#to be fair the game did warn me about things I might be missing but like I said I’m impatient

[imogenkol]

Ok so I mayyyy have fucked my first playthrough of bg3 because I’m an impatient bitch when I get a new game and I like to steamroll through the main plot during my first go of it and I’m used to being able to go back and do side quests whenever I want but now it’s the beginning of act 3 and I feel like I missed important decisions/quests and I am already fighting for my life harder than usual 🙃

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[nerdallwritey]

Cheeks All Flushed (Part 1)

***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Unfortunately this chapter was longer than tumblr wanted, so I've split it into two posts. The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip shenanigans and Get To Business. And that's valid! Part 2 is here and also linked down below. Apologies! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!

Summary: You looked at him thoughtfully. “Hang on, weren’t you and Karlach trying to get drunk?” Astarion giggled stupidly. “Yes.” You snorted. “How’d that go?” “Fine,” he sighed. “Takes me a lot longer to get drunk. What with the dead liver and all.” You furrowed your brow. “Wouldn’t lacking a working liver make you drunk immediately?” Astarion whined, “I don’t know, but Karlach is completely inebriated and I only have a buzz I can already feel fading. OR It's time for the Tielfing party! Antics ensue.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 23.1k (This particular part is 18.5k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of Astarion's past trauma, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, consumption of alcohol, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), the other companions are also idiots, reader likes kids, shenanigans amongst friends, general party antics Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 3 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's read the first two parts!! It means so much to me that you guys are enjoying my writing and silliness. This chapter is much more slice-of-life than the last two parts, in that it's mostly fun at the Tiefling party with less smut. It's also the longest part so far! Apologies to those of you here for vampire penis, it'll show up again in the future surely, but tonight is more about tipsy/soft Astarion. I hope you all enjoy :) (Thank you once again to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder of where Part 2 ended, you and Astarion just entered camp after dallying, even though Shadowheart told you not to. Rest in peace, you will be missed.

Taglist: @a66-1, @khaleesiofthewolves, @khywren, @lollipopsandlandmines,

@minestrones, @mizuki-nautilus

It was Wyll who spotted you first. He’d been wandering close to the treeline, gathering extra kindling for the fire, but something told you he’d also been keeping an eye out for you.

“You two are in heaps of trouble,” he muttered, ushering you behind Karlach’s currently vacant tent. “You’re lucky it was me who saw you first.”

“How is she?” you whispered, looking around to see if you could spot Shadowheart.

“I think seeing you might calm her down,” Wyll said, “but be prepared for an earful.”

“Oh please,” Astarion scoffed. “I’ve dealt with worse than an affronted cleric of Shar-'' He stepped out from behind Karlach’s tent and was met face to face with the cleric in question.  

“What was that?” Shadowheart’s hands were on her hips.

Astarion retreated, shielding half of his body behind you. “Hello, Shadowheart,” he waved his fingers delicately and smiled awkwardly. 

You leaned over to Wyll. “Save yourself,” you muttered. “We’ll be fine.”

Wyll gave you a sympathetic look and nodded. “Coming, Karlach!” he called, to which Karlach responded, “What?”

Shadowheart stood before you, looking frustrated and tapping her foot. You adjusted the pile of blankets in your arms. 

“Got the blankets,” you said sheepishly. Astarion raised his pile up a little higher in agreement.

“What was the one thing I said?” Shadowheart ignored the blankets.

You sighed. “‘Don’t dally.’”

“Mhm. And what did you do?”

“We-”

“Astarion?” Shadowheart turned to the vampire. 

He let out a reluctant whining sound. “We dallied.”

Shadowheart looked pleased by his admission. “Whose idea was it?”

You and Astarion shared a look. 

“Don’t tell me, I already know it was Astarion’s,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

Astarion scoffed. “You don’t know that!”

Shadowheart raised a doubtful eyebrow and looked at you. You avoided her gaze. She looked back at Astarion. “Yes I do.” 

“Darling,” Astarion hissed at you.

“I didn’t say anything!” you hissed back.

Suddenly Shadowheart grabbed Astarion’s left ear and your right ear and pulled you both out from behind Karlach’s tent. You and Astarion protested as you went.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“Ah! Watch the hair, you heathen!”

Shadowheart flung her arms forward, releasing both of you and sending you stumbling forward towards the roaring fire. You caught yourselves before crashing into the flames. 

“You could have KILLED us just now!” Astarion exclaimed.

Shadowheart ignored him. “Look who’s finally back,” she addressed the rest of camp. 

Lae’zel scoffed, pausing the loud sharpening of her greatsword. “I must give you credit, Astarion, you last longer than I would have thought.”

Astarion straightened. “Thank you, I- hey.”

Lae’zel rolled her eyes and returned to her blade. 

“Sorry, everyone,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up. “We lost track of time, that’s all.” You adjusted the blankets still in your arms.

“We have nothing to apologize for,” Astarion said, moving close to you and going to kiss your cheek, but thinking better of it when he saw steam pouring from Shadowheart’s ears. “Sorry,” he said to her softly. 

Shadowheart pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head disapprovingly. She clapped her hands together before she spoke. “Okay,” she said and turned to face you, “go wash those blankets and hang them to dry.” You nodded and she turned to Astarion. “Once you help carry those blankets to the lake, you are to help Lae’zel hunt for tonight’s dinner.”

Astarion made to argue. “But-”

“‘But’ nothing. I want the two of you as far away from each other as possible until everything is prepared for tonight’s festivities.”

“Here, here,” Gale agreed from over by the cookware. 

“Oof, tough break,” Karlach smirked. 

Astarion sniffed. “Just because some of us aren’t getting laid, doesn’t mean all of us should suffer the same fate.”

You hid your face in the laundry you were holding and groaned loudly. 

“Watch it, Fangs,” Karlach warned.

Shadowheart took you by the shoulders and turned you towards the lakeshore. “Go,” she said, a bit of a bite to the word. 

“Yes ma’am,” you sighed and started making your way to the waters gently lapping the sand by Withers. 

“You too, Astarion,” you heard Shadowheart behind you. 

“I’m going,” Astarion spat. His footsteps caught up with yours. 

You dropped the blankets by the waterline and grabbed the bucket and soap that you kept nearby for laundry duty, one of your commonly assigned chores. Astarion’s pile of blankets joined your own, then his arms came around your waist from behind, and his chin came to rest on your shoulder.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. 

“At least we’re not dead,” you leaned into his caress. 

“You are so incredibly out in the open it’s unbelievable,” Shadowheart called from a few yards away. 

“GIVE US A MOMENT,” Astarion snapped back in her direction. He turned to look at you, his frustration turning into fondness. “I’ll see you soon.” He kissed the crown of your head just as Lae’zel began to complain. 

“Let’s go, vampire. Before someone else steals what is rightfully ours.”

“I’m not anyone’s!” you complained to the sky above you.

“Is it truly so hard to believe that she actually likes me?” Astarion asked as he made his way to his tent to prepare for the hunt.

“You are handsome but weak,” Lae’zel informed. “Far from the optimal pleasure partner.”

“I could make you eat those words,” Astarion teased.

“You would not last a single minute with me,” Lae’zel said and then returned to her own tent to prepare. 

You sighed, embarrassed but not surprised by the camp’s reaction to your delayed arrival with Astarion. There was no talking your way out of it, especially with Astarion’s line about getting laid. The bastard. He could be so annoying sometimes.

At least you didn’t have to dance around it. Even though less than twenty-four hours ago you would have insisted that there was nothing going on between you and the Astarion, now you smiled to yourself, happy that that was no longer the case. 

“Thou hast now a bosom companion-”

“MISTRESS OF REVEL,” you yelped, clutching a hand to your chest to slow the pounding of your heart. You exhaled and turned to see Withers looking more or less unbothered. “You scared me, Withers.”

“Take care that thou are not distracted on thy quest, seeking the comforts of the flesh.” 

You stared at him. “Gods, you sleep with a guy ONE time.”

Withers stared back.

“Okay, two times.”

The stare continued.

“Okay, so he made me cum, like, five times total, is that what you want to hear?”

Withers said nothing. 

You groaned and picked up a blanket, hiking your pants up your legs. “Whatever, stop looking at me.” You waded out into the water, blanket in one hand, soap and bucket in the other. 

“Recall that in time, all becomes dust and bone.”

“All becomes dust and bone,” you mocked quietly. “You’re a pretty morbid guy, you know that?”

