#this fic seems so daunting sometimes

[wandering-night19]

last line tag game

Thanks for the tag @jesuisici33

from my 4x18 coda that I’m always hesitant to share too much from…

How terrible it is to live with the burden of a choice that would undo all the wonderful things life had brought.

Tagging: @thebumblecee @liminalmemories21 @catanisspicy @decafdino @whenshereads @lemonlyman-dotcom @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @alrightbuckaroo and anyone else that wants to! Tag me to keep me entertained at work!

[aurumacadicus]

“Sorry, English isn’t my first language” Well it’s mine and I still suck at it so like. You’re doing way better than me lmao

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

[judasofsuburbia]

So you’re looking to write some smut but feeling stuck, uninspired, or unsure where to start. Smut writing comes easily to some and not others, and that’s okay! Here are some tips I’ve gathered over my few years of writing smut to take with a grain of salt! It's my opinion; you can always do what you want!! <333

It’s fiction writing at the end of the day. So, it’s okay if you haven’t experienced what you’re writing about or maybe you have experienced it but you find it difficult to put it into words. I’ve never fought a creature from the Upside Down but I’ve written about it because that’s what fiction writing IS!! You’re creating a story from your own experiences/thoughts/emotions and applying it to a made-up scenario. So don’t feel discouraged by your own personal journey, anyone can write smut!!

When in doubt, plan it out. When I’m really stuck, just simply grabbing a piece of notebook paper and writing out each event in a sequence, even in the most basic terms, can make things so much easier. For example: making out, blow job, hand job, prep, fuck. Write down positions (sometimes limbs can get lost in the sauce and it is so hard to figure out how they’re actually doing it lmao). Write down settings. Write down if one person is leading it more than the other or if they switch off. Write down desperation levels (personally, I think it’s more fun when desperation is very high but casual fluffy smut is fun too!!) This will help the writing process feel a lot less daunting. 

More specifically, remember that prep is important. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been taken out of a smutty fic because they get to the main act (penetration, typically) way before someone should be ready to. Fingers, mouths, and lube (actual lube or something that can be safely used as lube. Blood is not lube. Blood is not lube as it is a liquid that dries quickly and offers no moisture so it will not help you penetrate anything, as hot as it would be.) Foreplay and prep can be a really good tool to establish a sexy dynamic between your characters and get the reader ramped up to read through to the end! 

If you feel like the action part is getting too technical, this is where you can add in thoughts and emotions that will give your smut some personality. It can feel very silly to write, for instance, your character A thinking “Wow character B is so hot” but it’s a thought that would probably cross their mind!! Write out any nerves the characters are feeling or maybe even the confidence they’re feeling. Write out what sensations they pay attention to. Write out what they like and dislike. Write out what actions cause an immediate response from them (moaning, bucking their hips, groaning, eyes rolling, etc.) Write out how your character would verbally respond (Are they dirty talking? Are they praising? Are they degrading? Are they stuttering through their words? Are they incoherent because the sex is so good?) It’s important that your characters still feel natural and not like sex robots. Unless your story is about sex robots, then go off!!!

The thesaurus is your fucking FRIEND!! Smut can feel ridiculously repetitive, especially if you’ve written it before. I say every time I write a blow job scene that “god blow job scene is blow job scene is blow job scene” because that’s how it FEELS! Use your resources like the thesaurus or there are a million posts with other ways to say “said”, ways to describe a kiss, etc. Just be careful that you don’t fall into using words that seem unnatural to the flow of the story (for example, a lot of synonyms for cock are simply…unsettling and can take your reader out of the story). Find ways to creatively tell the same action again and again which leads to tip #5…

Go read some smut. The tag “porn what plot” is so unbelievably helpful. Even if the writing isn’t exactly your style or your preference, sometimes reading someone else’s descriptions of sexual acts can be helpful if you’re lost! I have a few faves that I go back to read to get inspiration and I have notes about what it is specifically I enjoyed about their work. While you’re at it, if a fic inspires you and you feel comfortable doing so, leave a comment! It’ll make the author’s day, I promise. 

TAKE THIS TIP WITH AN ABSOLUTE GRAIN OF SALT but…go watch it. Or my personal preference, go listen to it. If I’m really lost, I’ll seek out audio porn that follows the same ~vibe~ of whatever I’m writing. There are many websites for this but Soundgasm is my go-to (it’s a free upload site so there are THOUSANDS of sounds and varying quality levels so it might take a second to find what you’re looking for)! Even a sexy playlist on Spotify can put you into a good headspace for writing. Just make sure you’re being safe and looking out for your own comfort levels. Never put yourself in a situation to experience something triggering for the sake of writing a good story. 

All of this to say, it is so different to write smut than it is to write a regular plot. It can feel incredibly daunting to go about it and find the perfect balance between technical actions and thoughts/feelings/dialogue and then make it all cohesive in the end. It’s hard to do but it’s not impossible! 

[tragedybunny]

hehehe~ perhaps a cute fic with reader and Astarion and he talks about all the parties he used to go to before he was turned- and he dances with you 😳

Anon - So this took on a life of it's own, it reminded me of some of my Tav's backstory, so I worked in some elements of it. I hope it's still good. 🥺

Rhythm Like a Heartbeat - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion and Reader share a dance that reveals more than they planned.

Wyll was teaching Karlach to dance, of all things you'd seen on this journey, this was somehow amongst the most surprising. The Blade and the "Devil" he should've slayed, moving together along with the melody from an enchanted music box someone had picked up along the way. The two of them seemed to be growing closer, and you couldn't be happier for them. You took a long drink from a pilfered wine bottle while you watched, you were all blowing off a little steam, which was well needed. Digging around for Kethric's weakness was a daunting task and the clock inside of all of you was still ticking. "Not rethinking your choices I hope." 

You'd been so lost in thought you hadn't heard Astarion come up behind you. Or he'd intentionally snuck up on you. When he wanted to go unheard or unseen, you usually didn't have a chance of not getting ambushed. Mostly he seemed to enjoy the little jump you made when surprised. Tonight you didn't disappoint, exuding a high-pitched noise along with jumping. "Astarion," you scold, "honestly! And no, of course not, just impressed by Wyll's form." 

"Really," he scoffed, not hiding his jealous streak very well at all, "he looks like a gangly teenage boy at his first gala. Clearly, you haven't had much experience in the ballroom." Part of you wanted to laugh a little, the insult was obviously ridiculous, but you knew his jealousy came from fear that he barely held on to you and could still lose you. Maybe sometime you should use the tadpole to show him just how impossible that would be. If only the thought of it didn’t fill you with revulsion. 

“I didn’t know you were such an expert, love,” you know he feels comfortable with the playful banter, and you hope it pulls him away from that place of insecurity. 

A sharp laugh answers you, “I’ll have you know I had plenty of experience, both in life and unlife.” You shoot him a look, he rarely speaks of life before Cazador, you’re not even sure how much he remembers of it. “What? I had an important job, I knew important people. Or are you just trying to get me to teach you?” An outstretched arm beckons you to join him. For a second you freeze, knowing you’re risking exposing everything you’ve held back. But hells, if you say no, he’ll take it the wrong way entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.” 

Taking his arm, you let him lead you a distance from the tent, glad Wyll and Karlach are still the center of attention, and gracefully dip your knee as he bows. Gently, one hand takes yours, the other held properly tucked behind his back. The rhythm is an easy one, but you let him take the lead. Soft steps, elaborate turns around one another, your eyes locked with his. Gods, his eyes are breathtaking when he’s looking at you, when his guard is down, soft and shining with light. Tonight, they seem full of mirth, but you’ve seen them overflowing with his sorrow and tears as well. They’ve distracted you and you forget, he’s supposed to be teaching you, your form is too good. 

Step away, one spin, back to back, face each other, palms touching. Skin like ice presses against yours, heating up with the exertion and the emotions humming through your every nerve. One night he asked if it bothered you, lying next to the chill of the grave. You only hugged him tighter and told him not to be ridiculous because you couldn’t find the right words at the time to explain that it was part of who he was and you loved all of him, even the pieces that might not seem loveable. Thinking of it that way now though, you should tell him. 

Another turn, facing away from one another again, a chance to catch your breath. It’s madness how he still affects you, even after you’d confessed to one another, you’re still swooning nervously. He’s right when he calls you “silly girl” teasingly. The finale, one more elaborate twirl, you’re no longer even thinking of the dance, muscle memory taking over. His hand catches yours and you step close to him, closer than the propriety of a noble’s dance floor would’ve ever allowed. Cheekily, he leans forward, stealing a quick kiss. “It would seem you have more talents than you’ve let on.” 

“I…”, you really don’t want to lie to him. The silence stretches far too long. “It would seem so.” 

“Hmm,” you feel him studying you, and you realize his eyes are guarded again, his posture rigid. “So tell me one thing,” you nod, terrified you’re about to shatter that fragile bond you’ve built. Lies by omission are still lies. “Which noble house are you a runaway from?” His voice is cold and hard, the Astarion you met on the beach that fateful day. How fast he can change wounds you, just like that, he’s ready to be done with you. But it’s your fault, you know how years of horror have left him with walls he’s too quick to bring up. “Or do you want to keep lying to me?” 

You shake your head. “I wish I could say.” 

“And here I thought we really had something, but clearly,” he gestures wildly, unable to contain his rising temper. 

Stinging tears begin to prick your eyes. “No, no, I wish I could say,” you emphasize, praying he’ll understand. 

Suddenly, he stills, hand coming to your cheek, eyes wide. “Is this a warlock thing?” A thumb brushes away the tear that escaped and you hear agonized regret in his voice. “Oh darling, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” Arms pull you into his chest. “Please, I didn’t realize, it’s fine.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” you sniffle into his shirt.

“Hush love, you can tell me what you’re able to, when you’re ready. Although I must insist you consider us even for any prior deception of mine. Even ones you haven’t realized yet.” He laughs that awkward, nervous laugh that happens when he’s upset, but he’s trying so you let yourself giggle a bit. “There’s my girl. Now how about we dance again and no holding back? I need to know if I can actually keep up with you.” 

The music box is still playing but you’re no longer aware of anyone else in the camp. There’s only the two of you, softly and slowly moving together. Gone are the thoughts of the elaborate courtly show, you move by instinct, bodies responding to one another as you press close together. Then you still, let yourself be wrapped in his arms, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat. “I can at least tell you that you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had.” 

“Never doubted it my sweet,” you feel him kiss the crown of your head before resting his cheek against it.

[bradshawsbitch]

best friend | bob floyd x f!reader

a second part

this fic is for @roosterforme 's Valentines Day challenge - #love is in the air tgm! for this fic I chose the song 'You're My Best Friend' by Queen - count on me to make the simpiest song on earth a smidge angsty!

disclaimer; as always with me - I set out to write fluff... and I have to go through the five stages of grief first apparently. this did not turn out quite like I first thought, but I hope you'll like it still! it does have a fluffy ending!

plot; bob has always known he needs you. but perhaps he needs you more than he himself knows?

warnings; fluff with a small preamble of angst, female!reader, no use of y/n, uranium mission, mentions of earlier overconsumption of alcohol, mentions of bloody nose, mentions of throwing up, cursing, cuddling naked (is this a warning? i don't know. it's in there), l-bombs, bob tying your shoes bc heart eyes.

word count; ~3.4K

tagging people who might like; @theharddeck @rhettabbotts @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter @sebsxphia @laracrofted @gretagerwigsmuse @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanapologist

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‘you make me live’

Robert Floyd was a very clean-cut man. His glasses, the birth control ones, were neat and tidy on his face, rarely crooked, and rested (a little uncomfortably if he were allowed to complain) against the bridge of his nose. He much preferred his old ones, the ones that he had had as a teenager, horn rimmed and snug and comfortable against his nose. But those had broken during a stint he’d pulled just before he joined the Navy, and thus - birth control goggles it was for him. To be fair he figured it suited his new lifestyle better. Neat. Unassertive. 

As a teen, Robert, at that time most known as Robby, was not quite as tidy and neat as he was now. The Robert that you, his best friend, had come to know was definitely on the more rowdy side. He drank quite heavily, and had the occasional smoke as well - something he was fairly certain would shock Hangman’s smirk right off his face if Bob ever wished to shatter the illusion of naivety he’d shouldered. 

It would sometimes irk Bob when people at first construed him as meek. Sure, he’d never been the most social butterfly, and meeting new people always seemed a bit daunting no matter how much practice he had. He figured that might be why he had drank so heavily in his late teens. He’d wanted to be able to talk to people and not feel as if he wanted to sink through the floor because he stuttered once.

After every stutter he uttered, Bob cursed up a storm in his head at his own incompetence. He was far from upset though, he was fucking pissed. How was it that he knew exactly what he wanted to say, yet his tongue betrayed him so wholly? It hardly seemed fair that he actually had so much to say, yet didn’t possess the ability to voice it. If people only knew how eloquent he had sounded in his head.

He guessed that’s why he liked you so much. That first time that you met, and Robert’s tongue had done its best to trip him up at every turn, you’d just smiled warmly at him - eyes twinkling with genuine interest as he spoke. The more you gave him your undivided attention, without letting your gaze flicker away from his face, the more confident Bob had grown - as if his mouth and tongue suddenly remembered how to do their jobs properly when he felt more relaxed, and as if he wasn’t in a rush to say what he wished before the recipients focus had been drawn elsewhere. 

You had waited patiently, and you’d replied with such care that he felt taken aback that you’d actually remembered most of his monologue. Since then, Bob had barely gone a day without speaking to you. It didn’t matter much what time of day it was, or how long you spoke, or how. Through the phone, via FaceTime or in person, Bob just needed to hear your sweet voice. Needed you like the air he breathed.

It had been that way ever since you met, and you had helped him when he needed it the most. Just before he had managed to make his drinking an unsalvageable problem, you had reminded him that he was valuable without the confidence that beverages lended him.

With you he never felt the need to put on any bravado or show. He had barely touched a drop of alcohol since his nineteenth birthday, and he never felt the urge to start up again. Bob had figured out that people could find him interesting and worthwhile without having the aid of alcohol to loosen his tongue and inhibit his sagacity.

‘whatever this world can give to me, it’s you - you’re all i see’

The world had undoubtedly thrown a few wrenches in Bob’s path. Growing up he’d suffered a lot at the hands of his peers, not really knowing why they felt the need to pick on him in particular. In his mind he didn’t stand out much.

Sure, he might be a bit clumsy sometimes, and he had been a little thinner and ganglier than his fellow classmates - but as he grew that had changed. Now he had defined abs and biceps, and still he didn’t feel entirely comfortable flaunting them on the beach. He preferred to keep a shirt on on the rare occasion he’d make it to the beach, something he knew you didn’t like - but something you didn’t ever push.

Bob was fairly certain most of the people that used to make fun of him had no idea that he was quite sharp, and he was not entirely sure that if he were to explain the intricacies he attended to in the aft seat of the F/A-18F he was usually assigned to, they would most likely come up blank for a response.

Robert was fairly certain anyone could wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him to man the AESA or ATFLIR system and he’d do it half asleep. The only one he’d tried to explain what he did in detail to was you, and only because you had asked and seemed genuinely intrigued - not even his father seemed particularly interested in knowing the heavy weaponry his son was responsible for when Bob tried to talk about it to him when he’d just joined the Navy.

