing bits and pieces of himself with you. You had learned that he was currently stationed in Perth Australia, which surprised you as you yourself were living in Sydney.

Apparently, he and his twin sister were long-term exchange students at one of the local universities...

"Oh cool! What are you studying over there?" You asked your voice sounding enthusiastic.

Aphelios would scratch the back of his neck behind his monitor shyly as he bashfully answered. "Oh, I'm taking the Composition and Music Technology course."

A low whistle picks up from Jarros's mic. "Sheesh Phel I didn't think asian parents let their kids do anything other than be a lawyer or doctor."

Aphelios rolls his eyes at Jarro's comment, scoffing slightly.

"Well, I'm a rare exception to that stereotype I suppose."

He says, a small smile on his lips. Despite his shy exterior, he had a hint of sass when it came to his responses at times.

"My parents are surprisingly supportive of my interests, especially my music. As long as I'm working hard and pursuing something I'm passionate about, they're happy."

Jarro nods along with a chuckle. "Hey don't you live in Aussie too y/n?"

"Yep I'm over a few states though, down in Newcastle."

"Newcastle? Where the hell is that?"

You glare at Jarro's icon. "It's in New South Wales."

"..."

"A few hours above Sydney"

"Ah Sydney! Why didn't you say so!?"

You and Aphelios collectively roll your eyes in unison.

"What about you Jarro? You have an Oceania account so you should be either here or New Zealand?"

Jarro's cheeky chuckle can be heard again in your headset. "Nah I'm over in beautiful Canada."

You can't help but let out a confused sound. "Canada? Sir are you lost? How is your ping not crashing your PC on lol?"

Jarro's chuckle returns, unperturbed. "Well, I figured I'd come over here and show you Aussies how it's really done."

He boasts, his ego as big as ever.

"And let's face it, the competition's just a little easier over here."

He adds, a smirk evident in his voice, and Aphelios rolls his eyes again.

You enjoyed having these online friends, they were almost always available to hang out with after your shifts at the cafe, no matter how exhausting your day was Jarro and Aphelios were always there to help you destress. You were more than grateful for those two.

Aphelios would occasionally share his music projects for his assignments with you on the group server, he was certainly talented at composing pieces. His base work was giving indie, atmospheric, lofi but he would try and experiment with other genres to fit the criteria of the assignment.

"Why don't you try singing over some of these tracks?" You ask after finished listening to another one of his pieces.

Aphelios responds a bit shyly, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. He's never had much confidence in his singing, even though he loves music.

"I mean… Singing for fun is one thing, but performing in front of a whole class is a lot of pressure. I'm not sure if my voice is good enough for that…"

Jarro chimes in, his tone light and casual, as usual.

"Oh, come on, Phel. Your voice is seriously amazing, you don't give yourself enough credit."

He reassures him, trying to boost his confidence

"You're a talented composer and you've got a killer vocal range. You should definitely try singing for your class, I'm sure they'll love it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh, considering Jarro's words. His friend's confidence is endearing.

"I suppose you have a point… But it's still nerve-wracking, you know? What if they don't like it? Or what if I make a mistake?"

You shake your head, quickly disagreeing with him.

"Come on, you're being too hard on yourself Phel. I've heard you sing before, your voice is beautiful. You could easily charm the whole class with those smooth vocals."

You reassure him, genuinely believing in his talent.

Aphelios smiles at your words, his heart feeling a bit lighter. He was grateful to have friends like you and Jarro who believed in him and encouraged him.

"I don't know… I'm just not used to people hearing my voice outside of you guys, you know? It's kind of intimidating…"

He admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Look you don't even have to sing in front of everyone, you can record from the privacy of your home then when you go to present all you have to do is press the play button"

Aphelios slowly nods his head in agreement, considering your suggestion.

"That… That sounds tempting…It would definitely take away the pressure of performing in front of a live audience… That's not a bad idea, actually. I guess that would still count for the assignment…"

He says thoughtfully, his mind running through the idea. Recording from the comfort of his own home does sound less intimidating than having to perform in front of the entire class.

Jarro chimes in again from the other side, his tone cheerful and encouraging.

"That's the spirit, Phel! Record it at home, give it a few final touches, and then just hit play in class. Easy peasy."

He says, seeming to like your suggestion, too.

This is what friends are for right? Supporting each other and encouraging them to reach their full potential? Aphelios could definitely count on you two for that, behind that little discord profile a small smile appeared on his lips, barely illuminated by the glow of his monitor.

And that's how you convinced your online friend to give singing an actual shot. You and Jarro could only laugh and give knowing "I told you so" looks when Aphelios would return the next gaming session flustered by how well his classmates took his singing. He had become a local star in his university overnight.

"I guess singing in front of the class wasn't as terrifying as I thought. They actually seemed to like it… a lot."

He confesses, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he speaks.

"I don't know what to do, I've never had this much attention before… It's a bit overwhelming…"

Jarro grins, clearly enjoying Aphelios' newfound popularity.

"See, I told you they would love it. You're a natural talent, Phel. It's about time people started noticing."

He says, sounding proud of his friend.

"Don't let it go to your head though, you're still the same shy guy that we know and love".