You looked over at him and swore you could see a small smile before his expression faded into one of cool indifference as usual. 

~~~~~

It had taken nearly all afternoon to finish washing and hanging all the blankets to dry on  the makeshift clothesline you’d erected lining the water’s edge, but you’d done it. Shadowheart had been kind enough to cast Lesser Restoration on you to combat the fatigue of blood loss and to help fade the marks still leftover on your neck. As a result, all you’d suffered from washing was some mild back pain from constantly bending to dunk and soap the blankets and standing back up to hang them. Laundry out here wasn’t the easiest task, especially without the proper tools you’d usually find in the city, but you enjoyed the peace that came from the still waters of the lake. Today, you’d been extra thorough in your work and you were pretty sure the blankets were cleaner now than they had been when Astarion had nicked them from your companions in the first place. 

Speaking of your companions, Shadowheart was doing her best to keep Astarion away from you for as long as possible. When he’d come back from hunting with Lae’zel, she’d made him help Gale prepare the meat.

“Even though I can’t partake in the meal,” he’d protested, “I have to help prepare it? Really?”

“Ah, relax,” Gale smacked him a little too hard on the back, “you can drain it dry first. Much easier if you go to town on the creature rather than letting me exsanguinate it myself with a blade.”

“I’m not some personal predator,” Astarion crossed his arms. A beat. “But fine, I suppose I can help this one time.”

After he’d drained tonight’s meal, a large wild boar, Shadowheart had sent him and Wyll to scavenge for more wine at the Blighted Village. He’d complained about the long trek and the poor quality of the wine they’d probably find, but Wyll had been able to drag him off after a bit of flattery and the batting of eyes. The man was too easy sometimes. 

By then, the sun hung low in the sky and you’d asked Karlach to come stand by the blankets and act as a heater to speed up the drying process. 

“Do you miss him already?” she teased.

“Who?” you teased back, adjusting another blanket.

“Do you loooove him?”

You sputtered. “What?! No! I mean- I don’t know! This is new for me, and new for him and we’re figuring things out, we’ve barely talked about it and-”

She laughed at your word vomit. “Was it good?”

You paused. “Was what good?”

Karlach rolled her eyes. “You know what.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and your heart begin to pound. “Can we not talk about this?”

Karlach groaned. “Come on Soldier, I’m so pent up it’s criminal! I know I’d ride him to the Feywild and back if I had the chance.”

“Karlach!” You whisper shouted. Luckily the others were too busy with their assigned preparation tasks to pay attention to the two of you huddled behind the damp blankets. 

She didn’t say anything, but raised her eyebrows at you to encourage you to talk.

You sighed and avoided eye contact. “It was really good,” you muttered, hoping she might not hear you.

A smug smile graced her lips. “I knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, wringing the water out of one of the blankets on the end of the clothesline. 

“He seems like the type who’d know his way around.”

“Yeah, well.”

“And how does he compare? Best you’ve ever had?”

“Um…” You pursed your lips.

“Wait, but you just said it was really good?”

“It was!”

“But-?”

“There is no but! He was really good!”

“You’re hiding something, Soldier, I can tell. He wasn’t the best you’ve ever had?”

“It’s just that… there haven’t been… others… to compare it to.”

Karlach stared at you. “WHAT?!” Her flames erupted to the point where you had to take a few steps back. 

“Shh! Quiet!” You listened for your other companions but heard nothing. 

“Don’t tell me Astarion was your first?!”

“And so what if he was!”

“The smug bastard,” Karlach muttered. Her face grew serious. “If he so much as looks at you wrong, tell me, and I’ll kill him.”

You laughed. “Shadowheart’s first in line to kill him, but don’t worry, I’ll have you waiting in the wings.”

“I’m serious. I’ll kill the pointy freak before he can hurt you, mark my words.”

You laughed again, moving closer to her now that her flames were calming. “Astarion and I are both adults. I’ll be fine.” Your voice went soft, “And I think he truly cares for me.”

Karlach huffed in disbelief. “Gross little vampire probably smelled your virgin blood and couldn’t keep away.” 

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. He likes me.”

“We all like you,” Karlach sighed. “You’re a lot of fun.”

“Thank you.”

“But none of us would want to see you get hurt by the leech.”

“You know, I think he’s more sensitive than you all realize.”

“Astarion.” It was more of a statement of disbelief than a question. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Yes.”

“Mr. ‘Tell Me How You’d Like to Die?’ Mr. ‘Describe How I Look in the Mirror and Tell Me I’m Beautiful?’ Mr. ‘I Have A Troubling Relationship with Power Over Others?’” She looked at you pointedly. “Mr.-”

“Alright,” you cut her off. 

“No wait, I've got another.” Karlach held up her finger like she was about to say something. “Nope. Lost it. Damn, it felt like a good one, too.”

“We all have our quirks,” you said, steering the conversion back on track. “Astarion, I think, has a few more than one might deem acceptable, but I trust him. He’s been true to his word about everything so far.” Your voice got small, “And I really like him.”

Karlach blew out a breath of resignation. “I know you do, Soldier.” Her hesitance turned into thoughtfulness. “And he did look pretty smitten when I found you both this morning.”

Your face went red at the memory. “Gods, that was so embarrassing. I still can’t believe we fell asleep out there.” Your brain took a second to process what she’d said. You turned to look at her, a small smile forming. “‘Smitten?’ Do you really think so?”

Karlach rolled her eyes affectionately. “Yes, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Your small smile grew into a smirk of satisfaction. You grew giddy. “You should have heard him, Karlach! He was so sweet, and gentle, and he kept checking in with me, and didn’t make me feel awkward or bad, and his body, oh my GODS, his body! When I say he’s unfairly beautiful, it truly is unfair because, how in the Nine Hells do you get abs like that and-”

Karlach was watching you with a fond smile on her face. She grinned and lifted a hand to stop you. “Okay, okay, I believe you. He took care of you.”

You sighed happily. “He did.”

“I’m glad.” After a moment, she sighed dramatically. “Okay, so maybe he didn’t just fuck you in some sort of weird vampire power play because you’re a virgin.”

“Karlach!” You furrowed your brows. “Seriously?”

“Oh, sorry,” she amended, “you were a virgin.”

You scrunched your nose at her. “You’re so lucky you’re a walking inferno, otherwise I’d punch you so hard right now.”

“You don’t have the guts,” she teased. “You’re too soft, Soldier.”

“I am,” you sighed in agreement. 

The two of you stood in a pleasant silence while Karlach paced back and forth to dry the blankets evenly. 

“I’d hug you if I could, you know,” she said quietly. “I am happy for you. And if anyone is getting laid around here, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Thanks?” you laughed. 

“But if he gives you any trouble, you come find Mama K, yeah?”

You saluted her playfully and she mirrored you.

“Your guests dost approach from the east.”

“WITHERS,” you stomped your foot, pretending to be upset, but smiling over at him. “We need to put a bell on you to remind us that you’re still alive.”

“I am not still of this realm of existence,” Withers corrected.

“You know what she means, skelly boy,” Karlach grinned over at him and then at you. “Come on soldier, let’s go greet our adoring fans.”

Karlach led the way to the center of camp where sure enough, Halsin and the tieflings of the Emerald Grove were emerging through the brush. Halsin caught your eye and waved affably. You waved back, happy to see him looking so well after the rescue from the goblin camp. 

Behind him, he tugged a cart meant for an ox, filled to the brim with food and booze and the eight troublesome kids who’d been kind enough to show you their hideout hidden beneath the Grove. Mol hopped out first, followed by Arabella and Mattis and the others who looked around briefly before zeroing in on the abandoned little temple past the waterfall in the corner of camp. They made their way over to it and disappeared inside.

Noted. You’d have to check on them later.

Suddenly a flash of blue and pink was launching itself at you and you stumbled backwards as it wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Alfira!” you wheezed, returning her hug.

She pulled away, grinning. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day!” She was positively giddy and her mood was infectious. “I need to get some wine in me first, but we must play something together!”

Your smile faltered a little. “I’d love to, but my lute’s a little worse for wear.” You led her over to your tent and gathered a few pieces of the shattered instrument from your bag.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding.” Alfira took the pieces and examined them closely. 

Lakrissa found her way over to you. “Is this one causing trouble?” she asked, playfully slinging an arm around Alfira’s shoulders. “She was buzzing all afternoon about this shindig.”

“Hi Lakrissa,” you greeted happily. “No, I was actually just showing her the state of my lute.” You pulled a loose string out of your bag to emphasize your point. 

“I’ve seen this before,” Alfira took the string from you and inspected it along with the few shards of wood you’d already handed her. “The music overtook you during a particularly powerful song and your trusty instrument suffered the consequences. Did you bash it into a rock in a fit of musical liberation? Been there.”

You gritted your teeth sheepishly. “I wish it was in a fit of musical liberation. No, I kind of got backed into a corner protecting Astarion from a bugbear attack.”

“The mouthy one?” Lakrissa asked.

“You’ve met a mouthy bugbear?”

“No, Alfie, I mean their mouthy friend. The one with the hair?” She lifted her hand up to her own head to try and emphasize the height of his hair. 

“Oh yeah! Hard to keep track of you all,” Alfira shrugged.

You laughed, “Think about how we feel! There’s a billion of you!” You gestured around to the tieflings that were now acclimating to your spruced up camp.

Shadowheart had done a great job of tidying the clearing of fallen branches and mischievous weeds and had gone around making sure that everybody’s tents were in order. With the help of Lae’zel and Karlach, the three had managed to move a large log into the center of camp that was acting as a table that currently housed the booze your party had gathered, along with the food Gale had been preparing all afternoon. 

Gale, as soon as he’d declared the meal to be sufficient, had gone around hanging colorful banners throughout the camp with a few magic words and the snap of his fingers. You’d offered to help him in his effort but he politely declined, citing Shadowheart’s wrath. 

Now Halsin, Zevlor, and a few of the other adult tieflings were unloading the cattle cart and adding their hoard of food and drink to the table. Shadowheart and Gale were already filling goblets with wine and Lae’zel was chatting with (or maybe threatening) a tiefling that you recognized as one of the guards at the gate to the Grove. Karlach waved over at you from where she was talking with Dammon and you returned it happily.

You turned back to Alfira and Lakrissa. “Sorry Alfira, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to play with you tonight.”

“Nonsense!” She took you by the hand and led you and Lakrissa to the cattle cart. She pulled out two lutes and held one out to you. “One’s my teacher’s. I’ll play hers and you can borrow mine for tonight.”

You took the instrument she offered carefully, testing its weight in your hands. It was lovingly worn and smooth to the touch. You gave an experimental pluck at one of the strings. Perfectly in tune. You strummed a chord and minor illusioned Gale’s robes to go from deep purple to a loud, obnoxious orange. 

Gale paused in his pouring of wine as Shadowheart snorted. He looked down at his robes then looked over at you smirking at him. “Hey…” He scolded with no ice behind his words. He addressed Alfira and Lakrissa who were holding back giggles, “You realize you’ve just given her a literal instrument to channel the weave more potently, and now she can make tonight extremely irritating for us all?”

“You missed my illusions,” you teased, strumming again and returning his robes to their royal purple hue.

“On the contrary, we were only gifted about twelve blissful hours without you tormenting us with your tomfoolery.” 

You pouted at him teasingly. “How sad.” You poised your hands, ready to strum another chord. “I could make things so much worse,” you threatened, your voice lowered to a stupid octave.

“Behave,” Shadowheart raised her eyebrows at you, but you could see the amusement that played at her features.

“Fine,” you groaned and turned back to Alfira. “Thank you for this, I promise not to attack another bugbear with it for the sake of the mouthy one.”

A voice sounded from behind you. “The mouthy one?”

Astarion came to stand beside you, his hands clasped behind his back and skin speckled with blood spatter. For some reason, he absolutely stank. 

“Oh gods,” you said, scrunching your nose and turning away. “Did you and Wyll wander into a stinking cloud or something?”

“Hello, dearest,” he purred, pulling you to him and puckering his lips for a playful kiss, but you pushed his face away, avoiding his mouth at all costs.

“Get away from me, freak,” you laughed as he was able to plant a kiss on your cheek with a loud “MWAH.” He looked very pleased with himself. 

Alfira and Lakrissa, meanwhile, watched this display politely with their noses plugged.

Lakrissa gestured between the two of you. “When did this happen?” Her voice was nasally. 

“He’s always been a jackass,” you said.

“She means, love, when did you finally pluck up the courage to confess your undying love for me?” The flamboyant lilt in Astarion’s voice made you smile. 

“This just happened, actually,” you said, pointing from you to Astarion. “The stink is extra new.” 

“Do you like it, darling? A gift from one of the goblins at that Blighted Village. They weren’t pleased we came for their wine, stink bombs were thrown, blood was spilled, a tale as old as time.”

“Did you get to murder a bunch of goblins?” Despite the topic, you spoke to him as if he were a child. 

“I did,” he said, his voice gravelly, his face twisted in a wicked smirk. 

“Good for you. Now get the hells away from us.” You pointed in the direction of his tent. “I don’t know why you haven’t already scrubbed your skin raw to get rid of that smell. You hate things of a vile nature.” You adjusted your accent to sound like him as you said the last bit. “Though you do love gore.”

“I had to share this delightful experience with you first, my sweet. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” You gave him a teasingly sour expression and pushed him off in the direction of his tent. “Get fresh clothes and go jump in the lake or something! Then burn that armor!”

Astarion grabbed your arm and pulled you closer again, much to your dismay and protest. He brought his mouth to your ear. “Care to join me?”

You met his gaze, which flickered down to your lips for a moment, only for a roguish grin to spread across his face. You grew flustered and looked away.

“Maybe later.”

He chuckled, “Can’t wait.” Then he spun on his heel and headed off to his tent.

“Sorry about that,” you said, turning back to Alfira and Lakrissa, only to discover that they’d already walked away. You spotted them pouring themselves some wine a little ways off and sighed. 

“They left ages ago,” Astarion called over his shoulder.

“And you’re still here?” you called back, smiling. 

He laughed and you settled Alfira’s lute safely within your tent before you meandered your way over to Rolan and his siblings who were seated not far off. Rolan was bent over, his eyes closed in concentration. 

“Evening, folks,” you greeted and were met with joyful hellos from Lia and Cal.

“You’re just in time for Rolan’s extremely cool magic trick.” Lia teased.

“That is, if he’d hurry up and do it already,” Cal added.

“Patience,” Rolan said. “Have you no respect for showmanship?” He cracked his knuckles enthusiastically. 

Cal leaned forward and whispered loud enough for all of you to hear, “Having performance issues, Rolan?”

“Hush, you,” Rolan rolled his eyes.

“I, for one, love a good bout of showmanship,” you settled in next to Cal. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rolan gestured to you, vindicated. “Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth as he looked at his siblings. He took a deep breath. “And…”

A burst of colorful light erupted from his hands as he lifted them into the air.

“...behold!” He exclaimed as the colors faded into tiny bursts of light, dissipating like fireworks.

You clapped excitedly. “Beautiful!”

Rolan looked over at you, clearly pleased. “Adoring applause? You’re too kind.” He bowed dramatically, making a show of his gratitude. 

Lia turned to Cal. “Remember when he could barely cast that?”

Cal nodded. “They grow up so fast.”

Something caught your attention from a ways off. Peeking out from behind the large cluster of rocks you found yourself facing was Silfy; the younger sister of Mattis, the tiefling child who tried to sell you a “lucky ring.” Astarion had halted your hand when you went to give him a coin, shaking his head and explaining that you were being scammed. 

Now, however, Silfy seemed alone. You remembered how upset she’d been when you caught her trying to rifle through your pockets. 

“Never have I met such troglodytes,” you heard Rolan laugh. “Now, pass the wine.”

“I have to take care of something,” you said as you stood up. “I’m sure I’ll see you again before the party’s over,” you smiled and waved, making your way over to Silfy’s hiding spot. 

You saw her see you and duck behind the rock. 

“Hello,” you coaxed gently, bending on your knee to level your height with hers. Silfy poked her head out but looked nervous. “It’s okay,” you encouraged. “You’re Silfy, right?”

She came out slowly and nodded. 

“That was a pretty cool show just now, huh?” You said, referencing Rolan’s trick which she’d no doubt seen. 

She nodded again and looked at her feet.

“What are you doing over here all alone?”

She sniffled. “Mattis was mean to me.”

You tilted your head. “What did he say?”

Silfy looked up at you. “He said Mol would never let me in her Guild in the city because I’m no good at pick-pocketing.” Her voice wobbled and you could tell she was trying not to cry.

You hid a smile. The things siblings fought about… And this particular fight was extra unusual. “Should we go talk to him?” you asked.

“Okay,” she said and watched as you stood. 

“Come on,” you said and took her hand.

Together, you and Silfy walked around the length of camp, passing people as you went. You tossed out polite greetings and a few kind words, but eventually made it to the waterfall and the slippery log that connected your camp to the little temple where you knew the other kids were hanging out. You held tight to Silfy as you crossed the log.

Mol stood by the entrance. “Silfy!” she exclaimed, clearly happy to see her. “There you are.”

Silfy let go of your hand and approached Mol. “Sorry I’m no good at pick-pocketing,” her voice barely audible above the roar of the waterfall a few feet away. 

“Is that what Mattis said that made you run away? Ah, don’t listen to him. You’ll get plenty of practice before we reach the Gate.” 

Silfy stood up a little straighter and looked pleased. 

Mol cocked her head towards the temple entrance. “Get in there,” she smiled.

Silfy smiled back and ran inside. Mol turned to face you. 

“Thanks for that,” she said. 

“Happy to help,” you said, attempting to subtly peer into the temple and see what the others were up to.

“You came through for us. That’s a change from most adults I know.” 

You shifted a little to try and get a better angle. It was too dark.

“What are you guys doing way over here?” you asked absently.

“Watching a bunch of old folks get dumber by the dram-full. And when they run dry… I’ve got a few bottles tucked away to keep things flowing.” She grinned at her own ingenuity. “For a price, of course,” she added. 

“Smart,” you nodded and crossed your arms. An idea had struck you earlier in the evening when you saw the kids slink over here. You readjusted your feet, trying to look like an authority figure but knowing Mol was probably immune to the act. “How would you guys like to get a little practice in, this evening?”

Mol looked at you curiously. “Practice what?”

“Scamming. Scheming. Stealing.”

“I’m listening.”

“One of the men I travel with, the one with the hair-”

“-long or floofy?”

“Floofy, for sure,” you answered almost immediately.

“Right. I know him.”

“Well he considers himself to be an expert at sleight of hand.”

Mol scoffed.

“I know,” you agreed. “I think you should all prove you’re better than him.”

“Easy,” Mol crossed her arms. “How?”

“Here’s my proposal: You each try to take something from his tent or off his person without getting caught. If you get caught, you’re out.”

“And if we don’t get caught?” 

“Depending on what it is you took, I might let you keep it.”

Mol scoffed again. “What’s the point of stealing off him if there’s a chance we won’t be able to keep our spoils?”

You pursed your lips in agreement. “Honestly, I really want to prank him and I think it would be hilarious if you guys took his stuff. He loves his stuff.”

“I do love a good con…” Mol pondered for a moment. “Alright, counteroffer.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Since you happened to catch me in a good mood; we do this for you and we have your sworn loyalty once we establish ourselves as the best Guild in the Gate.” She thought for another moment. “Also two hundred gold.”

You sucked in a breath. “You drive a hard bargain, Mol.” You held out your hand for her to shake. “But you’ve got a deal.”

“Hang on, you’re not gonna try to talk us out of it? Not gonna haggle?”

“I already tried to talk you out of it back at the Grove,” you shrugged. “But you’re all way too clever for your own good and I know there’s no changing your minds. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some friends waiting for us in the city.” You smiled at her, your hand still outstretched. 

She returned your smile and took your hand, shaking it firmly. “Deal.”

“A pleasure doing business with you,” you bowed dramatically and Mol snickered.

Mol made her way to the open door of the temple. She looked back at you. “I expect to see that two hundred gold before the night is through.”

“I’ll go get it right now,” you said pointing back towards camp.

Mol nodded, satisfied, then entered the temple. You heard her shout as you were leaving: “Alright, listen up! We’ve got a job.”

You smiled to yourself. You didn’t know what had come over you, and you knew that it was dangerous to be negotiating deals with con artists in the making, but you couldn’t help yourself. Especially after Astarion had crowded you in the aftermath of the stink bomb he’d been hit with. You loved watching him squirm and this was a great opportunity to do so. Mol and her gang of tiefling troublemakers were harmless as they were right now. They’d managed to take odds and ends from around the Grove, minus Arabella’s attempt to take the idol from the druids’ ritual. There was nothing currently at camp that couldn’t be replaced on the road. After all, you’d all crashed onto the same beach with nothing but the clothes on your backs. Well, except maybe the artifact Shadowheart concealed on her person, but you had just sicced the kids in the opposite direction towards the vampire. 

You made your way back into camp, stopping to chat with Zevlor and Halsin. 

“Gentlemen,” you acknowledged, trying not to seem guilty after conspiring with the leader of the child criminals a few yards away. “A pleasure to see you both.” You noticed Zevlor was enjoying a goblet of wine, but Halsin was not. “Not partaking in the revelry, Halsin?” 

He chuckled. “I assume you mean my lack of a goblet of wine or a cask of ale?”

You nodded.

“In truth, I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes right to my head. Before you know it, I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I laid eyes on.”

“Oh, ho, ho.” You and Zevlor made amused eye contact. “You sure you’re not a bard, archdruid?” You elbowed Halsin playfully and he chuckled again. 

“You’ve never heard me singing. Which makes you very fortunate.”

Zevlor laughed. “Yes, the singing we could probably do without. It feels so good to see these people smiling, let’s not ruin it. ”

“Then I shall not keep your ear any longer,” Halsin said, holding up his hands in playful surrender. He nodded to you. “There are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. Go enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry; there are a lot of thirsty people around here.”

Zevlor raised his goblet to you. “Here, here.” You mimed raising your own cup to clink with his. You exchanged goodbyes and the men resumed whatever conversation they’d been having before you walked by. 

Your tent wasn’t far off and you knew you had plenty of gold in your bag to spare for your hired thieves. You exchanged a few more hellos before making it over to your tent. You lit a single candle to help you search your bag in the dim light of your tent and tried to not draw attention to yourself. You started digging through your bag for your coin pouch. 

Just as you’d counted out the last of the gold, you heard Astarion behind you. 

“Here’s my little treat,” he purred.

You stood up quickly, miscalculating where you were located in space and hitting your head against the top of your tent.

“Agh!” you yelped, turning around to face Astarion and ducking to properly exit. You looked away from him, hoping he wouldn’t ask what you were up to.

He looked you up and down. “With their cheeks all flushed.” 

“Hi,” you said, not knowing how to respond. 

“Hello,” he smiled, drawing closer. “You’ll notice a distinct lack of blood stains and horrid stench to me.” He held out his arms and spun to show off his fresh, clean appearance. “It’s crazy what a little water and perfume can accomplish.”

“Well done,” you teased. “You’ve mastered basic hygiene.” 

He moved even closer. “Go on,” he said, leaning towards you, “give me a sniff.”

“And smell more rotten eggs? I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You looked at him skeptically, then leaned in a little and inhaled. 

He smelled just as good as he had this morning, perhaps even better given that he’d just reapplied whatever it was he used to scent himself. You leaned in closer to his throat and inhaled again. It was a clean scent; one that was mature and distinctly male. It was delicious.

“What is that?” you asked, not pulling away.

Astarion chuckled lowly. “You like it?”

You finally pulled back and nodded. 

“Just a little scent profile I concocted to mask the unfortunate smell of death that comes from being, well, dead.”

“Do tell,” you probed, just as you noticed Mattis and Silfy sneaking around, a little ways off, clearly on their way to you and Astarion. You did your best to hide your stare, but Astarion noticed when your eyes shifted back a little too quickly and he looked behind himself. Mattis and Silfy quickly ducked behind a nearby tent. He turned back to face you.

“Thought I saw something. It was nothing.” It was a bad excuse, was what it was.

Astarion narrowed his eyes but continued, excited to talk about his scent mixture. “Mind you, my undead smell is very faint, but it’s nothing a little bergamot, rosemary, and a hit of aged brandy can’t hide. It’s the perfect olfactory disguise for a corpse.”

“Sounds like you missed your calling as a perfumer,” you said, genuinely interested in what he was saying but noticing Mattis and Silfy out of the corner of your eye. 

“I did, didn’t I?”

It was then that Mattis and Silfy approached you both.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mattis said, the picture of innocence. “Silfy and I just wanted to thank you again for finding her earlier.”

Silfy nodded.

“Oh!” you said, doing your best to sound shocked. You bent to get on eye level with her again. “I’m glad you’re okay, Silfy.”

Silfy sniffled and threw her arms around your neck. “Oh, thank you, Miss Hero!”

“Aw, this is too much,” you said, rubbing her back and making eye contact with Mattis. “I’m always happy to help.”

Mattis came around behind you and hugged you as well. 

“Thank you for reuniting me with my baby sister.”

You felt his hand reach for your own and grab the pouch containing the two hundred gold for Mol. He concealed it expertly. 

Both he and Silfy pulled away from you at the same time. “Well, guess we better head back to the others. It was so nice meeting you.” Mattis turned to leave but Silfy lingered.

“Come find us in Baldur’s Gate!”

You smiled at her. “We definitely will,” you squeezed her hands before she shuffled off to join Mattis walking back towards the temple. 

You stood up, dusting off the front of your pants. 

Astarion looked at you with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder in the direction the kids were headed. “That was weird.”

“Why’d you give them a coin purse?”

You sputtered. “Why did I-? Whaaaaat? I didn’t-”

Astarion placed his hands on his hips. 

You sighed and looked at your feet. “Okay, I didn’t want to tell you this, but Silfy was upset because Mattis said she wasn’t good at pick-pocketing, so I went to the kids and said Silfy could practice on me.” You smiled lamely.

“So why did the brother pocket it?” He was onto you.

“I uh… think it was a round one type of thing. So next time it’ll just be Silfy.”

“Uh huh.” Astarion didn’t look convinced. “I’m going to assume you lost some sort of bet with Mol and her fleet of child criminals and that those two are the ones who came to collect.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed. “You caught me! I said I could beat Arabella in a staring contest and lost big time. Like, double or nothing lost.”

Astarion tsked and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You really must stop picking fights with children that you cannot win.”

“I can win,” you got defensive, even though you were lying through your teeth. 

Astarion tilted his head in disbelief. 

“I can!” You doubled down. 

“Mhm.” Astarion leaned forward and kissed you deeply, tilting you back a bit and bringing his hand to your cheek. 

He pulled away and you blinked back at him, dazed. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “You and your weird soft spot for those urchins.” He pretended to gag, as if admitting such things was making him sick.

“Aw, shucks.” 

He groaned. “I’m going to have to insist that you remove ‘aw shucks’ from your vocabulary immediately.” 

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Your eyes went to his mouth.

He flashed his fangs. “Don’t tempt me, darling.” He bent forward to kiss your neck and you tilted your head to give him better access.

“Astarion,” you half protested, “people can see us.”

“Let them,” he hummed against your throat. He moved his mouth so it was beside your ear. “Come to my bed tonight.”

A pleasant chill ran through your body. “I’ve seen your bed,” you sighed, thinking of the wooden pallet in his tent that was often covered with jars of half-drunk animal blood. “Come to mine instead.” 