Through any of the hardships Bob went through though, he always had you. You were always just a phone call away, even though Bob preferred to see you in front of him. Robert would never really call himself a liar, he tried his best to always say what was on his mind, no matter the outcome, but he undoubtedly was a liar.

Horribly enough, he was lying to you. And for some time he had definitely lied to himself. He’d almost told you after his situation with Phoenix, that first time he’d have to eject out of a spiraling Super Hornet at such speeds it made him dizzy to think that he’d actually survived. 

He had called you from his hospital bed, voice shaking slightly as he reassured you that he was alright - having to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from sniffling as he heard your teary voice blubbering how worried you’d been when you had gotten the call that his plane had gone down during a training exercise.

He had made you his emergency contact several years ago at that point. And perhaps your soft sobs was what made him keep his confession close to his chest for just a while longer. If you didn’t know, and he didn’t make it home during the upcoming mission - at least you might not suffer too much from the loss of him. Better to lose a best friend than a lover right? That’s what Bob reasoned. 

‘whenever this world is cruel to me… i got you to help me forgive’

As Phoenix put the Super Hornet down hard on the deck, Bob shook slightly as he swiftly went through his checklist. He was pretty sure his nose was bleeding, and wave after wave of nausea kept hitting him sporadically. He needed to get out of the jet. He needed to breathe fresh air, and most of all - he needed you. Hurrying down the steps, Bob ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the side of the huge ship, emptying the contents of his stomach into the vastness of the ocean below. They had lost Mav. They had lost Rooster. 

What if it had been him and Nat? It just as easily could’ve been. His legs were shaking as the adrenaline from the mission they had just gone through started waning. God, why had he gotten close to any of these people? He knew he had gotten too familiar with all of them after that god damned game day on the beach - he’d told you happily about being perched on Bradley’s shoulders, and you’d laughed and congratulated him on a good game. 

The memory sent another wave of nausea through him and he retched again as warm blood dripped down over his cupid's bow. Just as he was about to rush up to the nearest admiral around and get on his knees to beg them to let him call you, Phoenix showed up at his side, her dainty hand - that had just guided them to safety - landing on his shoulder. Not caring in the slightest, Bob quickly wiped his mouth and nose on his sleeve before roughly pulling her into a bone-crushing embrace, her soft words of reassurances falling on deaf ears. 

“Thank you, Nat. For getting me back.” Bob had, since he had met Natasha, known she would do everything in her power to make sure he made it back, with or without Maverick’s ‘funeral talks’. He watched his pilot clench her jaw, eyes turning misty as she looked up at him and nodded. 

“Likewise,” she said, patting his shoulder again before releasing him swiftly as they both noticed Hangman’s F/A-18E launch off the ship. Nat’s brows were furrowed, and Bob accompanied her as they made their way back towards the others. Fanboy took one look at Bob before offering him a pained look and a baby wipe - Bob knew that Mickey sometimes still threw up after flights, and had them on him at all times just in case. 

“You okay, man?” Fanboy spoke softly to the other wizzo, patting Bob’s back as the taller man thanked him and wiped at his nose and mouth. Bob shook his head somberly, wanting to be anywhere else than where he was right now. With a clarity he hadn’t known in a while, he realized that he craved you. Craved your voice, your touch, your embrace. He needed you.

‘you’re the first one when things turn out bad’

If he had been able to teleport himself to your doorstep right now he’d press you so close to his chest, he’d breathe in your scent, he’d let his lips descend upon yours only to let them never leave their new found home, securely against yours. He’d carry you to bed, and he’d use any excuse to keep you snuggled into his side for days and days. 

As it was, he had no choice but to stay where he was. Perhaps it was best that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have known that both Mav and Rooster had made it back alive, if barely. Laying down to sleep that night as the waves rocked the ship, he had never felt so exhausted mentally and physically in his life. It felt as if his very essence had been changed through the emotions and experiences he had had during this day. He couldn’t wait to be home. Home with you.

Bob had decided the second the Super Hornet had landed that day that he would be selfish. He would tell you about the feelings he’d harbored for you for years now. It was better than dying and you never even knowing. Never knowing that you were the only one for him, that you were his sunshine, his very reason for breathing. 

‘i’m happy, happy at home’

What Bob hadn’t counted on as he finally was able to make his way towards where people were usually gathered to greet their loved ones, was that you were there. He never had anyone waiting for him, because you lived some ways away, and the rest of his family were all the way over in Montana. Perhaps that’s why he needed to be nudged in the side by Phoenix, the one whom he’d spent the most time showing pictures of you to, before he made out your calls of ‘Robby!’.

His mouth fell open in shock as he saw you sprinting towards him, dropping his duffel bag just in time to be able to catch you in his arms as you barreled into his tall frame. He only had to take a small step back to steady himself, before his arm squeezed hard at your waist and his other cradled the back of your head as he felt you nuzzle into his chest.

He could hardly make out your muffled words, but it did sound an awful lot like his name being repeated over and over again in relief. Relief flooded him too as he took in a shaky breath, overcome by the familiar scent you brought with you. Tears clouded his vision as he pulled you in closer, standing to his full height for a moment, letting your converse clad feet lift off of the pavement.

As the two of you pulled away from one another, he could see tears streaming down your cheeks, and his brows furrowed as he cradled your face between his large palms. 

“Sunshine…” Bob breathed out, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You offered him a teary smile in return. Thumbs soothed over your tear stained cheeks, and Bob took this moment of silence to look you over.

He noticed that in your haste to make it over to him, one of your shoelaces had fallen out of the neat bow you’d no doubt hastily thrown together before leaving to see him. How you’d gotten the information he wasn’t sure, he hadn’t been able to tell you before he left when he’d be back. He figured Phoenix might have something to do with it though. He wondered what she’d told you.

Releasing the hold he had of your face, Robert slowly fell down to kneel by your feet, slowly taking the laces between his nimble fingers, tugging softly to make sure they were tight enough before tying another knot, this time a double bow, to make sure they didn’t fall apart again.

He playfully tugged at the top of the shoe, before he gazed up at you. The expression on your face had his breath leaving his lungs suddenly, and his lips parted in surprise. That look of adoration on your face was so beautiful to him, and to have it directed at him… it was overwhelming. 

“Take me home?” you whispered once he had stood to his full height again, and he wasn’t entirely sure what you meant. He had rented a small flat whilst he was going to be stationed here, so he figured that was home for him right now. Maybe home was wherever you were. Maybe you felt the same. He hoped you did. Bob only nodded before confidently grasping your smaller hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours as you steered him towards your car. 

The ride back to Bob’s rented flat was mostly silent, except for his soft spoken directions. He had yet to let go of your hand, thankful for your automatic car. His thumb stroked over your knuckles, maybe more to soothe himself than you. He felt like he needed to feel your skin against his own, make sure you were real. Make sure he was real too. 

Getting out of the car, Bob swiftly moved to open your door, his hands on your waist the moment you stood up.

“Robby,” you whispered, emotions unknown lacing your tone. Bob couldn’t do this here. Not on the driveway. He ushered you to the door, unlocking it and steering you inside without uttering a word.

“You’re my best friend,”

Bob spoke slowly, letting his cerulean eyes map out your face, every single familiar feature a thing of beauty. Heaving a deep sigh, he again let his palm rest against your cheek as you gazed up at him, that look of adoration still present.

“I love you, sunny,” Bob confessed, his voice breaking at the end of his sentence, overcome by the fact that he might not have made it home to tell you that. You licked your lips as more tears fell from your eyes.

“Phoenix told me you almost didn’t make it home to me,” you replied shakily. He averted his gaze, but you stepped closer, your chest now resting against his own. It forced him to look down at you again, god, you were so close. 

“How could you have left me without telling me that beforehand? I’ve–” you trailed off, a sob shaking you softly. Bob furrowed his brows, letting his arms wound around you to hold you steady against him. 

“I’ve loved you my whole life… ever since I first heard you speak, I’ve loved you,” you cried “as more than a friend. I’ve wanted to be yours for so long, Robby,” Bob groaned, pulling you into a tight embrace, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as his lips found the top of your head.

“Sunny… you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’ve always been yours. I’m sorry–” his voice broke again “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. I never in a million years figured I’d be good enough for you,” his voice was raw with emotion, a raspy and deep quality to it that had you momentarily dizzy.

You thought you had heard every iteration of Robert’s voice that there was. Sleepy Robby, angry Robby, sweet Robby, sad Robby… nothing compared to this. Nothing. 

“You stupid, stupid man,” you chastised him, a teary laugh falling from your lips as you broke free from his embrace. Bob had the decency to look bashful as he chuckled, thumb stroking over your cheek again. Your own hand raised, fingertips ghosting over his cheeks, the harsh feel of his stubble unusual for you. Your exploration continued slowly, before your thumb graced Bob’s lower lip, hearing his breath stutter in his throat. 

“Kiss me, Robby,” you spoke softly, glancing up at those cerulean eyes you loved so much. The groan that left Bob was otherworldly to you as he cupped your face in between his palms, his warm lips descending upon yours as your eyes fluttered closed.

Bob could swear he’d never felt anything like it as his lips were met with your warm and plump ones, moving so slowly and deliciously against his own, small sighs making him a little crazy. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling. You felt like home. Hesitantly, Bob let his tongue wet your bottom lip, and the way you let him deepen the kiss had another groan leaving his lips as your tongue met his slowly. 

“I never want to leave you again,” Bob leaned his forehead against yours as his eyelids squeezed shut. 

“Then don’t,” you let a soft giggle escape from you. Bob only smiled, before he bent down, letting his hands rest on the backs of your thighs as he hoisted you into his arms. 

“I need snuggles and I need them now,” he simply said as he walked you into his bedroom, carefully helping remove your shoes before he planted you in the middle of the comfortable bed. Removing his own shoes, Bob stripped out of his khaki uniform, leaving him in only his boxers - something you had certainly seen before, but something beautiful nonetheless.

He moved to climb onto the bed with you, but you held up your palm, stopping him momentarily as you wiggled out of your jeans and your top - needing to feel Bob’s skin against yours. 

Bob offered you the softest of smiles before he laid down beside you, keeping a small distance between your bodies, not wanting to make the first move at touching you. Rolling your eyes, you muttered “silly man” before promptly draping your thigh over his, letting your stomach and chest snuggle close into his warm skin, your head resting against his neck. 

“Thank God,” Bob sighed, kissing your forehead as his strong arms wrapped around your midsection, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. The same fingers that only hours ago had frantically manned the countermeasures and systems needed to get out safely. Bob squeezed his eyes shut before he took a shuddering deep breath.

“Hey, you’re here with me, Robby,” you spoke softly, resting your chin against his chest. “You’re here and you’re mine and I love you so much,” you continued, your fingers raking through his neat hair. He managed a smile, and his body relaxed against yours as he mirrored your movements.

“I’m here… and I’m yours, and I love you,” he repeated slowly, leaning against his forearm as he reached to kiss you again, one hand resting comfortably at the back of your head as his lips moved with yours. He felt your lips turn upwards into a soft smile against his own, and when you broke away from him, he let out a relieved sigh as he fell back against the pillows, eyes closed.

He smiled as he felt you climb on top of him, curling up on his chest, your head resting comfortably on his sternum, your thighs encompassing his hips. His palm softly stroked up and down your spine, and he swore he could almost hear you purring like a cat at his touch. 

Soft kisses were shared between whispered words of comfort and love, and Bob had never thought he could be this lucky, to have his best friend dozing off against his chest, her kisses and her love soothing his rattled soul.  

‘oh, you’re my best friend’

[drabblesbyjubs]

Caress

Astarion x gn! Reader; your boundaries on where Astarion can touch you and where you can touch him have always been a little fuzzy, but he struggles to word what he means when attempting to simply tell you where he doesn’t want to be touched. He tosses out an idea, and the two of you explore your comfort zones. This could be seen at a pt 2 to Just Need Time, its very soft and fluffy, sort of building on that healing aspect.

Fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, some minor sexual content but no actual smut, trauma, Astarion’s backstory stuff, minor spoilers for Astarion’s story in act 3, minors go bye bye pls

I wrote this on my first day at my new job. This fic was born in the kitchens of a nursing home

Intimacy was always daunting to Astarion.

Emotional intimacy was close, it was vulnerable, it was a means to exploit. And it was terrifying. Physical intimacy was a task, something Astarion struggled to enjoy.

More than a few times he had feared you leaving him because he couldn’t provide the intimacy you deserved. He wasn’t always emotionally available, sometimes we was so apathetic he feared you would be disgusted with him, but there were some things he just couldn’t care about. Even if he wanted to, caring was vulnerable, and it wasn’t allowed. Survival of the fittest.

He was next to never physically available for intimacy; either he completely zoned out before you even got his pants off, the thought of a hug lingering too long sent shivers down his spine, or a hand on his hip pulled a fear response from him, making his whip around to face you, ready to push you away.

You were so understanding that it hurt.

Never once did you judge, never once were you angry or upset. That was almost worse than you being angry; just not knowing what you were thinking. The uncertainty was horrible.

Uncertainty over how you thought of him, uncertainty of where he even liked you touching. Sometimes your soft, romantic touches made his heart soar; they were safe, there was no fear, no ulterior motive, only you, at face value. He loved those times. He wished he knew them more. There were so many little places he was and wasn’t okay with you touching him, he couldn’t even keep track of them.

Maybe it was worth finding out.

..

“Darling?” Astarion approached your tent, and you looked up from the book you had been reading, smiling when you saw that handsome face you’d come to love.

“Astarion,” you greeted, setting down your book and standing to meet him. He hugged you, and you held him close. It seemed he was feeling a little touchy today, and you didn’t mind one bit.

“I wanted to talk. Is… now a good time?” Astarion questioned. You felt a pit of nervousness in your stomach; he looked serious.

“Of course, come with me.” You said, leading him in to your tent and shutting it behind you. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

Astarion grabbed your hands tenderly, and you felt nerves twist in your belly.

“I know I haven’t been the best to you.” He began, immediately filling you with doubt and confusion.

“Darling, of course you-“

“Please.. let me get this out.” He gently kissed the back of your hand, and you shuffled nervously.

“I haven’t been the best to you. I’ve been reclusive, and I know you deserve better. The.. the thought of losing you is terrifying. I want to be more open, give you what you deserve, I just… dont know how. I… have a favor to ask of you.”

You gulped nervously. This didn’t seem like he was trying to break up with you… but the way he spoke in such a self deprecating manner, it was so concerning to you.

“What is it, hun?” You asked.

“I.. want you to help me learn where I can and cant touch you. Where you can and cant touch me. I suppose I… just want to admire you. You tell me when and where it’s too much, and you do the same to me. Is… is that okay?” He looked up at you with those beautiful red eyes.

“Like… like what do you mean?” You asked. “Whatever it is, im alright with it, but.. you may have to take the lead, show me what you’d like. Is that alright?”

“I… want to touch you. And want you to touch me.” He hesitantly explained, a shadow of doubt cast over him now. “I dont want it to be… sexual. I… suppose I want to find where im alright with you touching me. And where youre alright with me touching you.”

“Oh,” you said, realization dawning on you. “Oh hun, of course we can do that. That sounds like a great idea.” You kissed the tip of his nose and you smiled seeing the way the tips of his pointed ears flushed.

He smiled, that slight uptick to the corner of his lip, and the way his smile lines showed and his ryes warmed just looking at you. He was so, so beautiful.