He teases, chuckling.

You giggle along with him. "Don't forget about us while you're famous."

Aphelios had yet to get use to his immediate rise of popularity, it was as if all of a sudden everyone in the university had him on their radar.Typical mornings of quietly walking to and from classes, hiding under an oversized hoodie had now changed to being stopped by every student in the hall to be greeted.

All of a sudden the quiet invisible introvert was now the center of attention with people wanting his insta, to being invited to hang out during lunch and even a few girls and guys admitting their crushes to him.

It was overwhelming to Aphelios in a positive way, it felt really good to be liked by everyone. He finally felt this surge of confidence boost his social life. He had begun to upload covers and original songs to youtube. While he didn't become viral online, he did gain plenty of likes and views (most of said views came from Jarro and yourself).

It had been a few months since he took that first step out of his comfort zone. However, he still found himself hanging around you and Jarro more than anyone else. You were still the people he trusted the most and the ones he felt the most comfortable around. He didn't need to be "popular" or "cool" around you two. You always had his back.

Jarro, always the supportive friend, was ecstatic for Aphelios as he watched his confidence grow. He often joked about how he was a proud "big brother" watching his "little bro" succeed.

Meanwhile, you were more than happy to see Aphelios blossom in his newfound popularity. You'd often chat with him about classes, school life, and of course, music. The three of you had grown closer, not just online friends but real friends.

It once again was a night where you were all on to game, you had started the call in the group chat and chatted to Jarro about your day while the two of you awaited for Aphelios to join. Classes were over according to this week's schedule which meant he should've joined by now.

"Have you heard anything from Aphelios? He's running late" you say as you type to mention Aphelios in the group chat to get his attention.

Jarro on the other end shakes his head. "Nah he still hasn't responded to my dm."

You frown. "You think something's up?"

"Unlikely, he's only half an hour late. He probably got caught up by another one of his fans~" he says with a chuckle.

Just as Jarro says that the tiny pop up "Aphelios is typing" your immediately notice it your eyes widening as you await his message.

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Sorry guys I'm feeling sick, I've got a cold so I can't really join vc.

As you read his message, a mixture of concern and disappointment washed over you.

Jarro, who was also reading the message, let out a sigh. He had been looking forward to gaming with Aphelios as usual, but it seemed like it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"He can still play right? just not talk?" You ask with a hopeful tone in your voice.

Jarro's icon glows green as his mic picks up him typing your question into chat.

Aphelios replies with a thumbs up.

You knew Aphelios would be unable to chat for a couple of days but it had been over a week since Aphelios had gotten sick, you were starting to worry for him.

Opening your dm's with him you begin to type.

(Y/U/N): Hey Phel, still got the cold?

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Yeh, it's just a sore throat... it won't go away.

You frown while reading this.

(Y/U/N): Have you considered seeing a doctor?

신자의 무기: Actually I have an appointment later this afternoon.

You sigh a little relieved.

(Y/U/N): Ok good

(Y/U/N): Update us when you can k?

Aphelios replies with a cute emote of a cartoon bunny with a thumbs up, making you smile.

(Y/U/N): ight see you later

And so you and Jarro would spend the afternoon gaming while you waited for Aphelios to come back online. You were in the middle of laughing at one of Jarro's jokes when you noticed he's gone quiet.

"Jarro?" You ask, checking if he's there.

"(Y/N) check the group chat."

You had barely noticed the discord notification sound, clicking on your task bar where awaited two messages from Aphelios.

신자의 무기: Guys

신자의 무기: I have some bad news.

A/N: And I finally did it! Chapter 1!! Lets fucking go!!! Original Heartsteel lore!!!!

#heartsteel #league of legends #Heartsteel x reader #kayn x reader #ezreal x reader #aphelios x reader #Sett x reader #K'Sante x reader #Yone x reader #reader insert #league of legends fanfiction

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one-sunny · 3 months ago

Text

Cabin by the Lake | Bonfire

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader, Modern AU

04- When Luffy’s birthday turns into a group get away to a small cabin by a lake, you cannot deny his own brothers an invitation. Surely the week long get away would leave a lasting impression with his eldest sibling.

notes: sorry to yall that don’t know card games bc they keep coming up and i for some reason know a ton. also, fun fact, s’mores and marshmallow toastiness is a weirdly controversial subject in my family.

Monday: Bonfire

Loud music flows from the kitchen and a low murmur of voices catch on the down beat. You enter the kitchen to see Ace leaning on the counter across from Sanji, the latter focused on stirring something in a white mixing bowl.

Sanji’s head snaps up from his work and a smile pulls to his lips. “Y/N, darling! How did you sleep?” He clicks the speaker lower as Ace watches him close.

“Slept okay, Nami kept me up most of the night.” You grumble, eyes narrowing at the look that crosses over Sanji’s face. “Yeah, don’t think too hard on that, got it?”

Sanji clears his throat. “Right.”

Your gaze shifts to Ace. “You helping Sanji out or just watching him work?”