Astarion growled from the back of his throat and kissed your neck again. 

“Yo, Astarion!” Karlach’s voice called from the food table. 

He pulled back slowly and turned to her, his arms still resting around your waist. “I’m a smidge busy here, Karlach.”

Karlach held up her hands innocently. She made eye contact with you and winked. “I just wanted to know if you’d seen all the wine the tieflings brought.”

“Of course I’ve seen the wine, I procured half of- wait, the tieflings brought wine?” He immediately pulled away from you and marched over to the table, examining the copious bottles of liquor. “So I got a stink bomb thrown at me and it was for nothing?!”

Karlach sucked in a breath. “Seems like it. Sorry, mate.”

Astarion turned back to look at you, clearly distraught by this discovery. You withheld a laugh.

He turned back and picked up a bottle and goblet. “Well, we’ll see who’s the better sommelier: me or the half-fiends.”

Karlach turned quickly and whipped him with her tail.

“Hey!” He stumbled a little, but caught himself. 

“Whoops! Sorry, you can never trust us half-fiends.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Oh,” Astarion backtracked. “Apologies, Karlach. I didn’t mean that.”

“Mmm,” Karlach crossed her arms. Then she smiled. “Wanna get drunk?”

“Gods, yes,” he sighed and uncorked a bottle, grabbing two goblets. He turned back towards you, still standing at your tent. “Care to partake?”

You smiled and shook your head. “I’m going to continue with my rounds,” you said, pointing vaguely towards the party at large.

Astarion shrugged and turned back to Karlach.

“Your loss, Soldier!”

“Save me a glass of the best stuff,” you called before walking in the direction of Gale’s tent. 

“No promises,” Astarion sang as you rounded the corner and found Gale at his tent, a goblet of wine in his hand and a half eaten plate of food set off to the side. 

“And how’s my favorite wizard enjoying the evening’s festivities?” you asked upon arrival.

“Ah,” he smiled, “come to turn my robes yellow this time?”

You held up your hands. “No lute. Sorry about earlier.”

“All in good fun,” he reassured. “I did miss your tomfoolery.”

“I knew you did,” you elbowed him playfully and he laughed.

“A beautiful night, don’t you think?” He looked up at the stars. 

Your gaze followed his. “That it is.”

“Nothing like a brush with destruction to make one appreciate the majesty of the celestial canvas.”

“Yes, destruction by cleric would have been a tough way to go.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled and looked back up at the stars. “This is a view I once might have shared with my companion. Though definitely unaccompanied by such revelry.” He gestured over to Danis and Bex, drunkenly giggling with each other not far off. 

He turned back to you. “She preferred it when we were alone, curled up before a crackling hearth with some ancient, esoteric tome between us, ink glinting by the firelight…”

You smiled at the wistful look on his face. “I hope you’re referring to your cat and not Mystra.”

“By Ahghairon’s lost nose- no!” His voice cracked a little as he exclaimed. “Tara is not any cat. She’s a tressym. And given your confusion, I’m guessing you’ve never met one.”

“Guilty,” you said, smiling sheepishly.

“They’re brilliant creatures; fine company for any self-respecting wizard. She’d be most impressed by our efforts saving these tieflings. Proud, even. And I’ve given her little to be proud of recently.” 

“Not true! Gale, you have so much to be proud of.” 

“You’re very kind,” he sighed. “She’s the one who discovered that the orb’s fury could be quelled with magically-infused items, you know.”

“You’re kidding! How’d she figure that out?”

“A lot of trial and error,” Gale laughed, holding a hand to his chest where the orb laid quiet for now. “I can still feel the phantom torment of her claws prodding me. Regardless, after so long being cared for by someone else, it feels good to repay the favor. Not directly to Tara, but these poor tieflings. I’m sure she would approve.”

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know she would.”

He smiled at you, then looked away. “So… you and Astarion.”

“Me and Astarion,” you bobbed back and forth on your feet.

“He has a certain charm about him, Astarion,” he nodded. “Then again, so does a tiger when it purrs.” He took a swig of his wine.

“Gale, if I did something that led you to think-”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted before you could finish the thought. “You did nothing of the sort. I think I’m just too deep in my cups.” He looked down into his goblet and sighed before looking back at you. “I’m glad you found each other. And better I have this revelation now than farther into our journey.”

“You’ll always be my favorite wizard,” you said, punching his bicep in playful camaraderie. “I hope this doesn’t change things between us. I value our friendship too much.”

He chuckled softly, his hand ghosting over where yours had just made contact. “This changes nothing.” A reassuring smile graced his features. 

Movement to your left on the beach caught your attention.

“Is that Wyll?” you asked.

Gale followed your eyes over to his right. “Ah, yes I believe he’s been pensively staring at the water for a majority of the evening.”

“And you didn’t check on him?”

“I did, but he insisted on being alone. Though I’m sure he would much rather welcome your company than that of a babbling wizard.” He nudged you with his elbow. “But after that, go indulge in the frivolities! They’re good for the heart. And mine will be lighter, to see you enjoying yourself.”

You surged forward and hugged him. He held you tightly while still clutching his goblet. When you pulled away you pointed at him. “You still need to teach me lanceboard.”

“And you need to stop enchanting the pieces to attack each other.”

“I will when it stops making you laugh.” You grinned at him, then waved and headed towards Wyll.

Just as Gale had said, Wyll was standing alone by the water’s edge, past the drying blankets that swayed subtly in the evening air. 

“Thought I smelled you over here,” you said, sliding down some rocks and making him noticeably flinch.

“Oh gods, do I still stink?” He raised his arm to his nose and inhaled deeply. “I fear I’ll never be fully rid of it.”

“I was teasing,” you came to stand beside him and looked at the lake. “Though, Astarion seems to have a promising career ahead of himself as a perfumer if you need his help.”

Wyll chuckled. “Good to know that your new beau smells as good as he looks.”

“Indeed he does,” you smiled at him and he smiled back. 

After a moment, Wyll sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone.”

“It’s no party without the Blade of Frontiers.”

“Really? I’m honored.” He turned back to face the water. “In truth, I don’t feel in a festive mood. And I didn’t want to cast a grey cloud over the night.”

“What? Why?” It concerned you deeply that one of your beloved companions was feeling down and you hadn’t even noticed. “What brought this on?”

“I’m a devil,” Wyll scowled. “I love the people from the Grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays. You don’t want a devil at your party.”

You were surprised he felt that way. Mizora had so kindly gifted him his devilish features not long after Karlach officially joined your team well over a tenday ago, and the people of the Grove had long since come to terms with the Blade’s new horns. He was still Wyll; kind, fiercely protective, and above all, a good man. Those who couldn’t see that were fools.

“Claws will pop the balloons, you see,” Wyll teased, trying to lift the mood. “And the sweetcakes don’t taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue.” 

You smiled sadly. “You don’t unsettle me. Or any of us. You know that.”

Wyll laughed humorlessly. “If only half the world had half the heart you do.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “But off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.”

“I suspect you’re the best dancer among us, Mr. Upper City. I’d love to dance with you sometime.”

Wyll laughed. “In truth, I always enjoyed a bit of pomp.”

“You seem like the type,” you laughed.

“I once beat the Baldurian record for the most sarabandes dances in a single evening. Much to the exhaustion of the good ladies and gentlemen of the Gate.” 

“I can see it now,” you said wistfully.

“I had years of lessons, but honestly, it’s all about your partner.” 

You took a step back and bowed dramatically. “Well I hope one of these evenings I might be a proper partner to stumble along with.”

Wyll smirked and bowed back to you. “One of these evenings,” he agreed. He inhaled deeply and turned back to the lake. “I just need some time alone beneath the stars, and I’ll be back to my old self. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, walking forward and hugging him. He returned it and you squeezed him tightly. 

“Okay,” he jokingly wheezed, “you have my word.”

“Good,” you pulled away. “You know where to find me,” you said, nodding your head in the direction of the party. 

“I do,” Wyll nodded, looking at you fondly. 

You turned and called down the beach, “Keep an eye on him, Withers!”

Withers simply stared at you from his spot by the boats. 

You placed your hands on your hips. “One of these days I will crack him.”

Wyll laughed and waved you off. “Good luck with that.”

As you reemerged into the party, you saw Zaki run past you holding a tin of one of Astarion’s hair products. You snorted and looked around to make sure Astarion hadn’t seen. 

No, he and Karlach were still busy downing goblets of wine and comparing them to each other. 

“Bitter!” Astarion exclaimed, sticking out his tongue and pulling the goblet away from his mouth as if it had bitten him.

“Ah, you’ve got no taste, Astarion!” Karlach clapped him on the back. “This one’s better than the crap you served three cups ago.”

Astarion scoffed. “That was a classic vintage! Gods, it’s like you know nothing of fine wines.”

Karlach rolled her eyes. “Um, hello? Ten years in Avernus, mate. Didn’t get much drinking in while enslaved. Anything’s better than fire wine.”

“Tragic,” was all he said in response.

Suddenly Alfira was running over to you. “There you are!” The sweet scent of alcohol wafted off of her and she held a goblet in one hand and her teacher’s lute in the other. “Now, this might be the wine talking, but I’m feeling inspired. Thinking of writing my next song… about you.” 

“Me?” you asked, placing your hands on your chest and batting your eyes. “I’m flattered.”

Alfira nodded. “But I need an angle. Any ideas?”

You thought for a moment, then made your voice pompous. “Let it be only as truthful as true poetry would permit.”

Alfira grinned and matched your tone, “But of course.” Then she became serious, “You achieved something beyond mere fact by helping all of us. That deserves to be remembered.” She shut her eyes for a moment, regaining her thoughts. “Buuuut, like I said, I need more wine before I truly start waxing poetic. Shall we play a song together now?”

“Great idea,” you grinned and started making your way to your tent to retrieve her lute. 

As you passed by Astarion and Karlach, you watched Arabella reach into Astarion’s back pocket and come away with what looked like a few coins. She made eye contact with you and smirked before running off.

Karlach clearly saw this occur and held in a laugh. She looked past Astarion at you and you held a finger up to your mouth, signaling for her not to say anything. She snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Astarion asked.

“Nothing, you just look so stupid when you sniff wine like that.”

“I do not!” he protested. A beat. “Do I?”

You shook your head to yourself as you made it to your tent and grabbed the lute, walking with Alfira to the center of camp by the fire. 

“What shall we play?” she asked. 

“How about a classic?” you suggested, strumming the opening chords to “Bard Dance.”

Alfira grinned and nodded, immediately picking up the harmonies to the song while you took the melody. A sudden whistling caught your ear and you turned to see Volo performing the song with just as much gusto as the two of you. Had he been here the whole time?

Around you, the tieflings and your companions gathered around to hear you both play. They were stiff at first, merely listening and swaying to the familiar tune they’d no doubt heard many times. It wasn’t long before Danis bowed to Bex, who curtsied back, and the two began dancing merrily around the clearing. 

With the ice broken, others coupled off to dance together, and others formed groups of three or four. 

Shadowheart clapped along to the beat as Gale approached her and twirled her around happily. Karlach joined the fray, swinging her hips and waving her arms, but was careful not to hit anyone by mistake. Even Halsin joined in on the fun, awkwardly marching back and forth to the beat and encouraging shy tieflings to join him. Lae’zel and Astarion remained on the edge of the crowd, but you could see Lae’zel tapping her foot to the beat despite her best efforts to remain unaffected by the merriment. 

As your fingers danced over the strings, you sent off a few minor illusions of fireworks to add some dazzle to the performance. Alfira added her own dancing lights to swirl around the audience.

You made eye contact with Astarion who was smirking at you. He made to raise his goblet to you in a toast, but his hand was empty. He looked around himself to see if he’d misplaced it, but movement farther back in camp let you know that it was Meli who had absconded with the cup. You smiled widely at Astarion and shrugged. He shrugged back, smiling and reaching for a new cup. 

As the jovial song came to an end, the audience clapped and a few members approached you and Alfira, thanking you for the music and placing a few coins in your palms. 

“Marvelous!”

“Such fun!”

“Alfira, you simply must play for us on our journey to the Gate!”

“No praise for the wizard, Volo?” Volo complained to an unhearing crowd. He humphed and returned to scribbling in a notebook closeby.

You and Alfira thanked everyone before you handed Alfira her lute back.

“Thank you for this,” you said. “I’d love to play again with you some time.”

Alfira took the instrument from you and nodded. “Oh, yes please!” She looked at her lute for a moment, then held it back out to you. “You should keep this one.” 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” you shook your head. “You’ve clearly had it for a long time. It must hold sentimental value to you. I don’t want you to part with it, I’ll have a new lute in no time.”

“Please,” Alfira insisted, still holding it out. “You play so beautifully.”

“Don’t go inflating her ego now,” Astarion said as he approached carrying two goblets of wine. “She’s annoying enough as it is.” 

Behind him you saw Mirkon run by with a set of thieves' tools.

Astarion handed you one of the goblets of wine and smiled at you. “Hello, my sweet.”

“Hi,” you said shyly, still not used to his full attention but enjoying it nonetheless.

“Oh, stop teasing her,” Alfira said, rolling her eyes. “Tell her how well she did and make her take my lute.” She held it out again.

“While yes, she did play wonderfully-”

You looked at Astarion, a little shocked. You weren’t sure he’d ever complimented your music before.

“-she won’t be needing the lute.”

“See,” you said to Alfira before pausing for a moment and turning back to Astarion. “I won’t?”

He shook his head at you. “It’s taken care of already,” he said to Alfira. 

She understood what he was saying and nodded. “How very kind of you,” she said, smiling. She reached forward and squeezed your hand. “I’ll make sure to see you again before we leave.” 

You nodded and smiled as she left to rejoin Lakrissa at the wine table.

You turned to Astarion who looked smug. He turned to face you and grinned.

“What was that?” you asked.

“What was what, darling?”

“With Alfira. ‘It’s taken care of already.’ Did you steal me a lute or something?”

Astarion brought his goblet to his lips, ignoring you.

You gasped, your mouth open in faux horror. “You did not.”

“And if I did?”

“Where?”

He groaned. “Enough questions. Come enjoy a drink with me.”

He took your hand and led you over to his tent. When you arrived, he dropped your hand and held up his cup for you to clink with his. He took a sip. 

“You know, I never pictured myself as a hero.”

You snorted. “Bold of you to assume that’s what you are.”

He rolled his eyes and continued. “Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…”

He held you in suspense as he took another drink of his wine. 

When he pulled the cup away, he scowled. “I hate it. This is awful.” 

“Aw,” you said, walking forward and wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling back a little. “Is this okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded.

You continued. “It’s not that bad. Think of all the goblins you killed.”

“True,” he agreed. “That was fun. Still, I would have liked more than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who curated the wine?”

“Yes, but it’s not like I had much variety to choose from. Plus the tieflings didn’t bring anything to write home about.” He cocked his hip to the side, then nodded to you. “Go ahead, give it a taste.”

You stepped back and swirled the wine in the goblet that Astarion had provided for you. You took a tentative sip of the heavy, rich red. It was dry and sharp. To be honest, it tasted like most other reds you’d had before.

Astarion leaned forward a bit to gauge your reaction. “See what I mean? Awful.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Why didn’t you pick a better one, then?”

“Darling, this is the best they had.” 

“How sad,” you sighed, clearly not as upset as he hoped you’d be.

He held up a hand and turned away from you. “None of you have any taste.” 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you brushed some hair out of his face. “You’ll have to share once you find something you actually like. That way I’ll know what to look for.”

He sighed heavily. “What would be the point? You probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Rude,” you scoffed, “but fair.” You looked at him thoughtfully. “Hang on, weren’t you and Karlach trying to get drunk?”

Astarion giggled stupidly. “Yes.”

You snorted. “How’d that go?”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Takes me a lot longer to get drunk. What with the dead liver and all.”

You furrowed your brow. “Wouldn’t lacking a working liver make you drunk immediately?”

Astarion whined, “I don’t know, but Karlach is completely inebriated and I only have a buzz I can already feel fading.”

You looked over to Karlach who was still dancing despite the fact that you and Alfira had finished your performance several minutes ago. She was trying to get Dammon and Zevlor to join her but both looked like they were searching for escape routes. 

You laughed. “Shame there’s no music to accompany her,” you said, half joking.

“An excellent point, my dear.” He turned to bend down, wobbling, but catching himself. He started rifling through his possessions. “Odd,” he mumbled, “I swore it was here.”

“What are you looking for?” you asked.

“Hmm?” He was clearly lost in thought. “Oh nothing, darling. But, um, do me a favor and go somewhere else for a minute.” He waved you away without looking at you.

You smirked. “Okay,” you said, pretty sure he was looking for the lute he’d snatched for you. As you were about to step away, you paused, remembering the gang of young thieves actively stealing from Astarion. “I-” you shook your head. “Nevermind, keep looking.”

“I will, now go away.” He got up to look behind his tent. 

You held in a laugh and made your way over to Shadowheart, who you just witnessed pour herself a fresh glass of wine. 

“Hello,” you said, joining her at the refreshments table and popping a grape into your mouth. The crisp snap of the grape reminded you how hungry you were and you began to fill a plate with food. 

“Hungry?” Shadowheart laughed.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” you said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “I missed bread and cheese this afternoon.”

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “And whose fault was that?”

You slowed your chewing and slouched. “Mine.”

“Uh huh,” she took a swig of wine and smiled at you. “I think it’s safe to say you learned your lesson.”

You nodded as you took a large bite off a bread roll. 

Shadowheart took a step back to rest against the table. She surveyed the party at large. 

“Everyone seems to be in high spirits.”

You swallowed heavily and willed yourself not to choke, clearing your throat instead. “You put together a great party, Shadowheart.”

“I know,” she smiled. She shimmied closer to you and nodded over to Astarion’s tent where the man was still searching around, looking deeply confused. “I saw you and Astarion have been reunited.”

You lifted your gaze to Astarion’s tent, your expression melting into one of pure adoration. He was such an idiot. Even though you knew you were the cause of his ignorance. You shook your head, snapping out of it.

“Sorry again.”

Shadowheart blew out a puff of air. “Far be it from me to keep you two apart any longer. Besides,” she nudged you playfully, “blood must still be running hot. After everything.”

This time you did choke. Shadowheart’s eyes widened and she smacked you on the back.

“I’m fine!” you insisted. You cleared your throat and took a sip of wine. 

Shadowheart laughed. “It’s fun getting you flustered.”

“I’m sure Astarion would say the same,” you agreed.

She sighed happily next to you and returned to looking into the party.

“You know who I never thought I’d find myself caring for?”

You stuffed your mouth with a hunk of cheese on a cracker to the point where you could barely get out the word, “Me?”

Shadowheart looked at you and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, desperate people… like these refugees. Never gave them much of a thought. Certainly not this bunch from the Grove. Yet we came through for them. We saved their lives. Odd.”

You nudged her with your shoulder. “I hate to say it Shadowheart, but you’re a good person. Though given your sentimentality, it sounds like the wine is talking,” you teased.

“It’s not talking enough for my liking.” She turned and grabbed the bottle you’d seen her pouring from moments ago. “Share a bottle with me?” 

You looked at her skeptically. “Just a bottle? You’re not trying to poison me for disobeying you earlier, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just a bottle of poison free wine. You’ve suffered enough. Besides, I think you have other plans afterwards. Wouldn’t want to keep you.” She kicked her foot out towards Astarion’s tent which was now vacant, minus Doni slinking away with a hairbrush.

Before you could give her an answer, she was filling your goblet to the brim, despite the fact that you hadn’t finished the wine that was already there. She poured the rest into her own goblet, shaking the bottle to get out the last few drops.

“There,” she said. “Liquid courage.”

She tapped the brim of her goblet against yours and took a long sip. You joined her. Mixing the two wines hadn’t been a bad idea after all. There was a pleasant fruity aftertaste that you enjoyed. You went back in for another sip. 

She watched you as you drank. “Do try to get some rest tonight if you can. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“Yes, mom.”

She smacked your arm. ���How dare you! I’m nobody’s mother.” She took another swig of her wine just as Lae’zel approached with her greatsword. 

“Are you aware that the child thieves are taking our belongings from camp?”

Shadowheart choked a little. “Excuse me?” She patted herself down and was relieved when her hand made contact with the artifact still on her person. She didn’t dare pull it out in front of everyone and instead looked at you.

“Oh, that,” you said smiling. “I told them they could.”

“And why would you tell them that?” Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” you sat up straighter. “I told them they could only take from Astarion.”

Shadowheart snorted. “What?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be funny if the rogue got robbed by a bunch of kids.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel scoffed. “He is failing miserably at what he claims to be very good at.” She eased her stance and loosened her grip on her greatsword.

You laughed. “I think it’s partially Karlach’s fault. She suggested they both get drunk.”

“That’ll do it,” Shadowheart nodded, taking another sip of wine. 

“Hang on, Lae’zel, were you planning on attacking the kids?” You pointed at her sword.

Lae’zel eyed the weapon, then looked at you. “All children should know how to defend themselves from enemy attacks. I had already killed two of my cousins by the time I was their age.”

You nodded slowly. “Killing isn’t as much of a priority when you’re a kid here.”

“You make that blatantly obvious everyday with your oafish battle stance and shoddy swordsmanship.”

You scoffed and Shadowheart laughed. “I’m a lot better at fighting now, thanks,” you smiled at her, not actually offended. You knew she’d been raised on an entirely different plane, and who were you to judge their customs? At this point in your adventure, you knew not to take her harsh words personally. Even though she was usually right.

Lae’zel looked you up and down. “Perhaps so. I have seen the kith’raki tear a screaming neogi’s legs from its belly to fashion into blades.”

“Ew,” Shadowheart scowled. 

Lae’zel kept her eyes trained on you. “Yet, they could not match your nerve at the goblin camp. It was enough to drive me to madness.”

“Oh,” you said, a bit taken aback. “Thanks?”

“I smell their blood on you still. I smell your sweat.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh gods, I thought I washed that all off-”

Shadowheart set a hand on your shoulder and shook her head. You turned your focus back on Lae’zel. 

“I meant to taste that sweat. Pity for us you’ve already promised your body to Astarion.” She crossed her arms, annoyed.

“Ah,” you nodded, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Lae’zel, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” 

“Chk,” Laezel rolled her eyes. “It is your loss. Come morning you will wonder. You will wonder how my lips might have tasted. How my fingers on your skin might have felt.”

You looked down at the ground, feeling guilty for not picking up on her intentions sooner. Shadowheart laid a comforting hand on your back.

“Enough, Lae’zel,” she said. “She was bound to make a choice sooner or later. Let’s respect her decision.”

“And what a foolish decision it was. Astarion can’t even handle a few children. I would skewer them the moment they touched one of my belongings.” She thrusted her greatsword forward as if to demonstrate. 

You swallowed. “Then let’s be glad they aren’t after your belongings.” 

Lae’zel looked down her nose at you. “Let us hope that continues.” 

“Hope what continues?” Astarion approached the three of you and grabbed another bottle of wine, not bothering to pour it into his goblet and instead opting to drink directly from the source.

You shook your head, feigning annoyance. “Are you following me?”

“Darling,” he purred, sidling up next to you, “didn’t I tell you last night that I wasn’t going to leave you alone anymore, especially after we-”

Lae’zel groaned loudly. “I’m going to keep a vigilant watch for any of those whelps stepping out of line.” She turned on her heel and headed back to her tent, but not before intimidating a few unfortunate tieflings milling about nearby. 

Astarion took another swig from his bottle and winced, not enjoying the taste. “What’s with her? Apart from her usual Lae’zel…ness?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, sipping your own wine and feeling warmth spread through your chest.

Shadowheart leaned over to look at the vampire. “Enjoying yourself, Astarion?”

Astarion did a double take, apparently having not noticed her when he first walked up. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you protectively.

“Ooohh no,” he said, “you’re not sending me out on another long errand to keep me away from her.” He sounded whiney, likely from the buzz he was still nursing with the wine.

You and Shadowheart laughed.

“It’s okay, dearest,” you teased, poking his nose. “We’ve made peace with Shadowheart.”

Astarion looked from you to Shadowheart skeptically. “No more errands?”

Shadowheart smirked. “Don’t dally again and we won’t have to find out, will we?”

That answer seemed to satisfy Astarion, who pulled away from you and continued to drink from his bottle. “I suppose that’s fair. But to answer your question, yes, surprisingly I’m having a delightful time.”

You scrunched your nose. “What happened to hating all the attention and the bad wine?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Must you always question the details, darling?”

You laughed. “Yes, evidently I must.”

Astarion waved his hand in the air, ignoring your answer and continuing to address Shadowheart. “It’s been centuries since I’ve been able to really let loose at a soiree such as this without being told what to do or hunting for something.” He wrapped you in his arms again. “Not when I already have my prey for the evening right here.”

Your eyes widened at Shadowheart and you avoided eye contact with her, flustered.

“Astarion,” you muttered as he kissed your shoulder from behind.

Surprisingly, when you looked back at her, Shadowheart had a small smile on her face.  

She addressed you when she spoke. “Seems like you’ve really captured this one under your spell.” She nodded her head towards Astarion who had his nose pressed against your neck. 

He pulled back and looked shocked. “Is that what this is? Have you cursed me? Vile witch!” He smiled at you like a dope. He snapped his fingers at Shadowheart. “Remove this curse, cleric!”

Shadowheart grabbed his hand and set it back at his side. “What you’re not going to do is snap at me as if I were a dog.” She looked at you. “Who knew liquor would make him even more insufferable?”

“We should have accounted for this,” you agreed. 

“I am right here,” Astarion pouted.

You reached for one of his hands wrapped around you and squeezed it. “We know, dummy.”

His slightly unfocused eyes went gooey. He looked at Shadowheart. “You know, Shadowheart, we were each others’ firsts.”

You went rigid under his touch and Shadowheart inhaled her wine by accident, coughing briefly.

“That can’t be true,” she said looking between the two of you.

“Astarion,” you elbowed him.

Astarion scowled. “Oh, perish the thought, she was the first thinking creature I ever drank from.”

Shadowheart nodded slowly. “Congratulations?” She looked at you. “You didn’t drink… his blood too, did you?”

You shook your head and Astarion laughed. 

“No dear, I took her virginity.”

You elbowed Astarion with a good amount of force. 

“I will kill you,” you muttered exasperatedly.

“You will not,” he wheezed.

“I will not,” you sighed, looking up at Shadowheart, whose eyes had gone wide. 

Her expression morphed from one of shock to one of anger. She stood and walked over to Astarion. Her hand glowed with the makings of a guiding bolt. You stood quickly and stepped in front of Astarion, shielding him.

“Shadowheart!” you exclaimed. “It’s alright!”

“He’s a vampiric freak,” she said loudly, drawing the attention of a few party goers. “He’s using you for your blood and your innocence!”

Astarion scoffed and stood, stepping to the side, rendering your body shield useless. 

“How dare you,” he said, stomping his foot. “While, yes, that does sound like me, and was my intention originally,” Shadowheart raised her glowing hand and you held up your arms to stop her, “I did not make passionate love to her for no reason!”

You brought your hands to your face and ran them down your features slowly. This was mortifying.