You gently cupped his cheeks in your hands, thumbing over the corner of his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” you muttered, and Astarion rolled his eyes, though his smile didn’t fade for a moment.

“I know. And wonderful, don’t forget.”

You laughed. “And wonderful.” You pulled him in for a kiss, soft and tender. Astarion melted in your touch, his hands lifting to let one wrap around your chest under your arms and the other card through the hair at the back of your head and gently hold you close to him. His lips moved over yours and both of your relaxed in to the kiss.

You pulled away after a moment, saying, “How do you want to do this?”

“Maybe… here, come with me.” He took your hand and lead you to the bedroll in your tent, the two of you sitting on it facing one another. He gave an awkward pause, clearing his throat and saying, “Could… I take the lead, then you take over?”

“Of course,” you say. “Do you want me to take anything off, or keep this all over our clothes?”

“Maybe.. leave our undergarments on, but take off everything else?”

“That sounds alright,” you said. “I have a blanket right there if you need to cover up.” You motioned to the blanket next to the two of you. Astarion nodded in confirmation, and as you began reaching for the hem of your shirt, he asked you, “May I?” He reached your your shirt, pausing before reaching your hands and waiting before moving on.

You smiled, the care and focus in his expression warming your heart. “Of course,” you said. His fingers hooked under the hem of your bed shirt, pulling it up and over your head. The focus in his gaze was wonderful, so careful as if he would shatter you with one wrong move.

He let out a little sigh when he had your shirt off and tossed to the side, as of he had been holding his breath.

“Beautiful as ever,” he whispered, so soft you hardly heard it. You nudged his shoulder with a little laugh. “Gods, Astarion,” you laughed, and he joined you. His hands cupped your cheeks, and he gazed lovingly into your eyes. You had never seen him so… soft. So vulnerable. It was almost like you were looking at an entirely different man to the one you had found in the woods after the illithid ship crashed, the one who had held a knife to your throat and threatened your life. And maybe he really was a different man, after all you had went through.

But he would always be Astarion, forever your little star.

Calloused hands softly traveled down your neck, closely watching you for any reaction. Down your neck, over your shoulders, across your chest. Over your hips and up your stomach, then to your back, scooting close to feel down the line of your spine, to your shoulders, and down your arms, until his fingers tangled in yours.

“Was that alright?” He asked. You nodded, giving him an assuring smile.

“Of course,” you said. You leaned up to kiss him, a gentle peck to his lips before pulling away. Your fingers danced feather light at the hem of his bedshirt.

“May I?” You asked, to which he nodded.

You pulled his shirt up over his head, watching his gaze fall to the ground. It had always made him a little nervous to feel so bare in such an intimate way, but you didn’t let your gaze linger on his body, instead starting how he did, cupping his cheeks.

You moved to trace over the points of his ears, and he laughed softly, relaxing in to your touch as your fingers carded through his hair.

You hands moved to his jawline, before slowly moving to his neck. You watched his smile fade and a more focused expression return. You tilted your head, and he looked to you.

“I’m not sure.” He said, almost as if having read your mind. You nodded; he’d always been iffy about any touch on the side of his neck that Cazador bit him on. You moved on without another word, to his shoulders and his chest. Neither of which he had any complaint over, you noted.

Your fingers ghosted over the muscles of his abdomen, and you noted how Astarion watched your hand with an intent gaze. You thumbed over the top of his pants before gently resting your hands on the small of his back. You looked at him, waiting for him to return your gaze before you asked, “Your back. Is that a no overall?”

He pursed his lips and looked away.

“That… may be situational. I dont mind sometimes, but others…”

You nodded and said, “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll ask you before I ever touch you there, alright?” He nodded, visibly relaxing.

You moved to hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants, once again looking at him for approval before continuing. He nodded, hut you said to him, “Use your words, hun.”

“You can,” he said. He knew you always preferred he be vocal about his consent, instead of implying it. It made it easier for you to judge when he really wanted it.

Sometimes it was hard for him to know when he really wanted it.

Nodding, you gently pulled his pants down, him lifting his hips to help you out. You hummed, seeing him in nothing but his underwear. He truly was beautiful.

Starting with his hips, you pressed your thumbs against his hip bones, before moving to his outer thighs. You felt him grimace a bit, looking up to him.

“It’s alright,” he quickly assured. “Maybe move a little slower, if thats okay?”

“Of course, I’m sorry.” You responded.

Making a note to move more carefully, you moved down to his knees, then his calves. You ran your hands up the insides of his legs, stopping at his inner thighs. He shuffled a little, saying, “I think this is fine.. just let me know before you touch me here, please?”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said with a light hearted smile, moving in to kiss him.

It was slow and sweet, and you felt him squirming a little under you with you leaned over him and your hands on his thighs.

When you pulled away, his hands went up to the waistband of your pants.

When you nodded your approval, he removed the clothing, mimicking your motions with care and attentiveness. He was so gentle.

When he sat back on his knees, you noticed something you handn’t noticed before; Astarion was hard. You looked away quickly, not meaning to be rude, but he noticed your gaze and pulled back, sitting on his bottom and pulling his knees up to his chest to hide himself. Hurriedly, he said, his words coming out in one long string, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I think I just enjoyed seeing you like this but I dont want this to be sexual and I dont think I can handle being touched like that right now, but if you want me to touch you I can, I just-“

You hushed him, moving up to place a hand on his shoulder and gently thumb at the skin there.

“Darling, hush now. It’s alright. Its perfectly normal. I dont want anything like that right now either.” You assured him, the nearly scared way he looked up at you breaking your heart.

“You… you’re sure? Im still sorry I got… excited, I guess, I promise it wont happen again.” He seemed almost desperate to convince you he was truly sorry, and you gently cupped his cheeks, tilting up his head to look at you.

“My love,” you spoke, voice nearly a whisper. “I promise, it’s alright. We wont be doing anything sexual tonight, and I’ll pretend this didn’t even happen. Okay? There’s no need to be afraid.”

He nodded, his eyes shining almost as if he was on the brink of tears.

“Okay,” he breathed.

You kissed him softly, which he returned after a moment of hesitation.

You leaned back in the bed roll, saying, “Would you like to continue?” He took a breath and nodded, that signature smile returning to his face, even if it was a little forced. His hands crossed your thighs, calves, giving you a cheeky grin as he squeezed your butt, you swatting at him and rolling your eyes.

“You’re sure you’re alright with this all? You haven’t mentioned anything to me about anywhere you dont like…” he trailed, settling next to you.

“I’m sure. If its you, im alright with anything.”

“What?” He said, looking at you. His expressing was one of confusion. “Why?” He propped himself on up his elbows, looking down at you next to him. “What makes me so special?”

You stared back at him for a moment, equally as baffled as him. “What makes you so- Astarion, love, everything. You’re the brightest light in my life, the reason I keep fighting, you’re my everything. I’ve seen the best and worst sides of you, and you’ve seen the best and worst sides of me. You’re the one constant in my life, and you’re absolutely wonderful. I-“ you trailed off a little, noticing the way Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression; shock, maybe?

His bottom lip started to tremble, and he said in a shaky voice, “You… you mean that?” Before breaking down in to tears.

You stayed still for a moment as he cried, completely caught off guard, watching him shrink down in to the bedroll, but quickly moved to action and pulled him close, gently hushing him. “Shhh, shshsh,” you cooed, burying your nose in his soft hair and combing through the white strands. “It’s alright, hun, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

The way his shoulders heaved with every fresh round of sobs wrenched your heart, and you felt guilt swirl deep within you. “I’m so sorry, I-“

“Don’t,” he managed to breathe between sobs. “You mean it?” He sniffed, looking up to you with a tear stricken gaze.

“Of course,” you cooed. “I mean it all. You’re my everything.” You kissed his forehead, and he was wrecked by a fresh round of sobs, burying his face in your chest. You pulled him close and held him, rocking him softly as he cried. Your poor, sweet boy.

It may have been ten minutes, it may have been an hour. Eventually, Astarion’s breathing slowly began to even out, and his sobs became few and far between. Is a shaky, hoarse voice, he started to speak.

“Two hundred years. For two hundred years I was locked in that crypt.” Your fingers combed through his hair and his memories came back to him. “Cazador put so many horrible thoughts in my head. About myself, about the people around me. I never trusted anyone again until I met you. I never even trusted myself. A monster, I am, just a creature meant to feed off of the innocent. I haven’t been mine in so long.”

You started to speak, started to assure him that he wasn’t a monster, this wasn’t his choice, but you second guessed. Astarion being this vulnerable was… rare. So you gave him his moment.

“You’ve always been so trusting. I thought you were just stupid at first,” he laughed softly, and you rolled your eyes with a little smile. “But I realized that you are the only person whos ever put faith in me. Ever. At least within my memories. You’re… the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. So careful. So understanding. I dont understand why you care so much, but… thank you. And… I love you.”

Your heart was in your throat, choking you from the inside. You hugged him tighter, kissing the top of his head. “I love you too,” you breathed.

You placed your fingers under his chin to tilt his head up, giving him a warm smile when his eyes met yours. You leaned down to kiss him, pressing your lips against his and closing your eyes, feeling the way he relaxed in to your touch. Your lips moved together, in time as if this were practiced. You pulled away, and he gave you a little smile.

“You’re such a romantic,” you laughed. “It’s adorable. I love it.”

He clicked his tongue and looked away, though the little upwards tick in the corner of his lip gave away his stifled smile.

The rest of the night was filled with stolen kisses, little laughs, and sharing one another’s embrace. Astarion truly was something else, and he saw the same in you. You were the kind of dream he’d always held, a perfect lover who was kind and sweet. You were that. You had been next to him as he gained his freedom, encouraged him and trusted him even when you shouldn’t have. And he was so happy that you had made that choice, now.

.

.

Taglist

@adequate-superstar

@be-a-fish

[bookofbonbon]

few & far - aemond targaryen.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

warnings: none.

summary: Targaryen weddings were few and far between what with many of them marrying their own kin and, after Prince Aegon married his sister Princess Helaena, the whole realm seemed to wait with bated breath for what the much-desired Prince Aemond would do.

word count: 554.

gif credit: @useraelin (x)

The carriage groans with each dip and stray rock it hits, weight shifting and evening out every few minutes sometimes, seconds. The feeling is uncomfortable and, it causes your stomach to turn but, it keeps you from wandering into the dark crevices of your mind. The ‘what ifs’ and ‘why nots’ of why it couldn’t be… no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head a little to rid yourself of your stray thoughts. You couldn’t go there, not now or you’d just end up hurting yourself.

Your parents had already warned you to keep your wits about yourself, to think of your family’s honour and dignity… to think of your own.

The abrupt halt of the carriage pulls you from your thoughts. The door opening a moment later by a household guard and your parents, older sister, younger sister, and you file out.

-

The walk to the Grand Hall of the Red Keep is daunting, its large ornate doors looming over you and your family the closer you get.

With clenched fists, you take several deep breaths, heart thumping heavily in your chest as you try to calm your nerves. When your family's approach comes closer, your mother turns a sharp eye on each one of you, quickly examining your appearances.

“Fix your dress,” she eyes your pleats.

“The pleats aren’t the problem, mother,” you rub a hand across your waist and over your stomach. “My dress… the laces are far too tight.”

“Impossible, it was just made.”

“Well then I don’t feel well,” you complain.

“That’s enough!”  your father whispers harshly as the doors of the Grand Hall suddenly open and your family’s arrival is announced. 

Your family moves as one, strong and united. Your father and mother in front, you & your sisters in birth order behind them; each of you adorned in the sapphire blue and fine silver colours of your house.

You continue to take deep breaths, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and blocking out all around you. You keep your head down, concentrating on the spot directly in front of you and between your parents and when they stop, you stop. But then… so does everyone else at the abrupt sound of a scraping chair.

Your eyes follow the sound before you can stop yourself, immediately finding the Prince Aemond. He is standing from his place at the middle of the high table, eye focused solely on you and mouth slightly agape as if he’s about to say something and he does.

“My love…” he utters under his breath.

Under his breath but, it is the only thing everyone can hear. Complete silence befalls the room, tension so thick in the air it could suffocate you and, part of you wishes that it would.  With wide eyes, you dare not to look anywhere else but, at him. Afraid to see the affronted looks you were sure to be met with from the other noble Lords & Ladies.

You continue to hold his gaze for what feels like an eternity but is only a few seconds. The spell broken by a soft voice that carries from beside him.

“Yes, my Prince?” his Lady wife-to-be calls to him.

Her hand resting gently, gently but, possessively on his arm but, you know he is not hers.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

[hwaightme]

The meaning of 'Jeong'

☔ pairing: yunho x f!reader ☔ genre: comfort, fluff, angst ☔ summary: jeong (정/情) - the intimate and warm feeling, the closeness and affection arising from one's relationship with another person. ☔ wordcount: 5.8k ☔ warnings/tags: stress, a lot of work stress, burnout, disregard for own health, language, a little arguing, yunho driving, yunho singing, business, office, implied office disrespect, no need for words when yunho knows, knight in a shining automobile, snow and rain, on the verge of a breakdown, starry night, unedited, lmk if anything else~ ☔ taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven ☔ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ☔ a/n: hello there, sometimes we are in need of some yunfort~ warmest hugs, and much love! All reblogs, comments, thoughts, notes appreciated~ Thank you so much Sky for ideating with me, inspiring me, and fueling first my San, and then my Yunho brainrots <3 would not have happened without you~

It seemed that no matter what you did, everything served to further agitate you - another penny in the bottle of emotions that was threatening to overflow if you as much as hinted at your utter exhaustion. With all your might you wanted to convince yourself that this was temporary, you were trying your best and that no matter what happened, it all would end up being for the better. But sometimes, too much was just what it was. Too much.

Your troubles had wounded themselves tightly into an impossible knot, weighing you down until you were in a hopeless crawl, barely sentient and resorting to existing on autopilot just so you could avoid tearing up in a public place. You were not about to give your colleagues the sadistic satisfaction. With hefty heaps of sarcasm and barely concealed impatience, you waded through meeting after meeting, discussing projects that had backlogs larger than your anger. Somehow, as the day progressed, what you had already deemed to be a ‘not so good day’ had managed to one, two, triple-up itself.

First, you were notified, twenty minutes before the official launch of a function update in an internal, company-wide application, that there was a severe bug found, and the release would have to be delayed until further notice. Nothing new for a product manager to hear, but considering that you had just spent two hours in a metaphorical grill with your own senior manager, as well as the director of the department, you were not about to ‘not take things to heart’. The pressure only built as you were pinging person after person, with your dual monitor glowing from all the messaging windows, fighting against the torrent of your subordinates’ uncontrollable procrastination, all an attempt to reconfigure task assignment to fit in the same sprint. You cursed the ‘agile’ framework time and time again as you upped the severity on at least seven story points for your team, and hesitantly, transferred a hefty number to yourself.