“Well,” Ace tips his head to the side. “I tried helping out-“

“And he was horrible at it.” Sanji shakes his head dejectedly. At this, you’re suddenly aware of the slight burnt smell disguised by Sanji’s more aromatic cuisine. “He did wash a couple dishes though, so I do have to give him some credit there.”

“Yeah,” Ace sighs lowly. “So now i’m just here for moral support.” He laughs to himself, tapping his fingers against the counter to the beat of the song. “Oh, and to play DJ.”

“Well do you need some real help, Sanji?”

Sanji seems taken aback by this, “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” His gaze softens as he looks over at you, but you simply shrug.

“I’ve got nothing important to do.”

He quickly abandons his task to collect another cutting board, placing you at the other side of the kitchen island, a bright smile on his face. A bag of tomatoes and bell peppers are then placed near by. Lastly, a sharp kitchen knife is placed delicately atop the board. “You can dice them all up, if you’d like.” Sanji then pauses. “You know how to do that, right?”

You scoff a laugh, “It’s pretty straight forward.”

Heat rises to Sanji’s cheeks in the form of a blush and he quickly shakes his head. “I’m not doubting you in any way, mon amor, but it seems like some people don’t understand simple tasks in the kitchen.” His eyes turn to Ace who is already glaring at him. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t need me to show you.”

“I’ve got it, Sanji.” You chuckle as you open the bag, a playful smile on your lips. The general store offered more than fresh produce, the tomato juice seeping onto the chopping board and filling your senses. The song switches as Ace turns the speaker back up and you immediately recognize it as what you had played on the car ride. You glance up at Ace but his focus is trained on his phone as he queues up something else.

You go about the rather simple task, enjoying the repetitious nature of it.

“Uh, Y/N.” Sanji leans a hip up against the counter beside of you as he looks over your work. “You, uh, you’re holding the knife wrong.”

Your motions cease as you stare down at your hand in confusion, wrist tilting. “What am I doing wrong?” You prompt. Sanji smiles as he moves a little bit closer.

“Your finger, you shouldn’t rest it on top of the blade. Less control and you could end up cutting yourself.” He gestures to your index finger that is extended over the steel.

“That hasn’t happened so far.”

“Well, yeah, but it could.” He gently takes the knife from your hand, fully in your space as he grips the knife properly in his own hand. “Do it like this instead, that way you’re being safe. Don’t want you cutting your precious fingers under my watch.” Sanji helps you in adjusting your grip before he is stepping back to his own work space.

Your nose crinkles as you look back to Sanji, “This feels weird.”

“It might right now, but you’ll get used to it.”

You hum in thought as you glance back down at your half cut tomatoes. “So, did you make it this far before Sanji demoted you to dish duty?” A playful smile is on your lips as you glance back up at Ace, only to find him staring into the empty space beside of you. “Uh, Ace?”

His head snaps over to you and he offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You better hurry it up before Luffy wakes up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave the knife in dismissal before focusing back on your task. Slice after slice, you make your way to the very end of the bag, calling out to Sanji once your work was done. It was no where near perfect and the dices were without a doubt uneven, but Sanji seems grateful anyways.

“Absolutely wonderful darling.” Sanji grins as he collects the cutting board from you, sweeping the diced vegetables into a pot on the stove.

You hear a scoff over the running water.

“What? Think you could do better.” You grin, crossing over to Ace’s side where he is scrubbing a bowl full of suds. His focus is solely on the task at hand as you bump his hip.

“Tch, probably not.” He mutters.

Your brows pull together at the frown on his lips. “Hey, you okay?” You lean in close enough to graze his elbow as he rinses the bowl.

This seems to snap him to and Ace straightens. “What? Yeah, i’m all good.” A smile pulls to his lips as he finally focuses on you. “We all have our strong suits and mine clearly includes dishes.” He raises a finger to wipe soap suds on your nose before you can stop him.

As you blow out a laugh, the bubbles fly off your face and land unceremoniously back into the water. This causes you and Ace to break into your own fit of giggles. The warmth seems to fill back into his cheeks and his shoulders ease.

You settle in with the two as Sanji works in an easy flow and Ace occasionally pops over to the sink to scrub the dishes. Music flows between the conversations and the room seems entirely at ease. But nothing that serene could ever last long,

“Sanjiiiiii! Is breakfast done yet?” Luffy’s loud voice carries down the stairs as he walks into the kitchen. A frown falls on his face to see Sanji standing over a sizzling pan.

“I’m finishing up.”

“Blame Ace.” You grin at the man as Luffy turns his pouting to his brother.

“Y/N!” Ace groans as Luffy practically rockets himself over to pester his brother. A light hearted argument sparks between the two, which results in Luffy snatching up Ace’s phone to switch the music.

The others begin to flood into the kitchen with an ease in the air. After the thousand mile hike- or so it seemed- everyone decided that today was the best time for a rest day. To truly enjoy your vacation and not pack it full of activities. To just chill out for once.

“Breakfast is ready.” Sanji calls out, mostly in effort to shut Luffy up. “Y/N helped, so everyone make sure to thank her today.” He beams at you and presents you with your plate first. A chorus of thanks soon follow as everyone eagerly awaits their meal. “Oh, and Ace i guess.” He adds as the man glares at him.