“Can we keep it down?” you asked quietly.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and dropped the prepped guiding bolt. She crossed her arms and looked at Astarion expectantly. “And what was the reason?”

He groaned dramatically. “Gods, I only brought it up as a joke for a laugh, do we have to keep it up?”

“Astarion,” both you and Shadowheart warned.

“Fine,” he avoided looking at you. “I like her, alright? More than like her, she’s- well, I don’t know what she is.” He took your hand in both of his own. “But isn’t it nice not to know?”

You looked at each other for a moment, his face soft, but a little concerned. You smiled and brought the back of his hand to your mouth for a kiss.

“So you didn’t bed her for the sake of gaining power from her virginity or something?”

That snapped Astarion out of his focus on you. “What? No, of course not! I’m a spawn anyway, so even if I wanted to I couldn’t.” He smiled at you. “But I didn’t want to!” He added quickly. 

“Nice save,” you teased, ruffling his hair, then thinking better of it and moving it back into place. “Let’s keep our sex lives to ourselves from now on, okay?”

“Gods below, if I’d known she’d react like that-” Astarion looked up at Shadowheart who was crossing her arms and looking at him as if daring him to finish the sentence. He cleared his throat. “Noted.”

Shadowheart shook her head and rolled her eyes before perching on the refreshments table once again.

“If he hurts you, I’m going to kill him and not revive him. And I’ll pay Withers for him to stay dead.”

You patted her shoulder. “I know. Thank you.”

Astarion leaned over to look at her. “To be clear, I don’t plan on hurting her.”

Shadowheart changed the subject. “What were you looking for over there?” She nodded her head towards Astarion’s tent. 

“Hmm?” he looked confused as to what she was referring to, then caught on and perched on the refreshment table again beside you. “Oh, just a little something for our beautiful bard here.” He started playing with the ends of your hair.

Shadowheart returned to her wine. “Couldn’t find it?”

“You know, it’s the strangest thing, I’ve been misplacing things all evening. Must be because of this delicious buzz I’ve got.” Astarion remembered the bottle he’d set down mere moments ago and returned to it.

Shadowheart lifted her eyebrows at you over her goblet. “Strange,” she said with an air of “We know exactly what’s happening and Astarion doesn't.”

You sighed, thinking he’d suffered enough at the hands of the kids. You took his free hand and hauled him up from the table. 

He eyed you curiously but made sure to take the wine bottle up with him. “What is it, darling?”

“Come on,” you started leading him towards the temple. 

“Oh ho,” he chuckled, stumbling a bit behind you, “wanted to get me alone, did you?” He sped up a little and gently bit the tip of your ear. 

You gasped at the sensation and he pulled back to smirk at you. You blinked and shook your head. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to ravish me in there,” you nodded ahead to the temple. 

Astarion caught you by the waist and lifted you a little, forcing you to stop moving. You yelped and he pulled you back so that he could whisper in your ear. “I can take you wherever I damn well please,” he growled. 

You shivered as he set you back down. “As sexy as you are, my love, you’ll see what I mean momentarily.”

You grabbed his hand again and led him across the log bridge and into the temple.

Only to find it empty.

Your stomach dropped. Uh oh.

Astarion sighed. “I don’t see what the problem is, dear.”

He took advantage of his grip on your hand and pulled you back to him, then spun you around so that your back was against the damp stone wall of the now truly abandoned temple. 

His knee came between your legs and he pinned your hands above your head. 

You were too shocked to say anything.

He grinned, and leaned into your ear again. “I could take you right here and right now,” he bent to kiss your throat and moved his thigh to rub deliciously against you. When you let out a small noise of satisfaction, he pulled back to look at you, his voice low, “If that’s what you want.” 

“Astarion,” you whined, closing your eyes and rolling your hips. 

“Yes, sweet girl?” he smirked at the pathetic look on your face.

“Kids, Astarion,” you exhaled shakily as he adjusted his thigh to give you a better angle. 

He paused. “Kids?” Then he chuckled. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, darling.”

You opened your eyes and gave him a confused look. 

He gave you an equally confused look. “I’m dead,” he said slowly, “I don’t think it’s possible?” He raked his eyes over your body and rested on your stomach. “Is it?”

You gently whacked the side of his head. “No, idiot, I’m talking about the tiefling kids.”

“Oh!” Astarion let out a relieved laugh. “What about them? You didn’t lose our entire camp over a game of hopscotch, did you?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed off the wall, looking around for any sign of the kids. It was dark and you couldn’t make out a thing. You groaned loudly up at the ceiling and ran your hands down your face. 

“I shouldn’t have trusted them…” you muttered.

“What did you do?” Astarion asked, sounding prematurely annoyed. 

You ignored him and opted to march out of the temple and up the log back into camp. 

A small laugh rang out from behind Gale’s vacant tent a ways off.

It sounded distinctly childish. 

You huffed some hair out of your face and marched up to Volo who was near Wyll’s tent, still writing in his journal. 

He lit up as you approached. “Aha! There you are! Come now, settle in. I do hope you have partaken in something bracing? This may well take up all night.”

You grabbed him by the arm. “No time.”

He protested as you dragged him towards the edge of camp. “I say! Unhand me! I’d hate to see your name slandered in an upcoming tale of your heroic escapades!” 

You ignored him and spun him to face you. “How loud can you whistle?”

Volo puffed his chest proudly. “I’m surprised you have to ask, given my accompaniment to your performance earlier this evening.” He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “As loud and as lively as necessary.”

“Great. I’m going to need one sharp, loud whistle on my say so.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Ah, drawing attention, are we? Giving a rousing speech? Toasting to your fine accomplishments?”

“Neither.” You cupped your hands up to your mouth. “MOL AND COMPANY.”

The party grew silent.

Volo tilted his head. “Oh. Interesting choice of audience. But, children are the future-”

You elbowed him. “Do it now.”

“Right.” As instructed, Volo lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew harshly, emitting a loud, high pitched whistle.

You saw heads turn to you, as well as the figures of the kids clamoring to look at you from behind Gale’s tent.

“TO ME,” you called firmly, making eye contact with Mol and motioning for her and the others to come to you. 

As the children filed towards you, Volo shrunk back. “Do you need-”

“You can go.” 

“Thank heavens. Good evening.” He tipped his hat to you, then scurried off back to his post by Wyll’s tent. 

Mol came to a stop in front of you, crossing her arms and scowling at you. “What do you want now?”

You looked down at all eight of the hired thieves. Most avoided eye contact but Mol and Arabella, who smiled at you. You crossed your arms.

“It’s time to go over your spoils.”

“What, in front of him?” Meli asked, pointing behind you at Astarion, who lingered behind you looking rather in awe of what was occuring. 

“It’s been long enough,” you confirmed. “You all did very well and I’m very pleased with your efforts.”

You watched as the kids grew smug and shared excited looks with each other. 

Mattis spoke up. “What do we get in return for doing so good?”

“So well,” Astarion corrected.

“Didn’t ask you, did I mate?” Mattis snarled. 

Astarion flashed his fangs in retaliation and Mattis shut his mouth.

You placed your hands on your hips. “Well let’s see what you gathered, huh? Then we can determine.”

Mol clicked her tongue. “I already told ya’s, we have her support when we get to the Gate.”

“Lame!” Zaki exclaimed. “We should get some kind of physical prize or something.”

Doni made a noise of agreement. 

Mirkon shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s nice that we have the support of the hero of the Grove to help us.”

Arabella smirked. “I kind of want to see what else she has to offer.”

You did your best to stay stoic in front of them all, but you were too endeared by their curiosity and felt a smile tugging at your lips.

“Alright cretins,” you teased loudly, “show me where you buried the loot.”

Silfy giggled. “We didn’t bury it, silly!”

“Silfy,” Mattis hissed.

She grew quiet. “Sorry.”

“Be nice,” you warned, resting your hands on your hips. You took a deep breath, thinking about how to proceed. “Alright, first one to show me where you hid the loot gets their prize first.”

“Prize?!” Zaki gasped and Meli was already running across camp.

The other seven raced off after him.

You sighed fondly, choosing to walk after them at a leisurely pace.

Astarion caught up and strolled beside you. “Am I to understand that you had the urchins steal my belongings this evening?”

You clasped your hands behind your back and looked straight ahead. “Perhaps.”

Astarion chuckled. “I’d kill you if I didn’t desperately want to kiss you right now. Seeing your command over those children was really something.”

You cleared your throat. “Later. We need to get your stuff back first.”

He nodded, his brows furrowing. “You seem to like kids. Not just those brats.”

“I do,” you smiled. “They can be the best audience. Plus they’re hilarious in their own ways without even trying most of the time.”

Astarion nodded. “A collective of child criminals is rather funny from an objective point of view.”

“They’re pretty good, too,” you bumped his hip. “Got past our master rogue all evening.”

Astarion tsked. “I blame the wine, darling.”

“I think you’re getting sloppy.”

“Would you STOP FLIRTING and GET OVER HERE?” Mattis yelled from the boats near Withers.

Arabella leaned against the boat closest to the living corpse. “Bone Man here said we could hide our stuff in the boats.”

“Withers!” you exclaimed with no actual anger in the cry. 

“I did no such thing,” he denied, as stoic as ever. 

“Uh huh,” you said, then leaned in conspiratorially to the kids. “He hides our stuff all the time.”

The kids snickered, looking from you to Withers.

“I do not,” he said, his tone holding the same inflection as always. “I hast no need of thine earthly possessions.”

You clicked your tongue. “And yet you require compensation from us whenever we need something from you. Where’s the money going, Withers?”

Silfy giggled.

Withers didn’t budge.

You turned back to the kids. “He absolutely hides our stuff.” 

They snickered again. 

You moved closer to the boat to peer inside. Doni stepped in front of you, blocking your view.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, taking a step back, “who wants to show me what they took first.”

“So you really are going to reward them for this behavior?” Astarion crossed his arms and you ignored him. 

“I got here first,” Meli said, stepping forward with his hands behind his back, “just so we’re clear.”

“You did not,” Zaki protested, “Doni got here before any of us.”

“Doni doesn’t count! He’s the best sneak of all of us!”

“He does count and that’s why he won!”

“Quiet, you two,” Mol said with a bit of an edge to her tone. “Doni did win fair and square.”

“Told you!” Zaki stuck out his tongue.

Meli rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped forward and addressed you. “May I present…” he pulled his hands out from behind his back, revealing Astarion’s wine goblet from earlier.

“You little whelp,” Astarion hissed but you held up a hand to silence him.

Meli smirked at the vampire. “You’ll notice,” he tipped the goblet forward so you could look inside, “not a drop wasted.”

Sure enough, the goblet still contained a hefty portion of deep red liquid. 

You applauded his effort and a few of the other kids joined in. “Well done, Meli. But, uh, you didn’t drink any, did you?”

Meli scowled. “Yuck, no thanks. I don’t know why adults like this stuff.”

Astarion bent forward. “I’ll be taking that,” he swiped the goblet back, “thank you.” He took a long, deep sip, then wiped a drop that rolled down the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Who’s next?” you asked.

Silfy reached into the boat and pulled out a small brooch, covered in rubies and emeralds. “I got this from his tent.”

You got down on your knees in front of her again. “Oh Silfy!” you said, in awe of the craftsmanship. “This is lovely! Good job.” You turned to show Astarion.

He looked uninterested. “That was my mother’s.”

You stiffened briefly, then relaxed. “No, it wasn’t.”

He snorted. “Of course it wasn’t. I swiped it off some dead-” You made a face at him and nodded towards the kids, reminding him that young ears were listening, “-teddy… bear?”

“People die,” Mattis said flatly. “We’re not idiots.”

“I’m missing a gods damn eye,” Mol pointed to the bandage around her head.

You sighed. “I don’t know why I’m even trying, you guys are way too smart.” You turned and handed the brooch back to Astarion who pocketed it without question. 

“The smartest,” Mol grinned, looking around at the other seven.

Mirkon stepped forward. “Me next!” he reached into the boat and pulled something out, concealing it behind his back. He looked very pleased with himself when he revealed a set of thieves' tools. 

Astarion laughed once, humorlessly. “I have a million of those.”

Mirkon smirked. “Yes, but only one on your person.”

Astarion’s face fell and he patted himself down. His mouth raised into the smallest smile. “Not bad.” 

Mirkon tried to look cool, but he burst into a grin and stepped back to rejoin the others. You handed the tools to Astarion who hid them on his person once again and took another sip of his wine.

Zaki reached into the boat. “Here’s what I got.” He held out an unmarked tin but one that you recognized as one of Astarion’s beloved hair products.

Astarion spat a bit of his wine. “Give that here,” he held out his hand and Zaki clutched the tin closer to his chest. 

“Why should I?”

“Um, Zaki?” You made eye contact with him and shook your head. 

Zaki sighed and handed it over to Astarion reluctantly. “Tasted terrible anyway.”

You laughed and Astarion sputtered. “This is NOT to be ingested, you twerp.”

“Weirdo man!” Zaki exclaimed in response.

“Oof,” you turned to Astarion, “that’s gotta hurt.”

The kids laughed. Astarion narrowed his eyes. 

He examined the contents of the tin to see how much was left. When he saw that not much had been sacrificed, he sighed in relief. “This is a fine hair product from a particular salon in the Upper City that I was able to snatch while on the road. I only have the one container, if you must know.”

You turned back to Zaki. “Well done,” you clapped for him. “It’s like you stole his baby.”

Zaki blushed and smiled before Doni stepped forward.

He made a small noise and held out a hairbrush. 

Astarion gasped and snatched it from Doni quickly. “This was actually on my person during the Nautiloid crash.” He held it close to his chest. “I had it hidden away, how’d you find it?”

Doni responded with another unintelligible noise.

Astarion looked at the other kids.

Arabella shrugged. “We try not to question his methods.”

You patted Doni’s arm. “Great job, Doni.”

He smiled and Arabella took his place. 

She held out a small coin purse. “Tah dah!”

Astarion bent forward to examine it closer. “Sorry darling, that’s not mine.”

Arabella smiled. “I know.” She loosened the string to the purse and emptied the contents into her hand. A substantial amount of coins fell into her palm. “But these are.”

Astarion gasped and felt around his person again. You and Mol laughed at the look on his face. “Har har, I’d like those back now, please.”

Arabella handed the coins back a little too eagerly.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “All of it.”

Arabella’s shoulders slumped and she reached into the pocket of her skirt, handing him another handful of gold. 

“Work on your poker face, darling.” 

Arabella pursed her lips but nodded. 

“Mattis,” Mol said, motioning for him to step forward. 

Mattis nodded and looked between you and Astarion with a smirk. 

He extended his arms, revealing a dagger in each hand. “Whoa,” you said cautiously, motioning for the other kids to step away. 

Astarion laughed. “Be careful with those, kid.” He knelt next to you, looking Mattis in the eye. He elbowed the tiefling gently in the ribs, but it was enough to shock him into loosening his grip. Astarion caught one of the daggers and expertly grabbed the other one by the hilt and yanked it from Mattis’ hand. 

Before Mattis could even register what happened, Astarion was back on his feet, sheathing the daggers through his belt.

You looked at him with a shocked expression. He raised an eyebrow.

“What? Oh please, I didn’t hurt the child, and now he’s no longer armed. You’re welcome.”

You turned to Mattis. “You okay, Mattis?”

Mattis rubbed his chest and nodded. He looked up at Astarion in awe. “You have got to teach me that.”

The other kids agreed and crowded the vampire. 

He laughed uncomfortably. “There are… so many of you.” He looked to you for help.

“Alright guys, let’s give floofy hair some space.”

“Floofy?” Astarion brought a hand up to his hair as the kids dispersed. 

Mol stretched her arms over her head. “Best for last, I suppose.”

She went to reach into the boat for what you had to assume was the lute Astarion had hidden away for you. What she pulled out made you audibly gasp.

You’d expected something tattered, nothing special. Something plucked from the road by someone who didn’t understand the intricacies and nuances of musical instruments, but you knew you’d be content to make due with it because someone you deeply cared for had taken the time to pick it up and take it home to you.

Instead Mol presented you with a lute that looked like it hadn’t even been played yet. It was crafted from rosewood, giving it a pinkish hue and its surface shined as if it were just polished. Delicate roses were carved into the face and the strings were coiled tightly along the neck. 

“Oh,” you breathed out.

Mol raised an eyebrow. “Okay there, hero?”

You shook your head to break the spell. “I- yes.”

Mol turned to Astarion. “And what does this one mean to you? You had it stowed away so carefully with all those pillows and rags. Must be pretty special.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “It’s um… a gift.”

Mirkon giggled. “For who?”

Arabella crossed her arms. “It’s a lute. Clearly it’s for the bard.” She gestured to you with a nod of her head. 

Mattis blew out an unimpressed breath. “I saw her already carrying one around the Grove. Some gift.”

“So what?” Mirkon argued. “I think it’s nice.”

“So do I,” you confirmed, looking at Astarion, who caught your eye then turned away sheepishly. You turned back to the kids. “Want to know something funny?”

The kids looked intrigued and nodded, a few of them giving “yeah’s.”

You leaned in to whisper loudly and placed a hand next to your mouth as if telling a secret. “He broke my other lute,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder at Astarion.

He scoffed. “I did not!”

You tilted your head at him disapprovingly. “It’s your fault it broke.”

“I-” he tried to dispute you, but came up short and shut his mouth.

Mol laughed. “No wonder she wanted us to swipe your stuff. Although, seems kinda pointless now.” She handed you the lute.

It was a comfortable weight in your hands and you tested the sound. It would need a bit of tuning, but it was good enough for you to cast a minor illusion of fireworks around the kids, who all looked up in awe. You flipped the face of it up towards you and ran your fingers over one of the rose etchings. 

You turned to Astarion who was avoiding eye contact by drawing shapes in the dirt with the tip of his shoe. “Where did you find this?”

He looked at you and perked up, gaining an air of confidence that you usually saw when he was showing off in battle. “Found it on the Risen Road. Some poor soul perished with it hidden away in their belongings under a bunch of useless junk.” He examined his nails, feigning disinterest. “It was from the same horde where I found my hair product. I suspect some Upper City patriar accidentally stumbled into a pack of hungry gnolls on their way back to Baldur’s Gate. One can only imagine why they were all the way out here. But their loss was our gain.” He laughed airily. 

You stood and held your breath. “You’ve held onto this for that long?” 

Astarion deflated a little, caught. “I… may have been saving it for a special occasion.” He saw you move towards him. “Don’t be weird about this,” he warned, holding up a finger. “If you really annoyed me I was planning to give it to you and then destroy it. The look on your face would have been priceless.” He laughed again.

You ignored his deflection and took one of his hands in your own. “You’ve had this since before we-” you paused. “Since before last night.”

Astarion smiled softly. “I told you I liked you.” He looked away again when he asked, “But you like it?”

You bent forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s gorgeous. I love it. Thank you.”

“Gross,” Mattis moaned. “Can we just get our prizes now?”

You turned away from Astarion to face the kids again. “Right.” You clapped your hands together. “GALE!” You shouted, not bothering to turn your body in his direction, knowing he’d hear you anyway. 

Not even a second later, he misty stepped beside you. “Yes?” he asked. “How can I help?”

“Gale,” you said, your tone implying that you needed him to play along, “the kids did a great job of stealing from Astarion tonight.”

Gale furrowed his brow in confusion, but sensed the kind of answer you wanted. “Oh, that is most excellent news.”

You nodded and placed your hands on your hips. “I think we need to discuss their reward.”

“Absolutely,” Gale agreed. He motioned over to a patch of grass a little ways away, “Shall we?”

“Be right back,” you said. 

As you and Gale walked, you heard the kids talking to Astarion.

“So why do you have fangs? You some kind of demon?”

“My father was a bat.”

“Cool, can you fly?”

“No.”

Gale spun on his heel to face you. “So,” he started, “what’s going on?”

“Fair question. I wanted the kids to rob Astarion.”

“Sure,” Gale nodded. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Thought it would be funny. Didn’t think that far ahead.”

Gale nodded again. “Let me guess, you didn’t want them to actually keep the loot and now you need to satiate their desire for spoils of some kind.”

“You got it,” you confirmed.

He held a finger to his chin, lost in thought for a moment. “Alright. Play along.”

“Can do,” you said and followed after Gale back towards the kids.

“Why would I need echolocation if I’m not blind?” Astarion asked, exasperated.

“I don’t know!” Zaki shouted in the same tone. “You’re the one who’s half bat!”

“Tell me you can screech at least?” Meli asked.

Gale cleared his throat and the kids turned to face you.

“I don’t see no prizes,” Mol said, crossing her arms.

“An astute observation, Mol,” Gale agreed. “That’s because I’m going to summon your prizes from the Astral Plane.” Gale raised his eyebrows at you, talking out of his ass.

“Ooohhh,” you gushed, making what he said seem really impressive. 

“You’ve been to the Astral Plane?” Mirkon asked excitedly.

“Of course,” Gale lied.

Arabella cut in. “How do we know you’ve actually been?”

Gale chuckled. “How do you think we met our Githyanki friend?” He pointed to Lae’zel over his shoulder who was in the process of skewering watermelons with her greatsword as a few others watched.

The kids looked back at Gale, seeming to accept his reasoning.

Astarion rolled his eyes.

Gale rubbed his hands together, his fingers sparking with the purple glow of the weave. Something you suspected he was doing to try to further impress and convince the children.

“Who’s first?” he asked.

Meli was about to step forward, but Arabella stopped him.

“Doni got here first, he gets his prize first.”

Meli groaned. “I’m next, then.”

Gale smiled at the boy before him. “Well Doni, it’s Githyanki tradition that their most skilled warriors receive Crowns of Valor.”

You placed a hand on your heart, further playing along. “Gale! You can’t mean-”

“Oh, that’s right,” Gale nodded. “These young, intrepid adventurers deserve the highest of honors.”

You looked at the kids and raised your eyebrows. “That’s amazing!”

The kids shared excited glances and giggles as Astarion leaned in to you.

“To be clear,” he whispered, “Crowns of Valor don’t exist, right?”

“Correct,” you said through an unmoving smile. 

“And I knew that,” Astarion said unconvincingly.

Gale spun his hands through the air, the purple glow of the weave glowing brighter and brighter until a small, Doni sized crown appeared in Gale’s hands. It was of simple construction, made of tin with pointed peaks at the top, like the paper crowns you would make as a child. Then, Gale moved his hands some more and the crown molded itself into something similar to Lae’zel’s armor that you’d first met her in; polished silver with delicately raised patterns throughout, adorned with shining red jewels. 

“Whoa,” you said, genuinely impressed. 

Gale smirked and lifted the crown above Doni’s head. “I now bestow unto you the Githyanki Crown of Valor. Well done, lad.” He placed the crown on Doni’s head, who smiled widely and stepped back for the other kids to observe. 

They ooh’d and ah’d, a few even reaching to touch it, but Doni brought his hands up to the crown to keep it on his head.

Meli excitedly jumped forward. “Me next!”

One by one, the kids stepped up to receive their incredibly real and not conjured on the spot Crowns of Valor from Gale. 

“Thank you for the lute,” you said quietly to Astarion as the two of you watched the parade of children marching up to the wizard.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “I’m not sure you even deserve to keep it, given that you hired a bunch of children to steal it for you.”

You sighed loudly. “Just admit you were bested tonight and move on. I won’t think any less of you for it.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “Don’t use this one as a club.”

“No promises,” you lifted the lute to mime hitting another imaginary bugbear. 

When Mol received her crown, the last of the kids to do so, Gale stood.

“Oof, the knees,” he muttered before rubbing his hands together to convey that his work here was finished. “Well then! I believe everyone has been thoroughly rewarded for their hard work.” He looked at you and winked. You mouthed a thank you.

Mol took off her crown and inspected it. “Hypothetically, how much could a Githyanki Crown of Valor sell for?”

You and Gale gasped dramatically.

“Why would you want to do that?” you asked, scandalized.

Mol rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Just tell us how much coin we’d get.”

Gale thought for a moment. “Hypothetically, if it were to be appraised, maybe about-” You elbowed him. “-a lot. Despite the absolutely priceless nature of the objects, you’d probably get a lot of coin.” He sounded pained to be saying such things.

“Excellent.” Mol said, examining her crown and then placing it back on her head. “Now,” she said, placing a hand on her hip, “do you need anything else from us? Or can we go? There are drunk adults to swindle.”

“Charming,” Astarion said flatly. 

You straightened. “Yes, you’ve all done an excellent job tonight and are free to go.” 

As the kids were about to leave, you stepped in front of them, blocking their path. 

“No more stealing tonight-” you said and a few of them groaned, “-but it’s fair game again when we see you next. Which will be in Baldur’s Gate when you’re members of a highly respected new guild.” You smiled at Mol who looked at you smugly and nodded. 

“Damn right!” she said proudly. 

The others buzzed with agreement and started dispersing after saying their goodbyes. You hugged Silfy, Arabella, and Mirkon, and waved to the others who promised they’d be careful on their journey to the city. 

You stood back and watched them go, flanked on either side by Astarion and Gale. 

Astarion examined his nails. “Those weren’t worth anything, were they?”

Gale shook his head. “Not unless transmuted tin suddenly gains a lot of value amongst merchants and traders. I’ve been gathering different alchemical items and ingredients all throughout our journey, and that tin that I used was actually from-”

“Ugh, stop talking,” Astarion interrupted. “I merely asked if they were worth anything in case I needed to nick one of them off one of the little roaches before they leave and we never see them again.”

“Astarion,” you whacked his arm lightly. “They’re just kids. And I’m sure we’ll see them again.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” he sighed.

“You could also just ask Gale to make you one if you want.”

“I’d be happy to-”

Astarion held up a hand. “And ruin this hair? I don’t think so.”

You looped your arm through his and watched as a few of the kids retreated into their makeshift headquarters for the evening, while a few others made a point of walking by Lae’zel’s tent first. It was clear they were trying to show off in front of her, but Lae’zel paid them no mind and focused instead on cleaning her greatsword of watermelon chunks. After a moment of them pacing back and forth in front of her, she leered at them and the kids quickly ran back to the temple, terrified she might stab them. Scratch and the owlbear cub chased after them.

You turned to Gale. “Thank you for coming to the rescue. I owe you one.”

Gale smirked. “Is it really a party if one isn’t rescuing their friend from the clutches of their own antics?”

Astarion snorted. “What kind of parties have you attended?”

“Well, I thank you for your quick thinking and skill with the weave.”

Gale puffed his chest. “I am rather excellent at magic, as I’ve said many times over. Though I fear what will happen once those miscreants try to pawn off those fraudulent crowns.”

You shrugged. “That’s a problem for future us.”

Astarion tsked. “Assuming they can catch us.”

You and Gale laughed. 

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Gale agreed. “I’ll leave you two to your evening. Let me know if you find yourself in any more trouble.” He nodded his head to you. “Good night.”

“Good night Gale,” you smiled as he walked back towards the excitement of the party where Karlach and Rolan were partaking in a loud drinking contest.

Astarion pulled you closer to him and squeezed your hip. “I still can’t believe you did that. After everything I’ve done for you.”

You smiled at him. “Ah yes, thank you for deciding not to kill me every day since you’ve met me.”

He pulled you into a kiss. “You’re welcome,” he said, muffled against your mouth. Unsurprisingly, he tasted of wine.

You pulled away and inclined your head towards Withers, still standing stoically nearby.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m not even entirely sure he’s paying attention half the time, what with his distant stare and lack of meaningful conversation.”

“He called you my ‘bosom companion’ earlier.”

“He did what?” Astarion looked past you at the skeleton who made no move to acknowledge either of you. “I’ve barely had any time with her bosom yet, thank you.”

When Withers didn’t respond, you laughed and bent down to get a better grasp on your new lute. Astarion joined you, picking up his recently returned items and turning to face you. 

“Care to join me on a walk?” he asked.

You smirked. “This isn’t part of another plan to bed me, is it?”