This was a never-ending cycle. One which you would never break no matter how hard you tried. Such was your job; at least that was the excuse you gave it, since the monetary compensation was good enough to be motivated to put up with was clearly draining. In calls from early morning until late in the evening. Constantly juggling everyone’s workload and having to keep your finger on the professional pulses of at least fifty people, globally. You were no stranger to having meetings at awkward hours of the day, either. As you watched your colleagues beginning to pack up and leave for home, chatting away about their families, or about some new restaurant that opened in the area, or about some sports game, you realised you were completely deflated. Looking at your calendar, there was only one meeting – with partners in the US, to go, but it felt like an impossibly daunting task. Exhaustion was weighing heavy on your eyes and tension in your neck made it impossible to sit comfortably. But you still did it. Still sat there, in your office chair, accompanied by the squadron of chronic overtime workers whose heads were dotted across the floor as far as your eye could see, and pretended like it was not nearing nine o’clock at night.

You had promised your boyfriend that you would stop drinking coffee at weird hours, him having been horrified at how you could handle the bitter beverage, while you would pretend you did not see him sneak sweetener into his mocha. But with both of you getting busier and busier, and with you additionally trying to drown out the noise that came with not seeing him as much as you would have wanted, you slipped into your routinely coffee machine visits. The rumble of the artificial barista as it brewed up your only source of energy was soothing – the one sound in the workplace that did not pose a threat to your mental health, nor to your growing headache. Every sip was a temporary lull in an otherwise chaotic corporate fiasco you had found yourself in. Oh, how you wished you could tap out; this was your only conclusion to the dull, monotonous interlocution where not once, but twice did one of your co-workers abroad show their complete ineptitude in all things technology related by failing to share screen and check chat.

As you bid farewell to the last of the officemates who you agreed to mutual acknowledgement with, you leaned back in your chair and sighed. With the pitch black night outside, the artificial fluorescence that illuminated your pallid, tired skin appeared to be stronger, drying your eyes. If you were to stay frozen for a while, they would turn off until the next sudden movement, and maybe you could catch up on a much needed nap, cutting your sleep debt by at least a few minutes. But at the same time, could you afford those few minutes? When you were left alone with your mind, the notion of productivity and achievement became skewed, and what you would previously deem to be okay, or good enough, easily moving on to the next task, now metamorphosed – daunting, demanding monsters that haunted you, highlighting their inexistent faults in a dark crimson, covering your vision. If there was free time, that was time that could be spent working, perfecting, editing. And if it was not spent in that way, it was time wasted. Simple as that. Inadvertently, you became a lethal collaborator of the very cycle you dreaded waking up for the last couple of weeks, and were now in the process of breaking it, twisting it into a downwards spiral. You were aware of this, and yet, you remained passive, dismissing all alarm bells as overdramatization. The increase in cooling coals in your ambitious fire did not phase you, for you decided you had more important things to focus on. Like staring at your emails, unable to conjure a single coherent thought.

The words were swimming in front of you, the caffeine no longer doing anything to serve you. All that was left was the chocolatey aftertaste – you had your coffee snob colleagues to thank for campaigning for having proper beans be ordered, so everyone could travel to faraway places at least through the notes the beverage had, the harvest, taste the sun that blazed down on the rolling hills proudly bearing the farmlands. Only the memory of the dark roast sticking to the roof of your mouth, an unpleasant dryness settling along with the realisation that there was no chance you would be making any more progress. You heaved another displeased sigh, and after rolling your shoulders a couple of times, pressed on the power button, seeing how your distorted reflection appeared before you as the screens went black.

It was easy to imagine ghosts waving you goodbye, as the click-clack of your heels resonated through the main reception on the ground floor of the skyscraper where you were one of the many ants. A lonely security guard stationed by the turnstiles nodded you his farewell, hearing the beep of your id card being accepted. You nodded back. He was one of the more approachable-looking guardians of the money-making machine, you had seen him shake a joke with his fellow suited-up brethren a total of two times and you were not about to discourage yourself with the accompanying thought that you had been working in the company for just over a year now. You have not had the share of your favourite megawatt grins that would have dispelled your grim disposition, so every bit of negativity had to be treated with caution. You were a ballistic missile being transported in a rickety mule-drawn cart with one wheel falling off. Bit by bit. Step by step. You just needed an uneventful commute home, so you could collapse into your bed and forget about today, until tomorrow would inevitably remind you, and so the loop would start again.

But there it was. The cherry on top of the disgusting cake. Of course, the weather had to fit the atrocious mood. Even though your calendar explicitly stated spring, and you had been more than excited to welcome the longer days and the blooming trees and bushes, the temperamental elements were bestowed upon you as what could only be an evil prank. A cocktail of clumped up snowflakes and icy cold rain beating down on the side walk, the light emanating from a nearby streetlight gaining the appearance of static due to the rapidly cutting streaks. You cursed under your breath, already saying goodbye to your felt trench coat and blaming yourself for being too optimistic and not metaphorically gluing an umbrella to your hand. It was difficult to hold the tears that began to well up and inevitably blur your vision, turning the puddles and buildings into an urban soup. You had always wanted to see yourself as strong, or at least strong enough to be able to sustain yourself and be proud of your perseverance. But as you stood there, a stride away from being soaked by the downpour, you were trying to accept that you were fated to be ‘that one passenger’ on the metro, wavelengths of stress and misery vibrating out of you. The passenger who would have everyone sitting as far as possible and obviously concerned. You looked down, watching a stray shiny wrapper float down to the curb on a stream of water, stopping once it reached the sewage drain and the holes ended up being too small. Your hands clenched into weak fists, and you trembled, the nervous lump in your throat becoming painfully noticeable and spurring on a growing flood of apprehension. Under the stormy night sky you were so small. A tiny dot that would not leave as much as a footprint, insignificant against the menacing, ceaselessly falling drops of water, like a barrage of nature’s heavy artillery. As you were about you turn up the collar of your coat in attempt to do something, anything to protect you against the rain that you were about to step into, a voice called out, in part muted by the battering of concrete, but you would still recognise it anywhere.

“Would be cool if you could answer your phone sometimes.” Your head turned sharply to the right, in the direction from which you heard the sweet, deeper set tone.

Face slightly obscured by the edge of the huge umbrella that was loyally protecting him, there, approaching you, ambled the man who you would not dare expect to spontaneously visit you. Sure, you had your share of fantasies about how it would be like to have your boyfriend pick you up from work, or to meet up for lunch together, but both you and Yunho had phenomenally chaotic work schedules, and even calls lasting for longer than five minutes had to be planned well in advance. And while you were over the moon when you could spend time with him, the recent scarcity had led into a mounting pressure for you, to maintain a lighthearted disposition, to not let your troubles interfere with him and his life outside of a busy, demanding career. While that could have been your pride talking since such an approach took courage, your comfort was not at the forefront of your mind when you chose to not tell the full story to Yunho, when you faked a smile and covered the bags under your eyes.

"You know I can't use my phone in the office." You huffed, stuffing your hands into your pockets and feeling for the device, which you preferred to keep on do not disturb unless you knew someone was meant to be contacting you.

"Well, you are not in the office anymore, Y/N. But it’s alright, I completely get you. It’s late enough for you to not even bother with it until tomorrow, honestly." Your boyfriend shrugged his shoulders, and as he joined you under the roofing that protected the entrance from the mid-March cries of winter, he lowered and folded the black umbrella, revealing himself entirely to the streetlamp, and dim light emanating from the glass that guarded the reception area. You took in his divinely sculpted form, his smiling eyes and lips, and, in shock, realised that it had been far too long since you had seen this wondrous man in person.

He was dressed as though he had just stepped out of the dance studio, which, knowing Yunho, he very much might have. A beige hoodie, black tracksuit bottoms and some dual-toned sneakers to tie everything together he looked dangerously cuddly, which only further agitated you. Why did he have to come here without warning? Why did your ray of sunshine have to show up when you were nothing but a seething, thunderous raincloud?

"Thanks, Yun. But how and why are you here, exactly?" you did not mean to sound irritated, but your spent nerves were getting the best of you and took control of your speech. Yunho quirked an eyebrow but dismissed his perplexity in favour of lightening the atmosphere and cheering you up.

"My spidey senses told me you might need a knight in a shining automobile. And judging by how you don't have an umbrella, I think I'm right."

It was much more than just the lack of an umbrella; at your happiest, you were the type of person who would sing in the rain. It was the awkward hours at which you responded to his texts, the evident struggle you went through to keep your eyes open whenever you two would video call after work, but most of all it was how you so obviously held information back from Yunho that prompted him to approach his manager and carve out the time he otherwise would not have. If there was anything he learned over the half a year, and counting, of your relationship, was that you were a fighter, much like him - an energiser to a fault. You would give, give and give some more until there was nothing left for you, and then would lead yourself into the illusion that you were just being lazy when you were actually falling apart. You were putting on a brave, calm and collected face, and your hesitation to drop the mask in front of him was unnerving. If there was anyone in your present life who should be your pillar of support, a person you could trust, depend on, lean on be it emotionally or physically, it should be him. In Yunho's eyes, work and some pre-determined timetable was always adjustable when a loved one was in trouble, and hell, you were of the same opinion: when it came to racing across the city in the middle of the night just because he hinted at the fact that he had sustained an injury, you would stop the universe. So why did you not consider the basic healthy principle as something that was not applicable to you?

"But aren't you busy?" your inquiry sounded rhetorical. As though you had already formulated an answer for yourself and were unwilling to accept any other. To be frank, yes, Yunho was busy. So were you. Such was life. However, this element of your lives did not define you, nor did it imply having to take a secondary position in another’s life. Yunho shook his head, stepping closer to you until your arms were almost brushing.

There was a melancholic air to you. Days passing in minor chords, accumulating into a tune, then a song, then a symphony. Your sonata filled with dreams falling flat, and sharp comments forcing you to adjust your dynamics and rhythm. Yunho had fallen in love with the beautiful music of your heart – a beacon of kindness, selflessness and positivity, you had always been the first to encourage him, sometimes messaging or calling him before his members even had a chance to turn in his direction to wish him luck. An innate, deeper sense of what was around you, Yunho noticed time and time again how you elegantly navigated social landscapes, reading people, places and striving to simply do what was best for the situation you faced. You were one to intuitively know something was going on before it could even have the chance to consciously register.

But that also made you prone to wearing yourself out. Sacrificing yourself for those who did not deserve it, and not leaving enough to perform even the most basic human functions. Your boyfriend was always in awe of you, and how you could possibly have so much love contained in your body. As he gazed at your form while you rocked back and forth on your feet – a habitual action that he had realised was one of the most telling signs for your worry bubbling over, the strong urge to erase whatever parasitic dissonance was taking up space in your magnificent mind grew and grew until he could not resist to take your hand in his, smiling when he noticed your lips curl into the ghost of a smile as your fingers intertwined.

"Not busy to love you. No come on, let's get you home, you spent enough time in the glass box as is." He tugged on your hand, ready to open the umbrella again to lead you to the car he had parked around the corner, but you would not budge.

"I swear you had prac-"

"I am here. Okay? Here, now." He desperately wanted to bring you back into the present. What was outside of your control, and was not your decision to make should not preoccupy you, and yet if you caught onto as much as a hint of being the source of inconvenience for another, it sent you into a grim spiral. Not this time, Yunho was not going to let you keep doing this to yourself, even if it took a lifetime.

"It must have taken you so long to get here I-" your voice was growing quieter and quieter as you focused on the sensation of Yunho’s warm hand pressed against yours.

You had not realised how much you missed the feeling, and the reassurance that came with it. He was here, indeed. He was here with you. He was there for you. You raised your head as soon as he squeezed your hand a couple of times but struggled to maintain eye contact due to the evident concern written in his glimmering orbs. The tender, compassionate eyes, irises a dark mahogany hue, a safe haven in your hardship. You wished you could fall into those pools and drift into the blissful serenity they offered. At the same time, it was terrifying how he was peering right into your soul, making it seem as if your vulnerabilities were right there, on display, just for him. A shiver ran down your spine despite the layers you were wearing.

"If you checked your phone, you would now that my schedule changed." He commented, gleaming.

"Oh, so you are saying I'm wrong for worrying now?" you tried to pry yourself away, but Yunho strengthened his grip. He was not about to let you float into that headspace again.

"I don’t mean to make you angry here, just pointing a thing out." Voice level, the dulcet timbre silently posed a question to you – what was the rush? Why were you trying to run from affection?

"I am not angry! Just why is it that out of the blue you decide to appear? I would have been fine-"

"What, have other plans?"

"Uh, no? Going home?"

"So, what is there to stop me from popping by to see my girlfriend?” he pursed his lips, pulling you towards him so that you were facing him directly. Spontaneously interested in everything but his piercing scrutiny, you took to studying the white drawstrings of his hoodie.

"But… uh… well… There is like, a lot happening right now, isn’t there? For both of us? I mean… you have all that filming to do, the comeback to prepare for… you literally just came back from tour and…” you caught yourself rambling, and trailed off into the sound of rainfall.

"Hm. Figured."

Yunho nodded to himself, clicking the tip of his umbrella against the ground as though dotting a full stop on a page. Confused, you attempted to prompt him for an elaboration.

"Excuse me?"

"That you are burned out."

The phrase was a scalding hot iron thrown at the barriers you had painstakingly been building around your mind palace. You knew that it was true. Hell, if someone had just asked you to speak the truth about what you were feeling, this was the first thing that would come to mind, but were you going to say it? No. Never. What you were feeling and what influenced you was nobody else’s problem.

"Am not." It was childish, but it was the only response you could conjure without making tears well up in your eyes. Yunho was too close, too attentive, too much for your distressed and hurt heart.

"Are too."

"Look I am fine. There is nothing-” you peered at the darkness on the other side of the street. Tuned into the rustling of the trees that lined it, and wished for yourself to become part of the scenery instead of having to confront what Yunho was trying to get you to admit.

“You said there is a lot happening for both of us, and then you just list things off about me,” he was not going to let you go this easily, both in discussion and physically as he removed his hand from yours and instead placed it on your waist, “I am perfectly aware of them. I know my limits, and I know that I am managing fine only because I am honoured to have so many people supporting me. And now, I want one of these people to tell me what this ‘a lot’ means to them, and why they are now looking in the other direction.”

Your head snapped back to Yunho, revealing your misty-eyed state. Immediately, his expression softened, and he pulled you in, keeping you flush against his chest as he absent-mindedly rubbed your back with his thumb, while his other hand was keeping the wet umbrella a safe distance away from your clothing. You bit your lip as you took in Yunho’s comforting scent. He never wore any particular perfume, instead opting to smell like a mixture of fresh laundry and a miniscule hint of soap. And yet, if you could bottle this and keep it, you would in a heartbeat. To you, this was what the aroma of home, of safety was. If he wished to make you unravel your ball of troubles, this was the way to do it, you confirmed as you felt yourself automatically melt into his touch, blinking away tears that you were tired of holding. Not exactly aligned with your scheduled ‘half an hour of breaking down when you get to your apartment’, but who were you to complain about Yunho staying here with you, in the cold, adamant on defeating your inner voice that otherwise would have led you into a further darkness.  

"Let's continue this in the car, yeah?" His voice wavered, dropping into the softest whisper which jolted you out of your guards entirely, and you let yourself be guided by him to his car.

As you ambled, side by side, you were enveloped in a total silence, the raindrops forming an abstract beat on the umbrella above you. Arm around you, fingers landing just under your shoulder, Yunho was afraid of letting you go even for an instant, the fragility in your steps and fumbling for a response as he asked if his hold felt alright for you exposing your inner dejection. And once he had you and him settled in the front and driver’s seats respectively, he put the key into ignition, but did not turn it just yet. As the rain painted a blurry masterpiece on the windshield, he tilted his head, and looked at you.