↟ ↟ ↟ ↟ ↟ ↟ ↟

The wind blows a gentle breeze, the birds chirp in the air, and the sun cast rays of bright sunshine over the cabin. All is calm and restful…

Except for the rather intense game of Speed occurring on the porch of the cabin. You sit across from Ussop, cross legged on the wooden planks, fingers twitching in anticipation. The game was far more intense than need be as competition sparks in the air.

Cards fly into their respective positions in almost a blur as you stick true to the game name and move as quickly as possible. Then, there’s a standstill and you both stare at the two stacks of cards unmoving. “Ready?” Ussop prompts, hand placing on one of the small stacks that remains face down. You nod as you grab the other, flipping your cards at the same time.

Ussop gasps as he slaps his final card on the pile and you nearly fall back with a groan.

“You’re on a losing streak today.” Ussop tuts as he collects the cards to expertly shuffle them.

“I’m not fully convinced you’re not stacking the deck.” You roll your eyes dramatically as Ussop sighs. He places the deck on the floor and makes a gesture at it. A grin pulls to your lips as you cut the deck into four separate stacks, which Ussop collects with an equally as dramatic eye roll, before passing them out.

He sets the two small decks up for the game as you collect your own cards, face steeling as you try to focus in on the task at hand. Ussop glances up at you in a silent question and you both flip a card. You’re moving fast. Faster than Ussop, much to your delight. Your own deck of cards is dwindling and you’re about to win.

That’s when the door flies open behind you and almost smacks in to you. You yelp out in surprise, dropping a couple of your cards in the process, and watching as Ussop slams down his final card triumphantly. He throws his arms up in the air to gloat in your face.

“No!” You groan, looking towards whoever almost knocked you out and lost you the game.

“Oh! Sorry bro.” Franky has an easy grin as you glare up at him from your spot on the ground.

“I almost won!”

“You’re never gonna win, Y/N.” Sabo pops out the open door with a laugh. “Your friends have a serious cheating problem, i’m sure of it.”

A smile pulls to your lips as Ussop places a hand to his chest in offense. “I think Sabo’s onto something.” You give a decisive nod.

“Awh, don’t be a sore loser, doll.” Ace follows the two men out the door, a teasing grin on his face.

“I am not!” You pout.

Ace stops before the steps to look down at you, bottom lip poking out to match your pout. His mocking pout soon turns into a grin at the glare you’re sending him. “C’mon. We’re gonna have a bonfire, you two wanna help set up?”

“Sounds good to me.” Ussop stands, dusting off his hands, before following after the other two men. “Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in the woods and had to build a giant bonfire just to keep the rabid wolves away from me.” His voices carries off with him as Franky and Sabo laugh at the man’s wild story.

Ace watches as you collect the playing cards left lying carelessly around, shoving them back into their box. Once they’re all packed away, Ace offers a hand out to you with a smile on his face. You take the offer and he easily pulls you to your feet, hand lingering in yours for just a moment as he guides you down the stairs.

Heat fills your cheeks at such a casual action.

At the sound of the front door slamming open, Ace gives a gentle squeeze to your hand, before dropping it. You clear your throat, “So what exactly are we setting up?”

“A bonfire.” Ace grins at the obvious answer.

“Well yeah.” You roll your eyes.

“Setting up the deck chairs and getting the fire started” Ace bumps his shoulder against yours as you approach the rock built fire pit. “There’s enough wood to get it going, but the others went to grab some from the woods to feed it.”

You hum, “So what do you need me to do?”

“You can help me get the fire started.”

“Alright. Are we rubbing two sticks together or what?” You smirk as Ace pulls back a tarp to observe the small case of fire wood.

“While I would love to see you try that one out,” He turns, tugging a golden zippo from his pocket. “We live in a modern age, doll.”

“Ah, okay. The easy way out.” You nod as the man laughs.

“Ever done this before?” Ace prompts. You shake your head with a skeptical look- weren’t you just setting some logs on fire?- before he is beckoning you to his side. “Let me teach you.” Your feet move faster than your mind and you’re suddenly crouching down beside of Ace. He guides you through utilizing timber and kindling to spark up a fire, as well as building a teepee with the wood in order to make the fire last. Then he hands you the lighter and instructs you to spark it up.

You flick the lighter, only for it to quickly be extinguished by a gust of wind. Trying again has the same results.

Before you can complain, Ace’s warm hands cup around yours, a jolt shooting down your spine at the unexpected contact. “Try again, just gotta block the wind so we can start it up.” He seems nonchalant as ever as he prompts you to strike the lighter. This time you’re successful and a fiery warmth spreads through your fingertips as the timber catches. “Good job, doll.” The praise makes heat creep up your neck despite how little you truly did.

The flames spread to the kindling and eventually the fire burns bright.

“Awh, nice bros!” Franky booms as the group returns with a heafty stack of fire wood. “We can make some proper s’mores in this thing.”

Franky runs inside to gather the others and soon returns with a pink guitar to truly set the mood. The group settle into the deck chairs around the fire as Franky begins tuning, plucking the strings delicately, until he is able to strum in-tune.