Astarion laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He made his voice low and gravelly.

Your face went red. “Aren’t you drunk?” you asked, deflecting his advances as the two of you started making your way towards Astarion’s tent.

“Ah, ah,” Astarion tutted, “I was only ever tipsy. And to be honest, I believe the last of it burned off when the one person I stupidly trust most for some reason, betrayed my trust and stole my things.”

“We got them back!” you argued. 

“Hmm,” Astarion hummed. “Perhaps we should break up.”

You gasped loudly. “How dare you!”

He smirked. “I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Am I going to regret asking what you have in mind?”

“I can think of a few options,” he said as you reached his tent and he knelt to return his items to their proper places. 

You yawned. “Oh yeah?”

Astarion rose back up and looked at you softly. “Tired, darling?” 

You mentally surveyed how you were feeling. “I suppose I am.”

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist. “A side effect of playing hero for dozens of tieflings. Told you it wasn’t worth it.”

You rested your arms over his shoulders. “And it surely has nothing to do with my lack of sleep last night, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Astarion teased, kissing your forehead. “Go say your good nights.” He nodded towards the heart of the party where Karlach and Rolan were drunkenly singing an old dwarven drinking song. 

You looked at him curiously. “What about you?” 

“Trust me, my sweet, none of them are here to see me.” He tucked some hair behind your ear. “Even though I’m world-endingly beautiful.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that,” you teased. 

“They should count themselves lucky they even caught a glimpse.”

“Alright.”

“I mean, look at me.”

“I got it,” you laughed and pulled away from him, lifting your new lute one last time. “Will I see you later?”

Astarion furrowed his brow. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You smiled shyly. “I don’t know, I’m still new at all of this.”

His expression grew soft. “As am I. We’ll get the hang of it.” His voice became flamboyant again when he said, “We are the most impressive pair in Faerûn after all.” Then he laughed brightly.

You laughed and turned to make your way to your tent to drop off your lute. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I await on baited breath, my love.”

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unfortunately tumblr thought this piece was too long (fair) so I had to split it into two parts. The second part can be found here.

[moonsaver]

Vena jugulară

War carries many things home. Jiaoqiu finds hunger. You find cures.

Warnings/tw; yan!jiaoqiu x reader, cannibal!jiaoiu, descriptions of gore, blood, veins, flesh, all of that nitty pitty, (slightly) suggestive scene, war, ooc definitely, rushed(?) etc..

A/n: 3.4k words. Not that big tbh. I kinda wanted to get it over w/ and thats all. I hope you guys enjoy. I kinda did.

- reader is a nurse who previously assisted Jiaoqiu on the battlefield to help wounded soldiers. I have mainly kept them gn, but i might have slipped up here and there.

"Doctor."

"Hm?"

Jiaoqiu hums and turns slightly to face you. His hands continue to fold the bandages. You eye the stain that's rusting on the off white shade.

"Another one."

"As usual."

A few men carry a stretcher into the tent soon after; dirtied from the filth of war. The stretcher has a man writhing and groaning in pain, but presumably passed out. His leg is injured.

Well, rather, his leg is torn.

A long tear. From the bottom of his knee, just shy of the curve, to the top of his foot. The flesh is almost cartoonishly pink, decorated with blood leaks and torn veins.

Jiaoqiu doesn't flinch, immediately getting to work, registering the anesthesia while guiding you to fetch rubbing alcohol and other surgical equipment. You silently oblige, as the other men leave, dredging on with their heavy boots riddled with mud.

A few moments later, as the last stitch tugs at the skin, Jiaoqiu sputters. You look up at him, concerned. A scruched, disgruntled look on his face, eyes still closed. You look down to see the slightest bit of mara leaking from the body.

"Even if I shall put him back together, what are the chances he may survive?"

He whispers, more to himself than asking you. You stay silent. You stare at his mouth, slightly covered in saliva, most likely from his sputtering.

He continues coughing a few moments more, handing the needle over to you as you hurriedly finish up a knot, then immediately leave to stand by him, shadowing him in worry as he continues coughing for a moment.

"Sorry. I choked on my spit."

You nod, before leaving and proceeding to finish up the work, leaving Jiaoqiu to catch his bearings.

You feel almost traitorous when you have such thoughts, however,

You've noticed an awful lot of things about your senior as of late.

His fur that's seeming to fray, split and gather on almost every surface, making it hard to disinfect and keep things sterilized for the most part. The stressful, or rather constrained look on his face when another soldier is sent his way – soldiers with flesh bursting at the seams of tight skin, blood flowering around the scene. The constant choking he feels from the heavy, thick scent of iron, and more spit dribbling down his chin.

Although, you feel it may be something else.

Granted, you don't ask. You hand him your handkerchief, and continue normally. You don't, however, miss the dilation of his usually thin pupils whenever he stares down at the man on the table. Like a starved predator upon a feast.

His eyes catch yours, too. Both of you stay silent.

–

"Hm, how.. disappointing."

You hum, Jing Yuan reverting to his pondering state, as you beat him at another round of the board game he'd invited you to.

"Battle strategies are your thing, General. I'm almost surprised. Are you letting me win, by any chance?"

Jing yuan laughs, a deep, curt sound that bubbles from his chest.

"Nurse, I would know how much fairness and certainty means to you."

"Hmm.. really,now?"

Your hand grabs his wrist, gripping onto the small guards of his arm, as you catch him trying to steal one of your pieces,

"Touchè".

You huff, letting go of his wrist, his hand languidly placing back the piece, before he repositions to lean the side of his head on it,

"Perhaps your instincts from then still remain."

"Mara struck are awfully dangerous."

"I've heard plenty. And seen, too."

"One tried to stab me with an empty syringe when I turned my back for a second."

Jing yuan hums, his hand hovering over the board decisively,

"Quite peculiar, such a trait."

"Strange indeed."

Jing yuan makes his move. It's time for you to think, now.

You lean slightly over the table, observing and calculating your moves. He continues to speak,

"Were you not infected as was the Chef?"

"Not sure why.."

You mumble out, fingers gently perched on a piece as you contemplate the move.

"You must have. That fever struck you for a month."

Your thoughts stop for a moment. Jing yuan almost smiles, watching the tension of your fingers over the piece,

"It's.. hard to remember what happened."

Your other hand creeps up to wrap around your waist, under the table. Something still faintly aches, but you aren't sure if you can fix it now.

"Chef cared for you quite arduously. That was the last time I'd seen a fox like him so ruffled."

You look up and click your tongue, as Jing yuan's fingers teeter around the pieces. He stays still and smiles, playing it off.

"I was the only one who could assist him. It's a given."

"Hm.. I've been driven to a corner."

You chuckle softly, jing yuan's eyes turning contemplative as you move your piece into position.

"Ah-ah, not so fast."

You blink, looking up at the General as he tuts, your hand hovering over your piece. Did you make a mistake?

He leans over, his hand reaching over to pick a stray hair off of your shoulder. It was short, and pink. Fur.

His hand retracts and languidly dusts it off his finger to the side. Ah, you realise,

"Must be Jiaoqiu's."

"I'd be surprised if it wasn't."

"I have been watching over that pink-haired girl.."

Jing yuan chuckles softly, shaking his head,

"He seems quite irritable since then."

"He's.. clingy. Ever since I.."

He hums, his golden eyes calculative as he decides his next move.

"What a shame."

You yawn, the settling winter thawing under the new sun making the atmosphere more comfortable than chilling, leaning back on your arms.

"I can never understand that man.."

Jing yuan makes his move, and waits for you, as he takes a sip of his tea.

"Foxians are quite interesting."

"Hm?"

Jing yuan's words pique your interest, as you slightly perk up,

"Really? What of it?"

"They react differently to mara."

The board is abandoned by now, as you listen intently, leaning forward,

"Do you know how mara works?"

He sets the ceramic cup down, the liquid in it ebbing gently from the motion.

"Foxians of his lineage have tendencies to act far too soon on their desires, from even a smidge of exposure."

..is he lying?

"It was a strange event he decided to treat such wounds in his past. With you on the line beside him."

"But, I was already working there before him."

"Indeed. That is why I.."

He stays silent for a moment. A small chuckle leaves him, as he shakes his head,

"You should be more cautious."

You blink for a moment, simply looking at him. Under the golden sunlight, it's hard to look away.

Wait.

You look down at the board, as he steadily gets up,

"Wait, you- stole the pieces-?!"

----

You sneeze, and cringe immediately.

Jiaoqiu's unreadable expression is pointed at you, as you look to gauge his reaction. You've always hated the taste of his medicine.

It was more peaceful than anything, other than the looming threat of catching the attention of your "mentor" (or as he insisted). The occasional thick scent of chili and sizzling meats settled into the air, along with the gentle draft of early spring, hints of the winter's cold lingering in the crisp air in the atmosphere. You sniffle and shift in your seat, as Jiaoqiu approaches you.

"Try."

He places a bowl of noodles in front of you. You eye it suspiciously.

"It took me a while to prepare. So don't waste it, disciple."

You look up at him, warily. His closed eyes and sly grin greet you back.

You eye the dark, rich broth that would have had your mouth watering just a few decades ago. The perfectly cut noodles paired with an assortment of seasonings of all kinds – cut meat, hints of vegetables, boiled eggs. It was perfect.

But you couldn't taste it.

Truthfully, after you became sick, nothing tasted the same as it used to.

Your palette must have dulled. You could barely taste anything. It was as though you ate the same food, everyday, every month, every year, with no change in sight. Jiaoqiu's made a bit of a personal mission to try and challenge your dull palette.

"Jiaoqiu.."

You start, softly trying to protest,

"[Name]."

He sits down across you,

"Do you remember when I first served this?"

He leans forward, his chin cradled on his interlocked fingers, knees pressing onto the table. There's a faint smile on his face.

You sigh,

"Yes, back when.. I had a terrible fever, which just wouldn't leave."

"Mhm. It was the only reason you had the energy to walk around."

You continue staring at the dish. A hint of sentimentality at least seems to spark some appetite in you.

"Hm, too soupy isn't it?"

You comment, looking back up at him

"We aren't scarce on resources anymore, are we?"

"You could learn to not alter a few recipes for sentimental value."

"And what? Feed you that ashen bowl of noodles with barely a scrap of meat or any spice?"

You sigh,

"..alright."

You pick up the stationed chopsticks from the side, and stir the noodles slightly. Jiaoqiu's smile widens, as he watches you.

"The broth looks.."

"Remember when your fever wouldn't go down at all? The high temperature was so stubborn."

You shudder at the reminder. You still remember it – the searing burn of the medicine you hastily applied, the following high temperatures and sweat, the constant discomfort of being so unutterably weak you couldn't even sit upright.

You suppose he doesn't like when you nitpick. You resign yourself to eating it quietly.

–––

The sheets are soft, and cold as your bare back settles against them, your head gently hitting the soft pillow behind you. Your fingers absentmindedly trail down to the bandages on your abdomen, tracing the tight-binded edges of it.

Jiaoqiu's back is turned to you as he readies a concoction. One of many he's tried to use to "fix" you.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. You would have felt more awkward, more embarassed about having to lay almost half naked in your 'mentor's bed, but considering the recent flare up a few days ago, you couldn't care less.

Jiaoqiu walks around the expanse of the bedframe, and gently settles down on the other, empty side. He placed the paste on the nightstand, as his fingers reach down to undo your bandages.

There is something tender, you think, about having to lay bare under someone who has seen something so ugly, yet persist regardless. Under his fingers, where your flesh seems to either rot, or bloom. Something beautiful, if it weren't for the past pains of war still haunting you two. Something tender, if it weren't for your own flesh rotting into you.

His nose scrunches up a bit as your wound is exposed at the removal of the wraps. Foxians, especially of his kind, tend to have sensitive noses. Specifically for blood, if it makes sense.

Your age-old wound has shriveled and ached for so long, you almost wonder if it's alive on it's own. How have you been? You almost ask, every time you see it for yourself. The tainted flesh almost searing every time another paste, another cure, is desperately smeared on it. Almost as though it is offended.

Jiaoqiu stays silent, for a moment, his eyes slightly opened as he stares down. His hands have moved to your sides, as though framing your outline.

They move up, slowly, as though encasing your ribs. They expand with each breath, skin stretching and moving with the flesh alive underneath. His face slowly dips down, as if in prayer. His lips ghost the dip between your lower ribs, in ancient reverence. You wonder if he might break you open and eat your heart from the cages of your bones.

His lips trace down ghosting over the edge of your skin, where the previously infected part begins. He inhales, slowly, before speaking.

"I don't know how to fix this."

You stay silent. Your hand comes up to the side of his face, his hair tickling the back of it,

"Jiaoqiu. It's alright."

"It isn't."

You watch his face retract, his troubled gaze on your wound. The flesh has been marred and sunken.

"This isn't something you can fix."

He moves, the bed dipping as his weight shifts, the side of his face resting on your chest, one of his hands moving to your stomach, the back of his fingers grazing your skin as it moves up to the centre of your ribs.

"Bitter, sour.. distasteful.."

He murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing your skin,

His face shifts, his lips resting just above your heart,

"Your blood smells like poison."

You still for a moment. His teeth graze your skin. The hot, damp breath wets your skin.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart beats in his ears. He longs to feel it in his mouth. His other hand, still on your side, shifts, the fingers digging into your skin.

For a moment, you wonder what the scene will reel out as ‐ your limp body, a feast under his hungry mouth. Your arteries stringing from the cave of your flesh to his mouth like a bridge, thin veins scattering and puzzling themselves in the crevices of his teeth. You hope he doesn't devour you.

For now, he resigns himself to your skin. His teeth bite. They do not draw blood yet.

---

Jiaoqiu has had more peace, recently.

Here he sits, behind you, entangling the thin stems of flowers within themselves, braiding a flower crown. His nose scrunches, and his ears flit slightly whenever you hand him a fragrant one. You chuckle whenever he comments on it. His head leans forward and rests on your shoulder, as you continue to page through recipes in his book. Medicinal ones.

"Ah, look. It's stained here."

"Hm, gunpowder?"

Jiaoqiu asks, his tail swiping your back, the curled end of it tickling the side of your face,

"I think so."

You continue paging through the recipes, before stopping on a page.

Ah. There's blood.

"Dear, how did that happen?"

Jiaoqiu muses, his fingers paused as he looks at the blood stained page.

"I wouldn't remember."

"Hm.."

The blood smells sweet, despite having sunken into the page almost decades ago. It carries a hint of vitality, still. At least, in his foxian sense.

You turn the page.

---

"Jiaoqiu!"

"Not now–"

"The nurse..!"

Jiaoqiu stops in his tracks, taking his eyes off of his station with slightly furrowed brows, towards the person who's abruptly entered,

"What is it?"

"They're ill! They've fallen to the‐"

Jiaoqiu rushes with those few meager words, swiftly walking past as he asks where you are.

Unfortunately for you, you were trying to gain your bearings on the wooden floor.

This entire month of war specifically, had torn you both down to shreds. Your inventories were looted, leaving you with scarce medicine and many maimed to look after. The enemies were bolstering their presence harshly, and closing in furiously.

Upon stumbling on a rare sight of a wounded enemy soldier, you leaned down to check if they carried anything useful – medicine, maps, anything, when you realised in your haste you should have checked for their pulse first.

And it was in that moment of realisation did you feel a sharp plunge and sting, as the soldier's arm swiftly swung and stabbed you with a small knife.

You wanted to scream, but the overwhelming pain of the intrusion, the visceral splitting of your flesh far outweighed the need to scream. You jerked away, weakly, but hastily, retreating, leaving the enemy with their last bout of energy to laugh bitterly at you.

–––

Jiaoqiu still smells poison on you.

With war came many things. A lost locket on the vast field. A lonely sword in the quiet of the night. A child asleep in front of the door, forever waiting their parent.

And with war, came your eventual poisoning.

Perhaps it was the weapon. Knives edged with venom. It could have made for a lethal weapon.

But something felt odd.

Jiaoqiu's face presses into the warmth of your stomach.

Bitter. Sour. Distasteful. Rancid. Rotting. And Defiled.

Jiaoqiu's mind often wanders to wine reds. The pulling of sinew arteries, the sharp cut of a blade through flesh. The slow leaking of myoglobin or blood through the cutting board.

Sometimes, it had wandered while he tended to patients.

Blooming flesh, at incineration of skin due to sharpnel, or burnings. The vigorous pumping of the heart at the sight of blood draining down slowly, outside it's confinement, ever so oblivious to the lethality.

Jiaoqiu had craved flesh. Flesh beyond the slaughter of a Lamb, of a Cow, of any animal.

Flesh, right under the safe confines of human ribs.

Sweet, sweet viscera of the Liver. The expanse of Lungs. The tightly wound cartilage right above and below the muscles. Bones that leaked marrow.

The heart.

But he hadn't dare consume.

With war, came hunger.

Hunger he had not experienced like any other. Hunger that devoured him whole. Hunger so vast he could feel his insides churning and dissolving for the capacity of the appetite he would need to fulfill.

A hunger for you.

Poisoned, and permanently so. It's safe to say his attempts to 'fix' you, weren't necessarily innocent.

He shifts, his face moving to your neck, nose tickling the edge of it as his lips linger on your nape. Unprotected spinal cord. His canines expose and gently press on the tender skin, the pressure increasing, waiting for the breach of the skin.

You laugh, airy and sweet.

"What are you doing?"

Jiaoqiu retracts, slightly. Staggered, shallow breathing as he struggles to restrain himself.

He stays quiet. You grow nervous at the strange silence.

"Jiaoqiu?"

"[Name]."

His head turns slightly, eyeing the open recipe book on your nightstand. The night's gentle breeze wafting through the open window agitated the pages, slightly uncovering the blood-stained page for a second.

"What is it?"

You quietly ask, sensing the slight tightness in his voice,

"You poisoned yourself."

Your breath hitches, a shock rendering your body paralyzed for a second.

What?

You shift and turn to face him. His eyes are open, staring endlessly into yours. You break into a cold sweat, his slitted eyes almost cutting through you. Your heart beats harshly in your chest, as your breathing staggers slightly.

"Jiaoqiu?"

"While concocting that medicine for yourself.."

He whispers, his hand pushing down on the pliant bed as he leans forward, making you lean back in turn,

"What are you–"

"In your haste, did you ever think to use the right ingredients?"

He's towering over you, as you look at him, eyes almost blown wide, pupils dilated, breathing heavily. You don't notice it until you realise how out of breath you feel, despite the chill of the night air causing chills on your skin.

"The.. ingredients.."

You stumbled into your tent, almost meeting the ground, your arm on reflex grabbing onto something sturdy, as you gasped and panted. Your other hand presses onto the wound on your abdomen, as you cry out, abruptly interrupted by a sharp inhale at the pain. Tears singe your eyes, but your heart is beating too loud, and you're too pained to cry yet. You grunt as you pull yourself up, your bloodied hands sifting through the cacophany of items on your own desk, shuffling in haste for something,

Eventually, you hurriedly concocted a simple but powerful herbal paste, smothering it onto the blaring and irritated, bloody wound, seeping and crying incessantly of blood into your hands as you lathered it onto the wound in great pain. You ignored the uncharacteristic burning of the paste, hurriedly trying to wrap the bandage onto yourself, before too much blood was lost.

"Do you realise? That paste.. if you messed up a single point in the recipe, you'd poison yourself. Each ingredient was selected to neutralize the other."

Erratic, shallow breaths leave you as he looks down at you. What have you done?

This is poison. This is the curse.

The curse you carried after the war. It was never mara that could affect you.

And it was the poison Jiaoqiu had longed to taste.

His face dives down into your neck again, his fangs ghosting your jugular vein,

"Do you realise what truly courses in your blood?"

A cold bead of sweat drips down from the side of your forehead. Death could possibly taste sweeter, you imagine.

"I can't wait to taste it."

And his teeth sink.

--

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cheat

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: T Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist •

Summary: Marc cheats at games constantly.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: this is just self indulgent. I'm sorry.

Warnings: reader is from the UK (get ready for some friendly USA vs UK), typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 828

“But that’s cheating!” 

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is!” You try to keep the smile out of your voice, and put on an air of shocked indignation. Marc was notorious for cheating at board games, and card games, and any games where he thought he could get away with it. 

“How?” He asked calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. But there was a hint of glee in his eyes.

“You,” you gesture at him with your hand, nearly breaking into a laugh, “you can’t move like that.”

Marc doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, you can.”

“You can’t!”

“Who says?” He cocks his head to the side as he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in mock confusion. Though the little twitch of his lip gives him away. If there was one thing he loved more than cheating at games was pretending he actually wasn’t.

“I don’t know Marc, the rules?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

You pull your phone out of your pocket. “I’m looking them up, right now.”

“You’re just going to go and look at ‘pretend rules to suit my argument .com.” He shakes his head, a fake look of disgust plastered all over his features, as if you’re the one that’s going to try to deceive him.

“Firstly,” you try not to laugh, so as not to weaken your position. “That’s amazing, I am looking that up afterwards to see if it exists, and secondary-”

“I mean, it does exist, otherwise how else are you gonna go on it to look up the rules and pretend I can’t move like that?” 

You gawp at him for a second, grinning like crazy at his audacity. “Marc-”

“Hey,” he holds up his hands, “I’m just trying to play fair here, play by the rules-”

“When have you ever played by the rules?” 

“And you’re here, questioning my very legitimate move.” 

“Marc,” you giggle, “draught pieces cannot jump over empty spaces in a straight line.” 

“See, firstly,” he pulls a face, mocking your expression from before, “we’re playing checkers, that might be where you’re confused, because, in checkers-”

“Marc we are playing draughts,” you giggle and hold up the battered cardboard box, which clearly says ‘draughts’.

He shakes his head. “That’s a typo.”

“That’s a typo?” 

He nods, “of course, and-”

“Pretty big typo.” 

“British craftsmanship was never up to standard.”

“I’m gonna-”

“Now, now,” he grins, wagging his finger at you. “Violence never solved anything.”

“Says the American.” 

Marc gasps in fake hurt and puts his hand on his chest, “I’m so shocked that you would lower yourself to insulting my nationality.”

You laugh, “you just-”

“I would have thought such petty insults were beneath you,” he shakes his head in mock outrage. “I mean, I am so insulted right now.”

“You did it first!” You grin.

Marc just shakes his head and stares to the side. “I can’t even look at you right now. 

“Also draughts and checkers are the same game.”

“Now, you're insulting my American heritage, our cultural game of checkers, how could you?��� His tone of voice is making it impossible not to laugh. 

“Marc-”

“I just can’t,” he stands, “If you’re not going to respect the game then,” he shrugs, “I don’t think we should play, let’s just end it here and say I won.” 

“No,” you get up, “I’m winning!” 

“Were you? Morally?” He teases.

“Yes!”

He takes a step closer to you. “And in the actual game?”

“Yes! That’s why you started cheating!” 

He leans closer, “I never cheat.” 

You place your hands on his cheeks and pull a face. “Liar.”

“How could you-”

“Don’t make me ask Steven to be the umpire.” You say playfully. 

“Oh yes,” he narrows his eyes at you. “The other Brit, I’m sure he’ll be completely unbiased.”

You laugh, “Fine, how about Jake?” 

Marc shakes his head, an over-the-top motion just for your amusement. “Can’t trust him.”

You gasp, “You can’t trust him?”

“Not in matters like this.”

“But he’s American.”

Marc shakes his head again, “he’s too blinded by your beauty to be impartial.” 

You smile, the sneaky compliment catching you off guard for a moment. “Blinded by my beauty?” 

“Hmm,” he nods, all fake seriousness. “It’s a real problem, luckily, I have developed a resilience to your charms.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes,” he nods again, but takes hold of your left hand and places a kiss to your inner wrist. “I am completely immune.” He punctuates the sentence by placing more kisses along your arm and sliding his other hand onto your hip, pulling you closer towards him until your chest is flush with his. 

“Completely immune.” You echo and nod sarcastically.

“Completely.” He nods back and places a soft kiss on your lips that quickly has you melting into him. He stays just as close when you break apart, keeping barely a centimetre of space between you. 

“You’re a terrible cheat, Spector.” 

He grinned. “You love it when I don’t play by the rules.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for refusing to help my friend out financially after they got a new dog even though they need financial help often and are currently in debt?

Everyone is this story is mid to late 20s.

I have a friend in America who is on social benefits. So I know they don't have a lot of money. I'm also not rich but I earn minimum wage in my country and can afford to pitch in a little sometimes which I don't mind doing generally. I'm also not a big spender at all and I'm able to save up something every month.

In the past I've helped them with buying groceries and even gave them some so they could buy a laptop for art commissions and some games. I don't mind doing that at all. When their old dog got sick I helped out as well. Since I figure some people are going to want to know, in the last 5 years I have given maybe about 2000 dollars.

They got a new dog after the old one passed, which I get. A dog can be a good companion. I did find it a little irresponsible to get a new puppy when they at the time needed several hundred dollars for rent. I told them it might be better to wait until they where no longer in debt with their landlord before getting a new dog. They told me they understood my concern but they got the puppy for free from a friend so it would not be a big deal and they would be able to feed the puppy.

I did tell them puppies can get sick and end up costing a lot more than anticipated but they told me they were willing to take that risk and I decided to not push any further. I had given my opinion and there is not much else I can do. I did tell them not to count on my help financially especially since I had some things of my own that needed fixing and they told me they understood and not to worry.

But then a few weeks later the puppy ate their medicinal weed, which for some reason was within reach of a puppy, and had to get it's stomach pumped and stay overnight at the vet clinic for a few nights.

They came to me and asked if I could help out with the bill and how they would pay me back in part. The bill was over 4000 dollars. I told them sorry but no I can't. First of all, I don't even have that much, I'd have to take out a loan. Second, I warned them this could happen and that I would not be able to help out financially. They seemed a little pissed at that but I just thought it was because of the stress of the situation. They said they would try and get the funds elsewhere and asked me to share it around, which I did.

Unfortunately they didn't manage to get enough to pay the vet and ended up having to give the puppy to a shelter. It's a cute and calm pup so I have no doubt it will be adopted out quickly but it's still sad and I do feel for my friend. But now I'm being blamed for it. I've been getting several angry messages from mutual friends about how I'm the reason my friend lost their emotional support and how I'm the reason they are having a breakdown and suicidal thoughts.

I feel really badly for my friend but I also don't think it's fair to put the blame on me. The reaction from my online friend group makes me feel like I'm missing something that does make me the asshole.

[peterparkouryo]

operation, distract | ﹒⪩⪨﹒

﹒⪩⪨﹒

prompt; You're second best in every class you have with Peter Parker, and you decide that has to change.

warnings: fluff and banter, maybe typos nd stuff

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is short and bad, just a lil sumn for y'all since i've been gone for two whole months :(

You hated the feeling of seeming or even being remotely close to the brink of a failure. 