“Tell me about your day.” A simple ask, but to you it felt like one of those unsolvable mathematics problems. You could lie, and on any other occasion you probably would with a classic ‘I’m fine thank you and you’, but you would be foolish to think that Yunho would buy that. If anything, he would explicitly label the nonsense for what it was and encourage you to give him a real answer with nothing but those gorgeous, hopeful eyes of his.

“It was… you know what, it was a lot. Too much even. Really, the last couple of weeks have been too much.” You uttered, annoyance starting to boil within you as you recalled the rollercoaster of events.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to weigh you don’t with it. Really, this is nothing. It will pass.” You fiddled with the buttons on the blazer, now within reach as you had unzipped your coat. Though your words were grammatically correct, nothing made sense to you. What was it that you were saying? Learned phrased out of the automatic deflection compartment, lines of defence in an effort to avoid discussion.

“Then why are you giving it so much power?” Yunho persisted.

“Uh… I don’t know, maybe because it is my job?”

“So, you get paid to have burn outs?” while he asked this in a joking manner, his smile did not spread past a brief flash. When you did not send a retort in his direction, he motioned for you to continue. You hated to admit it, but you agreed. As of late, this was exactly what your job had turned into. You being a hamster stuck in a wheel, running ceaselessly with no rest breaks in sight. Running in the hopes of there being a finish line. A success. A milestone. But all there seemed to be was more paperwork, more reporting, more meetings, more conflict, and more doubt.

“Well, now that you say that…”

“I am not one to judge professional choices and perfectionism. In fact, I respect you so much for being so dedicated, and being such a hard worker. But a siren is going off right now, okay? You are on the edge of a cliff, and we do not want you to fall off it, yeah?”

“What cliff?”

“I am an idiot for not picking up on this sooner, but now that I have, I must tell you: you are being pushed way past your limit, and you need a break. It is basically doctor’s orders.”

“But it’s just wo-”

“Tell me, what was the last thing one of your colleagues had said to you? About your work?” Yunho was no stranger to office gossip, through you having occasionally divulged to him the drama occurring in your workplace, and through the myriad of dramas he had watched with you and noticed that you often reacted to what was happening on screen as if it hit very close to home.

“Uhm… but it was not a nice thing so…”

“Say it.” Interest turned into a demand, and Yunho leaned closer to you.

“I only overheard it…”

“And? You still heard it.” Dropping his voice low, he rejected your subconscious devaluing of what had obviously been harm incurred.

“That I was trying too hard to please my boss…” a mumble escaped you, followed by a ragged sigh. Why was this so hard?

“That is fucked up.”

“…even though I was literally just doing my job. I was asked to do this report and all there was that was extra to it was me wanting to make it look pretty.” While you were not saying anything particularly heart-breaking, at least not by your definition, you choked up and had to force each word out with the strength you had left.

“I swear, humans are strange creatures,” Yunho mused out loud before chuckling, “says I, a human.”

“But that’s exactly why you can say it. And besides, you are a thoughtful human. Pretty much a blessing, Yunho. So don’t even.” Finally, a genuine grin graced your features, reminiscent of the first rays of sunlight after a merciless storm. Basking in the glow, Yunho returned it twofold and proudly wore the blush that started to rise on his cheeks. But he knew better than abandoning his mission so early on.

“Not to be cringe or anything, but to hear that coming from an angel is quite the honour.” He wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed airily. But the moment, unfortunately, did not last long, and your day was once more overcast by rumination. Yunho did not speak, waiting for you to give him as much detail as you felt comfortable with sharing.

“Sometimes, even if I am trying my hardest, I get this sense that I might be better off shutting up and giving the others the reins.”

“So, they are disrespecting their own manager?”

“I guess it's because I am younger than them or something. I mean, I get it, it is a gnarly economic period for the company, and everyone is losing their marbles, trying to stay above the water, but it would be good if they at least took my advice into consideration.”

If looks could destroy, then the glare that Yunho sent your office building would have set it ablaze. To curb his anger, he drummed out an abstract pattern on the steering wheel, though the grip that followed it told all. He blamed himself for not having been there sooner. For letting this pain pile on until it turned to a ball and chain that progressively set out to ruin what had been your dream career. If only it was as easy to wipe away cutting words and agonising actions like faint graphite etchings on a piece of paper.

“They should know their place, that’s what," he hissed, giving the wheel one final thump before pushing himself into his seat and turning to you, "You are being too soft on them, in my opinion. And that is why they are acting out. Promise me this, you will show them that you are a frontline manager, and you are more than capable of keeping things under control-”

“I’m trying-”

“-by taking a break. People can sense weakness, especially people who are not so kind to you. And while I cannot fix their attitude, I can try my best to help you. And before you say it, you are not coming into the office on the weekend, I am booking you up.”

"How do you know I do that?"

"Over the months of video calls you really think I did not memorise that one conference room you use to call me?" He shot back, smirking as you were at a loss, the only option being to roll your eyes and give yourself up to a legally mandated holiday.

“Yunho, you are too selfless, please, I just need a couple more hours of sleep and I’ll be all sorted."

“No, I will be selfish and take care of you. So, sit back, relax, and think of happy things. And that’s an order.”

“But that is not how selfish works?”

“It does in our world. Besides, don't you want to show them who is the boss?" The cheeky boyish grin won you over, and you beamed, whispering an amused:

"Unbelievable..."

Falling in love with Yunho did not give you butterflies in your stomach. If anything, it calmed the anxious knots that accumulated over however long the time between you being in each other's presence was. Sure, you would be okay without one another. Living life, achieving what you wanted to achieve. Brought down by the gloomy days but rising again. But together, those days were just so much less gloomy. The, what could only be described as innate, trust that you had formed in one another, was the invisible string tying you together in the gift that was your present. Falling and being in love with Yunho was like a warm day in the spring, a promise for new life, for blue skies and for a warm breeze caressing the blossoms of affection. It was like the starry night sky in the early summer, with you and him sitting on the rooftop of the apartment building where you lived, on an old bed sheet because you were yet to invest in a proper picnic blanket, but still the happiest people in the world.

As he closed the gap between you, running his fingers over your jawline before cupping your face to get a better angle, you closed your eyes and gave into the adoration that emanated from him. In the subtlest of gestures, in the sentimentality that translated into him understanding you better than how you understood yourself, he was every bit a man head over heels in love. And while either of you were yet to say the words, each action and inaction both screamed it. Perhaps it was something more than love. A proximity of the souls that was built in the quietude, in the shadows of an emotional flurry. In the hustle and bustle of common terminology, labels and anniversaries, a little world that could only come into existence with genuine intent and care became a reality. This cozy corner that housed only you and Yunho. 'Did you eat?', 'I will take care of you', 'I'm outside with medicine' were all manifestations of this unspoken devotion. And as he placed one final kiss on your rosy lips before starting up the car, you were entertained by the fascinating coincidence in the only term you could think of to describe this feeling being the exact same as your boyfriend's surname.

Flickering lights, neon signs and a revelation that the cycle could stop. Though you were on the verge of somnolence, barely resisting drowsiness settling on your eyelids like the snowflakes outside, you watched as Yunho masterfully spun the steering wheel while singing a melody which you recognised to be Standing Egg's Starry Night, one which you had made him repeat again and again as soon as you had heard it once. Upon noticing your gaze resting on him, he broke into a chuckle and fell quiet until the next red light.

"Mmm, why did you stop?" You asked and pouted, glancing at Yunho's arm as he pulled on the handbrake.

"Because I want to look at you as I sing it:

Here we are close to star

I want to stay with you forever like this

Here we are close to star

The endless starry sky and you and me..."

As he sang, in the air hung a promise. One which you did not need for him to say out loud to understand, for more often than not, the feeling itself was the true, and magical meaning.

[mishasminion360]

How Do You Do It?

Jack Daniels x fem!reader

Warnings: Mild language; words said in anger; stress-induced anxiety; mild angst; self-doubt; but lots of fluff, I swear.

Summary: Being a new mother and a homemaker are two difficult jobs to juggle at the same time, and even more of a challenge when your husband is constantly away. When Jack returns from his latest assignment to find you overtaxed and irritable, he decides to make it up to you by spending a day in your shoes.

A/N: What a busy summer/early fall. So much has changed in such a short time. Change is weird sometimes and brings a lot of stress. Had my first-ever panic attack. Zero stars; do not recommend. But even the stressful, scary parts of our lives can be inspiring. This fic is proof of that 😝

P.S. As you can see I began this fic in the fall of 2023 and look how late I’m posting it! I’m sorry for the long hiatus, folks, but believe me when I say it was necessary.

How is it that your husband is the secret agent, but the weight of the world always feels like it’s been thrust upon your shoulders?

The day you found out you were expecting was one of the happiest of your life. You and Jack had been over the moon and spent the entire adventure of pregnancy fantasizing about all the joys of parenthood that would arrive along with your bundle of joy. You weren’t kidding yourselves; you knew that a baby brought big changes and more than a few challenges. You just weren’t aware of just how high those hurdles would be until you were thrown into the race.

The roles of wife, homemaker, and now mother all seem to merge into one monstrous, never-ending task; and your duties seemed all the more daunting when you were left to fulfill them alone.

Jack is nothing short of attentive and dedicated when he’s at home. The problem is that “home” is usually the last place one will find him. As of late, his job with the Statesmen pulls and pushes him this way and that into parts unknown where he’s embroiled in espionage for some indeterminate period, leaving you with a house to maintain, meals to prepare, clothes to launder, and a colicky infant to soothe.

You’re trapped inside a pressure cooker and the temperature is nearing critical.

***

“Baby Shark” is on its 25th iteration, every “doo doo doo” is like a bat to the back of your head. You dance topless in the living room with your wailing son clutched to your naked chest. You’d tossed your t-shirt into the wash twenty minutes ago, covered—like the two before it—in your baby boy’s milky vomit.

Your sanity is a mere thread, frayed, delicate, and seconds away from completely unraveling. Your head is pounding and back aching, and you’re trying to convince yourself that the flush of heat you feel just beneath your skin is not a fever. You can’t afford to be sick now. Not when you are all your son has; when you are all you have.

“Daddy’s home, darlin’!”

The sound of his voice, the familiar clip-clop of his boots on the hardwood floor, should fill you with after hardly having heard it for a solid week. Instead, it has your already tepid body simmering with frustration.

“Hey there, Mama Mare.” The affectionate term oozes from between his grinning lips with all the smooth, sweet ease of honey. “Give this ol’ cowboy some sugar. He missed you.”

His lips are on yours and then detaching themselves before your mouth can even register it’d just been in contact with another; far quicker and more careless than the long overdue reunion kiss you’d been anticipating. The brief little smooch held about as much passion as a handshake.

“There’s my little cowpoke!”

Jack lifts his squalling son from your arms and little John’s cries instantly cease. Of course they do. Of freaking course.

“Well, now, you didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account, honeybee.”

You snap to attention after possibly having fallen asleep on your feet for a split second to see that Jack’s devilish gaze has zeroed in on your bared tits.

“You certainly know how to welcome a fella home.”

While he’s busy ogling your non-seductive nudity, your own eyes have locked onto the trail of muddy prints stretching from the front door, each filthy footfall a perfect imprint of the sole of Jack’s boots. Yet another mess you’ll have to clean up; another chore added to the already heavy burden you’re shouldering.

“How’s about after dinner we mosey on upstairs, put this little buckaroo to bed, then I show you just how much I missed you?”

You don’t even know how to respond to him right now, so you don’t. You simply turn your back and walk away, seething in a silent rage as you stomp your way upstairs to put on the thickest, ugliest sweatshirt you can find that leaves everything up to the imagination.

John starts to wail once again, but that’s Jack’s problem now. You have about a million other tasks to accomplish—make that a million and one, thanks to his filthy freaking boots.

You slip into the master bath and toss back a couple of Advil for your pounding headache and by the time you re-emerge, Jack is pacing around your bed, hands on his hips and a pensive scowl on his face.

You take a deep breath through your nose and the words tumble from your lips in a sigh. “I haven’t started dinner yet. Give me just a few minutes and I can—“

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he blurts. “‘Cause you gave me a look back there that reminded me of an angry steer about to trample a rodeo clown.”

“Just forget it,” you mutter, brushing past him toward the door. His hand wraps around your wrist before you can cross the threshold.

“I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’,” he drawls as he turns you to face him. “Sugar, what’s wrong? No use lyin’ because I can tell somethin’s stuck in your craw.”

Oh, it’s stuck alright. Like a bug in a windshield.

“Jesus, Jack,” you sigh. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had a total of five non-consecutive hours of sleep this week. Or it could be the fact that the house is a mess or that I’m down to my last pair of clean underwear. All the chores have been put on hold so I could tend to our son while you’ve been off playing ‘secret agent man’ in God only knows where.”

His mustache twitches and his jaw ticks.

“Honeybee, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been strugglin’? I would have—“

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you!” you snap. “You should know me well enough by now to tell when I’m not okay! You should already have some inkling of how hard it is to raise a child and that the process usually goes much smoother when both parents are involved. But I guess I’m just a fool for assuming. Getting shot at is far less hazardous to your health than changing a dirty diaper after all.”

When the red finally clears from your vision you see that Jack’s has become clouded with a look you’d only bore witness to once and concluded that you never wanted to see again. His mirthful brown eyes dulled by a deeply rooted pain planted long ago by a cruel twist of fate. He’d been robbed of his first chance to be a husband and father and you’d just accused him of squandering his second.

“Sugar, I’m….I’m sorry.”

Shit. It’s not fair. You have been miserable for an entire week and you can’t stand to see him miserable for even a millisecond.

“No, I’m sorry,” you insist, voice and legs quivering. You lower yourself to the bed before exhaustion and gravity get the better of you. “I’m just so tired. Tired and frustrated.”

He drops to the bed beside you and pulls you into one of his signature hugs you’ve missed so much. The tightest of embraces that only he can give.

“I know you’re working hard to provide for our family,” you sob. “I know that but still I….I feel so alone, Jack.”

Before even a single southern-drenched syllable can leave his mouth, a sharp wail blasts from the baby monitor and your body reacts instinctively and urgently. You shoot up and out of Jack’s arms like a rocket.

“Let me check on him and then I’ll start dinner,” you say with a sniffle.

“I’ll get him, darlin’,” Jack insists, gently grasping you by the wrist and halting your minimal progress toward the door.

“But he probably needs—“

“I will get him.”

His hands are on your shoulders now—firm yet gentle—and grounding, comforting.

“Please, let me take care of my boy so you can take care of you, honeybee. And then, later, I’d like to take care of you, too. If you’ll let me.”

You can only muster a nod before he’s striding out of the room. Taking advantage of the first minute you’ve had to yourself in a week, you slip into the shower and let the warm spray unclench every muscle coiled tight with stress.

By the time you emerge, John is sleeping peacefully and a pizza’s been ordered. Jack dotes on you the entire evening, giving your aching feet a rub down with his skillful hands and cuddling you close as you both zone out to some ridiculous reality TV. His mere presence is a balm to your weary soul.

Whenever the baby cries in the middle of the night and your body moves on instinct Jack stills you, urges you back to the mattress, and takes on the challenge himself. It’s the best night’s sleep you’ve had in you can’t remember how long.