He begins to strum a familiar series of notes and Luffy is quick to jump in on leading the group through an only slightly off key melody. An ease falls about everyone. Laughter soon flows as Franky, Ussop, and Luffy go about making up their own songs on the spot.

Eventually, the idea of s’mores is brought back up and Sanji prepares the three components on a platter for easy access. Luffy is the first to grab a marshmallow, stabbing it onto a metal stick, and shoving it right into the middle of the flames. It soon catches fire and he quickly pulls it out, watching as a dark coating covers the sugary surface.

“Blow it out!” Nami snaps at him as he attempts to wave it in the air. “You’ve already ruined it by catching it on fire.”

Luffy huffs a breath and the marshmallow dies out. “Nuh uh.” He shoves the crispy marshmallow directly into his mouth, huffing out breaths to attempt cooling his mouth down. “Perfect.”

Nami sticks her tongue out as she readies her own marshmallow. She holds it barely over the fire, “A perfect marshmallow is always a nice golden brown.” As she declares this, Robins marshmallow catches on fire and she swiftly blows it out. “Not you too.”

“You should try it.” Robin chuckles as she goes about preparing her snack.

Nami simply rolls her eyes as she takes her perfectly golden brown marshmallow to make her own s’more.

The group runs through a good chunk of the s’mores ingredients, before everyone is lounging back in their seats. Night has fallen and everyone’s faces are lit in an orange glow. Ace takes it upon himself to properly feed the flames, and you have to give him credit for the strong fire that certainly was lasting.

Ussop leans forwards in his seat as he tells a ghost story, movements exaggerated, and voice a bit pitched at the scary parts.

Staring into the flames with an easy smile, mesmerized by the flickers of light, you allow the stories being shared to be the only thought on your mind. You then start to feel eyes on you, before Ace bumps his knee against yours from his seat beside of you. Pulling your eyes away to look at him was strangely difficult at the trance you were in, but you were thankful for the break at the sight of the flames flickering in his warm eyes. You consider for a moment how captivating he truly was, before soon shaking the thought away. It was nothing.

“You okay?” He prompts, voice low to not alert any of the others.

“I’m great.” You smile at him.

Ace finds himself easily mirroring the expression, your eyes locked together for a long moment. His hand twitches at his side, until he eventually drums his fingers along the arm rest and forces his eyes away. You watch him for a moment longer, ready to ask him the same question, before his eyes flicker back to you. He raises his eyebrows with a teasing smile on his lips, and you somehow know exactly what he’s conveying in that look, teasing you for staring at him without even speaking it.

You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at him and he laughs. The thought lingers in the back of your mind, a silent question that you refuse to acknowledge in the moment of exactly when you started being able to communicate with him through a simple look.

Franky begins to play again and is seems as if the gentle strumming is enough to lull some into sleep. Luffy yawns loudly, Zoro almost dozing off in his seat, and Nami snuggles up close to the blanket wrapped around her body. She is the first to declare that it was time for bed, and the rest soon trickle in after her, one by one.

Until you’re eventually alone with Ace.

No words pass between you, there doesn’t truly need to be, a comfort settling in the air. You both watch an ember shoot out and die quickly against the stone pit. The night air remains windy and you feel a shiver shoot though you.

His knee bumps into yours once again and you find yourself leaning into the simple touch at how warm his skin is. “Get closer to the fire.” He nods towards the flames of your hard work. “Winds cold.” You quickly shake your head and Ace narrows his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He huffs out before he’s standing, holding his hands to the fire in effort to warm his fingers.

The space his leg was once touching quickly turns ice cold.

You slowly stand to join his side, mimicking his hands and trying to ignore the look he gives you. As if he knew you would only come if he got up first. Yet he doesn’t speak on it. Standing side by side, warming yourselves by the fire, and letting the crackling flames be the only sound between you.

The fire is soon dying out, bright flames reduced to muddied flickers that try to catch onto already crisped logs, and you find yourself drifting closer to Ace in effort to seek out some warmth. Your arm touches his, a warm contrast against the night air, and your hand grazes past his. Ace continues to watch the flames but you feel his pinky graze over yours, a hesitant touch, before linking with yours.

You silently curse yourself as your heart begins to pound at such a simple action.

Ace finally turns to look at you, eyes half lidded and lips parted. You’re almost certain you’re offering the same look. He shifts a little bit closer to you and takes a breath, as if wanting to say something, but he stops himself. Ace turns to watch the trail of smoke emitting from the dying flame. “I should probably go to bed.”

“Why?” You find yourself asking, not wanting the moment to end so soon.

He takes in a deep breath before leveling you with his eyes. “Might do something stupid if I don’t.” His voice is barely a whisper as he gauges your reaction.

Anticipation buzzes at your skin and warms you better than the fire could ever. Your lips part to speak but the words catch in your throat. You want to protest. To tell him to stay. That part of you needs him here to explore this moment. Something. Instead you stare back at him with brows furrowed.

Teeth graze over his bottom lip before he tips his head towards the cabin. “C’mon, it’s gettin’ cold out. Let’s both go to bed.”

“Ace,” You try again to speak your protest but the words won’t form. He turns to look at you expectantly. Drawing in a shaky breath, you simply smile, “Goodnight.”