Which, yes is something every human has to go through in life in order to get to the top, but it's hard to lose all the time. You'd like to think you were a really good person, a great one even. Always helping out your community, all that good people stuff, and you were really smart, so smart that you're almost top of all your classes.

Just almost, though.

The thing is, when you want to make it to the top and be the best, there's obviously always going to be some sort of obstacle. Your obstacle is, Peter Parker.

Just thinking of his name makes that big fat vein form on your forehead, because of course someone as socially awkward and conveniently attractive as him has to be your competition to prove your smartness.

Peter is sweet, that much you can admit, but not to you and only because you dislike him just as much as he dislikes you. He can pretend he doesn't but you know your irritation and insults toward him really sets him off, which albeit is sometimes hilarious, but the boy's presence is insufferable and no matter what anyone says you, you will never like him.

You might be overreacting, and to be fair it's a possibility that you are, but is it your fault that every time you two share a class he just has to rub it in your face that he can solve math problems faster than you? Or that he has an internship with THE Tony Stark? It's unfair and you can't help but feel a little jealous.

"I hate gym." Cindy grumbles and sits next to you on the bleachers, and you pay her complaints no mind as you study for an upcoming test.

"Y/N?" She waves a hand in your face and you have to psychically fight back an eye roll just to look at the girl.

Cindy Moon is one of your only friends (sadly) and she's so sweet and understanding toward you when you want to rant about how hard your life is or how unfair the justice system is, which is something you two have in common.

"What?"

"Are you listening?" 

"No." You go back to studying.

Before you can reread the paragraph you were looking at, Cindy closes your book and you look over at the girl in disbelief and frustration.

"Why did you just do that?" You glare at her as she innocently shrugs.

"Talk to me!" She pouts, you look away with a huff.

Another thing is, she's annoyingly good at getting what she wants, especially from you.

"I'm trying to study Cin, maybe later," You reach for your book and she moves it out of your reach.

You show her a disapproving look.

"Why do you need to study? You're the smartest person ever."

You show her a fake smile and reach for the book again.

"Thanks but if I want to be top of my science class, I need to study, no give me the book." You start climbing onto her lap to get the book.

All Cindy does is laugh at the lengths you're going to, and you both pay no mind to the staring students.

"We look like lesbians." She jokes and your eyes go wide, quickly looking behind you two at the lingering gazes.

Your embarrassment is probably evident so you decide to get out of your friend's lap before your lazy excuse of a gym teacher and other students think the wrong thing.

"Just give me the book," You sit next to her again.

"Fine, you're no fun." Cindy gives you the book and you smile in accomplishment.

A few peaceful minute go by, and the gym class drags on for another fifty minutes at you study in somewhat silence as Cindy watches a small basketball game going on, on the other side of the gym.

"Uh oh, Peter missed the shot." She mumbles and you snap your head up, looking in the direction she stared.

If there was one thing you wanted to see, was Peter Parker fail.

Unfortunately all hopes and dreams crash and burn because when you look at the small basketball game, you see Peter shoot the ball into the basket and you roll your eyes at your dumb luck.

Another few minutes past and the basketball game was over, thankfully, now you can study in peace as your friend is now reading a book you had so kindly recommended (you didn't).

"Hey Cin, and goodie two shoes," An annoying voice distracts you from your studying and you try to ignore him and his voice as Cindy looks up with a smile and greets him back.

"Hey Peter, good game," She nods, and you continuing studying.

"Y'know there's no point in studying when I'm just gonna get the highest grade anyway." Peter brags and if you weren't so bothered by his presence your left eye wouldn't twitch at his words.

You rub your forehead and look up at him with a subtle glare, he shows you a smile as you finally give him what he wanted.

In all honesty, what you wanted was to not be bothered by him and, his unruly sweaty hair, flushed face and—stop.

"Who asked you?" You raise your eyebrow with an irritated tone, and you can feel Cindy grow uncomfortable.

Peter just smiles at your question.

"I'm just saying, like sure you're smart, but you're not exactly 'Peter' smart." He emphasized with a shrug.

"Is smart Peter in the room with us right now?" You tilt your head and hear Cindy snort at your expense.

His smile drops and you watch as jaw clenches at your words.

"Funny,"

"I try."

The silence takes over and you can't decide to either be thankful or what, and the tension is painfully palpable. The only thing you can do is stare at him as he stares at you. A staring contest you didn't want.

Cindy has to break the death glares you two were sending each other.

"Are you going to Flash's party?" She asks Peter and you want to hug her for saving the day.

Peter's gaze linger on you for awhile before looking at Cindy with a smile way different from the glare or whatever he was showing you a mere second ago.

"No, I wasn't invited." He shrugs.

"And a good thing too." You grumble, Cindy nudges you at that.

"Well I was thinking you come with me and Y/N, if you have nothing better to do." The girl offers with a grin.

You knew your kindness would come back and bite you, and she was proving to be no better as a "friend" by inviting your arch nemesis.

"Are you sure witches are even allowed to parties?" Peter looks at Cindy with fake concern and you go to stand up to attack but your friend grabs your hand.

And of course all Peter can do is smile at your reaction.

"Anyway, you should come, it'd be fun."

Peter considers this and nods at your friend with an awkward smile, and if you didn't despise everything he did, you'd think it was adorable.

"I'll think about it, thanks." He smiles before bidding his goodbyes to her, because god forbids he even thinks of saying another word to you.

Once Peter leaves you snatch your hand away and look at Cindy with a fuming expression.

"Why did you invite the real life walking devil to go to that party with us?" You shake your head in disbelief.

Cindy snickers and you're even more bewildered.

"Because, it's so obvious you two like each-other." She laughs.

You wanted to vomit at her words of disrespect. Like Peter? That's rich.

"Oh no, no I do not like Peter, trust me." You argue with a laugh.

Cindy nods, obviously unconvinced just as the bell rings for the next class.

"Sure and I don't have a crush on Keanu Reeves." She stands up and walks to the girl's locker room, you follow.

"But you do."

"Exactly." She shrugs and you roll your eyes.

"I do not like Peter, believe me." You try your hardest to embed that in your friend's head.

As you two walk into the locker room, she turns around.

"I guess we'll see at the party, yeah?" Cindy turns back around and puts in her combination to her locker before unlocking it.

You groan and do the same with yours.

You hated the fact that now there's was a possibility of you liking Peter, when of course you showed no signs of ever even considering him as more than a person you wanted to prove better than.

That's what it is, and that's what it'll be. 

Peter is nothing more than a person you want to prove better than.

there's obv gonna be a part two

[smartkookiee]

MasterList

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

That Night of Graduation // Jeon Jungkook One Shot

❥pairing: Jungkook x reader

❥genre/rating: 18+ explicit content, f2l, right person wrong time??? if you squint, post college story,

❥description: After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of college graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

❥tags: drinking, swearing, smut (hehehehe), you and Jungkook are idiots, happy end

✧˚ · . click here ✧˚ · . (cross posted to ao3)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Jeon Jungkook Series

❥pairing: Jungkook x reader

❥genre/rating: 18 + explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, these two really do hate each other

❥description: You and Jungkook have always been at each other's throats, bound by a mutual disdain that runs deep. You both would rather step into traffic than be alone together. But when a chance encounter at a wedding leads to an unexpected and forbidden arrangement, the lines between enemies and something more begin to blur.

As your fiery clashes give way to stolen moments and fragile truces, both of you are forced to confront the pain and secrets that have kept you apart for so long. When the past and present collide, you and Jungkook must decide whether the scars you both hide are worth revealing—and if your fractured bond can ever be whole again.

❥tags: smut smut SMUT, swearing, drinking, smoking, fighting (not physical), they do end up together, angst, slooooowwwww burrrrrnnnnnnnnnn, trust me on this one it will be worth it, mentions of cheating (not the main pair), minor character death (none of the boys)

Series Masterlist

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader

❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+

❥description: How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! A guide of what you shouldn't do in the first 30 days of a relationship if you don't want him running for the hills! You get to see my experiment with the things I did wrong in the first 30 days of a brand new relationship.

You have just received your first opportunity to write your own column at Composure Magazine. This is everything that you have ever dreamed of and should be simple enough, drive a guy away in 30 days. Across town Jungkook, who hasn't committed to anyone in years, is issued a bet that he can stay with the same person for one month. Both of you being so head strong to achieve your goals cause a myriad of hilariously disastrous dates, unexpected sparks, and a countdown that neither is ready for. 30 days to fall in love or fall apart. After all, all is fair in love and war.

❥warnings: set in the universe of How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days, comedy, sort of a crack fic???, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, eventual smut, some angst, Y/N is a love girl (sigh), Jungkook used to be a playboy (heavier sigh), fluff, Y/N basically torturing Jungkook, Jungkook will never surrender lmao, I watched the movie recently and I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head (like seriously I plotted out the entire fic in like three hours), you don't have to have seen the movie to get this fic.

❥disclaimer: Might be a bit before I start this fic, I want to get Wounds We Never Show a little further along before I decide to juggle two Jungkook fics (sigh). (Also sort of want to get an interest check on this fic hehe)

COMING SOON

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・.・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[powderblueblood]

FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

(+ one, of the many, where he felt the same about you)

part of the hellfire & ice universe eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, you know the drill, minors dni only warnings are for fluff and eddie and lacy being cute and in denial word count: 2k tagging @chiefbonkpruneegg happy birthday pal <3 enjoy this nonsense

TRACK ONE: LET'S STICK WITH TELEVISION FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

You and Eddie balance on either side of Ronnie Ecker's couch like faithful gargoyles, armed with soup and homework. Ronnie's caught the worst end of some green-gooed virus, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to deliver the necessities; tomato soup with extra hot sauce ("To snot out the demons," quoth Eddie) and history homework. But something on the television sucked you both right in, Poltergeist style, as you entered the Ecker trailer. Some hot young thing called Alex Trebek, captaining the maiden voyage of a brand new Jeopardy.

"You know who would kill on this show?" Eddie says, settling himself on the armrest to Ronnie's sniffling left.

"Guh, who?" Ronnie asks, huffing the steaming vapors of the spicy tomato soup like it's paint fumes.

You're pitched on the other armrest, pointing the rolled up history homework toward the screen. "What is the White H--US Treasury, are you fucking stupid?! Have these people never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What is the White House!"

You toss a glance over to Ronnie and Eddie for reassurance, just in time to catch them sharing a look. A good ol' Lacy know-it-all look. "Oh, shut up. as if I have more useless information rattling around in my brain than--"

Both you and Eddie snap at the TV in unison, "Who is Elvis Presley!"

Your turn to share a look. Game on? Game on.

It rolls on like that for a couple of categories, Ronnie sipping her soup straight from the container between you, hiding a smile as you and Eddie gradually bark louder and louder. Who are the Marx Brothers! What is 'break a leg'! Who was Napoleon!

"What, you're paying attention in History all of a sudden?"

"I'm a solid C student thanks to you, baby."

It occurs to you suddenly and begrudgingly and all at once; Eddie's right. You would kill on this show. But more than that, you want to wipe the floor and wring Eddie Munson out like the mop that he is.

"The greeting which opened each episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

"What is," both of you, in perfect Hitchcock tonality and without missing a beat, "Gooooood eeeeevening."

TRACK TWO: LIKE IF BECKY SHARP WAS FRIENDS WITH A BIG GOOFY HOUND DOG

Your first honest-to-god paycheck from the Bookstore was a fat wad of tens and singles plus change and it was handed to you in a brown paper bag. Invest this wisely, said Ivana, so of course, you followed your heart and your hard earned cash directly to the thrift store.

The front bell ding-a-lings and you walk through the door holding your moneybag aloft like the biggest, blue ribbon winning-est gourd at the county fair. You are proud as hell, because you did this! On your own! This isn't your daddy's money, this isn't the result of a once-toyed with idea that you might make a really good cat burglar, this was yours all yours!

"Put that down already! It's like you're wearing a sign saying mug me!" Eddie, bringing up the rear, yanks your arm back down by your side.

You laugh, mirthful and Hepburnian. "More like try me! I'm a working woman now, Eddie! I can hold my own! I can buy boots, guilt free, no strings, no blood money!"

"Uh-huh. consider that glass ceiling of having an after school job well and truly," he picks up a lamp from the scarcely populated homewares section, mimes slow-motion smashing it, "shattered!"

"Plus!" you cheerily pivot on your heel, a spring in your step that cannot be unsprung, even by Eddie's welcome to the real world, jackass flavored attempts. "Who would ever dare try and rob me when I've got a big, tough guard doggy like you three feet behind me at all times?"

Eddie's eyes narrow, like he's not all the way peachy keen on how you've pointed out your inseparability. But. He doesn't deny it either. A broken-stringed tennis racket bops you on the head.

"You owe me gas money."

"Shut up, please. I am shopping."

TRACK THREE: BUSTER MOVES

We'll always have the movies.

You sit, glassy-eyed, in your regular seats at the Hawk as The Cook starring Buster Keaton ticks along on the screen ahead of you. This Keaton retrospective, which you had been looking forward to for weeks, which you had been threatening to drag Eddie to for weeks, is going down a little... bland.

Not even that over-the-shoulder gaze that has Keaton beaming lasers of lust right into Virginia Rappe's skull adds any spice. You don't even bring up the whole scandal with her and Fatty Arbuckle, which would ordinarily be fertile territory to plow through with Eddie as a rapt audience.

In fact, you don't even tell him to kick his feet off the seats.

You've zoned out, because you still have the chill of the penitentiary's visiting quarters under your skin. Your dad and his cruelty that the bulletproof glass couldn't dull. The usual escape to the movies bit isn't doing the trick.

Then, you feel shaggy waves tickling your shoulder.

"I can do that."

"What?"

Directly in front of you, Buster is giving it his best Salome, his dance moves all angles. This display of pure deadpan goofiness was what made you obsess over Keaton in the first place, falling head over heels for a man who kicked it long before you were born.

And to your immediate left, you have Eddie Munson in your ear, telling you, "I can do that."

"No you can't," you say, and it doesn't sound like half the challenge it usually would.

Then, in a jolt that makes the whole row of rickety theater seats shake, Eddie's on his feet and stripping off his jacket. And before you can utter some totally perfunctory what're you... he's hot footing it down the steps to the splash zone, the front row, of the screen.

"You know I've seen this movie a million times?" Eddie says, projecting his voice right out like he's performing a one man show. Munson: Meditations on Dumbassery. You sit upright, glancing around to double-triple check that you're definitely alone in the screen. And you are-- Hawkins doesn't have as much a taste for the non-talkies as you do. And you were pretty sure that Eddie didn't either, and yet...

"Are you serious?" you ask, a laugh starting at the back of your throat.

"Does this look like a call and response? Let the maestro work, please," Eddie chides you over his shoulder, turning his back and hopping in place like a boxer about to take the ring.

And then, all of a sudden, he's... dancing? Sort of? Well, he's certainly moving his body, but it's nothing like what Buster's doing, and it's nothing like anyone's ever possibly done and not been hospitalized for, because the way his limbs are moving is borderline inhuman and you are laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing in a way that feels like Eddie reaching right through the fog of your horrible, dissociative feelings and bringing you back into the light.

You toss popcorn at him and he totally fails to catch it in his mouth, his face lit up in shades of black and white by the projection.

"A million times, huh?"

Eddie, breathless, shrugs, "Alright, I lied. But you laughed."

Point to Munson.

TRACK FOUR: LIBERATING MY MAGAZINES

It was a favor that he'd agreed to before you even offered to buy him breakfast after, a favor that didn't need sweetening up. As his van rolled into Loch Nora, Eddie's brows knit a little bit-- and you wondered how much of him regretted saying yes so hastily.

"On a scale of one to felony..."

Your house hadn't been sold yet. Repossessed, sure, but not sold. It stood there, darkened and quiet and gathering dust and the sheer sight of it being the only house on your street with an overgrown lawn made your chest feel tight. You bet the neighbors had something to say about that. You bet the neighbors had a lot to say about you. Curtains were no doubt twitching when you and Eddie pulled up in front of your old driveway.

"It's fine. It's my stuff, anyway."

About a half hour later, Eddie drops a pile of slightly-weather beaten copies of Rolling Stone bearing your name and old address onto a table in the diner, the remnants of your now-cancelled subscription.

"You gotta wonder what they're putting in that new print format that kept those things from totally composting."

"Thank god they didn't! I need to finish that Tom Wolfe serial or I'll die," you declare as he picks up a menu and you rifle through the pile. "Order whatever. It's on me."

Eddie snorts. You're still carting around that dwindling brown bag of cash. "You don't have to do that."

"No," you say, eyes darting around to anywhere but his face, "but I want to. For helping me to liberate my magazines."

"Lace. I'd happily liberate your magazines without the promise of pancakes," his mouth twists into this little grin you can't help but think of as sweet, "but they do help."

"Order enough to keep us here for a while," you say, and pass him a Rolling Stone.

The next while passes silently between you two, passing issues back and forth until one of you picks out something the two of you can fight about. Eddie twists his rings around when he's reading; you gather this from the looks you keep sneaking.

It feels eerily relaxed. Slightly domestic. And by the end, over-caffeinated with the way you two are soundlessly cackling over an imagined world where the cover of Springsteen's Born in the USA isn't an ass shot, but a full-frontal dick shot. "But where does he put the flag?!"

It's one way to kill a Saturday.

SECRET SONG: SWAPPING NOTES

In the relentless waves of the morning crush to get to his next class, he almost misses you-- just like he'd like to almost miss this next class. But then, there you are with freshly-manicured nails digging into his elbow.

For whatever reason, you've taken it upon yourself to make sure that Eddie Munson doesn't skip! At least, where you can help it.

"Yoohoo! Spanish is this way," you say, reorienting him in the right direction in that insistent little way that you do. Eddie's pretty sure that if he sat on you, you'd snap, yet he lets you completely manipulate his clearly superior physical strength anyway.

"We're not in Spanish together!" he tries, a last ditch to get you to turn around so he can ditch.

"No, but French is juste par là so you are pas de chance, my friend!" you tell him with a stare that says I've been tracking your movements like a hunter, dumbass. See my big spear? From that gargantuan folder you're clutching, you dig out a paper. "I have that thing you wanted me to look at."

"Sssshut up, I don't need everyone to know," Eddie flushes. It's not homework he begged to copy from you for once. It is actually this comparative essay that he actually thinks he might not have completely screwed up. But he kind of wanted a professional not-screwer-upper-of-homework's point of view, so... that's why your little red pen marks are all over it.

"Why, whose reputation am I sparing?" He sees your point. You are basically walking arm in arm with him. You. "But, y'know, I was right about you! The thought is there, the execution just needs a little fine tuning."

"So it was..."

"Not amazing! But not awful. I've done my edits and you can just copy as per-- but absorb them, please, okay? Learn something?"

Eddie's head rolls back on his neck with this petulant groan and he almost clocks a freshman at elbow level, shaking his arms in total frustration. God, now you were giving him homework on top of his homework? He should have just paid you to do the homework!

"I hate when you want me to better myself! Shit!"

"Well!" you say, in that bright, adorable, annoyingly-self satisfied way, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't see potential, so suck on that."

[rosinaparker]

Skz members trying to make you lose at an arcade

genre: fluff, humor

pairing:

Bang Chan/Han Jisung/Jeongin x f!reader

warnings: cursing, little suggestive

summary: your best friend takes you out to an arcade and he continuously teases you and makes you lose

Bang Chan:

Chan always loved taking you out on little hang outs. It never seemed like anything romantic whatsoever, but something about tonight felt different..

we approached the basketball machines ready to compete with each other. He payed for the first round and we immediately started playing. "You ain't winning this one, Y/n" He said proudly, though it definitely wasn't going according to his plan. I repeatedly kept scoring points which made him groan "Dude that's not fair!" I giggled at his remark to which he shot me a glare. Next thing I know I was getting shoved "Hey! Stop cheating!" He laughed in my face. that jerk..

This continued for a bit, until I lost the game eventually. "Oh, looks like I won" He chuckled. "You kept on shoving me you asshole" I punched his arm "Now Now, don't get so feisty miss" his mouth curved into a smirk. "Don't say that" I cough out.

I walk away from the machine, my face slightly turning red, he followed right behind. I suddenly felt his hands grab my waist from behind "Don't run away from me like that" he spoke softly.

The hands that were once placed on my body left, leaving a lingering feeling. "I'm just gonna ignore the fact that you did this" I say dumbfounded, he only chuckled at me.

Han Jisung:

Jisung is an enthusiast about arcades. He loved them and he most certainly loved taking you there.

It was late at night as he suggested we'd go to the arcade, I agreed to it almost immediately.

We played some games, ate food and had a good time. Before we ended the night, he wanted to play that one shooting game that everyone was talking about. "Please y/n! Just this one last game" he whined "Fine, as long as you play fair" I reply, squinting my eyes at him. He gave me a sweet smile...oh he is definitely not gonna play fair.

Immediately we throw a coin into the machine and start shooting at the targets. I was surprisingly good at the game, which irritated him.

"How do you expect me not to cheat when you play this good?" he poked my side. "hey, no poking!" i giggle. he knows I'm a pretty ticklish person, and he uses it against me.

I kept on wiggling in my spot, missing lots of targets "Seems like I'll be winning this one" he grinned. oh I was not letting him win that easy. I pushed his arm, making him lose his balance. He gasped dramatically pulling onto my sleeve "Cheating!" I yell with a chuckle "You did it too! You're no better" he snickered. Though at the end of the game, I still managed to win. "rematch. I cant go down like this" he fell to his knees "you look ridiculous, stand up" I chuckle. "Kiss me and I might consider it" his eyes looked up at me. At that moment something felt a bit different, blush creeping up my cheeks. I shook those feelings away "Stand up before I punch you" "okay okay, no need to get violent baby" he grinned as if he knew what he was doing. "Let's go home" I sigh exhausted.

Jeongin:

It was normal for you and the members to go out and play stupid games. This day was no different.

We went to this nice new arcade that has opened around the block. Most of the boys separated into small groups, some going to the food stall, others to the race cars...me and Jeongin decided to go to the dance machines. "I bet I can score more points then you" he proclaims, I scoff at his words "Oh yeah? Show me then." I dare him.

He never goes easy on challenges. "Watch me"

He started off pretty good which annoyed me. I taunted him "wow, look at that. Ain't that good after all" I chuckle at his facial expression, he looked provoked. he eventually scored a bit over average. "That's nothing" "You try, since you think it's that easy" he huffed.

I jumped onto the machine with confidence.

Not long after I started the game he kept nudging and teasing "that score doesn't look good, y/n" "Ohh, bad move" he grinned with his stupid smile at me, I could punch his cute face..

I totally lost the game..not because I'm bad at it- I think-

"Ha, I won the bet" he poked my forehead "Don't touch me" I say with a pout. "Don't you like it when I touch you?" he asked quietly.

God, my cheeks were burning up, how can such an innocent sentence sound so dirty. "Don't say such stuff" I push him away and go down the hallway, searching for the others ''I didn't say anything bad though" He chuckled.

-Rose✩

[nychta-luxury]

An Imposter or a God's Helper?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You are a normal person, with a pretty average life. Your favorite game is Genshin Impact even though the fanbase is can be..Very concerning to say the least. Ignoring the amount of toxicity, you still loved the game and would play it at every opportunity.

One day, your friend Darling wanted you to look after their account, which kind of surprised you considering Darling was a Genshin fanatic until you learned that Darling needed to focus on their finals. Which is fair. You don't exactly go to collage so might as well help out. what's the worst that can happen?

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Part one (here) Part 2

First story I posted, any advise would be appreciated! Please comment as well :)

Warnings: Not proofread, cult behavior, worship, religious themes.

Darling au

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"What the actual fuck" You say as you get no five star artifact.

"I'm doing a level 90 domain how is it possible that I don't get a single 5 star in three runs?!" You yelled annoyed. Look you understand if it happened in one run but three?!

"Darling, how in the world did you live like this??" You wined

"I JUST WANT A GOOD SANDS" You were hopping that you get some luck in Darling's account with the sands...We don't talk about the luck you get in your own account alright? It could leave a meta player 6ft under.

"Ugh, fine screw luck I can just fight some bosses" You say confidently, after all bosses don't need luck. Sure you can hope to get three of the boss drops but other than that everything else is guarantied!

You hum as you go over to Oceanid with Raiden and start it's battle

.....

"Why are they level 100..?"

--------------------------------

"AHHHH RAIDEN WHY IS YOUR BURST NOT UP YET????"

"WHY THE FUCK DOES ZHONGLI'S SHIELD BREAK IN ONE HIT??? HE HAS 50K HP??"

"TIGHNARI I SWEAR IF YOU DONT AUTO AIM AT THOSE DAMN BIRDS-"

"YAE MIKO WHY ARE YOU NOT CRITING YOU HAVE 70+ CRITE RATE???"

----------------------------

..... You died over five times trying to fight Oceanid and only got one Cleansing Heart..

"This game makes me want to quit." You say before logging off

---

---

In Teyvat the dear acolytes were so happy to see their grace yet again, oh how much they missed Darling! They don't care if they saw Darling yesterday, they are always pleased to be in their presence anytime.

However, some of the more observant acolytes have noticed something is off about Darling.

They don't dare question their grace but something is definitely off. Darling has been interacting with the acolytes a little too much not that they don't mind! However they have been muttering things about how they will miss them.

Darling would never leave them right? Their God would never.

So imagine when they got greeted with you and not their beloved grace.

Many of the acolytes are filled with rage especially the immortals. They have been worshiping the divine one for hundreds of years. And when they have been blessed with Darlings guidance, you a lowly creature dare try to steal the almighty's creations?

No one is happy how dare an imposter try to steal the beautiful world the all mighty has created? Even Teyvat itself is displeased with the new management.

They may not be able to kick you out however, They will make your stay here as miserable as possible.

[bingbongsupremacy]

Every Night

Pairing: Max Mayfield x Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Every night since 7th grade, Max has made it a mission to say goodnight -Face to face. At tonights' visit, you discover that your friendship might have been more than you thought it was.

(Pretend Max has lived in Hawkins her whole life)

*Not Proof Read*

I don't believe I mention anything gender specific. If I did, please let me know and I can fix it.

ABC List Stranger Things Masterlist

*****

Every few minutes I glance over at my window. Blinds open, the moonlight shines through the glass, onto my carpeted floor.

8:30.