***

And surprisingly enough, you don’t manage to sleep any later than 9 a.m. The smell of extra greasy bacon lures you from bed, a siren’s call to your stomach.

John bounces in his high chair, babbling around a mouthful of mashed banana, most of which appears to have ended up on his face, shirt, and chubby little fists. Jack is an even more astonishing sight than your messy son, strutting about the kitchen in your frilly apron topping his off-white Henley and faded Wranglers.

“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” he cries, grabbing your hips to tug you in for a kiss. “Though I wasn’t expectin’ to see you up so soon.”

“How did you expect me to stay asleep when something smells incredible?”

“That would be my famous chocolate chip, peanut butter, and banana flapjacks.”

In true Southern gentlemanly fashion, he pulls out a chair and eases you into it before setting a towering stack of syrup-soaked pancakes before you, coffee and bacon following suit.

“Better eat quick now, darlin’,” Jack urges as he takes a seat with his plate. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

As if you could forget. That laundry is begging for attention, the house hasn’t had a good dusting in you can’t recall how long, and Johnny already needs a bath—

“I made you an appointment for noon.”

Your train of thought instantly stalls on the tracks.

“Appointment?”

Jack grins over the brim of his steaming mug.

“Honey, you need a break. Figured you might enjoy yourself a little spa day.”

You can hardly believe your ears.

“Spa day?”

“Yes, ma’am. Massage, mud baths, whatever the heck they do with seaweed, the whole nine yards,” he explains proudly. “I even called up your buddy from work and asked if she’d like to join you. And it’s all on me.”

“But Jack, what about John? And the house, the laundry, the cooking?”

“Gimme some credit, sugar,” he chuckles. “I think I can keep the homestead standin’ and our baby boy breathin’ for a day. Besides, it’s high time I start puttin’ in my fair share of help around here, isn’t it?”

You’re not sure if you want to thank him or burst into tears. Maybe both.

“You do so much, honeybee,” he says warmly, voice as smooth, rich, and sweet as the syrup sluiced atop your pancakes. “You move mountains every day to make this house a home. How’s about lettin’ someone do somethin’ for you for a change?”

You scarf down the rest of your pancakes before kissing him with sticky lips and racing up the stairs to get ready for your big day out.

***

You feel rejuvenated and refreshed. Brand fucking new. A far cry from the husk of a woman who’d left the house this morning. Wrapped in seaweed and slathered with mud you’d been returned to the earth and reborn at full strength, like a phoenix risen from the ash.

You'd been reunited with an inner strength and power you'd all but forgotten. And thank God for that, because you're going to need every bit of it to face the chaos you come walking back into upon your return home.

You can hear John’s piercing wails before you’ve cut the engine and opened the driver’s side door. You can smell the smoke before you've even reached the front steps.

Inside all hell has broken loose. Gray tendrils of smoke slither through the air, teasing the detector into screaming its warning. Your baby boy is giving it some stiff competition with his own cries as Jack struggles to bounce him on one arm while he tries to fan away the smoke with the other. Both gestures prove futile.

“It’s okay, buckeroo. You’re okay. Don’t cry. Please, please don’t cry.”

Jack looks so frazzled. The situation is far from funny so the last thing you should do is laugh at his expense. But dammit if you don’t anyway.

“Do you need some help there, cowboy?”

His frantic eyes find you through the haze and pierce you with a desperate, wordless plea. You take the inconsolable infant from your husband’s arm and soothe him into silence as Jack does the same to the smoke alarm.

“There now, Johnny. See? Everything’s okay. Daddy made the bad sound stop.”

“He just stopped cryin’ for you. Just like that.”

Something in his eyes burns. Something in his voice cracks.

“I couldn't bring him any kind of comfort. He didn't….want nothin’ to do with me.”

Your weary cowpoke sags into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and buries his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

“You were right, darlin’. I'm useless.”

You settle John into his high chair with a teething ring to distract him before turning your attention to your distressed husband.

“To be fair, I never said you were useless.”

“You may as well have,” he sighs. “And if you weren’t thinkin’ it before you’ll be thinkin’ it now.”

You smirk. “Rough day?”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He begins to recount the day’s challenges, his voice raising in pitch as goes from describing one hurdle to the next. He almost seems on the verge of tears.

“And I got so distracted while tryin’ to get our fussy boy to eat his dinner that I failed to hear the timer and let ours burn. Hence the fiasco you came home to. And when John started bellowing for his supper I was in the middle of the laundry and I forgot to separate the colorful items from the rest, so my new red jockeys turned our bathroom towels pink and….and I just failed so miserably today, sugar. I’m so sorry.”

You laugh, unable to help it. It’s all you can do at this point. “Welcome to my world, sweetheart.”

“How on Earth do you do it, sugar?”

If you’re being honest, you ask yourself that question at least once a day, and not always with the same emotional connotation behind it.

“There’s just something inside of me that encourages me to power through the difficulties. A force, a reminder.”

“An iron will for damn sure,” he scoffs.

“No, that’s not it,” you chuckle. “It’s love, Jack. For you and our boy. That’s what keeps me going.”

He looks at your have cradling his own, a gesture of both dominance and comfort. In this moment he believes that he is made of inferiority.

“I love you both to the moon and back, yet I can’t even do a load of laundry.”

“Jack you do enough. I have not, do not, and never will doubt your love for me and John,” you reassure him. “Acts of service just happen to be my particular love language, not yours.”

“Then what is mine?”

You lift his hands and kiss both sets of his knuckles. “Words of affirmation.”

His acts of service are for the world, but his words are just for you.

“But ain’t actions supposed to speak louder?”

“For others, maybe,” you shrug. “But that’s only because no one else speaks as loudly as you.”

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday @secretwriterpp @wannab-urs @pedrostories

[justporo]

Words like daggers

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 5

Author's Note: Firstly, don't worry. This part was already finished some time ago. I'm really trying to keep my promise to take my time with things, but I'm SO proud of this part, so you're getting it now and I will just update the fic how I feel like it after this. Also this part is pretty long so next chapter might take a couple more days so I can catch up.

Astarion and Tav finally enter the ball which is a show of blatant excess. Conversations are had, introductions are made and by the end champagne is splashed in peoples' faces and Astarion unknowingly lets out the most vicious of mockeries. Please enjoy!

Song: Camille Saint-Saëns – Danse Macabre Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Lots of swearing, soft mention of SA, people just being dicks...