“G’night doll.”

Series Masterlist | Chapter 05

tag list: @flooofity @certain-tragedies @zzzzzoey @stuckinmymind22 @kanekisheart @lxpofthegods @weirdothatreads

(if you wanna be added to the tag list, just let me know! and if you’ve asked and i missed you, just yell at me and i’ll make sure to put you on there next time)

#and what would anyone say if this turns into an ace x reader x sanji #👀#no no i’m kidding that’s a joke #but it’s tempting #i love those two sm #one piece #portgas d ace #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace

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sharkiethrts · 2 years ago

Text

[𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡'𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙖 𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙨]

𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘗𝘛: 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘶𝘢𝘯

g/n reader

: both jing yuan and reader are young children here, jing yuan is pining (ineffectively) at the reader

: approximately 465 words (chat gpt said so)

Jing Yuan is late again. At this point, it is a familiar routine: he'd run in with sweat beading up at his forehead- Jingliu would throw a faded hankie at his face, urging him to wipe it off with a glance before nagging at him- "what's your reason this time?" "Did you oversleep?" "Did you go to eat your breakfast at Mr Zhang's store again? The queue is too long there. Go eat at the canteen instead- you children are too whiny about soldier rations."

The truth is, Jing yuan never oversleeps and he always skips breakfast. It isn't a military regime he put himself on at all, no. If Jingliu knew that the brat in front of him was skipping breakfast, she would order the senior guards to eat breakfast with him. He would have to suffer from indigestion for the next few weeks (the senior guards adores picking on the apple-cheeked boy) until Jingliu is finally convinced that the brat will listen.

But he won't ever listen because Jing Yuan has a long route to take that he can't afford to miss. Your route. Well, not your route. It's the route through Cloudford. For context: where Jingliu expects him to be at every dawn is miles away. But this lovesick boy remains stubborn, he travels the route to Cloudford with a boyish grin- a blush would bundle up at his round cheeks when he spots you in your familiar attire, your uniform stained with food crumbs from your rush.

"[Name]! Wait up!" And when you do stop, a pretty sight is granted to you- perhaps a morning call from the Eons? There's no way anyone can remain nonchalant and sleepy at the sight of this messy haired, toothpaste decorated face, "Are you heading to class? I heard that your Master brought over some swords he specifically commissioned from the Artisanship Commission! I saw! Let me spoil you in a bit of the fun- one of them is fully jaded, and another-"

He definitely rushed to see you.

"Shouldn't you be going to yours? Miss Jingliu would kill you if she knew that you're all the way at Cloudford right now, Jing Yuan."

His eyes crinkled from the widening of his smile at the call of his name, "She'll survive! Let me walk you there-"

"Jing Yuan. Your cloud knight training?"

Oh eons, did you not hear his plead this morning? Jing Yuan turned slowly, adjusting his attire- trying not to slouch in fear. Getting scolded in front of the other Cloud knights is not as embarrassing and as tear-jerking as it is in front of you. Not to mention, his master knows all the grimy details under his sleeves.

And there she was, in her glory- her sharp eyes piercing his through one strike. He bends over immediately, face apologetic- catching glimpse of your smiling face, clearly amused by the scene taking place in front of you.

"You have toothpaste on your face, boy," Jing Yuan's face flushed red at the newly learned information. Ah crap, did you see that? He glances at your face briefly- yeah, you definitely did. Curse his heart- he was so excited to talk to you he stumbled at basic cleanliness.

"I think it makes him cute, you shouldn't have told him, Miss Jingliu," You hum. You are one of the few unaffected by the intimidation his master poses- your frequent rendezvous with Jing Yuan hyper-exposed you to Jingliu's more reasonable sides.

"[Name], go to class. Your master is waiting for you," Jingliu turns to him, and he immediately regrets not shifting his gaze down at his feet earlier," As for you," she waits for you to go, "Confess soon. I don't want to keep chastising you on your... inconvenient hobbies."

A smile blooms at his face at that.

"Yes Master! Duly noted!"

#jing yuan #honkai star rail #jing yuan hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #jing yuan imagines #jing yuan x reader #jingyuan x reader #jingyuan #jingliu #young jing yuan #jing yuan fluff #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan x you #hsr x you #star rail x reader #sharkie works ; all honkai #sharkie works ; jing yuan

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alexanderlightweight · 3 months ago

Note

Since it came up...omega Alec who has never shared a heat with anyone partially because he's never wanted to but also since no one has ever managed to best him during a pre-heat spar, when an omega is at their strongest and borderline feral. (Aka why should I pair up with someone who can't take care of me as well as I can) It's traditional for an omega to only take a mate who has proven they can protect them by beating them in a fight while they're at their best, and while Alec knows it's a bit antiquated it's also very important to him. He hasn't shared a heat with Magnus yet and REALLY wants too, but is worried that Magnus won't be able to hold up either.