She should be here by now. What if she got hurt? I mean, with all the weird stuff going on lately, anything is possible.

Finally, a small rock hits the bottom of my window.

I rush over to open window, looking down at the grinning girl.

" You gonna let me in? " She asks after a moment. " Or are we gonna have to Romeo and Juliet this tonight. "

I roll my eyes, leaning my head out of the window slightly. " You're so dramatic. "

" That's what you love about me. " She whisper shouts.

" I guess. " I chuckle, moving back into my room.

There's a lot more I love about Max, most of which she doesn't know about.

We're just friends, Y/N. Calm down.

I tip toe quietly into the kitchen, opening the door as gently as possible.

Max is waiting patiently on the other side, her backpack messily slung over her shoulder. " About time. " She teases.

" Oh shut up, Max. " I mumble, closing the door behind her.

She quietly laughs and we head up to my room. Once the bedroom door is closed, she drops her bag onto my floor, plopping onto my bed in the process. Max lets out a small sigh. " I missed you today. "

I lay down with my head on my arms, turning to face her. " You did? That's shocking. "

Max rolls her eyes at my sass. " I always miss you. You're my best friend. "

Best friend. Always the best friend, never the partner.

" Your my best friend too. " I smile at the girl.

Max lets out a laugh. " Of course I am, babe. " She flips onto her stomach so she can look be at my level.

Butterflies flutter at the pet name, something she's been calling me for a while now. I don't really remember when it started. Freshman year maybe? That's around the time we started having more and more sleepovers. My parents finally let me stay over at someone else' house.

" What's going on in that pretty head of yours. " Max asks, gently tapping her shoulder against mine.

I snap out of my thoughts. " Oh, just trying to remember when you started calling me 'babe'. I don't really know though. "

Max's eyebrows furrow. " I remember. It was like a week after we started dating, the summer of Freshman year- "

My eyes widen. " What? "

Max looks at me with a confused expression. " What do you mean, 'what'? "

" We're dating? " I ask, my heart beginning to pound. " Since when? "

Max pushes herself up into a sitting position. I quickly follow. " You seriously don't remember? I asked you out and we went to the arcade and then to get ice cream. I walked you home. That was our first date. "

I shake my head. " You never asked me out, you asked if I want to go to the arcade after school...with you. "

That was our first time going to the arcade without the others. Just the two of us. We played games for hours before finally deciding to head over to Hardy's for an ice cream cone. Now that I think about it, I think Max might have paid for my cone.

Max laughs slightly, nodding her head. " Yeah..." She says in a playful 'duh' tone.

" To be fair, " I point out. " You never actually said ' Do you want to go on a date with me? '. I mean, I thought we were just going to hang out. "

Max rolls her eyes. " Well then what did you think when I started calling you babe? Or like holding your hand? "

I shrug. " I don't know...that we were best friends? I mean, you call me your best friend all the time. I sorta assumed you just friend zoned me. "

Max lets out a groan, gently crashing her forehead into my shoulder. " You are my best friend. You're my partner and my best friend. "

" And you've never actually kissed me - "

" I did! " Max snaps back up. " That one time at Mike's party. "

That night was our first high school party. It wasn't very big but there was a few bottles of beer and no parents around.

" We were playing spin the bottle. That doesn't count. You had to kiss Lucas too. " I nervously begin to fidget with the hem of my shirt. How did I not know we were dating?

Max puts her warm hands on my shoulders, causing me to look up at her. " Fine. " She gently grabs my chin before leaning towards me. Her warm lips meet mine, causing my eyes to flutter close after a moment of surprise. Her soft lips gently guide mine. Electric shockwaves run through my body. My heart pounds in excitement.

Ever since our kiss at Mike's party, this is what I've been wanting. I never thought it was actually going to happen.

Max's hand finds its way behind my head. She gently plays with the hair at the nape of my neck before pulling away for air.

I let out a small pant, eyes meeting hers.

" I definitely missed that. " Max grins.

Warmth floods my cheeks. " I'm such an idiot. " I mumble.

Max shakes her head, her red hair fluttering softly back into place. " You're not an idiot. I guess I should've been more clear...How about this, " She lets go of my shoulders.

I look at her in confusion.

She scoots back slightly so we have more room between us. " Let's try it again. " She grins. " Hey Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me on Friday? "

My stomach churns from excitement. " I'd love to, Max. " I grin back.

Max's smile widens. " Really? You just made my day. "

I roll my eyes.

" I'll pick you up at 7. Sound like a plan? "

I nod. " I'll be...here. " I laugh slightly. A thought pops into my head. " Wait, does anyone know?- Or I guess, did anyone know we were dating? "

Max nods. " Yeah...our entire friend group. And my mom. "

I shake my head. " How did I not know? "

Max pulls me down onto the bed with her, our hands resting in a lazy hand hold. " Honestly, I'm not sure. I mean, Dustin's made a couple jokes about us dating. "

" I thought that was just him being...weird. " I mutter.

" Don't worry though. Our first official date, the one we both know about, is on Friday. " Max leans her head gently onto my shoulder.

How did I get so lucky to end up with a girl like Max?

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // the tortured poets department : the anthology rp meme part two. part one here.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

the black dog.

i just don't understand how you don't miss me.

old habits die screaming.

i move through the world with the heartbroken.

my longings stay unspoken.

i may never open up the way i did for you.

do you hate me?

i pledged and i still mean it.

now i wanna sell my clothes and set fire to all my clothes.

i wanna hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons.

i wanna hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, even if i die screaming.

imgonnagetyouback.

i can tell when somebody still wants me.

i'm gonna get you back.

i'm gonna curse you.

you were never not mine.

i can take the upper hand.

i might just love you till the end.

we're becoming something new.

even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you.

we broke all the pieces but still wanna play the game.

told my friends i hate you.

i love you just the same.

pick your poison, babe, i'm poison either way.

the albatross.

wild winds are death to the candle.

a rose by any other name is a scandal.

they tried to warn him about her.

cross your thoughtless heart.

only liquor anoints you.

she is here to destroy you.

one bad seed kills the garden.

i'd visit in your dreams.

they tried to warn you about me.

devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger.

she's the death you chose.

you're in terrible danger.

the devil that you know looks more like an angel.

i'm the life you chose.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus.

you just watched it happen.

i loved you the way that you were.

tear my world apart.

you said some things that i can't unabsorb.

you turned me into an idea of sorts.

you needed me.

you needed me, but you needed drugs more.

i couldn't watch it happen.

i crashed into you like so many wrecks do.

too impaired by my youth to know what to do.

can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses?

it just didn't happen.

will i always wonder?

how did it end?

we hereby conduct this post-mortem.

our maladies were such we could not cure them.

a touch that was my birthright became foreign.

how did it end?

we were blind to unforeseen circumstances.

we learned the right steps to different dances.

the death rattle breathing silenced as the soul was leaving.

my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree.

i can't pretend like i understand.

so high school.

tell me about the first time you saw me.

look at you.

no one's ever had me, not like you.

you knew what you wanted.

i hate it here.

tell me something awful.

tell me all your secrets.

all you'll ever be is my eternal consolation prize.

now i seem to be scared to go outside.

i don't believe in good luck.

i hate it here.

i will go to secret gardens in my mind.

nostalgia is a mind's trick.

only the gentle survived.

i dreamed about it in the dark.

i felt like i might die.

i'm lonely.

i'm bitter, but i swear i'm fine.

this place made me feel worthless.

in my fantasies, i rise above it.

thanK you aIMee.

it was always the same searing pain.

all that time you were throwing punches, i was building something.

i can't forgive the way you made me feel.

but i can't forget the way you made me heal.

it wasn't a fair fight.

i built a legacy that you can't undo.

i built a legacy.

but when i count the scars, there's a moment of truth.

there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you.

in your mind, you never beat my spirit black and blue.

i don't think you've changed much.

i look in people's windows.

i had died the tiniest death.

i'm afflicted by the not knowing.

what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

the prophecy.

i got cursed like eve got bitten.

a greater woman wouldn't beg.

please, i've been on my knees, change the prophecy.

change the prophecy.

who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?

i still dream of him.

even statues crumble if they're made to wait.

i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.

someone tell me it'll be okay.

cassandra.

burn the bitch.

do you believe me now?

i was in my tower, weaving nightmares.

what doesn't kill you makes you aware.

what happens if it becomes who you are?

they knew the whole time.

when the truth comes out, it's quiet.

peter.

forgive me.

is it something i did?

i thought it was just goodbye for now.

you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

promises oceans-deep, but never to keep.

are you still a mind reader?

are you still a natural scene-stealer?

i've heard great things, *name*.

life was always easier on you than it was on me.

underneath the same moon, in different galaxies.

i won't confess that i waited.

i let the lamp burn.

as the men masqueraded, i hoped you'd return.

love's never lost when perspective is earned.

the shelf life of those fantasies has expired.

lost to the 'lost boys' chapter of your life.

forgive me, *name*, please know that i tried.

please know that i tried.

please know that i tried to hold on to the days when you were mine.

the bolter.

we must stop meeting like this.

as she was leaving, it felt like breathing.

she liked the way it tastes.

she just knows she must bolt.

there's escape in escaping.

robin.

you are bloodthirsty.

you have no room in your dreams for regrets.

you'll learn to bounce back.

the manuscript.

now and then she rereads the manuscript.

now and then she rereads the manuscript of the entire torrid affair.

i'm not a donor but i'd give you my heart if you needed it.

but soon, it was over.

everything had been above board.

the years passed like scenes of a show.

write what you know.

looking backwards might be the only way to move forward.

the tears fell in synchronicity with the score.

at last, she knew what the agony had been for.

the only thing that's left is the manuscript.

the only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores.

but the story isn't mine anymore.

[ariseur]

Hello there! Thank you so much for addressing my request...I'm new to Tumblr app so I hope I'm messaging your inbox! So yes! I hope...this isn't too demanding. I anon requested zack x fair reader...and I'm gonna let it all hang out with you:

I simp for zack fair very very hard...and Im HUNGRY for fluff..all the gentle kisses, hair playing ...jawline holding, couch cuddling, sweet compliments, rainy days...holding...waist clutching, skin contact, lips grazing coffe sippinng...deep eye dinner dates, jokes , teasing silly ...I can handle!!! I don't do smut or too overly steamy. I'm too old for that shit

Maybe perhaps...on the opposite spectrum, zack boyfriend scenario, comforting s/o with anxiety...drying of tears, wiping tears away, consoling cuddling...hearing him hum reader to sleep...mentions of heartbeats being felt through chests....feeling of voice vibrations through MUSCULAR chest...comfort bare muscular arms , tender kisses...goosebumps...ok I'm sorry too demanding...if I'm blessed and you create chapters of like simple one date, fun.."friends to lovers" type of thing, casual playstation gaming hangouts, cooking dinner as friends...thinking of each other while away ..to eventually relationship and consoling s/o anxiety....full on love date..that close intimacy (i,crave safe for work) I'd wait FOREVER, however long it would take you to write chapters of joy....you'd be my hero!!!

I stress his scar (in my own ramblings i always place my finger tips on it, i kiss it gently, we discuss who gave it to him, how he feels about it).. Our first date I wear some tight fitting dress his favorite color, but as he gentlemanly removes my peacoat for the evening he notices I'm covered in tattoos, and he's memzmerized (I do have quite the collection of ink irl) he smells of sweet sandalwood and is wearing the black suit in that turks mod for remake... his eyes. I make my own feeble attempts at fanfic but I'm TOO new and insecure to really write anything as I REGULARLY indulge in AI chat and it proves so many USEFUL fever dream instances for me to write but for now...I let the experts handle it.

Should you accept, thank you for bringing JOY into my life....

Please do take your time...I know you amazing ppl are BUSY and mine isn't the only request and might even not be too interesting.

But I thank you so so so much...I've been searching for weeks ..no replies.

EPHEMERAL - ZACK FAIR (CHPT. ONE)

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - omg!! i’m so sorry this has been sitting here for so long!! i’ve been trying to go about this and since i’m not that experienced with creating chapter fics, i decided— what the hell?? why not try it?? so— i hope i did somewhat of a good job and stay tuned for some more!!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - none except one mention of suicide ( but like in a ‘social suicide’ way ), intended lowercase, you spar with zack as kids ( cardboard swords ) lmk if i missed anything 💕!!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count - 2561 words, 13990 characters

STRENGTH. that was what mattered most in this world.

strength was a word you had learned in the first grade, sitting next to a snot-nosed kid babbling to his friends as he completely took up all your attention with his nasally voice in your ear. the teacher seemed to pay no mind, only engulfed in tapping her stubby chalk piece against the board, stained with dashes of residual white from the previous words that had been written earlier today, as she barely looked back at the rest of you.

you remembered it so vividly, the smell of the sanitizing wipes she had used during the twenty minutes recess you always anticipated, eager to escape the boring rants of mrs. ozaki and her slow paced curriculum. you remembered the knock you felt on your chair from behind you, soft as to not alert the teacher — as if she couldn’t hear the noisy kid blabbering next to you known as ono, although you only referred to him as, “booger-face.”

craning your neck and grabbing ahold of the side of your chair in order to turn further, you looked behind you only to see the half-toothless, sanguine kid you knew as zack fair. his dark hair, slicked back with only a few strands sticking out, probably from all the activity he did during your break at recess. you two had met earlier this year as he had defended you from the previous, aforementioned offender— ,”booger-face.” you had remembered the way zack stood over you, hands on his hips as he surged forward at the boy to stop him from pushing you around. his eyes, always so bright and lively, squinted at you with his smile as he helped you up and helped dust off your skirt.

after that moment, zack fair had started hanging around you more and more, inviting you to play around with his friends on the merry-go-round’s or hanging out with you after school, running around and playing with rocks or cardboard swords before your parents’ both called you in for dinner, to which you would hastily say goodnight run to your guys’ houses awaiting dinner.

removing his hands from your chair and placing them neatly on his desk, he beamed at you, “you still up for some training after school?”

you rolled your eyes as your lips twitched upwards into a small smile, “duh,” you said. you turned your body completely in order to to fully face him. “near the water still?”

he chimed in agreement, “duh,” his eyes crinkled with the way his grin widened, identical to the day he had practically saved you. he chuckled a little bit before fixing his posture and sitting upright in his seat, the wooden chair creaking as he readjusted his position. your eyebrows knitted together before you heard a stern shout of your name.

you flinched, whipping around back to face the front as your face burned hot with embarrassment. upon your turning of the body, you were met with the stares of your classmates and the hard glare of your teacher, fixated on only you now. her arm was no longer raised up and scribbling nonsense of vocabulary on the board, instead it hung low and remained against her thigh as she impatiently tapped the piece of chalk against her knee-length skirt. her lips, a light pink as they contrasted with the darkness of her tied hair, were pressed into a thin line before she asserted, “pay more attention, first warning.”

you nodded shamefully as you ducked your head down, grabbing your small wooden pencil and gripping it in your hand, as if you’d use it to jot down notes of whatever she was talking about— although it lay unused and useless for the remainder of class, only a placeholder of a ‘what if’ factor your teacher always liked to use when she began the period.

skeptically, she let her raised brow drop as stopped tapping the chalk against her leg, turning around and beginning to explain the curriculum planned for tomorrow again.

you tried to ignore the feeling of holes being burned at the back of your head, multiple pairs of eyes staring at your fork while you made your attempt at keeping your eyes forward and your mouth shut. you ignored the small, boyish giggles emitted from behind you, you’d ‘kick his butt’ outside of school, you thought. you’d get your payback, but for now — you sighed. keeping your hands interlocked, your faced your palms on another area of the desk, the foreign spot now cold against your warm skin. trying to act somewhat proper and behaved, you waited out the rest of class ( which was only presumably about twenty minutes ) just to find that sublime feeling of escaping the torturous ‘h-e-double hockey sticks’ that you referred to as school.

and you held up to that promise of kicking zack fair’s butt — watching as he stumbled backwards with his hands flailing in the air, a flimsy cardboard cutout of a sword gripped tightly in his hand as he let out a loud, “woahh—!”

you giggled, “what’d i tell you about that stance, zack?” you put a hand on your hip as he yelped in surprise. his foot slipped in the body of water, making an animated sound while he skidded across a rock, luckily able to catch his balance in time. you could hear the small chattering of the people near you, the rivers of gongaga rushing as your laughs continue and rise up into the quiet air.

“that’s not fair—! no water knocks!” he exclaimed.

you shrugged as he approached you once more, “you never said that before we started,” you chided. he charged forward at you, being blocked as you held your sword up in a protective expression. stepping backwards, your arm raised and lowered with every hit that the dark-haired boy threw at you, his confident face flashing between every brown whoosh of the cardboard weapons.

he heaved, “you know how mrs. ozaki kept talking about strongness or whatever?”

“you mean— strength?” another blocked hit, this time you tried to kick him and sweep the leg — unfortunately, you underestimated zack a little more than you had thought as he kept a firm hold in the cold dirt, digging his shoes into the ground.

“same difference, yeah?”

“what about it, fair?”

he pursed his lips as he tensed his body, waiting for you to strike again. you held off for a second, flinching as if you would hit in order to try to keep him off balance. zack decided to speak again in this momentary pause of your sparring. “i’ve been thinking about those SOLDIERs and.. i want to be strong— hey!” he exclaimed as you landed a surprise attack on him, barely grazing his not-so-ironed-anymore jeans before he deflected your hit. “now, that’s really uncalled for, c’mon.”

“finish your thought before i hit you again.” you quirked a brow.

he wore a smug look on his face, putting his hands on his hips while he shook his head at you. “didn’t hit me but ‘kay,” that smugness didn’t last long as you feigned waving your sword at him, only for him to let out a small yelp and jolt backwards. you smiled, quirking an expectant brow while he groaned in exasperation. “i wanna be strong too, y’know. have some— strength,” he said; and that was almost the end of it . . until he had managed to mutter a quick hiss of, “unlike you.”

you watched as his arm raised, the sleeve of his uniform’s button-up lifting up a little to reveal his tan line that he had obtained after being outside with you for so long. his hand gripped the thin handle while he went overhead to try and strike you from above. making haste, you took one more step back as your hands flew up to catch his attack with your own sword. in your imagination, with the collision of your toy weapons, you envisioned a loud, ‘clank!’ as they clashed with each other — it felt much more awesome-r to imagine sounds of iron versus the soft flap of refraining yourself from putting too much pressure on the thin material of the cardboard.

you grinned at him, watching as his determined face managed a crack of a smirk while he tried scaring you and randomizing the amounts of pressure he’d put in an attempt to try and catch you in a daze. however, the swiftness in which you jolted to the side and flipped your sword flat so that the tip faced outwards, thrusting the faux weapon and jabbing it into his chest caught him off guard, rendering him the loser of that evening’s battle.

you watched as zack carefully looked down at his stomach, then finally bringing himself to peer back up at you. he placed a hand on his chest while he acted like he really was injured, even going so far as have spit dribble out of his mouth and act like it was blood.

“gross—!” you exclaimed, pushing him as he fell on his back in the dirt and raised a dramatic hand to the sky. you laughed while he let out his ‘last dying breath’ before ceremoniously lolling his head to the side.

with some more giggles, you judged him with your foot as he magically arose from the ‘dead’ and beamed at you, reveling in your laughter. although, in that moment he wouldn’t tell you. he didn’t want to admit his growing crush on you, he didn’t want cooties. that was practically suicide. you extended a gentle hand out to him, throwing your sword to the side as he took your offer and hoisted himself up. zack brushed the dirt off of his pants while you cleaned his back up, still laughing about the whole encounter.

you claimed victory for a long while, even when you both had sat by the water and skipped rocks onto the cerulean river, now being painted a harsh lilac as the sun began to set and the heat of the sky began to cool, a soft breeze coming to rest upon your bodies rather than the draining, blistering sun.

you let a small beat of silence pass over the both of you, spinning the cold stone in your hand before chucking it into the water. your chest began to tighten, for a reason you don’t know why but you could feel it— crawling up your throat as it engulfed your esophagus. it creeped up the inside of you. almost as if you were gonna throw up, the pit in your stomach began to settle. you felt it, twitching on your tongue as it settled, trying to escape its enclosure from past your lips. you held it in for so long, fighting this battle you were so determined to win as you tried to focus on anything; the birds chirping around you, the rushing of the water, zack’s stone skipping across it. you tried to hold it in until—

“do you really think you’ll become a SOLDIER one day?”

the rock he had grabbed remained lifeless in his hands, his fingers tightening around it while he contemplated his options. he turned to you— dirt on his face and his smile, gapped with all the recent teeth he had been losing. he never faltered with that smile, you thought to yourself; and you never forgot what he had said to you after you asked that, “i’ll make sure of it.”

you smiled back at him, before it dropped once you had heard the calls of your name coming from the huts above the creek, where both of your homes had been located. with not another second, zack had already gotten up and running. he swiveled back to face you, waving a goodbye with his lanky arm before he shouted, “i’ll see you tomorrow!” but, of course, he wouldn’t be zack if he didn’t get hurt every now and then, you thought, as you watched him trip over a small rock. but— you realized, he also wouldn’t be zack if he didn’t get up afterwards. still, he turned his head to make sure you didn’t see only to discover you had ( much to his embarrassment ), before getting up and running back home again.

you laughed under your breath, “dork.”

and now, you’re still you. sitting in a bakery in nibelheim, you had almost never changed. well— besides the fact that you grew a couple of feet and wore a wider range of clothes than your school uniform and an old, colorful your grandmother had gifted you when you were five. you wore your hair differently and went out of your way to try and make a difference in the world; specifically by starting and doing some jobs around town and seeing if anybody needed help with those.. things — that would appear around town. the day zack left for midgar had stained your brain permanently, his hug leaving a mark on your body as you knew you might not see him again— even if you chastised ( or more so threatened ) him that he stay in contact with you no matter what.

although it was a few years ago already, you never forget about it, your mind always traveled back to that day at the river. grabbing another hold of your pastry, you admired the vibrant frosting as it created the symbol of a chocobo, not even able to take a bite in fear of ruining the perfect design. you watched the simple villagers of nibelheim float around their daily life while you stayed under the canopy in front of the shop, seated at a little table with the shade covering you from the heat of the sun. you remained bored as you tapped your foot and listened to the bustle of the small town before you heard pairs of assertive footsteps and the, ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s of the people.

tilting your head upwards, you only assumed maybe a few flat footed people or some kids running around was the answer but no— you’re met with the sight of a long, silver haired man with wide, white should plates while a shinra infantryman accompanied him along with another SOLDIER, only this time in black armor. you had watched the town guide, and even with your fuzzy memory you think you had recalled her name was tifa.

you squinted at them, watching as the SOLDIERs looked around at the small village. you gasped as the SOLDIER with the darker uniform turned his head, those eyes were all too familiar, and that familiar cowlick that peeked out from his thick, black hair was all too distinct. putting down the pastry, your eyes narrowed even further almost as if you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. you watched as he turned his head, his full face on display as he beamed at the environment— his smile still the same besides the fact that all of his adult teeth had grown in and his jaw became more defined.

you sat upright, your lips quirking upwards as you felt that childish wonder grow as it had all those years ago like when you had first met him, brave and confident as ever when he had defended you.

“zack?”

[ditttiii]

KINTSUGI. | 0T7 (M) || 04 |

◈ Hybrid AU || Ot7 x Reader

◈ Summary:  Life is neither fair nor what you had dreamed that it would be, but the hand that fate had dealt them was worse than yours.

When you get a chance to adopt seven hybrids, all a little rough around the edges, do you take it? Will this last-ditch attempt at doing something right end with you buried six feet under the ground or will it finally give you the family that you have always secretly hoped for?

◈ Genre: eventual romance || hurt/comfort || angst (with a happy ending) || eventual smut.

◈ Chapter Four

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: none. (sfw)

◈ Masterlist

Moodboard By: @today-we-will-survive​ ❤   

 you know i didn't want to

have to haunt you,

but what a ghostly scene. 

You feel like a live wire, buzzing and zapping sporadically in all the wrong places. This is a mess; you are a mess. Your feelings are tangled and knotted tight like a pair of old wired headphones, and the more you try to pull them apart, the tighter the tangle grows.

 Sinking deeper into your hoodie, you exhale in an attempt to keep warm, shuffling across the sweeping, empty parking lot to get to your SUV as quickly as you can.

 The wind outside is cold and no less harsh than when you had stepped foot outside hours ago, but somehow for the first time since you got here, you feel warm. The cold outside feels less hostile, less biting, and your inhales no longer make you feel like the air is trying to suffocate you the more you breathe it in.

 It had taken hours for the whole thing to be done. More hours than you were comfortable with inside that place to finally get the seven hybrids registered under your custody, and with a pained sigh, you sink into your seat. Hands-on the steering, you still. Just for a minute.

  I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

 A minute. Just for a minute, you allow yourself to feel weak. Let your walls down alone and feel your heart squeeze inside your chest till it hurts to breathe, till the burn spreads from your thorax to your throat. Hold your breath till your ears pop and you feel enough pain to find just enough self-pity to stop scourging yourself like this.

  I miss you.

 The constant sense of vacuity and inadequateness you feel is now accompanied by the feeling of being undeserving and wholly unprepared for what is to come but shuddering a breath in, you let them settle.

 The minute’s up.

 Turning the gear into reverse, you back out of the parking lot.

 In the time that it had taken you to finish all the formalities, the sun had set. Darkness shrouds the entire place, creating shadows that alter their shape if looked at for a second too long and play games with you. The already eerie place becomes even scarier, and you hasten to pick up the seven awaiting hybrids.

 Coming to a stop in front of the building, you unlock all the doors and unroll the passenger side window.

 “Hey, guys. So there’s enough space in the back for three people, but it would be better if the…um, smaller of you seven take the last seat?” Right off the bat, you hope your poor choice of words doesn’t offend anyone.