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

~~~

Slowly, the two of you made your way down the stairs to the ginormous ballroom.

Dim golden light from giant chandeliers, candles and mage lights everywhere set the atmosphere: warm, inviting, enticing and a bit gloomy; with the promise of darker corners where the light wouldn’t reach.

On the far end to one side of what could only be described as a hall was almost a full orchestra playing and the dancing was already in full swing – the middle of the room wholly reserved for couples twirling and turning. Enchanting melodies filled the room and sometimes the heavenly voice of an elven singer in front of the orchestra, precariously clothed in a white dress, drifted through the crowd.

Opposite the staircase tall windows and doors led outside where more people were standing with a view of the gardens of Herrenfordt Castle in the moonlight. A view so vast, you could see the hilly greens of the estate, then further below and seemingly an eternity away the twinkling lights of the city and the almost invisible in the darkness of the night: the river Chionthar.

And on the other side from the orchestra, you could see huge and widely thrown open doors that led to other rooms and other parts of the mansion. Quite a lot of the guests seemed to disappear into these other rooms but only few seemed to come back, mostly servants were coming from there – carrying trays loaded with more drinks and some with canapés on them. Yet the main ballroom didn’t seem to empty out anytime soon.

All around people were standing as couples or smaller groups: chatting, slandering, laughing, drinking the champagne or eating the food being offered by the many servants passing through the crowd with huge silver trays. Some seemed to be well in their cups already, staggering or sloshing their drinks while talking and gesticulating animatedly. Some couples already seemed very handsy as well – hands wandering deeper from backs to more insolent regions, décolletages emphasised with a carefully placed hand or arched back, spines straightened and shoulders rolled back to look taller and more intimidating.

Gold, diamonds and pearls seemed to be everywhere you looked. Everything and everyone was sparkling in their finery and giving off the aura of careless excess and frivolous debauchery.

Jewels shone from daunting cleavages, signet rings clanked on chalices, flamboyant headpieces swung around during coquettish laughter, deep red lips left stains on crystal glasses and silk shone like liquid in the dim lighting.

An impressive display of languid ignorance and luxurious degeneracy. And it was more than impressive even – it was intimidating.

You gulped as you let your eyes wander over the scenery and the crowd.

“Chin up, my love, we have a right to be here as much as everybody else. And also, you’re the second most beautiful person in this room, my heart”, you heard Astarion joke beside you. You gave him a look from the side as you indeed lifted your head up some more and straightened your back.

Astarion though didn’t look nervous at all. He wholly looked as if he belonged, his face now a display of arrogant boredom. And more than that even: he well looked like he could be the owner and host of all of this.

“You really have a way with backhanded compliments, you know that?”, you replied and looked down at the crowd again. Even more heads were turned towards you now, observing you as you made your entrance to this ball – and accordingly to the high society of Baldur’s Gate. But at least the pale elf at your side had managed to take the edge of your fear in that moment.

“Tell me I’m wrong, love”, Astarion replied and you could see him grin at you when you threw him another glance. “How could I?” And to that the vampire replied with a genuine smile.

As you descended the last couple of steps you could already see a young, male and pretty broad shouldered servant approach you with a tray full of broad rimmed crystal glasses filled with what you assumed must be this champagne people kept talking about – not that you ever tried it.

The servant came closer, an easy and polite smile on his lips. Seemingly, the dress code for the servants from here on out was much more casual: uniforms for men and women consisting of black pants, vests and loose white shirts which for most were only very lazily laced at the top.

“Ah, time for another lesson, my love: when someone hands you a glass of champagne: never decline!”, Astarion whispered to you as the server offered you the tray and you each carefully grabbed a glass. The server with long and loose black hair and slightly greyish skin – you were sure there must be drow in his ancestry - gave you a small wink then turned around to other guests.

You were surprised for a second and looked at Astarion who simply raised his eyebrows: “I told you, you looked incredible.” You shook your head with furrowed brows and took a sip of the sparkling champagne. As you drank you noticed how almost all faces that had previously been watching you had now turned around again. Obviously, the interest had merely been in watching you being presented like a piece of morsel on a silver platter – no one actually had any interest in getting to know you.

The champagne filled your mouth and surprised you with its taste: prickly and sharp but also with a rich sweetness that filled you and warmly eased its way down your throat. You were surprised to say you liked it.

While you drank you let your eyes wander of the crowd and found it quite diverse, but not as diverse as you were used to from your city: many humans and half-elves were present which wasn’t a surprise because they made up a large portion of the city’s overall population. Proportionally many elves were guests even which also wasn’t surprising because many were nobles and mostly represented in the Upper City. Even some tieflings or dragonborns were to be seen but rarely any dwarves, halflings or other races. Which confirmed what you had feared: while the city was generally pretty diverse and inclusive, the high society was elitist and only open too few. The champagne in your mouth tasted suddenly a bit like bile as you thought about that.

But your critical thoughts were soon interrupted by your soulmate. “Oh, what a fine drop. Dear, dear, I wouldn’t be surprised if this champagne wasn’t only older than you, my sweet, but also older than me”, Astarion said after he had taken some sips too. “This must unimaginably expensive”, he continued and let his gaze wander to you just as you had just downed the rest of your glass.

“Tav!”, he shrieked, his voice immediately several octaves higher as you blushed and realised that you had probably gulped down more money’s worth than you had paid for alcoholic beverages so far in your life. “But you said to never decline champagne”, you answered remorsefully. “Yes, decline, I didn’t tell you to down it like a pint of lukewarm beer tasting like piss”, the vampire hissed at you, but you already saw the servant from before approach again, throwing you a wicked smile and letting you swap out your empty glass for a new filled one. You thanked the server with a smile as he winked at you a second time and left again.

“And stop flirting with the staff!”, Astarion spat albeit you could hear that he was only teasing. Still, you were dangerously tempted to stomp on his foot: “I didn’t do anything! You told me to drink the champagne and suddenly I’m doing it all wrong or what? And you dragged me here all dolled up as if you wanted to show me off!” Your tone was half mad, half joking.

The vampire didn’t reply but pulled you in with a smirk by putting one arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest before he said in a tone that wasn’t remorseful at all: “I mean you’re not wrong. Maybe a bit of ‘showing you off’ was part of my plan for the night. Mostly though it was how much I could dress you up to my personal liking.” He grinned seductively at you, his lip darting out to lick over his lips and for a moment you forgot you were in public. You let yourself be kissed by the elf with open lips, your free hand digging into his doublet as the mood turned from your playful bickering to something other.

At least in the back of your mind a voice reminded you that you were very much publicly making out with Astarion. But then you remembered how you already had seen some couples very obviously sneak away to darker and deeper corners of the castle. If you were putting on a show for someone you were at least sure to blend right in with the crowd.

“And by any means, darling”, Astarion whispered to you as he broke the kiss but kept staring at your lips “keep drinking as much champagne as you like. You know people say it’s an aphrodisiac, right?” You blushed but couldn’t reply as the vampire pressed his lips to you again, one of his fangs shortly grazing your bottom lip and making you shiver.

“I’m not carrying you home though when you pass out”, he whispered when he broke the kiss again. You made a face at him although your head was still spinning from the kiss – also you were absolutely sure that he would carry you home if the need arose.

“I’m not carrying you home either, Astarion, just so were both on the same page here”, you replied and stuck your tongue out at him, then turned around. The vampire softly placed his free hand on the small of your back and softly lead you around the enormous ballroom.

You made to walk around the room for a little while, each just sipping on your champagne – Astarion now stealing naughty looks at you whenever you lifted your glass to your lips. Your partner had taken up some of his commentary from earlier as you walked around the room. Pointing out some people he knew and what their dirty laundry was as you kept drinking. Meanwhile the music and the dancing continued. Couples of all combinations entered and danced, those who left looked giddy and flushed. You were actually starting to feel excited to join them later on but for that you felt you had need of a few more glasses of champagne.

And as you were on your third and Astarion on his second glass you were suddenly approached with a subtle cough from the side as you were passing an open door that led outside.

As you looked over you saw a slender half-elf man with dodgy eyes looking at you. When you found his gaze, he cheerfully said: “Ah, you must be Lord and Lady Ancunín! Would you do us all the honours of maybe joining us for a while?”

He motioned towards a small group of people: a beautiful young tiefling woman just as slender as him but with incredibly sad eyes and blue skin that seemed to be his wife, another couple, human, consisting of a man with a bushy beard who seemed way too buff for his doublet and a woman with a dangerously deep neckline and several strands of pearls around her neck who was holding a very furry, small dog, and finally another seemingly a bit older half-elf woman with an incredibly tasteless headpiece with feathers.

You quickly looked at Astarion who looked at you and shrugged before he softly put his hand on your back again to lead you towards the strange little group.

Astarion softly whispered to you: “Remember, if you don’t feel comfortable just elbow them ‘on accident’”- he air quoted, lifting his hand from your back shortly – “and watch what happens before you leave.” You grimaced at him but felt thankful for his quip, nonetheless.

The slender one who had talked to you first introduced everyone while nervously running his hands through is sleeked back hair. You listened to all the fancy long names and titles and immediately forgot them again. But you were sure it didn’t matter anyway.

“Oh my, Lord Ancunín, how have you been hiding for so long from society, hm?”, the lady with the dog said and made eyes at your soulmate while letting one hand wander the rim of her deep cleavage, so obviously not hiding her interest in Astarion. Meanwhile, the dog on her other arm started to snarl and bark at the vampire excessively. The vampire rolled his tongue in his mouth and took a drink of his champagne as his eyes followed her hand riskily wander the outline of her breasts. You immediately felt anger rise up in you at her audacity. The grip on your glass tightened and you were sure your face must’ve immediately slipped.

You saw how Astarion’s nose softly wrinkled in disgust. His eyes jumped back to the lady and bored into her: “I haven’t exactly been hiding from society, I’ve just been otherwise occupied.”

You knew he was playing at being under Cazador’s thumb but dog lady obviously mistook his words. “Shame, really! If I had met you earlier, I would have eaten you right up, my dear”, she replied, chuckled and patted Astarion on the arm – the vampire’s nose scrunched up even more and you felt him tense beside you. He smoothly stepped out of her reach, she let her hand lay on the bare skin of her chest again and kept batting her eyelashes at him. The grip on your glass of champagne tightened even more as you felt like you had entered a den of wolves.

The rest of their little group giggled softly, obviously used to her insolent behaviour. Only the tiefling lady with the sad eyes kept simply drinking from her chalice and looking out longingly at the gardens bathed in silver moonlight.

You suddenly felt the urge to grab Astarion’s hand, so you did. You squeezed his hand reassuringly. He squeezed back a bit and lifted it up shortly to press a kiss to your fingers with a short glance towards you under the judgemental eyes of the rest of the group.

Meanwhile, the dog kept barking at the vampire. “Pomme de terre! Will you be silent for once!”, dog lady shrieked at her puppy and then shook him to silence him, much to your shock and disgust.

Astarion who had just then been taking another sip practically snorted into his glass. He lifted his chin and said with a vicious gleam in his eyes: “Vous avez nommer cet chien ‘pomme de terre’? Vraiment?” Your head turned towards him, brows furrowing – you hadn’t understood a single word of what he’d been saying.

But neither had anyone of the small group of nobles. The broad-shouldered husband of the one addressed simply coughed and emptied his drink. The rest threw each other looks that clearly stated their opinions about the two of you: scum.

“Vous êtes plus stupide que je l’imaginais, bravo!”, Astarion continued as he received only questioning looks in response again and took a deep swig of his champagne with a maliciously mocking grin. The dog kept barking and growling as the group threw each other confused looks once more. The owner of the dog looked definitely displeased by what she at least interpreted correctly as mockery at her expense.

As the silence dragged on, Astarion leaned over to you and quickly whispered to explain: “She called her dog ‘potato’ in another common tongue I am sure she does not know a single word off.”

Then he grinned at you, you grinned back. Of course, he’d be the one to know something like this and be able to call her out on it. You had to be honest: you loved it when Astarion showed off his vast knowledge, especially if it were others on the receiving end.

And you didn’t feel as intimidated anymore: they might think you were beneath them, but you knew they were beneath you – at least in terms of character.

Dog lady looked both of you up and down in a very judgemental way. Her husband motioned towards one of the servants, grabbing two glasses – one for himself and one for his wife who didn’t even look at him while taking the drink from him – and then patting the young man carrying the tray on the chest in thanks. Then silence spread again after Astarion’s mockery. Solely the dog kept barking and started to get on your nerves a little – but who could blame the creature with its bad luck in ownership.

Then suddenly a murmur started to rise through the crowd, especially inside, making everyone’s heads turn. At the top of the stairs stood a tall, blond man, elegantly dressed raising a glass towards the people who clapped and cheered. So, this was probably your mysterious host Lord De Grodt. You grabbed Astarion by his sleeve, but he was occupied with something else.

Astarion used the moment of commotion to bare his teeth and hiss at the dog who immediately stopped barking. He started to whimper and squirm in his owner’s arms, desperate to get away from what had revealed himself as the much bigger predator until the rude lady finally set him down and he could hide behind her skirts.

By the time Astarion had turned around the host had already disappeared again somewhere atop the gallery. The vampire looked quizzically at you but you just waved it off for the moment – you were already occupied enough with the nobles right in front of you.

The group started to talk again but explicitly left you out of the conversation now. Obviously, Astarion’s taunting had moved you down enormously on their list of interests – or rather him. It almost felt like you had been invisible for them from the start; not counting the very first mention.

The lady with the ugly feather headpiece started to talk about how her estate’s upkeep in Neverwinter just kept rising because personnel was just so expensive. She kept waving her hands around and you noticed she was wearing excessively big rings that were just as ugly as her hat.

You threw Astarion a glance who kept staring at the pretentious nobles and weren’t completely sure how to interpret his facial expression. You would have liked to leave but then again… You had overcome more mortal perils than you could tell, you surely wouldn’t shy away from some arrogant assholes. So you took another big sip of champagne and lifted your chin up while you let your free hand wander up Astarion’s back until it laid on his shoulder. He absent-mindedly covered it with his own as he kept staring at the others – his demeanour almost as if he were a cat focusing on the prey in front of him.

The lady with the feather headpiece noticed your gesture and looked at your joint hands on Astarion’s shoulder for a moment. Then her eyes suddenly jumped to yours with a glint in them you couldn’t quite place.

She spoke in a sudden outburst that halted all other conversation: “And so you must be the lord’s…”, she said and gave you a look that immediately gave you the feeling of being naked before her. You couldn’t help but feel intimidated yet again and stayed silent.

“I mean, I would have said wife because you were introduced as Lord and Lady but I didn’t see a ring on either of your hands and nowadays people would bring the staff they’re sleeping with.” She gave an absolutely over the top sort of laugh that made your hairs stand on end. The others joined in with mocking laughter: dog lady lifted her hand to cover her mouth and gave you a mean look. Even the tiefling gave a condescending snarl as you could feel yourself turn a deep shade of red. And you really didn’t like how it seemed the attention had now shifted to you.

“Yes, I mean, can you remember when Lord Levlon brought his ex-wife’s maid when she already had a huge belly? Nobody believed that had happened before the divorce!”, the skittish guy who had first spoken to you said and cackled.

“But don’t worry, my love, seems your beau still seems to be fairly interested in you – even though let’s see how long. Don’t take it personal but you don’t seem to be of the same standing as everyone else”, said feather hat. Your gaze snapped to hers as you felt you lost grip on the situation. They all suddenly seemed to close in on you.

“Men are so quickly captivated by a pair of young and perky breasts until they realise there’s no brain to go with the tits”, dog lady continued and placed her hand on her cleavage again and arched an eyebrow at you while smirking – as if that were the case for her.

“But do not be worried. If your lover here gets you knocked up, he’ll probably pay generous amounts of gold to keep you quiet and the child hidden”, skittish guy said with a vicious grin at you.

Astarion stared at everyone, his fingers over yours squeezing them as he was fuming with rage, almost hurting you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say anything but rather that he didn’t trust himself to not rip them up in front of all the other guests if he dared so much as move a single finger. His brows were drawn together so much in anger, the wrinkle between them seemed impossibly deep.

“They always pay to cover up their shame”, beard guy said and downed the rest of his champagne in one go and waved for the young male servant again.

“It’s always the same, honestly”, dog lady sighed theatrically “the most beautiful ones only tend to think with their cock and the tacky little sluts seize the oppor-“

“STOP TALKING TO US LIKE THAT, BITCH!”, you screamed in a sudden outburst, burning with rage and before you could think better of it you threw the rest of your champagne in the face of this wretched woman. She gasped but was obviously dumbfounded by your short circuit reaction.

You knew your face must be fire red. You didn’t shout loud enough to raise your voice above the rest of the party, but people around surely started to raise eyebrows, turn their gaze and shake their heads.

“My, would you listen to the mouth on that thing”, the tiefling woman said with an incredibly disgusted face. The first thing she said since you had been standing there and it was to mock you. That finally made Astarion snap out of his blind rage enough to react.

The vampire downed the rest of his champagne then set down the crystal glass down so hard it cracked on the tray of the servant who had just come over and now awkwardly stood beside him and beard guy as the drama unfolded. The vampire let go of your fingers and your hand fell weakly to your side again.

“Oh, you should better fucking listen, indeed, darling”, he growled. “Because that’s quite the attitude for someone whose husband fucks a woman so tasteless, she wears dresses her tits almost fall out of”, Astarion continued and let his gaze wander to dog lady whose mouth immediately formed a surprised O.

The tiefling woman stared at Astarion in shock as her skittish husband became somehow even more skittish and started to open and close his mouth soundlessly like a fish and helplessly flailing his arms – confirming Astarion’s words without having to speak.

“Oh, you hadn’t known yet? Pity, maybe if you stopped staring off into the distance you would have noticed how they kept looking at each other and licked their lips”, the vampire went on with a huge and unfriendly grin now splitting his face. Then his gaze went back to the dog woman.

Meanwhile, your jaw almost dropped as you kept listening to him. More people around you started to turn around, some gasped as you had certainly become a centre of attention now. Murmurs rose around you.

“I wonder why though you felt like you needed to downgrade yourself so much. Ah, but maybe it’s because your husband so obviously has a thing for the male servers here and keeps making them uncomfortable with his gazes and touches”, Astarion snarled. The servant beside him gasped and then quickly turned on his heel and left.

The group was dead silent now. Only feather hat was snickering nastily. But then the vampire’s gaze fell on her: “Oh and don’t think you’ll leave as the gracious one here. The estate you pretend you’re owning in Neverwinter? It has been knocked down for decades. Maybe do better research if you’re only pretending to be rich. And get better replica rings, a blind person could tell you these are fake, dear.”

Now everyone was silent, you could only stare at your soulmate who had absolutely verbally decimated this group of pretentious nobles. But there was one final blow to be dealt.

“None of you seem to have a brain to go with anything, really – except for how much you all deserve each other’s vile company. Ah, and maybe some gold and a title that once meant something – but watch how quickly that turns to dust when you miserably rot alone”, Astarion finished with a hiss and cocked an eyebrow at the round before he gave a vicious version of his best signature smirk.

They simply stared at him as he then gave a curt but elegant bow and turned to you: “My sweet, beautiful, smart and wonderful darling, would you like to leave now? I fear we’ll only get dumber if we stay here.” He offered you his hand which you gratefully took and smiled at his compliments.

You both turned around to go back inside.

“You BITCH”, you heard as you walked away – followed by a loud smack and different screams of pain, shock and anger. More shouts and smacking sounds followed; you could hear the dog barking again. Seemingly a fight had broken out.