Alec finds out that he is very, very, wrong. Queue bamf Magnus proving that he can very much take on and protect Alec, and Alec finding out what heats are like when your instincts are finally satisfied.

hi its been a bit, hope you're doing well. as usual I let the prompt take me where it wanted to go. it follows along with the prompt but perhaps not quite to the letter. still I hope you enjoy this

(in this universe they met because Alec got dragged to Pandemonium for an attempt at 'desensitization scent training' that ended up with him in Magnus' lap breathing in the only safe scent (Magnus) while Izzy and Jace try to figure out where it all went wrong (taking him to a club was an instant miscalculation) and where Alec went (they tried listening for the screams but thankfully for their mission record, no one is screaming. sadly, that means no finding Alec). oh right, this is omega/omega and Magnus has bested Alec in a spar (Alec very much wanted to follow Magnus home but instincts insisted on a fight first, after which he pretty much was like 'okay? you won? why isn't the portal open? we should be gone already? why am I not in your territory being scent-marked by you five minutes ago? Magnus is still recovering from whiplash but he's having a great time.

<3 hope you enjoy

lumine

desire unprovoked

“Alexander, it’s alright if you’re not ready yet. Spending your first heat with someone is a far greater venture than portaling with me to Tokyo and getting sushi.” Magnus pets his hand down Alexander’s back as he tries to soothe him with words. It isn’t ideal to be turned down and away, but Magnus’ goals are long term and a little delay won’t truly disrupt them.

The tender moment is broken first by Isabelle’s amused snort and then by the harsh way she coughs into her hand. It does nothing to disguise her laughter or distract from Alexander’s fierce glower as he stares his sister down.

“Sorry, sorry. None of my business.”

Alexander relaxes and Magnus thinks they’ve moved on until Isabelle starts laughing again.

“Okay, okay I’m done—” she raises a hand to catch the handkerchief Magnus throws at her. “But seriously, Magnus, you can’t think Alec isn’t interested? He’s made it very clear to the entire Institute how he feels about finally finding someone he wants to spend his heat with. He’s just worried you won’t be able to pin him down during a fight and fuck him if he goes feral.”

Silence drops like a theatre’s curtain before being split by Alexander’s low, angry snarl. Isabelle sticks her tongue out at him even as she steps away, letting Magnus nuzzle against Alexander’s side to distract him.

“Oh is that what’s holding you back?” Magnus is very pleased to know the problem and decides that after Alexander’s heat he’s going to send Isabelle a rather lovely box of magical skin care products he knows she’ll love. She’ll probably need it if Alec assigns her to the sewers for this. “That’s truly not a concern, sweetheart. Unless you need me to prove it to you?”

Magnus leans close and nips Alexander’s ear lobe before he whispers, “even if I can’t hold you down physically, my magic will ensure you stay exactly where I want as long as I want.”

Magnus was already warned of how quiet Alexander gets near his heat, but he’s still surprised by how deeply Alexander can communicate without speaking. His scent fills with pleased delight and his fingers find Magnus’ wrist to rest against the pulse as he hums a pleased, rumbling purr.

Isabelle does a lovely job of pretending to mind her own business for once, even as her scent rises with gleeful delight.

“Since we’ve thankfully cleared that up before any accidents occurred—“ because while Magnus would never blame his shadowhunter, he’s not sure Manhattan would have survived Magnus finding out Alexander wanted to spend his heat with him but didn’t.

“Well then, Isabelle, I’ll be taking him home with me. I’ll bring him back sometime when it’s over.” Magnus bares his teeth in a lip-curling smile in Isabelle’s direction as she tries to move closer.

“You’re way worse than any alpha.” Isabelle is laughing at him, shaking her head in mock sadness. “I can’t even hug my own brother now?” Her eyes are gleaming with victory, as if she’s won something with Magnus’ protective display.

“You smell disgusting.” Alexander mutters from where he’s been steadily ignoring both of them, “thankfully, Magnus knows that.”

That’s not actually why Magnus is keeping Isabelle away from Alexander but he’ll take the excuse.

“I do not smell!” Isabelle sniffs her own arm in suspicion even as she flips Alexander off.

“Well whoevers bed you were in does, and it’s all over you still.”

Isabelle actually stomps her foot, giving Alexander a truly acidic glare before she turns to Magnus.

“If you don’t want him complaining the minute you get him home, make sure you have some kind of filter for pheromones in place. I have taken at least three showers since I got back and this—” she flicks her hand in Alec’s direction, “is still his reaction! He once threw himself off a bridge because Jace got someone else's scent on him. Apparently he didn’t want to finish the mission smelling like a stranger and thought it would be better to just fight while sopping wet. It was January, Magnus.”

Alexander isn’t any happier than Isabelle at the reminder. The frown on his face turns into a full scowl and he moves closer to Magnus as his sister rants, arms crossed protectively in front of himself.

“He smeared a stranger's sex pheromones on me, Magnus.” His voice is deep and sulking, as if he feels the need to convince Magnus of his innocence in this assumed crime. “I would have thrown Jace in first but I was worried he’d contaminate the water before I got clean.”

“Clearly you were the victim,” Magnus soothes and he just shrugs when Isabelle gasps in betrayal, ignoring her expression of exaggerated outrage. Why she thinks he will be a voice of reason when it involves Alexander is beyond him. Magnus hasn’t come anywhere close to reasonable since the first time he met Alexander.