 “Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok; in the back.”

 Unlike how it freezes you in place, Naamjoon’s commanding voice stirs his pack into action and wordlessly, the three climb into place; Namjoon takes the passenger seat for himself. The remaining three take the middle-row seats, and with a mute nod, you put the car back into drive.

 “I live some 40 minutes away, so get comfortable. Also, I know it’s a bit of a drive, but we can make a pitstop along the way if someone needs something?”

 “Anyone?” Namjoon reiterates.

 Variations of I’m good, and I’m fine fill the silence in the car before the quiet reigns again, and you try not to think too hard about how they are really answering Namjoon and not you.

 Did you even expect them to?—No—you know it too, but a very tiny part of you, buried deep enough where you refuse to acknowledge its existence, wishes that you all were at least talking to each other.

 Taking the hint that they might not respond to you unless prompted by their leader, you keep quiet and drive back home in silence.

Blinking dry eyes wet, you press your finger into the biometric scanner of the main gate. A second passes as it registers who you are before the heavy main gate slides open electronically, and you drive in. Tall trees line both sides of your driveway. From the corner of your eye, you watch as the men in the back shift in their seats, leaning forward and showing maybe the first signs of genuine interest in something since you first laid your eyes on them. Soft yellow-lit lamps line the right side of the road, grass sprouting around and encompassing the path in stretches of green, interrupted only by the various stone statues you have gathered over the years. Some passed on, some bought by you.

 It’s a consolation because even if nothing works out and you can never fully gain their trust or friendship, you can provide for them well. Do your best to give everything that they ever desire and protect them.

 A soft gasp escapes Jungkook, bunny ears stirring under his pullover hoodie and the reflection of the passing lamps, the yellow and gold glittered clear amidst his large eyes visible even from where you are sitting. The sight of him unguarded for a moment warms your heart for a reason you can’t yet put your finger on.

 Finally, after a lengthy, awkwardly silent ride, the car rests as you pull up in front of the main house gate.

 “I’ll have to park the car in the garage, but you guys can get off here. I’ll come back around in a minute.”

 “I’ll stay.”

 You blink at Namjoon’s response, unsure of what that means for the rest of the hybrids. You weren’t very comfortable leaving them all alone in a foreign space either, but the property was secured, and there was no point in making them all walk back unnecessarily.

 “Okay,” concludes Yoongi, getting out of the car. No one protests after, wordlessly following him and getting out one by one. You put the car into drive again with all of them off but one.

 Waiting for the garage door to open, you sneak a peek at Namjoon. The wolf hybrid sits perfectly straight, his shoulders wide and broader than the seat rest behind him. Does he not trust you to come back? But that’s a ridiculous notion. Even if he didn’t trust you, which you are sure is the case one way or another, he’s smart enough to know you can’t exactly escape from them in your own house. Putting the car into park, you wonder. Is he being…protective?

In the distance, you see the six of them. Yoongi’s long silver hair made it obvious who was leaning a little space away from the rest of the pack against one of the lamp poles. Hoseok and Jimin are standing close to Jungkook’s hunched figure while Taehyung sits on one of the bottom stairs.

 “Do you have any advice for me?”

 There. You’ve said it. Regardless of Namjoon’s response, it’s worth a shot.

 He remains quiet, not a break in his pace, and you turn to look at him fully. Long, black strands rest against a narrow, sharp face and a vain part of you wonders if hybrids are all genetically tailored to look unreal amounts of pretty or if it’s just your pack.

 “Whatever you think is the best mistress.”

 That word again. You shift to hide your grimace. The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you  need  to figure out a way to get them to stop saying it.

 “My name’s fine, really. You don’t have to–”

 “Mistress, please.”

 You pause. There’s–

 “Don’t ask us to do that.”

 Namjoon sounds…pained doesn’t feel right to you, but it’s something similar. You don’t know him well enough yet to be sure, but you can’t help but think he sounds resigned. It’s the kind of bone-deep weary resignation that makes you swallow back all of the arguments that you have.

 “Alright,” you concede. You won’t broach the subject with the rest of the pack until you have Namjoon on your side, and if he isn’t ready yet, then you are willing to wait. Slow and steady.

 “Jungkook likes you.”

 Your eyes widen. “Sorry?”

 Piercing hazel eyes turn to you, and you can’t even blink. Something about Namjoon’s presence is vital, he demands respect with every breath, and you unconsciously straighten up, giving him your full attention.

 “He’s the youngest, but he trusts you already. He isn’t the easiest and he has his troubles, but—”

 For the first time, you see a crack in Namjoon’s shell. It’s barely there, a very thin hair crack and you only see it because you are looking, but his eyes soften. Just the barest millimetre, and if you blink, you’ll likely not see it again. The edges curled in on themselves, warmth seeping into that otherwise impaling gaze.

 “He isn’t cold. He still believes in goodness and wants a purpose,” Namjoon searches your gaze again like he had a few hours prior, looking for something you are unsure you possess.

“Mistress, if it isn’t too much trouble, please keep him around you. Let him help you. He’s honest and receptive to your wishes and it’ll be the quickest way for him to acclimatise to the change.”

 You see Jungkook hunched in on himself, scared maybe but still curious as his head turns to look at you, and one of his ears pokes out from under the hoodie, crooked and curious as he sees you two approach.

 “I will.”

Fishing out the house key from your front pocket, you jam it in the lock, twisting it with a little more force than you would if the weather out was a little warmer. You make a mental note to get the lock lubricated.

 The door opens to darkness, and you step in, quickly reaching a few steps ahead to switch on the lights. The inside is blessedly warmer and you shuffle your new housemates in, locking the door shut behind you.

 “This is it. Welcome!” The forced cheer in your voice is slightly awkward, tinged with nervousness and anxiety. You will now have seven housemates who also call you mistress and treat you as one.

  This is going to take some time to get used to.

 “Do you guys want a tour of sorts first, or I can show you your rooms, and you can freshen up?”

 A gurgling stomach is the first one to respond.

 “Right, I’ll get started with the dinner while you guys get cleaned up.”

 “Dinner would be lovely, mistress.” It’s Hobi this time, and your lips curl into a bright, encouraging smile.

 “Perfect. However, I am gonna need some help with cooking. I don’t have much experience cooking for more than two people, so do any of you know your way around the kitchen?”

 “Mistress..” Seokjin steps up, his tall frame appearing from behind the huddle, “I know a few dishes and am decent with recipes for most others that I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you beckon him over to the kitchen while asking the rest of them to wait for you to come back.

 Quickly showing him what’s in the refrigerator, you pull out some vegetables and meat, explaining how you’d like him to cut them before you rush out to the remaining hybrids.

 “Alright, follow me.”

 Climbing the wooden staircase, you lead them to the first floor, where most rooms are. Explaining the basic layout of your house en route and letting them know to explore and figure out the rest. Pointing to the door of your room, you simply tell them it’s yours. Wondering for a second if maybe you should ask them to not go in without asking you but ultimately push back your inhibitions, deciding not to.

 “There are three rooms on this floor besides mine, all large enough for two, but it could be a tight squeeze for three. There are another two rooms on the ground floor if someone would like those.”

 Ultimately, you decide to let them figure out the details of their living quarters on their own and quietly make your escape once you have established they know the directions to the ground floor rooms.

 Coming into the kitchen, you see Seokjin’s tall figure hunched over your granite counter, long thin fingers gripping the knife confidently as he slices in practiced, uniform motions.

 “Need any help?”

  Huh—the bear hybrid jumps, looking at you with a startled gaze and you rush to apologise. Maybe not all of them are equally as aware of their surroundings.

 With another apology, you smile, coming to stand beside him.

 “I have got it, mistress.”

 Nodding, you leave him to finish the preparation as you work on making the broth.

 “Do you want a bathroom break or something? I know I dragged you here first thing as soon as we came in. I can hold down the fort alone for a while if you’d like to get refreshed,” you offer, guilt weighing your stomach down at having to ask for help so soon.

 Seokjin smiles, and it’s a small, soft thing. All full pink lips and gentle warmth and try as you might, you can’t force your gaze away from it. With a shake of his head, he reassures you and nodding you accept his response wordlessly. Still a little awe-struck by the smile.

 It’s quiet as you work alongside each other, but the silence isn’t awkward or oppressive. Unlike Namjoon or Yoongi, despite his broad shoulders and tall height, Seokjin isn’t as intimidating. You have no doubt that if a situation arose that demanded it, the predator, that half of him is, would make an appearance. Sharp, long nails stretched out from the ends of his nailbed, a subtle reminder of his part identity. However, at the same time, in the warm yellow lighting of your kitchen, surrounded by a pile of finely chopped vegetables and meat and wearing your soft pink apron, he feels no part predator and all parts the man himself.

 You exit the kitchen in a rush, handing him the apron hanging off a kitchen chair. It’s apparent you are stressed, worried about making them comfortable and maybe not knowing how to.

 Jin isn’t the leader of the pack, but he is the oldest, and with it comes experience that even Namjoon lacks. He has known what it is like to be a hybrid the longest between them, had the most time to come to terms with it before the uprising, and in some ways, he feels for Jungkook.

Maybe that’s why the others aren’t entirely wrong in their assumption when they accuse him of playing favourites with Jungkook. Because while the youngest isn’t his favourite—he could never choose one of them, they are all his just as much as he is theirs—Jin is the most protective of him. It’s the kind of parental love that a hybrid never really has the privilege to feel, but a stroke of fate and his bleeding heart for those his kind had led Jungkook to experience it. In their own way, they all feel the most for their maknae, wishing to protect the most vulnerable of their group, not wanting him to be as jaded as they are, and he hopes it’s the same for you too.

 He boasts of a past no better than any of his pack, but unlike Namjoon, who functions with cautiosness that stems from the self-alloted weight of his whole pack and then some, or Yoongi, who shields himself under a layer of hostility so thick very rarely has Jin himself seen the Yoongi that breathes underneath all that facade; Jin still trusts humans. He still remembers when things weren’t as bad and knows that not all of humanity is alike. There are vicious hybrids, just as there are kind humans, and denying the existence of either by the other is foolish.

 He hears your voice as you pass him by the kitchen, the rest of his pack tailing behind you quietly while you chat; whether to fill the silence or to help them fill at ease, he doesn’t know.

Jin doesn’t feel comfortable with the unknown and is unaware of plenty.

 Like—you; who you are besides what he has already seen and deduced, the real you. The you who chose to have them. He needs to know your reasons for adopting seven hybrids at the worst time you could have chosen. Jin is no fool; he realises how rare anyone wanting a single hybrid is nowadays, let alone seven. Had he been a human, your actions would have screamed a death wish to him. And yet you still did, choosing to do the unpopular and maybe even unwise.

 He can hear the slam of a door closing as several pairs of feet walk above him, the distinct thump of feet against wood, and he hopes, despite all the unknown and unwise, that he is right for putting his faith in you.

Dinner is an odd affair. You aren’t used to having another person under the same roof as you, let alone half a dozen others. Once Jin and you are done cooking, you ask Jungkook—hanging by the kitchen entrance—to call the others, soon passing on a stack of plates to Hoseok and giving him free rein to set the table. When you come out of the kitchen, at last, it’s to the assumption that everyone else must have already picked a seat and settled down, but the sight that greets you is different. Disturbingly so.

 The seven hybrids stand divided behind the two sides of the table, leaving both ends clear, with their heads bowed and hands folded. It shouldn’t surprise you after today, after everything you have seen and felt, after the almost breakdown you’ve had, realising the extent of their servitude and yet it does. Something about being under the same roof had fooled you into thinking they’d treat you just like they do each other. Something about the domesticity of sharing your kitchen space, cooking with someone and having someone waiting on you at the end had deluded you into a sense of normalcy.

The scene that you walk into quickly shatters that illusion.

 “Sit down please, it’s late and we should all be heading to bed soon anyway,” you force yourself to be casual as you take one head of the table, unsure if the nonchalance is for their benefit or if you are just too cowardly to ask why they don’t feel comfortable sitting until you do.

 Time. You’ll take it one step at a time, and this is a battle you choose to not wage today. 

 The sobs are quiet, muffled, and maybe some other day, you wouldn’t have heard them, but tonight you are careful and the unmistakable sound of crying brings you to a sudden halt. You debate going in, fearing the unknown and fumbling out of your depth as you stand there with sweaty fingers clenched white around the cool metal handle. You pray for resilience—strength you don’t have left after the long day, curse yourself for hesitating and force yourself to turn the handle.

 Curled into himself, hands wrapped around his knees and eyes leaking tears hidden in the space between. You don’t need to remove the cloth over his head to know it’s Jungkook dwarfed in a frayed oversized hoodie. The shudders that were poorly muffled before are quiet now, his breaths seized as he no doubt registers your presence. A voice inside you supplies how he must have heard you even before you had stepped into the hallway with his abilities.

But if so, why hadn’t he quieted down then? Did he not think you would care enough to check?

 Whatever remnants of hesitation were left regarding reaching out faded at the sight of him trying to curl his broad shoulders tighter into each other.

 “Jungkook?” you call, moving closer.

 He doesn’t answer, head lowering further into the gaps of his knees and the hood over his head slides away a little at the moment. One lonesome ear peaking out, down and tucked close, and you ache to gather him in a hug.

 “Hey Koo…,” voice soft as a feather, you get down on your knees, inching closer until there’s less than a metre of space between you two. This close, you hear the barely audible sniffles as he breathes through a wet and, judging by the downturned head—leaking nose.

 Jungkook shivers under your touch as you place a hand over his clothed knee and a semblance of hope bubbles in your heart realising that at least he hadn’t flinched. You think he’s frightened of the unknown too, but maybe he isn’t terrified of you.

 “I won’t force you to talk if you don’t want to, and I don’t want you to explain something you don’t feel comfortable with. I just want to know if you are okay.”

 The lone long ear twitches, rising slowly.

 “Can we start there?”

 Your words are still soft, quiet, so no one outside hears anything, and Jungkook finally stirs. A pair of deep chocolate brown eyes rise to meet yours and you don’t know if it’s the tears or the stark bathroom lighting reflecting back, but for an instant, you swear nothing has shimmered quite as bright.

 “Yeah. okay.” he says, and it’s just as quiet and for a brief moment, you sit there in companionable silence, content to be still except for the small of your hand rubbing comforting circles on his knee.

 Keeping hold of his gaze, you smile a small but encouraging smile. “Are you?”

 “I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you accept the unexpectedly raw confession. “That’s okay. To be honest, I don’t know if I am either but as long as you hold on. I think that’s ultimately what matters the most. Not giving up.”

 Pools of deep molten brown widen, an emotion you can’t identify swimming in them before he averts his gaze, biting his lips nervously.

 “I am sorry, mistress.”

 With a shake of your head, you dismiss his apology. “There is nothing to apologise for. It’s okay to not be okay and to cry,” your fingers tighten around his knee, “Just know you are not alone. There are people who care; you know they care, and I care too. So let us be there for you, okay?”

 His gaze still glistens but he gathers enough to where the shudders stop and you make yourself comfortable on the floor. At this point, there isn’t much you feel like you can do to make him change his mind over whatever it is that’s tormenting him, but at the same time, you know what suffering is like too. You’ve been there, down on your knees at your worst, crying and begging things to change to go back in time. Long for something you never had, for a release and a better next day.

 So, you don’t know what he has been through and don’t see how you can make it better at the moment (if anyone can), but you do know loneliness. The poignant void that your mind can weave that makes you feel alone in a crowded room—thoughts that weigh your core—the only thing keeping you company, and it’s horrible. You hate being lonely but enjoy being alone and it’s that feeling of powerlessness. Being unable to understand where the feelings come from and only knowing how heavy they weigh you down settled around your shoulders, claws digging into your skin, leaving bruises unseen.

 If being here is the only thing you can ever do for him–any of them–you’ll do it. Day after day till your last.

 Moments and minutes blur into each other as you sit pressed with your knee against his, the reassuring warmth of company tugging you two back to the present and in place. Eventually, he nods. Long thin fingers peek out from a large hoodie to wipe away any residual tears.

 “Yes, mistress.”

 Smiling, you lean closer to Jungkook, the barest bit, cautious of his boundaries, and your heart physically warms when he moves to do the same. It’s not an embrace, with your head barely grazing his shoulder, most of its weight still being held up by your neck and one of his ears flopping down to rest against your ear, more a ghost touch than any real contact, but it feels better than any hug you have received in years. You stay there, enveloped in each other’s warmth and hesitant touches, until the tiles under you grow warm and your eyes start to feel heavy. The surprise of being comfortable in another’s presence omitted in your exhausted state of mind. Eventually, Jungkook moves. Or you slip. You aren’t sure which came first but when you finally start coming to, it’s to the feeling of Jungkook’s hands around your forearms, straightening you up as he supports your unsteady, half-asleep body.

 “Oh god I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” a blush cloaks your cheeks and you wish you were wearing an oversized hoodie too, if only so you could hide behind the comforting cloak of said fabric. 

Jungkook shakes his head, both ears now on display as he smiles. It’s small and timid and he can barely meet your gaze for more than a second but it’s more than what you had expected to gain by the end of the day and certainly far more than anything you could have even hoped for. 

 Fragile and new it may be, but you two now have a bond. 

 It’s not onesided. You know you are not just fooling yourself when the same fingers lightly grab the back of your tee as you move through the hallway, intending to leave Jungkook at his bedroom door, preferably with one of his hyungs.

 Slightly embarrassed, you realise you don’t exactly know which room he is in or with whom. “Which room did you pick, Jungkook?”

 Shuffling a little closer to you, his fingers pinch your tee tighter and you slow your pace, leaning back to catch his gaze. “I mean, I know this sounds stupid, considering it’s my house but mind directing me to your room?”

 His eyes visibly soften, and he nods, leading without another word. Jungkook lets go of the back of your tee only to grab your full sleeve from the side a second later.

 You furiously squash the voice inside your head urging you to pinch his cheeks.

 “I was planning on doing a grocery run tomorrow morning, so if there’s anything you want, just let me know.”

 “Can I come?”

 Surprised, you look at him. “Ofcourse you can, but you really don’t have to. I will probably leave early, and well, it’s just a grocery run. I will take you guys out to get some stuff later in the day. Today’s been long; if you want to sleep in, you should.”

 He shuffles shyly, one hand in his pocket and one grabbing your sleeve. “I want to.”

 Something in your chest constricts, too tight and too full as the rest of you feels slightly weightless. This boy is going to be the death of you.  

 Namjoon opens the door to the room Jungkook leads you, and the youngest wishes you night with a bow and a soft thank you before shuffling in. The straight, quivering ears give away the excitement and joy the rest of him so desperately tries to hide in favour of being poised. 

 It makes and breaks your heart. You are happy—beyond thankful—that he has started to consider you as more than just his owner, maybe not yet a friend, but at least someone he trusts. However, the way his responses, ingrained and trained, all have an underlying hint of servitude; it makes you want to protect him from yourself, lest you do something to encourage that sense of captivity that comes so naturally to him. 

 “Goodnight, mistress.” 

 Namjoon’s voice is all gravel and stone as he drops you off at your bedroom door despite all your protests. 

 There’s a thankyou somewhere lodged in your chest, pushing against the confines of your ribs and wanting to escape through the hollows in between, words that tickle the back of your throat, begging to come out and tell him how you think Jungkook trusts you now. Ask him shamefully if he thinks you are doing good, if he trusts you to take care of him and his family. 

 But the words never come, and with the greeting returned, you step inside your room, shutting the door on the longest day of your life. 

  a/n: i am alive. i am back and my apology comes in the form of this nearly 5k word chapter. this has been a long time coming and i have no excuse. i am scum. life just got away from me and it took all of me and then some to get it back on track. if you wanna talk to me, shoot me an ask. i am always beyond happy when i get the chance to talk to any of you so yes! i m here and i hope you are here too. 

Lemme know what you thought of the chapter in the comments please! it's as always the support and comments that bring me back to some of my stories with the drive to give them the ending that they and you all deserve. We have got a long road ahead of us but i promise to make it worth it 💕 Thankyou so much for reading my story! i love you ❣️ i hope you have an amazing day/night ahead 🫶

[mr-payjay]

feel free to complain to me about the ii finale <3 i'm all ears

thank you ellie :)

fair warning for ii neg, especially on the latest episode.

prefacing this with saying: I LOVE INANIMATE INSANITY!!!!!! inanimate insanity is my favourite show in the world and every episode leaves me full of joy and excitement. i adore criticizing it not out of hatred but out of genuine love. i enjoy every single episode i watch.

however, i find that iii19 has been the worst episode so far. it has gotten me the least hyped out of any episode in the series, which is saying a lot because i bounce off the walls at every episode no matter how much i end up criticizing it later. there are. so many problems i have with it. im gonna try and organize them the best i can, though i'll probably(?) edit this post later to insert anything i missed or forgot to say.

starting off positively: oj!!!! personally i am so glad he didn't talk in this episode. i was terrified of the idea of him having a new va. the spin was adorable, i loved his signature thumbs ups, and every time i saw him i squealed with delight. him voting for balloon also made me really happy! despite the grudge he's had against him for so long, he still sticks with him on this part. even after laughing at his death the episode before that

in general all the seasonwunners voted for balloon!! which makes me happy!!! paintbrush, nickel, balloon, and oj have all been there for the very beginning of season 1, three of them being there for every season. i love the inherent connection the contestants from season 1 have with each other. they've been together since inanimate insanity began and they're there for the end of season 3 too. very sweet.

onto more negative stuff! I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT THEY DID WITH SILVER SPOON AND CANDLEEE they set up something crazy in the last episode and then did NOTHING with it!!! they had silver spoon beat candle unconscious the second she said something that wasn't coddling him like the manchild he is and she STILL voted for him. where even was she for half of the episode?? they just left her lifeless corpse on the ground in iii18 and then she eventually got up in this episode and just. went back to the competition??? dogshit writing

okay now i wanna talk about cabby. I Don't Like Cabby Anymore. so from the very beginning i have loved cabby. she was extremely similar to me in fact! i have really bad memory issues and i tend to keep files on people and on things that i might forget about, as well as just to organize my thoughts and ideas. i loved her confidence, obsession with knowledge, and analytical personality at the start. i was pretty upset when the characters (mostly test tube lmao) started relentlessly bullying her, and i HATE the whole thing in spring on the breakfast where they try to demonize her files. it was kind of annoying when they tried to remedy it really quickly after that because it was clearly because of the backlash, but i was glad they at least tried to fix it. however, over the course of the series, she just felt like she was... becoming sadder? pitiful, honestly? she went from an awesome smart character who loved taking notes on people's behaviour and using that information to get better at the game into some kind of Sad Little Bullied Victim. she doesn't even feel like a character anymore to me, just a mouthpiece for the creators to write dramatic "cathartic" speeches through to prove they're Definitely Not Ableist. also what was the deal with her parents lmao they never brought that up again

aaaand this episode was generally written really badly. super fucking corny for one. they literally had a little dance party at the end like people make jokes about for stereotypical Kids' Shows. but my issue is more with like... the weird super fast character development? and the way they wrapped everything up as quickly as possible? something that bothered me was the tonal whiplash between zuwie voicing springy super hysterically and dramatically and then springy being fully redeemed within like the next 5 minutes and dying for mephone. Why did they even die for mephone. like as a character why would he of all people die for mephone. thats so fucking stupid. the rest of the voice acting felt completely different from springy's as well so it just made the effect worse. everyone's lines were really corny and felt so manufactured, like they would pull characters to mephone's side (losing my mind over all the contestants rooting for mephone like cmon man that guy sucks i just know oj at least would want him dead) with a short Cathartic Speech and everything would be fixed and lovely and peachy keen. its just painful to watch. everything feels really weirdly disjointed and badly put together, the flow is awful, the "danger" doesn't feel like there's any suspense to it at all, and every character gets fully redeemed for no good reason. even walkie talkie chats casually with mephone at the end as if they're good friends after they were HYSTERICALLY INSISTING ON MURDERING HIM? AND MAKING HIM WATCH HIS OWN DEATH?? idk if this will get explained in s2 but we still don't know who walkie talkie is, what their motive is, WHY they got redeemed, etc. we know nothing about them. and even if it will be explained later, i think it's shitty writing that NOTHING was explained in this season.

some extra stuff

- SO FUCKING GLAD THEY DIDN'T BRING HOTEL OJ INTO THIS I WOULD'VE CRIED IF THEY PUT SEASON 3 CHARACTERS INTO HOTEL OJ OR MADE IT ALL SLEEK AND S3 STYLE

- the "you can do this" thing at the end was fucking stupid man that was so corny (btw corny isn't always bad but jesus christ... this episode was just awful with it)

- could not feel any emotion towards the Emotional Parts but laughter and secondhand embarrassment

- HOW DID THEY GET THE FUNDING FOR A LIBRARY? I THOUGHT THE PROBLEM WAS THAT MEPHONE DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING FOR A PRIZE HOW DID HE PAY FOR AN ENTIRE LIBRARY

- speaking of, why isn't oj back at the hotel. doesn't he have to manage it. wasn't paper having a ton of trouble managing it. why are all of them still on that fuckass island. did the library take like 5 minutes to build what the fuck

- ALSO!!! Why did they build a library in the middle of a deserted island

- i liked the short nickloon scene because im a nicklooner

- glad yinyang and candle got to talk

- test tube saying nearly nothing at all the entire episode except for sitting on the ground in a really stupid pose and apologizing to cabby made me laugh

- weirded out by tt and fan not talking to each other at all? not as a ship thing but like they're best friends aren't they

- really fucking annoyed by the fantube family picture at the end i hate fantube family leave that grown ass adult (bot) alone

- glad they didn't canonize any ships i was so scared about silvercandle and fantube

- 4s scene and s1 flashback was cool i love s1 so i got excited

- aaaaand i think my misogyny thread is relevant again. i should update it sometime because ii has only gotten worse about it lmao

- didn't like them making clover stupid for some reason like "is he talking about me?" come on

- oj not talking in these last two episodes is so glaringly unusual because he's never been able to shut his fucking mouth for even a minute