You didn’t look back, you just threw Astarion a glance who smiled at you wickedly. A mirroring smile slowly crept onto your face as you kept looking at your partner in crime.

“That was so much better than just elbowing them”, you said to Astarion as your wicked grin grew broader.

Tags: @aurasyn @margoteve @usuallyunlikelyfox @hollowmasque @worryknotdear

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hey bbg how u doing 🗣️ ik ur reqs arent open but i feel like if i wait for too long ill forget omg 😭, this req is KINDA self indulgent, lifes been crazy lately to say the least

i was thinking abt a fic with our (technically my) hubby peter q when reader has a nightmare, maybe abt something from their past b4 becoming a guardian ! i feel like peter would be so sweet gurgrhrgrh, trying to calm reader down, shushing them, etc 🙏

just a lil ideaaa, hope youve been having a good february! have a great week/end :-)

-🪐

bbg!!! hii hi! did do this even though they’re closed bc it’s a cute idea and ive missed writing quill! hope you’re doing better now, sending love. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

DISRUPTED.

peter quill x gn reader

word count. 471

warnings. none? no details pertaining nightmares, just fluff & comfort

Quill is someone you often use as a source of support, his naturally comforting personality acting like a magnet for you and those around him. 

You would subconsciously seek him out for refuge during those moments when it all felt like too much, and sometimes, you didn't even realise just how much you gravitated towards him.

Even with sleep, he was still someone you relied on - just knowing he was there, laid next to you, was usually enough to steady your mind. 

But sometimes, the feel of his body beside you wasn't enough to keep you asleep. You'd often jitter and jolt and toss during your nights of slumber, past memories coming back to haunt you in the form of nightmares - all of it keeping you from resting peacefully. 

They were manageable for a while until very recently, when you'd essentially thrash yourself awake. Peter, your boyfriend, would be awake before you - the movement of you beside him coaxing himself out of sleep. 

But tonight was the worst one you've had for a while. It felt like you were stuck in your nightmare and unable to wake up - the feel of it all too heavy and daunting. 

Unbeknownst to you, Quill was trying to help, sat beside you, calling your name and gently shaking your arm, trying to force you awake. Your head jolts abruptly, and you finally wake - fear all over your face as you pat the bed to find Peter.

He calls your name once more, his voice soft and soothing - trying to help you locate him. "It's okay," he coos, adjusting to lay back down beside you, facing you. “It’s okay, honey.”

"It was horrible," you mumble tearfully, shaking your head. "It..."

"It seemed horrible," he comforts, bringing his hand to rest on the side of your face, palm large and warm as he thumbs over your cheek. "Was it the same one?" 

You hum softly, closing your eyes from the warm touch of your lover. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks faintly.

You shake your head 'no'.

He hums quietly, understanding you.

He scooches in closer and slips his arm under your head, propping you up so he can pull you into him. You curl into his side, head resting on his bicep - burying your face into his chest like you were hiding, using him as protection almost.

He wraps his other arm over you, bringing you closer so he's cradling you - like he's trying to keep you safe. 

"I'll stay up. I'll keep you safe, you get some sleep," Peter murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead as he grips you tighter.

The comforting smell of his chest and the warm touch of his hands slowly eases you back into sleep - the steady circles Quill drew on your back act as a distraction from your mind, swarmed within a blanket of security.

[bruisedknucklesandbloodykisses]

Boyfriend

CW: College AU; Unreliable narrator/reader; Delusional reader/Nobunaga; Unhealthy relationship; Lovesick reader; Insecurities (Reader); Possessive; Ignoring multiple red flags; Sexual content towards the end (Grinding, Messy Kisses)

Summary: You’re  hesitant to ask Nobunaga on a date due to not wanting to destroy your friendship with him. He has other views on the subject at hand.

Word Count: 2,094 Note from Knux: I just wanted to say that I was very inspired by this fic from @uvobreakmylegs (they have the best writing PLEASE-). But, seriously wanted to give credit where credit is due though!

You leaned against Nobunaga’s side, his steady breathing helping to distract you from your nerves. It was so silly how nervous you were; it was just a date after all- well, it would be a date if he accepted. The words seemed to die in your throat, turning into a hard lump that made it hard to breathe, every time you tried to ask the simple question: do you want to go on a date with me? 

Honestly, those words weren’t daunting at all and it was frustrating that you’ve never had any issues asking before. You were used to making the first moves on people you liked- sure, you haven’t done it since high school, but that’s besides the point. The point now is that you felt like you were drowning in your own emotions because you could spit out the damn phrase. 

You glanced up at Nobunaga, taking in his face: angular, lips drawn into a thin line and his dark eyes focusing hard on the text in front of him. It was funny to you how you had convinced him to join you on this little study date- it made you feel fuzzy inside. Though, you had finished your studies and were simply keeping him company now. Which, you didn’t mind. If it meant that you got to hang around the silly athlete, the better it was. 

You sighed, nestling closer to him, allowing your eyes to slip shut as you snuggled deeper into the blanket you wrapped yourself in. 

“Hmm, getting bored?” Nobunaga’s voice said, startingling you out of your dozing.

“Maybe,” you murmured against him, pressing your face further into his arm as you let your eyes slip close again, “but I don’t really mind if I get to sit with you.”

He snorted. “You sap. You sound like you really like me.” 

“Well, yeah.” You quickly added: “we’re friends after all.”

He went silent and you couldn’t help the way your stomach started to churn with a strange sort of anxiety. A frown tugged at your lips, peaking one eye open to glance up at him. He seemed irritated as he glared at the book in front of him. 

You slumped against him once again, both eyes open now, as you thought of how you (or what) had upset him. Nobunaga had a bit of a hairline trigger with his frustrations occasionally- you sometimes felt like you were walking a tightrope with him, but you didn’t really mind. It was just how Nobu was. Your silly friend who was sweet and always took care of you. Before him there was only you. 

A small smile pulled at your lips. How did you ever make it without him? 

“Ah, fuck- this thing is boring!” Nobunaga finally declared, slamming the book shut. 

You couldn’t help but giggle despite how he jostled you around when he crossed his arms and pressed himself back into the worn (but comfortable) couch in your living room. “How about you take a break, I’ll make some tea, that sound good?”

He grunted, sulking into the cushions while you unwrapped yourself and laying the fluffy blanket on his chest and tucking it behind his shoulders after you got up. He had grumbled but let you continue with your antics. You laughed as you went to the small kitchen in the apartment- nothing too fancy, just big enough for the fridge, a sink, an oven, and a little bit of counter space for a microwave and the odd times you wanted to bake. 

You reached into the cabinet right above what little counter space you had and pulled out two mugs. They were cute: a sleepy gray cat face and an overly excited white and tan puppy face for the other- they were round and the little cat reminded you too much of Nobunaga not to get. Though he had also insisted that he’d get the puppy one for you if you were getting the “damn cat” for him. 

You traced over the smooth porcelain with the tip of your finger. Maybe… maybe you could just let things be. Let them snowball into dating all on their own. At least, that’s how you hoped that they were going to snowball. The worries began to pile up as you got to work making the drinks. 

Nobunaga was a handsome guy with his angular features, fit form, and his glossy hair. The only downside to him was probably how radically his emotions could go from one end of the spectrum to the other but that was easily avoidable (at least you thought it was, there were several people who dined to disagree but you simply assured yourself that it was because of something they did. Not Nobu. Never Nobu). He could have any person in the world that he wanted if he really wanted- what was stopping him from pursuing someone prettier, more charismatic, more successful than you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

There was a level of anxiety that shook in your fingers as you had finished Nobu’s and your tea, stirring honey in the calming herbal mix. 

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your wits. Your mind was wondering again. You need to stop before Nobu thinks something’s wrong because you won’t be able to control your tongue if he does. 

You nod to yourself before going to pick up the two mugs just to stop as a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and a sharp chin rests against the junction of your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Fuck.

“Nothing- nothing’s wrong.”

“Now, now,” he started to lean his whole body weight against you, causing you to catch yourself on the counter. “ Lying ain’t a good look for you and we both know it.” 

There was a certain edge to his voice that made your blood freeze. You had only heard it once or twice, just towards guys who didn’t know when to quit hounding and couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Never at you. 

You licked your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as you willed your knees not to shake. “I-I’m not lying, Nobu-”

He shifted his feet, pressing himself even harder against your back, like he was trying to become a second skin. “Lying doesn’t look good on you.” He repeated, squeezing his arms around your stomach. Hard.

You wheezed, hands scrambling to hold onto his arms. Though, you made no attempt to pull him off. It was so fucked up how you were relishing in how close he was despite how angry he was at you. You just wanted to be held by him- be close to him- you wanted to be as important to him as he was to you. You just wanted to melt into him. 

What a horrible friend you were.

Your chest burned like you had ran a marathon and suddenly the world was spinning and your eyes were stinging with tears that rested heavy on your lashes. How pathetic. 

Hearing a sniffle come from you, something seemed to snap Nobunaga out of his frustrations. “Hey, you ok?” He began to loosen his hold on you, muscles relaxing until your shaking hands squeezed his wrists. 

“No…” You whimpered, “no, please- please don’t let go.”

You sounded so weak and frail. It made Nobunaga’s heart leap to his throat. He squeezed his arms around you again, much more gently compared to a few moments ago, but enough for you to know he had no intentions of leaving. 

It was a couple of moments until you stopped shaking. By this point, you were leaning back against him, hands still resting on his as he held you. His face nestled against your neck. “You feelin’ ok to talk?” 

He wasn’t letting this go, was he? You took a deep breath, releasing it as you nodded against the side of his head. 

He pulled away from you slowly until his face was level with your peripheral. His eyes were dark and observant. “What’s wrong?” 

Your throat felt tight again, but you still forced yourself to talk. “I- you- what… would you…” you lick your lips. “Would you date me? If I asked you out?” Your hands were sweating and you looked away, instead, focusing on the smooth skin of his arms, running your fingers over the sparse hairs. 

When he didn’t answer you began to shift, uncomfortable on your feet. Your skin feeling like it was boiling. This was stupid. You were stupid. You just ruined your friendship with Nobunaga. You’d never be able to see him again- you’d just have to sit like some stranger while he moved on with someone that was on his level- someone who was prettier, more talented- better than you. He was going to leave you behind and take your bleeding heart with him-

“I don’t get it.” You felt a sudden dread rest deep in your chest. He sounded mad. “Why do you always talk like that? Like we aren’t dating already?”

Huh?

Before you can voice anything, his hands come slamming on your counter, once again caging you. You can see the veins pulse on the side of his temple, frown deep as he seethes: “you think I act like this with everyone? Think that I get like this-” one of his hands glides down your spine, a gasp leaving you as when he grabs your ass in a tight grip and presses your hips hard against his. You gape. He’s hard. He’s so, so hard- “with everyone?” He begins to grind against you, hot breath moist against your cheeks as he huffs in frustration. Your hands scramble to hold onto his shirt, head spinning with too many things at once. “I only get this fucking hard with you- it fucking- oh, fuck- do you know how hard it is not to grab you and shove you face first into the closest surface I can? Not to rip you apart? You’re like- like a damn lamb: dumb and oblivious to everything around you-” he grunts when you hike your leg up on his hip (or try to, it’s a bit of an awkward endeavor considering how close he’s pressed against you). 

You’re desperate. You want more of his demeaning words. You want more and more of his attention. You want him to sink his teeth into you and rip you apart. Your blood boiling with white, hot want. “‘M sorry-” you gasp as you begin to rock your hips back against his; sloppy and uncoordinated. “‘M sorry, I didn’t notice. I was-” a moan wretches out of your throat. You crane your head back, the expanse of your neck presented to Nobu, who wastes no time pressing wet, open mouthed kisses against your salty skin. “You’re just so beautiful, there was no way you’d want to go out with someone like me-”

A growl comes from deep within his throat. His hands have come to dig into your hips, guiding you to grind harder against him. “You're so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid- you’re mine. Mine. No one gets to see you like this.” He crushes his lips against yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue- a mess of passion and repressed frustrations. 

You couldn’t get enough.

“‘M yours. ‘M yours-” you chant against his mouth, head spinning, close to the precipice of an orgasm. Teetering on a precarious line that, whichever way you end up tipping, you’ll be drowning in the euphoria of having Nobunaga suffocating you in his affections. 

He lets out a loud moan, all guttural and masculine, it has your legs trembling. He uses one hand to squeeze your cheeks, swirling his tongue with yours in a sloppy french kiss that has drool dripping from the corners of your mouth. “You’ve been mine since I laid eyes on you.” He pants, his forehead resting against yours, his hips coming to a stop. You whine at the loss of friction, the leg that is still hooked over his hip trembling with leftover electricity. He chuckles, pressing pecks to your lips. “I’m not letting you go.” You envy how even his voice despite having humped you like a dog in heat only a moment ago.

You nod, not trusting your voice. You would give him anything he asked for. Whatever to keep him near you. 

So, you follow him, with your heartbeat pulsing in your ears, as he pulls on your wrists towards the couch, tearing your clothes from your body. You accept that he’s going to tear you apart with open arms.

[bellaxgiornata]

Just a couple friendly reminders:

I appreciate that many of y'all enjoy my writing and want to send in requests, but I don't actually write requests at the moment. Sometimes I'll get interactive and ask for input or ideas or make polls, but I write too many long fics and random one shots to be able to accept requests, too. I feel like the pressure to get someone's idea just right, written in a timely manner, and with a word length someone is expecting is just too daunting. I write fanfic for fun to share with y'all and if it becomes stressful, well, the words stop coming. But I am always open for y'all to chat about headcanons or things related to my fics or the source material or whatever! My ask box is always open and I love chatting! 💕

But while I am always flattered y'all think of me, and I don't mind politely reminding/informing readers that I don't do requests, I would like to ask that readers don't demand requests from fic writers, especially after being informed someone doesn't take requests. Also please don't just send in the exact same request to multiple fic writers. I don't do requests, but this has been happening and it seems a common feeling among other writers I know that it's bad etiquette to do so. Know that you're less likely to get a fic written doing this because other writers don't want to spend time working on a fic only to find out someone already wrote the same thing. Just please respect fic writers' blog rules and their time! We do this for free and for fun and please understand that not all writers in a fandom take requests just because they write.

Long post but thank you for reading!

[arwainian]

The F@tT Fic Marathon!

One man's very stupid quest to read every work published in the Archive of Our Own tag for the actual play podcast Friends at the Table (A. Walker et al.)

...why?

I had this whim months ago and in the interveneing time I haven't quite shook it off. I read a lot, and it seems like fun and it would be an interesting process to document!

fatt is a moderately sized fandom with (currently) under 2000 works in its ao3 tag. this makes the project technically possible, if still incredibly daunting

I am a small time fic writer sometimes and I want to find the hidden gems of this fandom buried deep in the tag and bring a bit of love to them out of appreciation for the work it takes

how?

i will be reading through the entirety of the friends at the table tag on ao3 in publication order. whatever had it's first chapter published first i read first!

every 20 works (ie. one entire page of ao3 results) I will post a quick summary of what I've read, and highlight/shout out the things i would recommend, or share any other thoughts that seem cool and relevant

if a fic is multichapter and unfinished i will subscribe to it in case it updates during the course of the project and read that chapter whenever it comes out and probably(?) share in the next relevant check-in

I will try to read every fic, but for the sake of my own sanity undergoing this project, I reserve the right to stop reading anything that really just doesn't work for me

when?

now! if you're seeing this, I have already begun on my Quest and posted the first of my 20 fic check-ins

these check-ins will arrive when they arrive. fics vary greatly in length and my Life varies in freetime, but as soon as I reach 20 fics read, I'll talk about it! check out #fatt fic marathon here on my tumblr to see what I've gotten to so far, or me talking about this project in general

I am most likely not the first person to try to read Every Fic, and- based on some observations of the kudos and comments sections- I don't think I'm even the first to attempt it in publishing order in the past year! BUT i want to talk about it as I go, so you get to see me talk about it as I go

that's my silly contribution to this very cool fandom I joined this past year: putting myself through a fanfic gauntlet! watch me suffer and thrive for your own amusement, or feel free to read along with me!

[rist-ix]

So, I was thinking about that, in chapter 16 tbhtbhs, the chapter bloom runs away, she didn’t kill valtor because she’s kind feel something for him, or because she thought she has no chance?

Hahaha HA, tumblr user supremevaltor, you have fallen right into my trap! For you see, now I have an opening to prepare my favorite attack: analyzing my own fic!

If we jump a few paragraphs back in the very same chapter, we get to see Bloom have an existential crisis over the fact that she COULD convince herself she feels SOMETHING for Valtor, if she tried.

And this vaguest tiniest confession of not-hatred (to herself, mind you, not even to Darcy, who’s witnessing All That) has her absolutely spiraling to the point it’s physically and visibly affecting her.

By the time she gets to the library she has mostly recovered from that realization, and by recovered I mean she’s buried that shit and is politely refusing to look at it.

Now, fast forward to the library. Valtor, for the first time in almost four years, has been completely and utterly honest, is drunk and in a uniquely vulnerable position, and does not demand honesty from Bloom (which she’s struggling with) but a comforting lie (which she’s bad at, but shouldn’t be opposed to).

Betraying him at this point instead of besting him in combat does not feel good for Bloom, but she can rationalize that away pretty easily.

Now though. Now she has a problem.

For ensuring her long-term freedom and the overall safety of the dimension, she should definitely kill him here. Valtor says as much, she will never get a better chance.

Here’s where it gets complicated.

What you mentioned definitely plays a role here: she doubts her chances of success. Valtor has blindsided and overwhelmed her by feigning weakness in the past, every battle so far has gone in his favor, he always has an ace up his sleeve and so on. He’s also - desperately - trying to goad her into attacking, which to him is a way to keep her here until the handcuffs’ spell runs out, and to Bloom seems highly suspicious.

But to attempt to kill him now would also mean to be confronted with the loss of him. Which would mean reopening that Pandora’s box of “What do I feel for him”. And Bloom, due to her feeling of immense guilt and debt to her friends, cannot acknowledge that her hatred for him has softer impurities. If Valtor died, she would not only physically feel the loss of their connection, she would never hear his voice again. She prides herself on being able to predict what he’ll say sometimes, to interpret and understand him in a way no one else can. That would end, immediately.

If he died, she would lose someone whose company she’s grown so used to and familiar with. Someone - maybe the only one! - she has no fear of disappointing, who has unwavering faith in her and who she CANNOT hurt emotionally no matter how angry and violent and bitter she gets. (Because a) he definitely always deserves it, and b) he enjoys fighting verbally almost as much as he enjoys fighting physically. He already knows all the worst impulses of her, and he’s never disapproved.)

It’s a comforting thing to know and be known so fully. Losing that would be daunting, no matter the nature of their relationship.

There’s a reason I chose the library as the setting for this encounter btw. And that’s that libraries are sexy. But also, the book they read the night before is still on that table, page marked. Bloom looks at it very briefly before she runs.

Not only did they have a pleasant time and a very emotionally honest conversation here, Valtor has also surprised her. There’s a point after he realizes Bloom can’t read Domino’s language where he apologizes, and cuts himself off when he starts to look for a scapegoat. (It was Faragonda. He always blames Faragonda.)

Bloom doesn’t know that last part, but it still stood out to her that he stopped talking mid-sentence. (Valtor!!!!! Stopped talking!!!!!)

It’s a short glimpse of a Valtor who does not prioritize control of the situation over Bloom’s feelings, and allows (forces) himself to not make this a power struggle, but a moment of understanding, and connection.

(The page is marked! Symbolizing clear intent to continue! They can go back to it whenever they want, and revisit that genuine and sincere part of their relationship! Bloom looks at it and runs!)

To kill him here, face to face with what he already is to her and who he could be, is not something Bloom can stomach. And this is a Bloom who has killed better people for less, when it meant the immediate safety of her friends.

If Valtor paused long enough to examine that, which I’m undecided on whether he has, he might feel a lot better about that day.

Alas, he goes apeshit.