If Magnus’ scent happens to be the only one that Alexander finds pleasing than who is Magnus to work against the wisdom of the universe.

—

notes:

- izzy has been helping alec figure out how to explain it to magnus all afternoon. This isn’t a ‘she decides she’s right and ends up being right’. This is ‘i did not spend 2.5 hours of time i could have been dissecting bodies for you to lose your words because of biology. I will be your words! I am not suffering through you moping an entire heat. You’re not doing that to me alec. I refuse!’

for a minute there Alec really was: I don't have the spoons to explain so I'll just suffer this heat and handle explaining it later (not that Magnus would have let him go without an explanation)

Izzy really does try to make it easier on both alec and herself, it’s not her fault alec’s hypersensitive and violently inclined towards interest. EVen if that scene existed there would be no joking ‘fairy glitter’ in this verse because Izzy went home first, burnt her clothing, took a decontamination shower and then joined the mission. In the incident where Alec is claiming she smells, she actually took two decontamination showers, used scent-cleansing lotion and then took another nicer shower to re-vitalize her hair (decontamination is used to thoroughly clean only) and it still wasn’t enough.

While he would have preferred her to explain with a little less.... Flair than she does, alec is satisfied with the outcome. He just still might enact some revenge for the unnecessary details, aka sewer patrol.

Izzy is suffering. Do you know how awful it is to have your older brother and military commander/leader/parent always know when you’ve been experimenting/horny etc because he can smell it and also is so disgusted by it that the first time you come home after having sex he throws up in the middle of scolding you?

Izzy still high on fairy-pheromones and holding alec’s hair back as he tries to chew her out. It quickly goes from ‘legitimate safety concerns’ to ‘if you’re happy then its fine as long as you don’t ever smell like this again or i will hunt people down to kill so i never suffer this again’.

Izzy after and kind of regretting how this whole afterglow thing is going for her: i get why jace transferred to Chicago for puberty

(Jace temporarily transferred because canonically he’s very horny and it’s worse in a universe like this where he’s dealing with ruts. He spends a lot of time with alec because they’re family and while they’ve developed familial scent bonds over time 1) horny alpha on main is not alec’s cup of tea and he can’t handle that close up even if it’s not him the alpha is attracted to 2) jace keeps coming back smelling like horny omega/beta sex and that is mostly ‘threat perceived’ by alec. Like who are you? How dare you come unannounced into my territory??

Alec: its an invisible threat

Jace wondering just when he will be allowed to sleep: alec i promise, there’s no invisible threat. I just had sex

Alec: with a threat

Jace with the knowledge that sleep deprivation is a form of torture: no with a seelie

Alec: who was a threat

Jace who now understands that conversations with alec are a different but no less effective torment: look buddy, i really don’t think anything i say is going to change this. How can we fix this? because its.... WHY IS IT 6 AM ALEC? EVEN THE VAMPIRES ARE ASLEEP BY NOW.

Alec: stop bringing threats into the institute. Instant fix.

Jace: alec, my friend, my brother, my-almost-but-too-violent-to-actually-handle-parabatai, there are no threats. Just me having sex with people you don’t know.

Alec: which makes them threats

Jace: please buddy, i’m begging you to let this go

Alec: can’t you just not have sex?

Jace: ...

Alec: ...

Jace: i know what to do. i’m going to do us all a favor and go somewhere else for a little bit. In the meantime here are a bunch of books on nephilim puberty. You’ll need them when it’s Izzy’s turn.

Its worse for izzy and jace because they spend the most time around alec and are in the same small familial pack (like a mini ecosystem in a big one) so alec is in closer quarters constantly with them and they don’t have the concept of personal space either.

Robert cheating on maryse did not go well in this universe. It did not go well at all.

No alec doesn’t forbid his hunters from having sex though he does enforce strict hygiene rules that everyone follows because no one wants alec to chase them down because they’re ‘intruders’. He also doesn’t really care if his shadowhunters smell like each other and sex because those are contained, expected and allowed scents? And the sex isn’t directed towards him and can’t be attributed to him.

Will it be hypocritical that he doesn’t shower magnus’ scent away? No because the entire reason these rules are in place is so alec doesn’t react poorly and maim some unsuspecting hunter with a weak nose who thought they smelt normal. The new york shadowhunters are thrilled there is an extra layer of protection. Alec can now dip his nose to his sleeve and smell Magnus when they’re in public to calm down rather than just aggressively filling the air with his own violent pheromones to override whatever scent is making him sick.

No one is going to argue with alec’s methods or his protocols because he’s sensitive enough he can smell through 99% of glamours and that is a very very lucrative power in his field. Especially with rogue shadowhunters still a problem.

Alec is known for going feral over a lot of things. Everyone who is a part of his institute is there because they want to be even with all of his eccentricities because the most important thing to them? Alec will go feral over his hunters and he has absolutely vicious protective omega instincts that makes anyone with self-preservation want to be in his command. Will he throw you into the side of a mundane car? Yes. but it will be so you avoid being stabbed through the heart by a demon so it’s all good. Just shadowhunter things.

—

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #desire unprovoked #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #omega/omega #malec

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